Killing was hard at first. It grew exponentially easier. The nameless Runners, the oblivious Stalked, or even the occasional servant of the Black King do not strike any emotional chord with you. So, will details help me? Will they assist the Fiddler in his cause? No. So instead I direct your attention to another time from my past, one from four years ago.
I was at a concert. The Black King had plans for the night, or so He told me. As opposed to my usual station in the orchestra itself, I was the conductor that night. After the first piece I walked offstage and announced into the microphone, "Now, a piece from Tchaikovsky." The audience in the hall seemed disinterested until I brought the cannon forth. It wasn't loaded at the time, but the audience didn't know that. It made the proper impression. The audience panicked. They stampeded out of the concert hall. The orchestra was made of stronger stuff, but when I pantomimed lighting the weapon they fled as well. When all were out of the building, I doused the floors in gasoline and rolled a cannonball into the barrel of the cannon. The fuse was just long enough to reach the soaked carpets.
A matchbox. A match. A strike. A flame. A drop.
Arson. A glorious activity. Truly fantastic. There is no sight like it.
The cannon's boom rocked the once-still night. This was no simple act of terrorism - there was indeed a greater plan. Unfortunately I was never told what it was.
Fiddler
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