A Letter Found On The Tomes By Schzvorde

Dear Sirs and Missus,

It has come to my attention that several of you have pointed out the distinct absence my Master for this past week and had wondered whether has he suffered any harm. I have leave to let Sirs and Missus know that my Master is still well and in the pink of health. He is currently engaged in some nefarious pursuits that even I do not know of. So please, I beg your pardon, do not direct any questions at me. I can see the eyes burning into my soul, questioning me of my integrity. But please, at this point of time, I am unable to explain it any further. My Master has said that from time to time, he would perhaps, drop by. Whence and where, I cannot tell. ‘Tis beyond my abilities. You know that kind sirs. Perhaps, when he returns from his pursuits, worldy or otherwise, he would be able to explain it most clear. Until then, please do wait with patience.





A sharp pain suddenly woke him up from his reverie. Looking down, he saw that Tabby had her claws in his thigh.

“Ouch. Tabby, you don’t need to do that to me. I’m still here, don’t worry sweetie,” he whispered to his familiar. Putting down his pen, he picked up the cat and tousled her fur all over. She purred gently and settled down in his arms, with a look akin to a lover’s glaze.

However hard he tried to bluff himself, there was always this void in his heart, or rather in place of his heart. It was too much effort for him to reach into it. He carried too much pain with him. Too much sorrow in his baggage. And he wasn’t sure he could take it anymore. Sometimes, there was this awful pain in his chest. Other times, it was just a dull throbbing, like a headache. Only that it last forever. No aspirin could have solved the problem. He longed for the past, where the pain didn’t exist and he was complete. He had everything back then. Now he had lost all of them. His friends, his companions, his lover.

“Come Tabby, let’s go for a walk. I sure do need one, how about you?” Tabby began to growl. She didn’t like walks, especially not in this weather. The weather here now was particularly gloomy. There was almost distinct difference between winter and autumn. It poured most of the time. If it didn’t, well, it drizzled.

“You do realize you have no say in this, do you?” he smirked at her. She attempted to lunge at him with her claws outstretched, ready to draw his blood, but he sidestepped it neatly at the last moment.

“Tabby, don’t be a wet blanket. Come on. No supper for you if you don’t.” With that, he stepped out of the room, dead sure that she would follow.

“Where are you going?” A voice sounded out from the den. He had totally forgotten about his landlord, a pretty young thing in her twenties. Very attractive, he must admit. Her facial features were very distinct. A sharp nose, not too sharp that it turned him off and with eyes of blue, perhaps green. Perhaps black too. He was a bit colour blind and he couldn’t really tell from this distance. She had raven black hair past her shoulders. It looked well-cared for, smooth and satin. His eyes traveled past her shoulders. Her breasts were small, perhaps a B or A. He hadn’t had much experience in this kind of matters. But they were just the right size to him. Overall, she was quite small and looked fragile. And she looked just like her. Perhaps he had chose this place because she was here. He felt it was right.

“Ahem.” She coughed. She was looking at him now instead of the goggle box.

“Where are you going?” She repeated the question. His looks glazed over immediately.

“For a walk.”


“Somewhere, around here maybe.”

“In this godforsaken weather?”

“That’s why I’m going out now.”

“Shouldn’t you at least bring an umbrella?”


That sure shut her up. Having this almost monosyllabic conversation was tough. She liked to talk. Apparently he wasn’t sharing the same feelings.

“Oh, ok then. Have a good time.”

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Prologue (2)

Still he sat there in his chair, dead to the whole. If the whole house fell upon him, he couldn’t care less. There was nothing more to treasure in this dead world. She was dead. He had never felt more alone before. It was like he now existed in a void and all these people around were just clay figurines, mouths moving incessantly to some purpose unknown to him.

“Why did all these people argue with each other? Do they not treasure the lives they led? They have no idea of what is out waiting for them. They only know the comforts of their own, selfish humans all. Killing one another, all for what? Nothing,” his thoughts sped on like a train, sparing no mercy.

He had sensed that his landlord was coming long before he saw her out of the corner of his eyes. But he ignored her, more out of need than impoliteness. His grief knows no bounds, and he was afraid if he ever opened his mouth, the dam to his sorrow would open a torrential flood of pain that she probably would not be able to take it.

“How fragile all humans are, yet they act not. Like they at the top of the food chain.
As he sat there, he dreamt again. Yet he was awake like always. The images came to him as clear as spring water in the beginning of spring.

The forest was teeming with life. Birds flew overhead, making darting forays into the sky and crying out their happiness. Monkeys swing from tree to tree slowly, as if they had all the time in the world. Golden rays penetrated the foliage of the forest, adding an unholy glow to the surroundings, almost elevating it to another realm unbeknownst to Man. Sunsprites danced mischievously in the air, tapping upon the rays of sun like they were marble stairs. He could sense a protective blanket over the oasis, covering the sanctuary in a gossamer of calmness. He felt at piece with his surroundings. Places like these were getting scarce. There was nowhere he could turn to when he felt frustrated. Earth magic was dying, slowly but surely. He could feel the taint of metal in the Source when he embraced it. The taint of humans. The coming of the Age of Man. There was no way he could remove the taint. Not alone.

