There, sat behind the bars of the great tower of Dis, perched atop an overly aggressive prisoner he sat, the licks of flame from burning lava towers mere inches from the cell barely causing a flinch as bone fingers took to twisting teeth, around which wires were wound tightly. The stringed instrument to which he clung plucked by the other hand cast its lulliby through the walls and the halls alike, raising and lowering until the thing was tuned, where after the chord of E was played, keen ears assuring that the tool sounded as it should.
His stool recieved a kick from a heeled, leather boot as it squirmed too much beneath him, and with that his fingers pulled at the acoustic instruments base; the hollowed out teak creation casting the sound from within; a brighter tune, perhaps, if saddening, played in the key of C no less. Despite the growls and the pleas of the guards and the prisoners did he keep playing, his eyes glistening with thought as his mind wandered through the very bars before him and back up to earth; the image in his head of a small female creature sat upon the docks of Nherazkar in the snow, alone.
A face most flat and emotionless stared at the bars before him and the guards behind that; their hulking frames unhindering his playing, nor casting any sense of fear into his frame, the tune overwhelming them, beating them to death and fleeing through the tower to freedom. The image soon died, fading into nothingness as the lute was pulled from his arms and broken over the nearby wall. Such a voilent act brought the mans head upward to lay upon a greater fiend of sorts, the same neutrality about his features, though now the halls sat quiet, void, leaving the man sat atop his overpowered prison mate to contemplate.
_________________ Never under estimate the power that language imparts. Sticks and stones may break your bones, but words can break hearts.
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