Chapter Text
In The Killer’s experience, a trip to the circus did wonders for curing one’s soul-grinding monotony. Whether one sought to exterminate a performer or one of the starry-eyed attendees, a circus provided a veritable buffet of delights for the discerning consumer. Even in this nowhere grove, at least a tenday’s journey from Baldur’s Gate, The Killer could already feel the dull, leaden cloak of boredom sliding off his shoulders.
His shoulders remained covered by a lace shawl, which that foul imp, Sceleritas, had said might be a touch ostentatious for this particular nothing of a venue. Even so, when The Killer had stood before his mirror and taken in the full image of a homely, middle-aged half-elf woman, he knew that his prey would not see any sign of danger, shawl or no. To anyone looking on, The Killer was a lonely but harmless older woman on her travels to who knew where. No one tended to care or notice this vessel until it was too late for them. None would think to peer too closely in his basket, which was full of knitting needles with strangely stained points and yarn sharper than anyone would think to knit with.
Even now, The Killer could feel the feeble vestiges of this body’s original tenant whispering, pleading for more. He clamped down on the flutters in his mind; even now, she only wanted revenge against her mother and would-be lovers and sought their faces to slice into oblivion. Indulging the cow in her petty vengeances had made riding in this body more comfortable than previous vessels, but even slaughter lost its tang when done repeatedly without variation. This vessel’s lack of creativity was turning the sacred, sensual rite of murder into a chore .
Perhaps a different, younger vessel would prove to be less obstructive. Hells, even fetching one to use could prove a most intriguing challenge.
The Killer sidled up to the small stage where a sign promised “The Flock will be taking off shortly!” The sparse attendees, mostly farmers and laborers drifting into the shade with their tools still in hand, murmured among themselves. “Watcher pockets, dear,” he croaked to the nearest person. “These performers will distract you just to rob you blind, mark me,” he primly clutched his basket closer as the man coughed and pointedly looked anywhere else.
The Flock descended on the stage before too much longer. An assorted half dozen or so performers in varying shades of green emerged and breathlessly thanked the audience for showing up. The Killer watched as pedestrian act followed pedestrian act. Glancing around, he could feel polite boredom radiating off the audience. Juggling and mediocre illusions that couldn't even entertain peasants failed to spark The Killer's imagination. He was starting to consider whether any of the audience would silence the incessant pleading of his vessel when the tieflings took the stage.
They were a pair: one, an adolescent male with purple skin, the other, a small girl-child with green skin. They bowed in unison, their purple eyes flashing. “Gentlefolk, we thank you again for coming to see The Flock! It is almost time for us to fly away, but before we do, we beg just a moment more of your time while my sister and I practice our archery,” said the larger of the two. “I am Kestrel,” he said
“And I’m Wren,” supplied the child with a cheerful wave. “Practice makes perfect!”
The Killer shivered as he watched the girl place her hands on wooden pegs and lift her legs into the air. “Like it’s nothing,” he whispered as her tail helped arrange a bow between her airborne feet. She arced the loaded bow back over her head and towards her brother. The strength already present in this small frame could prove quite useful. “Okay, Kes! You ready?” The child called as her brother backed himself against a wooden board that was littered with arrow marks. Bless, she even smiled as she drew the bowstring taut. He shivered, picturing that little smile advancing on terrified victims as they realized it was too late for escape.
“Okay, Wren! I’m ready,” the brother announced and held a rose over his head. Wren’s tongue slipped out of the corner of her mouth, her tail now swaying side to side as she aimed. The audience murmured, unsure of whether they would soon be witnesses to a gruesome accident. “ Not just yet ,” The Killer thought to himself. “ But with that face, why, anything is possible.”
CHOCK! The girl’s arrow landed, trembling and embedded in the rose’s stem. “Close one sister- you almost nicked my horn!” Kestrel laughed as Wren dropped her bow and swung her legs back and forth over her head, all childish innocence. “Sorry, Kes!” she cried. “Shall we try it again?”
“I think the blindfold will help, sister!” Kestrel announced, smiling to the crowd. Wren leaned her weight to free one hand, which she gently slapped against her forehead as if chastising herself. “Could one of you gentles pretty please help with the blindfold? I don’t want my dolt of a big brother claiming I was cheating, and my hands are full!” She returned her free hand to its wooden peg. “You, auntie with the basket, could you help?” The girl pointed down on the stage with her tail, showing where a scrap of purple fabric waited.
The Killer’s breath caught. “Why, of course, dearie,” he said. As the child continued her contorted poses, The Killer imagined how fun it might be to watch faces contort with pain as he raked that child’s talons through their flesh. He firmly blindfolded the child as the harmony of a child’s giggle mixed with screams in his mind. Wren’s little voice thanked him, and she cocked her head to the side. “Back to your place now. I’m still pretty new at this, after all, and I don't want you to get hurt, kay?” Her feet raised overhead, another arrow ready for her brother. The Killer buzzed with excitement as he slid back off the stage, his eyes never leaving the child.
