All characters are owned by George Macdonald except whatever OC's that I manage to come up with, purely fan made and inspired after reading all the great PatG fanfics
Warning: Violence and Vulgarity
It was raining, slamming on the rooftops of the houses in the state city; children were woken at the sight of lightning striking and the sound of thunder clashing. A few stores were open to the weary travellers, those who could not afford shelter in the finer inns went to the bar where the you could order a drink and spend a night in the comfort of a shelter even just for a night.
In the corner of a seedy bar, a figure dressed from head to toe in black gulped back another glass of ale before crashing it upon the counter top and growling in a low voice from under the hood of his jacket for another.
His eyes were stained with red from the lack of sleep and his raven hair was greasy and hung around his shaded face in strands. The cloak he wore had a hood that covered most of face as he hung there, hunched over his glass staring into the few remaining drops, an unnerving deranged atmosphere hanging over him.
There was a party of middle-aged gentleman seated in the back while the only waitress on duty that night made flirtatious remarks with a few of them as they tipped her well and ordered more beer.
The bar itself was dimly lit by a few candles; they created a warm glow in most of the bar except for the dark corner where the man dressed entirely in black hid.
The barkeep, who had been eager at first to serve such rich customer who also happened to have a severe drinking problem to boot, was now inclined not to serve him another since the figure seemed about to become incapacitated.
When the dark figure did not feel the cold comfort of a glass mug full of ale in his hand he slammed it upon the mahogany counter top and turned to old barkeep with blood shot eyes and a sneer that was exaggerated by the rough shape that the figure seemed to be in. With bags under his eyes, long greasy black hair falling out of his hood and yellow stained his teeth; the figure looked positively demonic to the poor barkeep that was now shaking.
"I said another." Growled the man again as he placed a hand on his side, just above his belt. The barkeep failed to move as he stared in horror at the red eyes glaring back at him, "unless you didn't hear me."
One of the men from the party of gentleman scoffed rather loudly and placed the mug of mead he had been shooting back like water.
Another drunkard, whose senses had possibly been drowned out in the ale found nerve enough to speak, "you been'n here ever'day for eight fortnights," the man slurred despite the hushed warnings he was getting from his drinking buddies. "Poor young lass break your heart now did she?"
The man encased in black clothing turned his glare slowly to the man seated at the table before him, the only one with a cocky smile as he sat at the round table with his mates. One of the bar maids who had been flirting with the gentleman now backed away from them as if the whole table had been cursed.
This drunkard, unlike many of his type, was dressed in regal attire which suggested that he was some sort of duke or baron and his lackeys that had been hushing him tentatively were dressed in regular servant garments.
"Sir I have prepared another for you—" began the barkeep as he tried to avoid the beginnings of a fight, the glass was placed down but the man dressed in black did not even let a side glance slip.
The strange man in black charged quickly at the baron, faster than any normal drunk and grabbed the lout by his throat, a sneer spreading across his face.
"Not another word or I'll slit you open like a pig." The man hissed viciously through bared yellow teeth.
"Are you insane man?" sputtered the now horribly frightened gent as he was confronted with the blade of the man's sword on his exposed neck.
"You have no idea," sneered the man in black and the last thing the baron saw as he looked into the reddened face was a tear slide from the eyes of his assailant down the rugged and worn cheek.
Without a single word more the man pulled back his sword and cut up in the man's stomach, sending a spurt of blood over his face and the face of the baron who he had just stabbed. The man in black, not satisfied with the crunch of bones forced the further and it came out the back of the baron, protruding right beside his spine as the poor fool squirmed hopelessly in instinct but he was limp in a matter of seconds. When the man was quite sure that the baron had died on the blade of his sword he took one foot and kicked the chest of the cadaver so that it fell off his sword and landed in a puddle of blood forming on the floor with a splat.
"Now look what you've done," whispered the man as he glanced at the sword hanging limply in his hands, "you've dirtied my sword."
The barkeep had put a glass of ale on the counter before the baron had been struck through but now he had the maid had left, along with the entire party of men, screaming at the top of their lunges that there was a strange maniac in the bar but their screams had been drowned out by the cracking of thunder, their figures running were lost in the rain.
Back at the bar the man in black was looking at his own reflection in the sword's face but he saw the mug of ale from the corner of his eye and staggered to it with his hand landing upon the counter, just managing to stop himself from falling to the ground.
His body heaved; his shoulders shook with anger and sadness, everything that had been in his soul, slowly rising to the top, everything he had tried to hold back with cold vigour now fell from his body.
He had just killed a man, this was not what he wept for but it would undoubtedly make his situation that much harder.
Tears poured from his eyes, and his face twisted in pain with each one he shed.
It had been his fault.
She died because of him.
He had stood there and had done nothing.
It was his fault.
Another convulsion shook through his body like a tremor in the earth, another tear fell down his face with an ache like a stab to the heart.
And now he had turned to drink, to consume this poison until he died of it, killing his strength and his fighting ability.
This drunken diseased pile of shit was all that was left of him.
And she was gone.
His life.
Gone.
Snuffed out like a dying candle in the wind.
The light of the candles around him glimmered in their reflection on the glass of the mug, his sin also cast in the shadows of the reflection, a hell he had not experienced gleaming in the reflection.
He saw himself, a black thin figure reach out to the mug, twisting and distorting in the rounded shape and clasping it gently in one hand.
He picked up the glass eagerly, his fingers tasting the coldness it offered and his lips becoming dry with thirst. His hand began to shake, but he clutched his sword in his other hand and once more sheathed it.
"Not now," he began to tip the mug full of ale, at first just a dribble fell from the mug and then slowly the flow increased and it all splashed on the floor as it leaked into the minuscule cracks of the hardwood, disappearing before his eyes, "I have a matter to settle."
By the time the local authorities arrived at the gruesome scene the hooded nightmare had walked out the door, leaving nothing but the blood and the only victim of the night, vanishing without a trace.
As you may have guessed, the guy in black is the villain of my story... but I really wanted to make a misunderstood villan... maybe not misunderstood... but definitely in pain because of some sort of tragedy in his life. I know... I'm too cheesy, T_T I'll have to work on that.
I'm not sure if I gave anything away who it was, but please don't guess it because I don't want the surprise, (if it's a surprise) to be ruined. The song I used for his part is 'Monster' by Meg and Dia, the music would probably have been a little edgy just to describe what was happening in the scene but there is a reason why I picked this song, mostly to show the emotion that the man was feeling:
Monster.
How should I feel?
Turn the sheets down.
Murder ears with pillow lace.
There's bath tubs.
Full of glow flies.
Bathe in kerosene.
Their words tattoed in his veins