The #Broken_Dagger Forum

Glenn Burnie had evolved past the point of needing introspection. He knew what was right. He knew what was necessary. He would cross any line in order to achieve his goals. Still, occasionally he would feel something, a twinge, perhaps, of what had come before. Returning to his old room in Darkenhold brought forth such a feeling. Not introspection certainly. No, it was nostalgia, and he was happy to be able to feel it. He spent most of his early life without any knowledge of a real home. In every way that mattered, Darkenhold was his first.

This room, the maps were still upon the wall, the desk was dusty with papers strewn, papers he no longer needed. The map that had brought him here was gone, but he had come to grips with that realization almost a year ago. For a Glenn Burnie without introspection, that was perfectly fine. The bed, a modest thing compared to what he slept on these days, was still well kept by the fortress' staff. They imagined Ariane would want it that way, would want him welcome there.

He sat down upon it, bouncing a bit in his seated position. "Hmnn." It was a bored noise. Nostalgia only amused him for so long these days. So instead, he looked to the door and he waited. This was a waste of time and he would rather be through with it sooner than not.

Darkenhold. Lamai couldn't say it was a place she'd like to go, but most importantly, a patient had to be comfortable. If this was where Glenn wished to be, then so be it. Still, there seemed to be memories of Ariane in the very pores of the walls, as if it breathed the woman's distaste for what she was getting ready to do.

To hell with Ariane.

Lamai's arrival pronounced itself with a knock upon the door before she opened it to allow herself entrance. She was dressed with deceptive simpleness. A well-cut, white blouse. Tanned pants. Boots. It was almost as if she was her former self, except that the clothes actually fit and she didn't look skeletal and underfed. This was a Baroness, right down to the way her hair had so obviously been braided by another's hand.

"I was concerned you'd tell me to go to hell once I'd completed my task," Lamai informed him clinically, closing the door behind her. ".. but I'm glad you didn't. I'm sure this won't take long, hm? As you've said, there's nothing wrong at all."

Nothing at all, except even Catch knew that there was. However, Lamai was all innocence and light. Just a routine checkup on an old patient.

"Modest beginnings." Burnie sat up upon the bed, facing the door, even as he watched her enter. The room was modest, but it had been home. His current dwellings, his current HOUSE was rather more impressive, if only for its location within town, not that she'd known that, of course. He hadn't invited her there, naturally. Darkenhold with another story. It was a story that was over for him, a fine place for them to revisit.

He would whip his feet about to the side of the bed so that he was sitting up in a slightly more dignified manner. That ever-present was upon his face, of course, even as he fully took you in. "You look well, Lamai." It was ages since he had called her Miss Carver, let alone by any official title. It was not a sign of familiarity and fondness however. "No, I won't tell you to go to hell. There's nothing wrong with my mind, naturally. That said, I would like you to look me straight in the eye and thank me for my role in your improved physical state. Once we get past that, we can begin." Had he engendered this entire situation just to force some semblance of gratitude out of her? Blood from a stone.

It depended entirely on whose blood and which stone. The generally friendly tone of doctor to patient dissipated like frost on a summer's day. Both of those reddish-hued brows lifted, and Lamai al'Nerun stared quite steadily at Glenn Burnie as if she hadn't.. quite.. heard him correctly.

"And which role is that exactly, Glenn? I don't recall you being there to pick me up off of a ruined beach, nor do I recall you actively pressing me to keep living, nor do I recall you pulling me out of a burning building. In fact, what I do recall is your repeated insistences that I use what little strength I managed to keep to fix your problems."

Those arms were slowly folded over her chest, and the surprise slowly melted into downright irritation at his attitude. "If you're speaking of Catch, I didn't go into that expecting to have my energy reserve refueled, nor did I go into it without having a backup plan. Therefore, I have no gratitude to offer you for fixing a situation that needed fixing. If anything, I should thank him."

