Death of Music.

Hopety hop, rider,
if he falls, he will scream,

should he fall into a pond,
no one will find him soon.

The damp darkness was suffocating. The wooden boards huddled closer and closer by every breath he drew in, and there was no breathing out. The stench of wet soil and decay reached hairy tendrils down his nostrils and into the very pit of his stomach. The dread had become a living and breathing thing in this realm, a relentless presence that inched ever closer, carrying a visage of unspeakable malice. He tried to scream, even though he had long ago abandoned any hope for help, but he had completely lost his voice. He tried to cry, but one can only cry for so long and he had spent his precious tears for the time being.

Of all the demons assailing him in his anguish, the worst of all was the silence. It weighed upon him heavier than all the layers of earth above him, a crushing sheet of moist mold constricting him from all directions.

He clung tightly to his precious box, fumbling in the darkness until he found its tiny lever. Rotating it gently, he drove away the silence and was able to release the air in his lungs once again.

Hopety hop, rider,
if he falls, he will scream,

should he fall into the ditch,
the ravens will eat him.

Gone. Erapheus woke up from his hallucination with a jolt, scanning his surroundings. The sun was shining at the cathedral square, the last rays of the dusk basking the bastion of Light in the very essence it stood for. Yet, even though the environment was quite pleasant, Erapheus could not banish the feelings of his vision; he knew he would not be able to, until he was reunited with what was taken from him.

Erapheus peered into the square again, his eyes fixing on the pair of edgy gnomes surrounded by a dozen of aggravated citizens. Patiently biding his time, he knew he would have his turn eventually.

“Hey ya!” screamed a high pitched voice, making Erapheus startle. Suddenly he was surrounded by a ragged bunch of masked figures, pinning him against the wall.

“Ya trying to be smart eh? Ya making fun of me? He is isn’t he?” a masked gnome spurted out, waving his hands in frantic patterns. Amidst the adrenaline kicking in, a moment of gratitude washed through Erapheus for the mask catching all the saliva. The henchmen nodded and mumbled agreeably in a choir of twisted malice and expectation, the words of their leader barely registering anymore as each anticipated the thrill of a beating, or perhaps even more.

“Can’t be having that, can we, oh no. Whaddya reckon we do with this smart-ass, guys?” the gnome cried out, stepping around in circles.

“Shoot him” blurted out an unshaven shade of a man, some drool dripping over his reeking beard.

“Oh no, we can’t be doing that… What are we, criminals?” the gnome shrieked, letting out a high-pitched guffaw at his own thoroughly-thought punchline. Some of the quicker bandits joined in on the laughter instantly, and the slower ones followed after a moment upon meeting the glare of their leader.

“We’ll let you go this time, but you’ll do something for us first…” the gnome grumbled, pacing around unnervingly. “You lure a rich looking person into the house over there” he added, pointing at an unoccupied house at the edge of the quarter.

“And should I refuse?” Erapheus responded finally, taking a long look at the masked men, assessing his situation.

The gnome halted his pacing and leant closer,

“Let’s just say dead men don’t refuse”

Coarse bursts of guffaws in his ears and the reek of unwashed bodies in his nostrils, Erapheus merely nodded, subdued; his hand absently groping his pockets, seeking to find a comforting presence of the box but to no avail.

The bandits receded into the building. Erapheus closed his eyes and lifted his face against the sky, a silent prayer climbing up into the sunlit clouds.

Hopety hop, rider,
if he falls, he will scream,

If he falls into the hedges,
he will get frightened.

“Fall in line, prepare to storm in on three, shields at ready!” the plated officer was issuing orders with drilled ease, and the similarly armoured men under his command replied not with words but with disciplined formations and consistent maneuvers, assuming close-knit battle formations at the door of the thuggish hideout.

“One!”

Erapheus braced himself at the back of the lines, feeling somewhat out of place trying to fit into the tight formations, but at the same time awash by feelings of belonging and purpose; his prayer had been heeded – his faith had been rewarded – the Loving Mother of all the children had intertwined the paths of himself and this troop of guards at the eleventh hour. His gratitude and awe left him speechless, he could not find words to express them even in his prayers, but in his heart he knew he needed not – She would know.

“Two!”

Erapheus brought forth his long sword, uttering the last prayers for himself and the soldiers of her blessings now beside him:

“Three!”

”May thy misguided souls be laid to dust by this blade of righteousness!”

Hopety hop, rider,
if he falls, he will scream,

Should he fall into the swamp,
then the rider goes... splash!