DietPepsiWildCherry
05-02-2008, 04:26
Hello Y'all! My name is Brian and I'm in the 7th grade. My creative writing teacher gave us an assignment to write a fan fiction for extra credit and since I like Diablo 2 I thought I'd write about that. I registered here and I've been browsing the fan fiction section and I hope you guys don't mind giving me some pointers! This is just an introduction by the way.
The Apprentice:
“Carefully!” hissed Berthold.
He eyed his apprentice closely, and Tarn’s hands began to shake even more under the intense scrutiny. “Very well, I’ll finish it. Watch me closely”. said Berthold as he took the long steel hook from Tarn. As their hands met, Tarn couldn’t help but recoil from his master’s touch. Berthold was too perceptive not to notice, but he would have worried for the boy’s sanity if he wasn’t terrified and disgusted of him. Understanding would come in time he assured himself. With understanding would come appreciation and respect, and ultimately love.
He held his hand in front of Tarn’s face. “Do you see how steady my hand is? This is delicate work”. His apprentice didn’t answer and Berthold continued. “We waste nothing, but remember to always harvest the brain first. It is of utmost importance”.
Berthold turned his attention towards the table. It was of cast iron and slotted to allow liquids to drain off into the large tub underneath it. Tarn would have described it simply as being cold. Even during the height of summer Berthold’s workbench seemed to leach the warmth from his skin. Tarn wondered if his heart would stop if he ever found himself strapped to that icy iron. He shuttered at the thought and pitied the tiny imp who found itself in his nightmare.
“With a Human, the brain is harvested through the nose” lectured Berthold “This creature, as you can clearly see, is not Human. What is it?”
Berthold fixed his eyes on his apprentice as he waited for him to answer.
“It’s a Fallen, you can get to its brain through the ears”. Answered Tarn.
“Quite right. Wonderful. Now watch closely.” Berthold’s steady hand inserted the vicious hook into the Fallen’s ear and after a gentle push followed by slow pull removed a large piece of brain which he deposited into a glass jar. He continued his work for several more minutes then stopped suddenly, apparently satisfied.
“Next stop is the ‘Cider press’” Berthold said with a smile forming at the corner of his mouth. His master had always compared the extraction of liquid from the brain to making cider, and the analogy still amused him. As the boy watched, Berthold squeezed the brain dry of its juice and collected the liquid in a small vial.
“Present your hand, boy” Commanded Berthold. Reluctantly, Tarn placed his hand in his master’s. There was no warmth at all in his touch and the skin felt terribly dry, like a reptile’s. Tarn wondered if his master was alive at all, or if he was some other dark wizard’s creation, a terrible ghoul with dead skin and eyes that shine in the dark who teaches children how to raise the dead. He shuttered, again.
The nail on Berthold’s left index finger was thick and curled, more like a raptor’s talon than anything Human. It traced its razor sharp edge along the boy’s palm and cupped his hand to pool the blood. “Now mix it with the brain serum, and mark yourself its master”.
“Should we stop to eat? We can finish after dinner, I don’t think our friend is going anywhere” Berthold said, punctuating the last sentence with a wink. Tarn was very hungry, he hadn’t eaten since breakfast and it was nearly sundown. However the thought of eating in the company of the Fallen’s corpse made him feel sick. It was bad enough he had to eat with Berthold. “I’d rather we just continue, I’m enjoying the lesson”.
Berthold knew the boy was lying, but it was a careful manipulation. This was the first time in the three months since he purchased the boy from the orphanage that he asked for the lessons to continue. Berthold understood how the lessons must appear to an outsider, he remembered his own early days as an apprentice and he doubted if Tarn understood how well he could relate. Still, he thought his methods were best.
“I’m pleased, now, we remove the flesh. Remember to always be careful with the bones” Berthold said as he laid out his array of knives by his workbench. There was a half dozen of them, in various lengths from one inch to nearly a foot. They were all hideously sharp and the flesh of the Fallen gave way neatly to his expert efforts. The muscles were discarded, and the internal organs separated and stored in glass jars. The skin was set aside to be made into leather.
The sun had just set when Berthold was finished and there was nothing left on the table but clean white bones. “I used knifework on this fellow here, but that isn’t the only way to get the job done. If you have several bodies to clean you can simply boil the flesh until it falls off of the bone. It’s a good way to save time, just then you have to reassemble them correctly.” Berthold said with careful nonchalance.
“Get the serum, you know the one” Berthold instructed. “It has to be you this time. With your blood, it won’t work if I do it”
Tarn stood next to the skeleton, and he noticed that the table was slightly too high for him. Berthold chuckled as his apprentice stood on a stool causing Tarn to stop midstep.
“Continue” The master instructed.