The smile actually increased just a little. Her bedside manner was properly shattered. Really, a proper mood had to be set here. She called him her patient, after all. Though, to be honest, he would have probably been happier with a earnest and cheerful thank you. Ah well. "Did you thank him? I hope you did. That would have meant the world to Catch. He would cling to it as if it was a physical object. I could hardly imagine you so disingenuous." The smile stayed on his face as if he was just that sure that she had been gracious to the madman.

"Shall we begin then?" He calmly laid back down, staring straight up. "It's worth noting that no one has been in my mind for over a year, not even Rhaena. In fact, it's been longer than that. When Sarayn," and finally, the smile wavers in intensity from greater to less and back once more. "cut off her hand and broke our link violently, my mind scarred up. No one and nothing could enter. None of my thoughts could escape. Time heals such things and I think I can finally force it open for you. Let's make this quick, though. As always, there is ever so much to do."

"What happened between myself and Catch is between myself and Catch." Her voice was firm on that subject, and he should recognize that stubborness. After all, she had no intentions of telling anyone what she found in his head, either.

Still, he was laying down in an honest attempt to let her do her job. For once. As he spoke, she stepped to the nearest chair and dragged it to the side of his bed. If she was going to work, it wouldn't be standing up. To Lamai's credit, she said nothing about having told him so.

Like it or not, Glenn was still her patient. And like it or not, she was reaching out to touch his hand, grasping it in both of hers. "It'll be over in a blink of an eye, Glenn. Now, relax.."

The word almost seemed to push, to demand he relax and open up for her.

Glenn had requested a full disclosure as a terms of this deal but hardly expected her to agree to it. Glenn wasn't surprised in the least, though it was certainly a shame. He had seen through Catch's eyes, perhaps, but had never been into the man's head. Ah well, one thing at a time. First he had to get through this farce. He let her take his hands. "Relax, of course. Why wouldn't I? The archer's going to put the arrow through that window right there in a moment." He nodded his head over to the window and then winked at her. Darkenhold was a place for gallows humor but that wasn't quite a funny joke. Morbid, yes, not a funny joke. It probably wouldn't scare of off either. With a whisper of a little "ptoof" arrow noise, he shut his eyes.

--
And if she would not retreat, she would see a landscape very different than that of Catch's mind. She would see something perfect, pure, pristine, something that was absolutely, utterly beautiful, despite all logic demanding it to be mundane, dirty, and common.

It was Myrkentown, but it wasn't the Myrkentown Lamai was familiar with. The streets were marble without those Myrken standbys: dirt, cracks, or refuse. Beautiful columns jutted in between familiar building, creating an altogether otherworldly vista. They should have made the established and beaten down buildings look out of place and shoddy but they some how accentuated the familiar. They somehow made it shine. On top of the columns was a second level of city, crystalline and impossible, with angles that were just not entirely right to the eye. Yet there was no magic at play. She would simply be able to KNOW that, just by seeing it, so was the nature of the mindscape. All of this was made with human hands, human ingenuity, a conquering of nature through a purity of purpose and sheer force of will.

This was the future behind Glenn Burnie's ever-present smile, the Myrken that he strove for, the Myrken that he fought for, part symbolic, part real. There was no doubt, no fear, no hatred, no darkness. Eternal sunshine as reflected through the crystal above. It was utopia and it was bliss and she could move through it freely if she so desired, and could marvel at its wonders. Unless of course, she didn't at all. Unless of course she listened hard and heard the thumping, the steady pulsing in the background, the sound of something both near and far away. One one as skilled as her could detect the sound, the pulsing of this reality itself. To all else this WOULD be a utopia. However, one as well trained and innately powerful as Lamai, one so sensitive, could follow it to its source if she so desired. And maybe along the way, she would in fact, marvel at the impossible architecture created by the mind of this once-mapmaker.

Perfection was wrong. There was always a dark shadow to the light. Always. It was the way of life. Every step you took, there was one foot in life, one foot closer to death. Little wonder that he was out of his mind if this is what he was desiring.