Kestrel made a show of producing an apple, which he set directly on his head instead of holding it aloft. “Okay sister, same as before!” He said with an exaggerated wink for the audience. Wren drew her bowstring slowly, allowing the murmurs to return.
CHOCK! This time, two apple halves punctuated the arrow’s landing as Wren descended from her perch. “Kes!” She cried and peeled the blindfold off. “That was not the same as last time!” The girl threw herself at her brother, clambering onto his shoulders as the gathered peasants clapped. The troupe passed a hat to take advantage of their patrons’ goodwill and amazement.
The Killer reached his thoughts out to Sceleritas. “ It’s time,” his thoughts hissed. “Gather the brother, and I’ll have the sister. It’s time to end this creative slump.”
The sun sank low, and Wren still couldn’t find her brother. The Flock was packing to head for the next village, but Kestrel was nowhere in sight. Wren strayed as far from the covered wagons as she dared. "Kes? It's time to go, Kes!" She twisted the hem of her cloak in her hands as her brother still didn't answer.
"Aw, he's probably, er, with an admirer ," one of the other performers winked down at Wren as they loaded bits of scenery into their wagon. "Lass, you both know the rules. We don't stay places like this after dark. If he don't make it back, he'll have to catch up at the next village."
"He wouldn't just go off!" Wren protested, with an edge of whine in her voice. "He wouldn't . Please, can’t we wait a bit longer? I’ll do all the washing up tonight, please!"
"Little bird, we leave when we leave. If you want to try and rustle him up, by all means. Otherwise, you're welcome to ride all comfy-like with us and wait for him to catch up."
Wren twisted her cloak as she looked from the wagon to the darkening horizon. Perhaps, if she went just a little further out, she would see him sheepishly jogging up to them. She moved further from the wagon, hoping she'd see the tip of his horns peeking over the next ridge. “Kes wouldn’t just go off,” she protested softly. Wren crept further along the path, and a few farm buildings came into view. Candlelight punctuated the dusk from the few windows in the distance. The patrons inside were surely going about their evenings without any care in the world for a missing circus performer or his worried little sister.
Wren peeked back over her shoulder at the crew working on their wagon. If she hurried, she could go on a look for her brother and drag him back in time to ride with the rest of The Flock. She threw down her twisted cloak hem, drew her shoulders back, and whistled a sharp note into the growing darkness. After a few agonizing seconds, Wren’s call was answered from the direction of one of the farms. Three short notes were followed by a longer, trilling note, and Wren’s blood chilled. “Trouble?” Something was wrong! Without another glance back, she sprinted into the dark.
As Wren approached the shed where she was sure she’d heard Kestrel’s whistle, she began to tremble. “Kes?” She hissed into the shadows. “Kes, where are you?” Tears pricked her eyes as she prayed for Kestrel to pop out of the darkness with a gentle tease for his frightened sister. Seconds crawled past, and Wren’s brother did not appear. She moved towards the ominous wooden door, her heart drumming in her ears. With barely a touch, the door creaked open. She could make out a faint trace of light, deep inside behind the farmers’ tools.
“H-hello?” Wren crept deeper into the shed and jumped when the door slammed shut behind her. “I-I’m just looking for my brother, and then we’ll go. Kes?” She croaked in a dry whisper. Only dust answered. Shouldering past rakes and pitchforks, Wren plunged deeper into the shed. “Kes? Please, Kes!” she cried, no longer trying to whisper. The shed felt endless, but still she pressed toward the light. Tears spilled out of her eyes, and she sniffed loudly. “Please, this isn’t funny!”
Suddenly, she passed the end of the hanging tools and stumbled into an open space. The lady from the performance was there, with a lantern in one hand and a crossbow in the other. “Dear child, there’s no need to shout,” The Killer’s voice oozed with mocking sweetness. “Your brother’s right here with us.”
“I- I,” Wren ground the heels of her hands against her tears. “Please, where is he? We won’t cause any trouble. Please.” Her voice trembled as more tears threatened to escape. The Killer gestured with the crossbow to a corner Wren hadn’t noticed before. There, bound to a chair with cloth shoved into his mouth was her brother. His legs bent in unnatural angles, but Wren only had eyes for his face. “KES!”
Kestrel grunted and shook his head quickly, his eyes wide. Wren took an involuntary step backwards, colliding with The Killer. “Kes, I don’t understand! You’re hurt!” she gasped and tried to lunge towards her brother, but a hideous little devil appeared before her with a mocking smile. “Now, now,” he tutted, brandishing a cruel, twisted dagger. “You stay right where you are.” the creature giggled as The Killer crossed towards Kestrel.
