Silhouette

The slums of Zalcien were home to many things, most of them miserable, but quite a few also monstrous. Among them, the one that all dreaded occupied the remains of an old hospital, the building that had once been a place of healing turning into a nightmarish domain that only fools and the powerful dared approach, and only the latter could ever hope to leave. Life itself had rejected that terrible place, neither flora nor fauna daring to approach the area surrounding this entity that darey twist nature's designs, not even the ever-daring and resilient spawns of fungus and moss could sprout in these parts. Even the undesirable and desperate never tried to manifest there, in that place despised by all of creation.

In what had once been an operating room where countless lives had been saved, a madman delightfully molded various piles of flesh spread throughout the multiple metal tables before him. The elf with pepper hair styled to mimic a durian fruit's scales smiled as though he was a grandmother knitting for his dear grandchildren as his scalpel cut through the meat of the many abominations before him, all wide awake and very conscious and everything that was happening, but robbed of their ability to scream and beg, and their minds too broken to hope or pray. He giggled like a merry child as he took a step to the right and twirled, dancing to the rhythm created by the way the long golden earrings shaped like windchimes dangling from his long pointed ears impacted one another with his every move. Next to him a needle floated in the air and followed his every gesture even in his dance, spinning and piercing though nothing in a spectacle that would have been beautiful anywhere else but was marred by the blood still dripping from the silvery metal.

The monster in the guise of a man briefly stopped to adjust his leather apron and gloves, the items made from square patches of processed skin sewn together matching few of the colors one could find in the animal kingdom and instead disturbingly close to those of the most common sapient species. His pale blue eyes, so faint they often appeared grey, never the left the new target of his demanded work, his latest noteworthy acquisition, a pile of green meat that showcased many more bones and muscles than any of the others. The smile that stretched his uncannily smooth face from each of his pronounced cheekbones to the other would have frozen many a Hero, especially with the unfeeling gaze from behind his perfectly round glassed, and even the once mighty spirit that had once fueled the eyes embedded in the green flesh with confidence and vigor could do nothing but despair, wriggling and jiggling with all the force its nonsensical mass could muster. The helpless thing's mad struggle was useless, not even moving an iota from its place on the cold metal.

The Patcher caressed the flesh like an infant and whispered as he addressed it.

"Shush, shush. Don't be naughty now, my dear old friend. You knew what you were getting into."

The elf chuckled, and the flesh beneath froze before moving with even more effort, increasing its height for a few seconds before collapsçng back onto itself.

"Remember, you agreed to this. If you play nice, I will ensure you will become one of my greatest creations. Something that will not have to suffer the demands of fools like your former master."

The madman leaned back on another table, ignoring the way his gloved hand pressed down on the eye of another pile of flesh in a squelch. The meat knew better than to bring attention to itself and stayed still, doing its best to ignore the throbbing pain invading its sensory organ and let it fade into the greater constant agony it was subjected to in this state.

"I knew Runar would fall before long, but I will happily admit I did not expect it to happen this soon, especially with my dearest Glapissant at his beck and call. I thought he would fall to the cabal that has taken to treat his friend like a shield and a banner, not some upstart shadow beast he was specifically preparing himself to defeat."

The Patcher hummed to himself as he rose back to his full height and turned the scalpel in his hand before plunging it deep into the green mass's being, its eyes widening and its manic movements growing even more frantic.

"I must say, I was incredibly surprised to feel the contract notify me so soon. I know you said that little creature was an elemental, but it appears there is much you and your beloved master were wrong about. Perhaps I'll ask a few of my friends what they know about this... What was the name again? Ah, yes, Silhouette. Perhaps there will be something for me to work with. Wouldn't that be sweet, Karadok? A marvelous irony, having your body be incorporated into a creature that also features parts of the being that put an end to Runar's plans."

The sharp metal between his fingers cut through the flesh as easily as it would slash through the air, and in a few seconds a large piece of orc meat was separated from the rest and put to the side of the table, next to two severed forearms with the hands still attached, the limbs being maimed on multiple parts by what could have only immense claws or fangs, with a strange black thing spreading from the exposed flesh of the wounds. It didn't escape the notice of the elf that this strange darkness had grown larger to cover more of the forearm since the last time he had observed it, though marginally so.

"Transformation. An incredibly powerful tool, though it seems our shadow sees this marvel as nothing but a hammer. No skill, no finesse. Truth be told, I'm almost disappointed both that the runemaster fell to that and that the entity itself uses such remarkable powers so crudely. Oh well, what is Transformation but the tool fools use to rival masters? They have no understanding of their art, of their grandiose changes to the world! Sadly, even a toddler practicing finger painting would be more connected with their work."

His leather-clad fingers dug through the insides of the green pile before pulling out a femur attached to a ball of ribs, and after shaking the smaller curved bones off he held the massive white thing up to his eye level, carefully analyzing what could have been an incredibly large club like it was just a flute, the dense bone being no heavier to him than a twig.