Lamai slowly allowed her awareness to slide from place to place. It wasn't that she was looking, exactly. The psyche showed up different than the physical; Lamai's was no different. He'd never know that those brilliant, white wings were Catch's doing. They were whole, able to be folded back at rest against her back. However, Lamai still had the pristine, white cloth folded around her eyes. It didn't, exactly, keep her from seeing the architecture of his mind. If anything, it enhanced her ability.

It also enhanced her ability to feel that steady thrum. It pulled at her, and she half-walked, half-floated through the too-perfect Myrken in search of its strength. That pulse held her attention as if it was a beacon.

It was a shame that Catch hadn't improved her sense of the aesthetic. Granted, the madman's own was terribly skewed. He would have likely hated this place. There was nothing of the wild here. Even the most impossible thing, something utterly chaotic when looked at in isolation, fit together into a greater orderly whole in Burnie's mental Myrken.

But that was not currently Lamai's concern. She was instead drawn towards the point of repeated pressure, the booming pulses that seemed to increase in intensity as she drifted closer. The perfection of this Myrken was forced too tight. It could not breathe. It could not grow. It could not move. It was pulled taut and threatened to burst. And that threat increased as she moved ever close to the force.

Yet even as she did, nothing changed visibly. Perhaps the architecture became just a little more impossible. Perhaps the angles became somewhat sharper, but there were no cracks. there were no tears. To look at it, it was all one perfect, complete Myrken of one's dreams. This unwelcome guest was doing much more than looking though. The booming pressure had become so intense now that it had to ring painfully in her head, a steady ever-continuous pulse. If she advanced any closer there was no saying what would happen. This whole world of his mind seemed to threaten to explode around her, even as a perfect, pristine beautiful cityscape remained around her. Dare she take that last step, then?

Would she be who she was if she didn't? Lamai was nothing if stubbornly persistant, especially where those she cared for was concerned. And like it or not, Glenn counted as one of those that she cared for.

Her very psyche ached, as if the whole of herself was ringing. There was a pulse that was beyond a heartbeat; it pounded at her as if testing her very resolve. But resolve was something that Lamai had in spades.

That last step was taken, even as she braced herself for what might happen.

A black dot.

A lone, single, solitary dot.

The pounding pressure ceased suddenly.

It was replaced by that dot just a few feet from Lamai's head. One lone dot, with all the pressure of the cityscape now wholly behind it. Pushing, pressing. One lone black dot marring the pristine whites of the marble roads and the jutting columns and the crystal second level to the ideal Myrkentown.

One lone black dot being pushed by the pressure behind it, being forced forward until that tiny black dot was suddenly a tiny black head. And then it was a head and a body, a spider. One spider, then two, then three, then a dozen, two dozen, three dozen. A gross. A horde. A merciless swarm before her with tiny little fangs dripping with poison, but this poison did not cause bodily harm. It offered instead a painful, agonizing gift. It gave one clarity of focus, confidence, assurance. It devoured doubt and fear and hesitation and replaced it with something very different indeed. Glenn Burnie's mind had battled with these spiders, this swarming horde and Glenn Burnie's mind had WON. These spiders bestowed wonderful, terrible gifts, and now they sought to bestow them upon one Glenn Burnie cared about. Lamai had come to visit and what a lovely gift of welcome she might receive.

Spiders. Scores and scores of spiders. There had been some kind of warning, but nothing like this. Glenn had been holding back this storm, not only from his own mind, but Myrken's minds as well. And now, Lamai was facing the mass.

What started as a few turned into a flood and Lamai found herself recoiling away from poisoned fangs. Even Catch's secret wasn't so thoroughly disturbing. The first bite actually made her physical body jerk.

Yet, the recoil stopped a moment later. Lamai growled, and then there was fire. It wasn't a summoned fire from any specific point. It was just all encompassing, not unlike a runaway channeler. It wouldn't stop until not a spider remained.