“You’ve caught me in an inspired mood, little bird,” The Killer tilted his head to the side as the green child sniveled where she stood. “You were pretty good at the show earlier, but with me, you’ll find you can be great . I will give you one chance, one test to make a choice on your own.”
“What? I don’t understand! Kestrel’s hurt! We need to get help! Help me untie him!” Wren attempted another step to her brother, but Sceleritas had the dagger ready, its tip now tickling the edge of her nose.
“Come now, poppet. That’s no way to be! I’ll speak plainly, then. I will kill your brother. Right here. Bang, and it’s all over. Unless…” The Killer’s unspoken challenge hung in the air, thicker than dust, choking the distraught siblings.
“Unless? I’ll do anything. Please. We’re all we have. Please let him go.” Wren shook with sobs while Kestrel tried his best to encourage the girl to run and leave him.
“Then all you have to do is kill me. Do it, and I’ll leave the two of you alone.” The Killer nodded to Sceleritas, and the imp made a show of removing the dagger from Wren’s face and presenting it to her with an obsequious bow. Wren’s eyes darted from the dagger to the crossbow to her brother’s desperate, pleading face.
“But, we’re j-just performers. We don’t fight anyone, and we’ve never stolen nothing. Please, I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t wanna,” the whine crept back into Wren’s voice, and her blood chilled. “This isn’t funny.”
“Funny? Dear, this is as serious as the grave. However, my offer isn’t going to last longer,” The Killer hung the lantern on a nearby hook, and he took aim with the crossbow. “Come now, for your dearest person in the world, you really won’t do what must be done?” He smirked down at the child as his finger crept towards the trigger. “Shows how much she cares for you, big brother," he smirked. "I’ll even give you a three-count,” he said.
“Please, no!”
“One.”
“I- I can’t!”
“Two.”
“Please, leave us alone! We will never bother you again!”
“Three,” The Killer contorted the stolen half-elf’s face into a pantomime of sympathy.
“We don’t have money, but we can find it. PLEASE!” Wren begged. The little demon snorted out a chuckle from his bowed position.
The Killer shook his head and moved the crossbow away from Kestrel. “So that’s your answer, then? What a pity. I mean, it doesn’t really change anything for you, honestly," He sighed. "It would have at least been interesting. Sceleritas,be a lamb and hold the child for me, please.”
Before Wren had a chance to protest, Sceleritas was behind her, clenching her wrists in one clawed hand while the other held the dagger to her throat. Wren and Kestrel’s eyes locked in desperate horror as The Killer now aimed the crossbow at his vessel’s chest.
In a lightning flash that burned itself into Wren’s memory, The Killer reached and squeezed the crossbow trigger, and the stolen body he’d been piloting slumped to the floor. As a scream tore from Wren, black mist flowed from the half elf woman into her throat. Kestrel could only watch as his sister’s body jerked and twisted in the hands of the bone-faced demon. He struggled harder against his bonds, ignoring the sickening pain in his legs. Despite the gag, he pleaded for his sister while the foul imp clapped his hands together in delight.
When the black mist cleared, Wren looked around in bewilderment. Where was the shed? Kestrel? The scary imp? The scarier old woman? Glowing rays of light emerged around Wren, cutting through the suffocating darkness. In an instant, the rays twisted and grew around her until they wove intricate patterns above her head. With a final crash, the light faded, and Wren was left in an ornate birdcage. Desperately, she pawed at the bars to find some way, any way out. “Now, now. You’re just going to wear yourself out.” A giant face, pale and leering, emerged from the darkness. “Well, little bird. You are right where you belong, and now, we are going to have ever so much fun together.”
Wren’s head whipped around wildly, taking in the cage and the ghostly giant. “I don’t- I-I”
“I-I-I,” mocked The Killer with a vicious laugh. “How easy it is, to conquer the mind of a child,” he wondered aloud in a voice which made Wren tremble to her core. “Well, I’ve got things to do, and you are going to sit right there and watch. If you’re a very good little bird, maybe sometime, I’ll let you out to have a peck or two yourself. As a treat.”
The face vanished, its laughter still echoing deep through Wren. Before she could so much as scream, the vision of the dark shed blossomed before her cage. She could see through her eyes, feel through her skin, but she could not move her own body. From within the cage, she saw Kestrel continue to thrash against his own bonds, his eyes wide in terror.
Wren could not stop her own hand from taking the dagger from Sceleritas. “The little bird is locked up, easy as anything,” The Killer chuckled using her mouth. Her own voice thanked the monster and began to hum. Although Wren howled inside, shaking the cage as hard as she could, she could only watch helplessly as The Killer turned her own face to Kestrel. “This is going to be ever so fun,” The Killer twisted Wren’s face into a grin. “Brother, this will hurt you so, so much more than it will hurt me.”