"Bah, there is no need to worry. I am sure it will learn until the day we finally meet. After all, if it truly plans on stealing Runar's spot in the underworld, it will have to come sooner or later. They may think me mad, and they may fear my creations, but in the end, they all need me. Isn't that right, Karadok? Say, do you have any preferences as to what might become of your femur? It is quite the outstanding specimen, even by orcish standards, but I feel it would waste its potential to simply give it the same role in supporting the leg. I was thinking, maybe we could combine it with a thick skull to make a natural weapon for you to bash and crush opponents with. A Hammerer, if you will, a perfect counterpart for our local Sicklers. My, I can't recall the last time I saw one of the critters. Maybe I should ask around, I have no doubt their parts could prove useful to us."

The madman gasped as an abominable idea wormed its way into his demented mind.

"Karadok, I can already see it! An improvement over the Glapissant design, with no need for exposed bones or any of that rune nonsense. A purely physical creature, though defended from magical means with some special organs. A living armory, a moving mound of blades and hammers, able to strike down any who dares stand in its way. Ah, but what about the name? A creation of this caliber would require more than one brain, and even if I let yours in charge Karadok, you'd still need to all share one to better cooperate and have your nervous systems fuse more easily."

The golden earrings chimed as he twirled around, playfully juggling with the bone a caveman might have used to crush a skull as he maintained a perplexed look on his face before he suddenly froze and stood up straighter.

"Yes. Yes. I have it. The perfect monicker for an organic fortress composed of multiple minds perfectly working in unison. A name even our dearly departed Runar would approve of. Tell me what you think, Karadok. How do you feel about becoming Kamelot?"

The green meat pile writhed and jiggled, some of its bones piercing through its skinless mass.

"Yes, quite a fantastic name, I must agree. Now settle down, we wouldn't want your flesh to be damaged by your reckless moving about. See this as a chance to observe my work. While Runar might have not commissioned that many creatures, he still had the occasional task for me to do, and as his ever-loyal right-hand man, you handled these requests for either beasts or healing. Throughout all this time, surely you must have been curious at least once, no? 'How does that dastardly dashing Patcher do it?' Well, old friend, you will get to see my mastery from the best perspective there is: by becoming my work of art."

Somehow, even with most of its organs removed and its vocal cords put to the side, what remained of the orc managed to wheeze and grunt, and someone managed to slowly crawl its way to the edge of the metal table it rested on.

The madman's scalpel found its way to the middle of the mass and with a quick cut opened a way for the elf's arm to slip inside and slowly pull out a wrinkly pinkish organ, still attached to the abomination of a body beneath by the spinal cord and the many nerves that connected it to the still active receptors spread throughout its being. The eyes of the mass slowly retracted inside as they too were attached to the brain that was slowly being dragged out of its twisted confines.

"Karadok. An honorable knight like you has no business trying to flee, especially from your new master. I hate to repeat myself, but you signed a contract, remember? You agreed before the Black family you would mine as soon as your service to Runar came to an end. I hope you would have the decency to respect that sort of engagement not only in the letter but also the spirit of it, but alas, you are as much of a ruffian as my usual fair, if not more so. Very well, if you wish to be a petulant child about it, then let me give you a stern talking to."

While one hand of the elf held the brain in his palm, somehow lifting the entire organ with as much ease as it would an apple, the other began to make small gestures reminiscent of an orchestra conductor, his leather-clad index finger replacing the famous wand. In the air, the threadless needle that floated by the Patcher's head began to follow his direction and began to swoop left and right over the fragile meat that hosted the orc's mind. The sharp tip was a breath away from digging into the pinkish mass, and it became slower and slower as it slowly approached its target, gently pressing on it without piercing any of its wrinkles through sheer mastery and control.

"The moment you signed a contract at the Black Bank, your soul was destined to be mine. The moment Glapissant stepped through my door with you in its maw, your body was mine. Now, all that is left is to ensure your mind is mine and trust me, oh dearest knight, I know how to do such a thing. I know what you lot think of me, of my art, and I do not care. But in your self-indulgent illusions about my abilities, do remember: few dare come here and willingly sit where you are, nigh all of my materials are unwilling subjects, and yet not a creature between these walls dares to dream about striking me down. Oh, a few manage to escape now and then, the least interesting ones I only work on to ensure my craft does not rust or to test theories without risking the more precious ones, but were I to step outside and order them back, they would crawl and beg for forgiveness."

The needle pressed a little harder as it flew in the line between the two hemispheres.

"I do not simply patch bodies together, Karadok. I tear apart the useless pieces of the mind and sew them back together to fit my designs. Now, will I need to treat you like a common rat my worst gatherers bring back after a day of failed expeditions, or will you be the proper knight I know and obey?"

The green mass wriggled before going still.

"Good. Good. And to my little unseen watcher, do tell your new master that I am open to receive him. He may despise me today, but in the end, they all come begging to my door."

The madman chuckled as an unseen figure ran away, uncaring of the noise they made as they bumped against a few tables and how the doors to the operation room visibly opened as they pushed them to make their way through, no longer caring about stealth now that they knew they had been noticed. The elf tilted his head as he watched them go with a smile on his lips, his earrings chiming as he moved. He then turned that warm smile and those pale eyes filled with the light of enthusiasm back to the matter at hand, namely the organic matter in his hand and the associated pile of flesh on his table.

"Now, let's get back to it!"