The spiders didn't scream. They didn't shy away. The just tried to get any bite in, one little, tiny, loving bite. The fire swarmed as they had only moments before. It was a disease more potent than the one contained within their poisonous fangs. It swept through the mass of the spiders, one after the next. Just as soon as they had come, they fell to the ground, ash beginning to accumulate around her.

A wind picked up, spreading ash and fire, twisting through the perfect Myrken. With the spiders gone, it seemed to target only the unnatural parts of Myrkentown, the columns, the marble, the crystal. Everything else was left untouched. It was a raging, healing inferno, setting things right where they had been anything but.

In the end, only Myrkentown, the real Myrkentown remained, dingy, dusty, full of strange imperfections, but beautiful in its own way perhaps. And there was peace and serenity. Not a pefect peace, certainly, but a worthwhile one.

There were a few long moments where a healer might be able to appreciate her handiwork before she would hear it off in the distance.

A slow, distant throb.

This time it was coming towards her.

It was a the throb of a bruised thigh, of an arm squeezed too tightly.

Louder and louder every moment. And then it was THERE. This time, the hole was larger and the spiders were more plentiful. This time they IGNORED her. She had spurned their gift. Instead they pounced upon the scenery. They were rebuilding what had been destroyed. Columns rose in a matter of seconds. Crystalline archways sprung up as spiders passed through the streets. Grand buildings reemerged before her covered eyes.

And as they did, a truth became very clear.

The spiders were not the problem. They were not the disease. They were only a symptom.

As the tiny creatures worked around her, the hole from whence they had emerged remained opened. She had dared once and it had led to a terror. Would she dare once again?

Endless spiders. But there was less fear than there had been and Lamai didn't hesitate. Her sightless psyche stalked to that opening with a small growl.

This was her patient. Someone or something was breaking what was hers. Nevermind that he had been without her for years. He was still hers!

Fire, once again. It surrounded Lamai, yet it did not burn her. Had she developed some sort of immunity due to Catch's haphazard healing? Had she awoken something inside herself vanquishing the spiders? Or was it just that everything around her, while deadly and visceral within Glenn Burnie's mindscape, was more memory than real?

She was in an alley. The fire burned hot behind her. That refuse, garbage and dirt that had been missing from the perfect Myrken of earlier were now set ablaze. Two figures danced in the flickering light before her covered gaze. It was a dance of blood and banter, of pent up frustration, of hatred and dismissive amusement. The woman was a shadow, flowing, laughing, oozing this way and that. The male was a candle dying out. Too much, too fast, too hard. He had burnt himself out but if his last bit of light was used up to push back her darkness, it'd all be worth it.

He burst forth with honed ferocity. The shadow's graceful confidence gave way to increasing clumsiness, increasing desperation. The man drove ever forward, now withered, more ash than flame, but radiating a deadly sharp tip of light. When he spoke it was with Burnie's voice, all uncontrolled and youthful emotion with none of the poise that Lamai has seen in him as of late. There was a dark tinge to his voice as well. these words having been originally uttered in a different, more horrific language. Here in the midst of this stylized memory, their meaning was as clear as day. "You are incapable of sorrow, or sympathy, or caring. You are a monster, and you have made me a monster as well. For when it comes to you, I too am incapable of mercy or compassion." The tip of light burst through the shadow's midsection and she fell to the ground. He stood before her, ready to administer a killing blow, one that was meant to disfigure as well. The simple act of murder was no longer enough for him.

Perhaps that was his downfall, for he hesitated as he allowed himself to savor the moment. A instant later, it was too late. The entire alleyway was suddenly overcome with shadows. They struck at the dying embers of light from every direction, extinguishing his flame. The fire still burned around Lamai but there was nothing but blackness before her. Then from within the darkness came laughter and thereafter a mocking female voice. "If you want to be my monster, my poor little mapmaker, I will be more than happy to oblige." With that, even the fires amongst Lamai became lost in the darkness as the entire alleyway shifted to black.