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Void for a Heart

Moving pictures running
On a yellow tattered screen
Showing a lady clothed in black
With dark eyeliner and pretty blonde hair

A stunning figure in black
Juxtaposed against her porcelain skin
So delicious a contrast
Sinful to even steal a look

Still he did
The sensual lips moving
Inviting him to come forth
Seeking him to abandon all his barriers
Throw himself at her feet

His eyes take in every curve
Her ethereal beauty a sharp thorn
Not belonging to this world

Wherefore was his heart?
To wrap it up and give it to her
He had forgotten
He already sold it to the Devil

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Prologue (1)

And he sat there, awoke from his sleep not too long ago. With dishevelled hair and a stubble of days old, he did not look out of place in a shanty town. He sat at his writing table, made of solid pinewood of centuries old, so old that that its colour had faded beyond imagination. One would imagine that pinewood is grey in colour if one has no idea. The room was in a terrible mess, even for one such as him. Spider webs hung from every corner of the room, sometimes moving gently in the breeze through the half opened windows. The shades were partially down, casting a deathly parlour over the already numbing atmosphere. Shadows played in the room, dancing around, taking an ethereal life of their own. Months of dust laid upon every surface of the room, on the shades, on the table, on every imaginable surface her eyes could ever lay upon. Chinese takeaway dinners from the road opposite lay strewn across the floor.

Originally, the room had blue wallpapers and a very happy atmosphere. But within days of her renting out this room to the current occupant, it seemed to have undergone a drastic change. Overnight, the room became a dreary place to enter. It was as if you were entering a morgue, or a funeral parlour. Like those things they have in Hong Kong. She had been there once purely for pleasure. She had always wanted to go there. In fact, she had wanted to travel around the globe. Her father always said she had a streak of wanderlust in her, but sadly her finances wouldn’t permit it. The room had a scary and spooky streak to it. She would have nightmares if she was ever forced to sleep in it.

“When did he started to have a craving for Chinese food?” she wondered. As she looked with askew eyes at his weird choice of sustenance thrown carelessly all over the floor. It was weird to see a Caucasian having Chinese food almost every day of his life for months. But at first glance, she couldn’t tell that he was Caucasian. He looked like a bit of everything. One part gypsy (yes, she had joined one of their traveling entourages before and despite what people said, she thoroughly enjoyed it), one part Spanish, one part Russian and many other parts goodness knows what. His ethnicity looked as confused as he was. And he didn’t even seem aware that she was standing at the doorway, her eyes almost boring 5mm holes into his head.

He seemed lost in his own world, a fountain pen in his hand, hanging in the air over blank parchment. It seemed as if he was thinking of something to write. More importantly, he looked like he was caught in the tendrils of time, stuck there for eternity. The pen hung over the blank parchment, the tip ever so close but yet not touching. The parchment was unlike any paper she seen before. She had no idea where he obtained his writing materials, but they looked ancient to her.

Ten minutes had past, and he was still unmoving. Not even batting his eyelids.

“He’s inhuman,” she thought. She regretted accepting his advance payments for six months. Now she would have to tolerate his outlandish behaviour for that long. With that, she turned her back on him and went back to concentrate her attention on more important household chores that were screaming for attention.

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Fat pieces of black shit
Goddamn motherfuckers
Kiss my lily ass
And I don’t mean them bloody niggers

Cut your face of silicon
And burn your hair so bright
Disfigure you yes I will
Goddamn bloody bitches

Tear off your fake accessories
And your style of Japanes imititation
Bukkake is what I will practise on you
Low class motherfucking whores

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Baby in Flames

Fury of a firestorm
Lashing upon a thatched house
Standing alone in the wildness

Just like his anger of
Seeing her standing
With so many guys as
If nothing happened

A newborn baby
Wrapped in silk
Like the cocoon of death
Fire licking at his limbs

More…He feels as helpless
Looking at what was happening
What could he do to
Fate changes nothing for him
A cruel mistress

The infant struggled against his binds
Hands and legs bound alike
Trying to go against
His cruel mistress

His fists crunched into balls
Immersing into every sin he could
Just to forget the pain and the happiness
In her eyes of onyx

But as the infant burnt in the fire
Wails of distress carried over the woods
To unfeeling people of stone
In the cities of Babylon and Atlantis

He went against the flow
But his eyes cried for help
“Who shall be his saviour!”
No one batted an eyelid or even cared

As the baby slowly burn
The flames rejoicing in the loss of innocence
All the fats oozing out of the meat
A feast fit for the king

As he was even corrupted
A good soul lost
One that nobody bothered
He turned and cackled
“All ye here shalt pay for ye deeds…”

And that day the world howled
For the loss of sanity and the beginning of
Madness reborn

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