32 Winter, 513AV
Venser Rush
Preparations were complete for the task that Venser wished to undertake. Three human teeth, thoroughly cleaned and polished to ensure that rot would not spoil them, lay before the young man as he sat down upon the floor of his room in Tarsin's Boarding House. His set of engraver's picks lay to his side, to be used for their precision rather than the carving tools he had used in the past.After all, you HAVE to get this right. You have to do this right. Otherwise, these injuries were for nothing. Otherwise, your efforts were for nothing. The Maledicter's broken ribs pained him under their bandages, rendering breath and movement far more difficult than was necessary, but his pain was corporeal. Insignificant in the grand scheme of what was to be done.
Pain is only in the body. Pain is nothing. What has to be done and paid attention to is the task at hand. Venser allowed a deep breath to fill his lungs, the dull, all-too-familiar pain panging at the right side of his chest as his hands pressed to his knees, legs crossed in an almost meditative way of sitting. His fingers trembled against his knees, the only outward sign of his physical torment as he completed his breath, lips slowly curling into a smile as his hands reached out to collect the teeth that he was to use in his efforts.
Moving his task to a nearby table in his and Verin's room, the space was hardly what Venser could call comfortable, but the privacy and solitude was just what he needed in order to proceed. He arranged the teeth in a triangle within the table, employing the use of his pick to carve small circles into the table, each one surrounding a tooth. The action was unnecessary in the craft of Malediction, but Venser involved his own additions to the craft he delved into.
One only plays by basic rules in a game that they have never seen done before. But, you know better, don't you, Venser? That's why you spent two weeks... searching. Watching... Waiting. A bitter laugh escaped the boy's lips as he recalled the lengths he had taken to ensure that he knew enough of the victim's story to work with. Humiliating. Disgusting. Disgraceful. Were it not for the pursuit of the Transmundane, Venser would never have considered returning to the Silver Sliver a week after the brawl to apologize to Jeb. Were it not for the desire to improve his craft, he would not have gone to the Healing Hand several days prior to this moment in order to look upon the man he had fought.
More than once in his short bell in the man's presence, he had considered simply ending it, channeling the Flux into his uninjured, albeit weaker arm, and ripping the throat from the bastard's unconscious body, but it would not have bode well for Venser to have done so. To survive another day, to recount his story upon the walls of history, that was what stopped Venser from giving in to primal desire. Hatred was unsuited to that moment, and as the memories faded away, Venser decided that his efforts were to begin, and subsequently, reach fruition.
Pain is only in the body. Pain is nothing. What has to be done and paid attention to is the task at hand. Venser allowed a deep breath to fill his lungs, the dull, all-too-familiar pain panging at the right side of his chest as his hands pressed to his knees, legs crossed in an almost meditative way of sitting. His fingers trembled against his knees, the only outward sign of his physical torment as he completed his breath, lips slowly curling into a smile as his hands reached out to collect the teeth that he was to use in his efforts.
Moving his task to a nearby table in his and Verin's room, the space was hardly what Venser could call comfortable, but the privacy and solitude was just what he needed in order to proceed. He arranged the teeth in a triangle within the table, employing the use of his pick to carve small circles into the table, each one surrounding a tooth. The action was unnecessary in the craft of Malediction, but Venser involved his own additions to the craft he delved into.
One only plays by basic rules in a game that they have never seen done before. But, you know better, don't you, Venser? That's why you spent two weeks... searching. Watching... Waiting. A bitter laugh escaped the boy's lips as he recalled the lengths he had taken to ensure that he knew enough of the victim's story to work with. Humiliating. Disgusting. Disgraceful. Were it not for the pursuit of the Transmundane, Venser would never have considered returning to the Silver Sliver a week after the brawl to apologize to Jeb. Were it not for the desire to improve his craft, he would not have gone to the Healing Hand several days prior to this moment in order to look upon the man he had fought.
More than once in his short bell in the man's presence, he had considered simply ending it, channeling the Flux into his uninjured, albeit weaker arm, and ripping the throat from the bastard's unconscious body, but it would not have bode well for Venser to have done so. To survive another day, to recount his story upon the walls of history, that was what stopped Venser from giving in to primal desire. Hatred was unsuited to that moment, and as the memories faded away, Venser decided that his efforts were to begin, and subsequently, reach fruition.
*
Odd, but it has the potential to be useful in gambling, and simply impressing people. Good job though! Lets see what you do with the next two 