----
The light returned and with it came opulence, the throne room of a palace in the very heart of darkness. Despite the wealth displayed, there was little in the way of light and a familiar sense of pressure permeated throughout the scene. The female shadow was there, but she was clearer now, more distinct. Lamai would be positioned beside Burnie, a perfect spot to witness this scene. He was currently bound vertically to a cold, hard slam, but was otherwise in every way himself save for dark skin and the features of a drow. Despite that, he felt like the Glenn of before, his tongue sharp and his fury evident.

The female shadow was something of a parody at best, menacing but proportioned all wrong. It was a wonder even in the impossible reality of the mindscape that she would be able to stand given how top heavy she was. Perhaps the absurd amount of jewels she wore were for counter-balancing purposes. Before their dance had been one of blood and steel. Now it was one of words. Burnie still showed his usual oblivious bravado despite his situation. The winged witness would be able to make out very little in the way of actual detail, but the gist was clear. The shadow made sure to repeat the word education a few times and the word survival as well. All of this was in that twisted and bitter language, even Burnie's retorts, though there was still a slight awkwardness in his voice. Perhaps his smoothly spoken lines from before had been somewhat rehearsed.

With a cruel, childish laugh from the bulging shadow, the transformed young man was removed from his bindings and driven to the ground. Guards violently dragged him out the door even though he was not putting up any resistance.
-----
A number of days later, those selfsame guards would lead him back in, this time to her chambers, a luxurious room with an unnaturally high balcony. It was upon that balcony where Lamai would be positioned, able to watch the scene without interruption. Still wearing that black skin, Burnie was now was clothed for the most part, though where he had obtained those clothes was anyone's guess. He was battered, beaten, but there was only a slightly deranged look to him. He had been tossed out into the darkness to survive in her household, to live amongst her retinue despite the fact each and all of them were positioned as a hateful enemy to him. He had survived but the fraying of his mind had already begun. So then, here was the shadow female now dressed like a cross between a queen and the least tactful teahouse girl imaginable, matron of her own domain. She looked upon him with amusement and she laughed cruelly and she spoke. Once again the exact words were a blur, but the gist was obvious. Young Burnie had received a taste of what his life would now be like. All of the pain and the misery of this life could end if he would simply bow to her wishes. She would get her way, obtain what he had been keeping from her, and he could gain a great deal, a permanent place of power at her side. Why? Because it would amuse her and prove that she had won. All he had to do was give in and give her what she wanted.

With slightly demented eyes, he taunted her. He refused her. He jeered at her when she would have much preferred leering. A few days did not make him so desperate as to forget his hatred for her. Now it was her turn to feel fury and for the shadow, fury had teeth, a viper-headed whip infused with magic. He would not give her what she wanted. Fine. She would take it. Once again, she underestimated his irrational resolve. He. Would. Rather. Die. So he rushed from that whip, rushed past the unseen observer, and he jumped to nearly certain doom from that balcony. It was the better of his options.By far.

He jumped and for a moment, the thrill of his defiance rushed through his hair. For a moment, he felt alive as he had never before. For a moment, the world SANG.

And then, he landed.

Burnie's leg SHATTERED as it crashed into the ground with a deafening crack. It was not merely a sound. It was a tearing of the entirety of the mindscape, a line drawn in the sand, as it was, and nothing that came after it would ever be the same. The pain brought forth delirium, but Burnie had known pain before. He had known the Ashfiend's spell. He had known horrific beatings. He had known the sundering from Rhaena. This was perhaps worse than all of those, but it would not overcome his stubbornness. His mind had placed the intruder, the winged observer beside him now, and as he finally began to crawl forward towards the gate that would lead to the dubious and deadly freedom of Underdark proper, he reached out to her as if she had really been there. His voice was a broken rasp. "Help me." There was only the tiniest hint of recognition in his eyes. He had to reach that gate. He couldn't let Sarayn's people simply return him to her chambers, and he cared not from whence the help came.