Brief eines Künstlers

Everything that I have ever wanted I have archived.

Some may say that my life’s work was grizzly and even wrong, yet who cares? I must be at peace with my deeds. I must leave this life with a smile on my face. And how many can say that at the end of their life? I think but a merry few.

So, dear reader of my last will and testament, for this it is indeed, you may now ask yourself, what have I done? I believe, while I am writing this, thar your curiosity must be gnawing at you. Surely I must be right in this?

Anywho, I am not a sadist, even though perhaps you may think this at the end of my final letter. So without further ado, here I shall reveal my life’s work and final piece of art.

I was once an artist, indeed, thought you will never have heard of my work. My childhood friend, his name shant be remembered so I will not reveal it here or anywhere else. He had stolen all my work, at first I had not known and believed him when he consoled me. Later I suspected that he was perhaps involved and once he started his own career with my works, I was sure that he was in fact the culprit

Hah and here I have you, believing I am a pure soul, not some horrible person, but this is to come, no worries my friend.

For I lamented publicity that he was but a lowly scoundrel, had no artistic genius in him, that never would he ever be able to produce what I could with my magic little hands… and what do you think happened, dear reader?

Why of course it came as it should! I was noch believed! And my former friend, that devil, who was held in high esteem, was further revered for being above my lowly accusation…

Do you still feel for me? Still believe I am a good person, just because I was beaten and betrayed? Let us see.

The story did not end here, no, it began!

My old friend, I am sure of it, he called for the inquisition and I was dragged to this monastery. My little magic was taken from me, but hah, I remained an artisan even without the sparks of the arcane in my mind.

I lived an abstinent life of art, no one ever seeing what I made. All my art was fuelled by hatred. Hatred was my past time, you might say. For so many many years I revelled in that sweet sickness and derived much mirth from it: It-truly sustained me. I searched my mind for the perfect way to kill my former friend, the most bitter sweet way… and one day I found it:

as fate would have it, my former friend come to visit me one day. That day we had tea, we spoke, we spoke of old times of yore and it was quite peaceful as I smiled and smiled. How could I smile, you may think, seeing the one person who took everything from me and broke my heart, broke the bonds of friendship? Quite easy in fact, als I’d spiked his tea with nightshade and poppies milk…

As he gently slipped from his chair, I prepared my knives. I cut that bastard up real good, enjoying every last minute of it.

So dear reader, do you still feel for me? Am I a monster? Was I just? Would you have done the same? Perhaps you’ve enjoyed my story. Do not worry there is not much more story left. Beg your pardon in case I had bored you.

So I got rid of his remains, his blood I used for paint, his meat and most of his bones. I managed to burn and bury and squirrel away so that no one will ever find them. But his skull… his skull is now yours.

I have marked it with everything that fulfils me in these final moments, with a rune of hatred. Take his skull, take my hatred.. may it be of some use for you.

Yours,

the true Artist.