[ Ekkehardt hasn't turned back once, even as Avery's presence becomes more obvious; this version of him is little more than a memory. He continues on until he reaches what was probably once an airy front room, something pleasant to contrast with the bloody work going on within.
His 'gift' was likely opened here, or escaped here; bloody crimson fire still eats lazily away at destroyed furnishings, chews on paintings and shards of glass. An engraved jar thoroughly charred by its contents exploding outwards lies abandoned on the floor.
Another body is here, too, not nearly as untouched as the one Ekkehardt is carrying. The man's head has been separated from his shoulders, for one thing. With a clean cut, naturally, because Ekkehardt does everything cleanly.
He's also wearing hard-wearing, black clothing. The meaning of such a thing is obvious.
Ekkehardt busies himself with opening vents and what few windows exist in this place, to increase the airflow. The crimson flames surge from little flickers and embers into hungrier life, stoked by the new sources of things to burn. ]
Well, aren't you enjoying yourself? [ This voice is different, closer to reality. A burned shadow on the wall moves, leans out onto a charred desk, his voice amused. ] I particularly like your expression.
[ Even here, in the ashes of what he's about to do to his tormentors, he still finds time for fun, it seems. But it's an old memory, and the things associated with the place of his pain are faded, so he thinks he's allowed it. ]
no subject
His 'gift' was likely opened here, or escaped here; bloody crimson fire still eats lazily away at destroyed furnishings, chews on paintings and shards of glass. An engraved jar thoroughly charred by its contents exploding outwards lies abandoned on the floor.
Another body is here, too, not nearly as untouched as the one Ekkehardt is carrying. The man's head has been separated from his shoulders, for one thing. With a clean cut, naturally, because Ekkehardt does everything cleanly.
He's also wearing hard-wearing, black clothing. The meaning of such a thing is obvious.
Ekkehardt busies himself with opening vents and what few windows exist in this place, to increase the airflow. The crimson flames surge from little flickers and embers into hungrier life, stoked by the new sources of things to burn. ]
Well, aren't you enjoying yourself? [ This voice is different, closer to reality. A burned shadow on the wall moves, leans out onto a charred desk, his voice amused. ] I particularly like your expression.
[ Even here, in the ashes of what he's about to do to his tormentors, he still finds time for fun, it seems. But it's an old memory, and the things associated with the place of his pain are faded, so he thinks he's allowed it. ]