The #Broken_Dagger Forum

Some distance from the slowly swelling body of water known as Silver Lake -- its surface rippled continually with the endless tapdancing of raindrops -- there was a glade in the heat-wracked woods. This glade had contained aught but a lone oak, the thirsty earth, and withered grasses for some time (due to the combined drought and heat wave, of course; but that has apparently passed). Now, however, the oak's skeletal limbs dripped, the earth's cup was overflowing, and the grasses were slicked over the softening ground like a bad combover.

There was also the matter of the glade's visitor.

Huddled beneath the oak, beneath but within its protective embrace, was the form of a man -- a man broken, but a man nonetheless. The man had arrived at the glade ... well, he did not know precisely how long ago, but the events surrounding his arrival here are irrelevant. What is important, however, is this: he was a man broken in body, shattered by faith; he was a man forsaken, and he was struggling to survive as much as he was to continue believing.

When sleep finally took the man again, the lulling sound of the rain a comforting accompaniment, it might come as no surprise that he was greeted by a familiar white vastness -- but in lieu of a window, it was occupied by a robed and hooded figure.

The figure's hands extended toward the man, as if to help him rise. While those hands came, thus went the words heard from a mouth unseen:

Thadius. Do you remember the window dream?

Crippled by his wounds it was just short of a miracle that he had made it this far. Truth be told he was not sure how it was so. He had awoken some days earlier by the edge of the lake. A place far to open for one such as he. The sight of him would not doubt be unwelcome in already troubled Myrken Wood.

The blood had ceased, but the pain in his chest persisted. It was a grevious wound, there was no doubt of that, one which almost ended his life. The memory of the blacked rapier puncturing his flesh, sliding within him, was as fresh as it could be in his mind. As was Ariane holding him as the light faded from his eyes.

Carefully the broken form of Thadius Dhrin had made his way to a glade not far from the lakes edge. Far enough that he would not be easily found. Wakefulness was not his friend.

The oak had provided much needed shelter from the sweltering sun, still his body was red and blistered from the angry rays which had reached him. Now, as the rain dropped from the branches above, he believed he may well survive this horrible ordeal. The soft patter of rain upon his flesh, cooling him, nourishing him. The hunger was not nearly as bad as the thirst had been.

The pain was still intense, and the body was weak. The mind, however, was sharp in the dreaming. Sharp enough that he made time to visit with the woman who had, quite literally, stolen his heart.

This made it doubly strange, when the voice came to him. The voice came from the figure, he assumed, who offered his hands. Despite himself, Thadius reached for those hands.

"I remember. What is it you wish of me? "

In the world of dreams, the wounds of Thadius Dhrin would not exist; here Thadius would be whole. The hands proffered to him would help him rise, but only so far: once the silver-haired man was able to stand of his own accord, those strong gloved hands let go and disappeared in the voluminous folds of the figure's sleeves.

The figure began to circle Thadius, and it spoke while doing so, its basso reverberating throughout the white vastness, its boots clock-clocking while they traced a perfect circle around the other man.

Thadius Dhrin, do you remember the feeling of faith? Or would a more appropriate question be this...

The figure halted in front of Thadius; it stood less than two paces away, but the shadows beneath its cowl remained impenetrable. And that voice -- oh, that voice...

Do you remember what it was like to believe, Thadius?

A test of your faith?

The question hung in the air like a rude neighbor at the front door, stuck somewhere between knocking and staring at the peephole for some glimpse of life within. If the figure had heard Thadius' question, it gave no answer; it continued on this topic.

Why should such a test be required, Thadius? What do you have to prove?

The robed figure began circling Thadius again.

Is your faith -- moreover, your belief and your willingness to believe -- not enough? Is the promise engraved upon your soul not enough?

Once more the figure came to a halt before him; once more Thadius would feel unseen eyes watching and weighing him.

Most of all, however: Where was He when you needed him, Thadius?

The question would likely wound the silver-haired man deeply -- it was almost as if the enigmatic being before him could read (was reading?) his mind.

You should not be made to suffer so, Thadius Dhrin. And you know it.

The circling began anew; the basso reverberated.

You, Thadius Dhrin, were abandoned by your master. You, Thadius Dhrin, were defeated, and your prize was taken. You, Thadius Dhrin, are now nothing.

The very last word in that stinging litany was punctuated by a sharp clock sound, the sound of the figure's boot heel stabbing the invisible yet firm surface they stood upon. Facing Thadius with its seemingly depthless hood, the figure spoke in a low, confidential tone.

You, Thadius Dhrin, should aspire to be more -- to have more. You, Thadius Dhrin, have the potential to be far greater than you could ever imagine -- far greater than even Him, should you wish it so. You, Thadius Dhrin, could embrace the power I offer and exact revenge on those who attempted to take your life ... including Him, who abandoned you; including the one you love, whom you gave your heart to only to have it run through.

The figure turned its back to Thadius -- and without so much as a farewell, began walking away. As the figure grew distant, its form began to dissolve gradually.

I will visit you again in due time, Thadius. I hope you have an answer by that time.

And then the figure was gone.