Tarn worked the serum into a lather in his hands and began to massage it into the bones. He hands felt itchy and painful. As if they were covered with biting ants. He saw that they were producing a faint green light.
The bones stood up. Tarn thought they grinned at him.
The Apprentice:
“Carefully!” hissed Berthold.
He eyed his apprentice closely, and Tarn’s hands began to shake even more under the intense scrutiny. “Very well, I’ll finish it. Watch me closely”. said Berthold as he took the long steel hook from Tarn. As their hands met, Tarn couldn’t help but recoil from his master’s touch. Berthold was too perceptive not to notice, but he would have worried for the boy’s sanity if he wasn’t terrified and disgusted of him. Understanding would come in time he assured himself. With understanding would come appreciation and respect, and ultimately love.
He held his hand in front of Tarn’s face. “Do you see how steady my hand is? This is delicate work”. His apprentice didn’t answer and Berthold continued. “We waste nothing, but remember to always harvest the brain first. It is of utmost importance”.
Berthold turned his attention towards the table. It was of cast iron and slotted to allow liquids to drain off into the large tub underneath it. Tarn would have described it simply as being cold. Even during the height of summer Berthold’s workbench seemed to leach the warmth from his skin. Tarn wondered if his heart would stop if he ever found himself strapped to that icy iron. He shuttered at the thought and pitied the tiny imp who found itself in his nightmare.
“With a Human, the brain is harvested through the nose” lectured Berthold “This creature, as you can clearly see, is not Human. What is it?”
Berthold fixed his eyes on his apprentice as he waited for him to answer.
“It’s a Fallen, you can get to its brain through the ears”. Answered Tarn.
“Quite right. Wonderful. Now watch closely.” Berthold’s steady hand inserted the vicious hook into the Fallen’s ear and after a gentle push followed by slow pull removed a large piece of brain which he deposited into a glass jar. He continued his work for several more minutes then stopped suddenly, apparently satisfied.
“Next stop is the ‘Cider press’” Berthold said with a smile forming at the corner of his mouth. His master had always compared the extraction of liquid from the brain to making cider, and the analogy still amused him. As the boy watched, Berthold squeezed the brain dry of its juice and collected the liquid in a small vial.
“Present your hand, boy” Commanded Berthold. Reluctantly, Tarn placed his hand in his master’s. There was no warmth at all in his touch and the skin felt terribly dry, like a reptile’s. Tarn wondered if his master was alive at all, or if he was some other dark wizard’s creation, a terrible ghoul with dead skin and eyes that shine in the dark who teaches children how to raise the dead. He shuttered, again.
The nail on Berthold’s left index finger was thick and curled, more like a raptor’s talon than anything Human. It traced its razor sharp edge along the boy’s palm and cupped his hand to pool the blood. “Now mix it with the brain serum, and mark yourself its master”.
“Should we stop to eat? We can finish after dinner, I don’t think our friend is going anywhere” Berthold said, punctuating the last sentence with a wink. Tarn was very hungry, he hadn’t eaten since breakfast and it was nearly sundown. However the thought of eating in the company of the Fallen’s corpse made him feel sick. It was bad enough he had to eat with Berthold. “I’d rather we just continue, I’m enjoying the lesson”.
Berthold knew the boy was lying, but it was a careful manipulation. This was the first time in the three months since he purchased the boy from the orphanage that he asked for the lessons to continue. Berthold understood how the lessons must appear to an outsider, he remembered his own early days as an apprentice and he doubted if Tarn understood how well he could relate. Still, he thought his methods were best.
“I’m pleased, now, we remove the flesh. Remember to always be careful with the bones” Berthold said as he laid out his array of knives by his workbench. There was a half dozen of them, in various lengths from one inch to nearly a foot. They were all hideously sharp and the flesh of the Fallen gave way neatly to his expert efforts. The muscles were discarded, and the internal organs separated and stored in glass jars. The skin was set aside to be made into leather.
The sun had just set when Berthold was finished and there was nothing left on the table but clean white bones. “I used knifework on this fellow here, but that isn’t the only way to get the job done. If you have several bodies to clean you can simply boil the flesh until it falls off of the bone. It’s a good way to save time, just then you have to reassemble them correctly.” Berthold said with careful nonchalance.
“Get the serum, you know the one” Berthold instructed. “It has to be you this time. With your blood, it won’t work if I do it”
Tarn stood next to the skeleton, and he noticed that the table was slightly too high for him. Berthold chuckled as his apprentice stood on a stool causing Tarn to stop midstep.
“Continue” The master instructed.
Tarn worked the serum into a lather in his hands and began to massage it into the bones. He hands felt itchy and painful. As if they were covered with biting ants. He saw that they were producing a faint green light.
The bones stood up. Tarn thought they grinned at him.