The #Broken_Dagger Forum

"Just a little to the left, I think."

A flutter of crimson silk, a muffled 'whump', as the pillow settled into place with the rest. A volumous mass of pillows of all shapes and sizes littered the floor beside her bed. Ranging in color from onyx to a pearly silver and from sanguine to pale pink, they consumned the floor from bed to doorway.

"I suppose that will have to do for now."

Galacia Tarin-Talus looked over the room slowly. It was much smaller than she liked, but much warmer than her hideaway in the Black Mountains. Though she would have to see about fetching her books. There was little to read, at least of any interest, around here.

Reclining on the mountain of silk, she closed her piceous eyes, smiling softly to no one but herself.

It was far past time, she had known it was for longer than she cared to admit. There had been nothing of substance holding her there. Only memories. Memories so far faded that they really had little meaning anymore. Besides, what good were memories when there was so little else? The game had grown thin, lackluster.

This seemed a fine place to begin again. There were many folks who travelled through, and some interesting enough who actually stayed around for a time. There would be new...friends, aplenty.

Her first night here had been intriguing. Finding the bed far from her liking, she had stayed awake most of the night, sampling. The emotional content of the inn itself was fascinating. The very structure seemed to ooze an energy formed of memory. It seemed to hold snippets of all those guests who had come before. Galacia found herself wondering how strong the feelings were for the other beings who made this place their home for a time.

Rising, bared feet placed on the rich wood of the floor, she smiled once more. A worn peice of brown cloth, unwrapped from her wrist, served to tie up her unkempt ringlets of raven. A momentary faraway look in her dark eyes.

A blink. A shake of her head, the smile returned.

The whole of the inn was asleep once more, and it was in those times, that Galacia truly lived.

It took little time for Galacia to clear a neat path to the bed. Her own sleeping pillows piled just that much higher to the right of the room, creating a bare valley between they and the simple bed.

A clean shirt was folded neatly on the white pillow, soft natural cotton, instead of rough wool. The girl could use a bath, but there was not time for such luxury. A clean shirt would save some of the grim from staining the unused sheets.

A stuttering tapping came at the door, drawing her attention from the sleeping arrangements. Synna had arrived. It was time for their adventure to begin.

"Come in, little one."

The subtle monotone she had used in the common room had been replaced by a velvet purring. A voice used by some women to lure men into their beds, but physical relations with this young woman were not what Galacia had in mind. This was simply the natural conveyance of her voice.

Again the gentle hand was offered, taken this time without hesitation by the woman-child. The shirt was shown to Synna, as Galacia turned her back, allowing the girl to get comfortable.

"The bed is yours. I will sleep here on the floor, I have my pillows. I will leave the lantern lit, its flame low, if it will soothe you."

With a smoothness almost rivaling the surface of her pillows, Galacia slid on to her pile of silk. Wide ebon eyes watched as Synna crawled into the offered bed, still seeming as dull as ever. Galacia saw something in those eyes that others might miss, there was a fear, a sadness, deep within. Something more than what was conveyed by the outward apperance of the female.

"Sleep now, Child. Rest and forget."

As the girl burrowed under the blanket, Galacia closed her eyes and waited. Waited for the smooth, even, breath of sleep to come over the girl. Waited, for her time

The shirt was pulled onto her, quickly stained and ruined inside just by what came off her hair. The tatters of her garb were not removed, as the idea had not struck Synna - she simply had the impression she was to put the shirt on, and did it. Synna, after all, always did what she was told.

Silk-laden and sweet, the bed looked strange to her. But the girl could not possibly summon up enough argument to exchange places - at the first negation of protest, she buckled, and climbed in. Very soft. And in a way, very comfortable. More comfortable than anything before it... She fingered the purple scarf around her neck a little, and hidden in the pillows, Synna made one of those vague, rare, tiny smiles of hers, that could be so uplifting or heartwrenching to a viewer who cared.

Soon eyes drew to a close, still not enough to cease the flow of her tears. They oozed from her eyes, gathered their share of black ash, and then tumbled, plump with their treasure, to the pillow and beyond. This they continued, unceasingly, even as Synna's shallow breathing grew slower, and eventually deeper, and she slept. Slept, perchance to dream.

***

A strange, grassy hill. That was the world. That was all that mattered, that was all that existed. The colours were all dull, and dimmed, and yet the place had an off brightness to it, eminating from every part of the sunless sky. A sky, swirling with grief, twisting with black and grey and red, bulging into dull purples, fading into empty whites. And dancing between the clouds, hideous figures slipped out, nightmarish apparitions of Eldritch proportions and description, some too maddening to even behold, let alone describe. And all, dying, oozing their divine blood from on high, stabbing, biting, clawing at each other in the failing light of godhood, murdering their kin for reasons no mortal knew.

The grass, too, was ever shifting. Shifting between the phases of life, dead, brown, and shrivelled in one moment... slowly unfurling into new grass in the next, only to grow immediately brown, to fall over limp, to die. To live, and die, unendingly, cruel fate.

A tall, gnarled shadow of a willow. That was the centerpiece of this strange place, of this hill that descended only into a mirror of the foggy sky above. It was twisted, as if some great, molding hand gripped it about the trunk, turned it 'round upon its roots, bent it, pulled, and let it be, a shattered masterpiece. It constantly shed dead leaves from amidst the living, shuddering with the impacts from divine battle, up above.

There, in the middle, was the driving force of the tale. A woman, lay back upon willow. She was not old, perhaps in her mid-twenties. Long, wavy blonde hair fell around her naked shoulders, concealing the curves of tanned flesh. In her arms, craddling another young woman across her lap.

Synna was so different, in her dreams. Slender but not scrawny. Pale, but not dirty. She was clean, healthy looking. And her hair was black. Not blonde stained to black with ash, but a true, raven lustre, falling about her thin body. She did not weep, which kept the black painted beneath her eyes from becoming a wretched mess. In fact, over all... Synna was hauntingly... 'pretty', in her dreams. Ah, and she laid, unrobed -- for all people were nude in Synna's dreams -- against the comforting breast of the first woman, peering up at her in awe.

That woman sang. Sang soft songs, smiling adoringly, singing gentle lullabies. The songs went on for what felt seconds, hours... years. Lifetimes. And eventually, Synna's eyes nearly closed, sleep nearly took her in this realm of dreams. When a wretched voice awoke her from her revelrie. Eyes slowly opened.

The woman was not the same. She peered away. Her skin had taken a greyed hue, hair suddenly filthy and furled wildly. Synna watched her, in profile, as she scowled far away.

"Why did you do that?" was the demand.

"Do what?" the innocent reply. Warmth hit her. Synna's icy stare fell, fell to the gaping wound that had grown of its own will in the singer's chest, just below the ribs. It spurt blood unceasingly, slicking Synna's middle with it.

"Why did you KILL ME?" was the shrieked reply, as the face turned towards Synna. Half of it was gone. The flesh, muscle, all gone, leaving half of a bloody skull to screech at her in fury.

"Because I love you, mama," was the crooned reply, as she settled her face back against the corpse's neck. A skeletal hand raked Synna's shoulder in the fury of undeath. It spilt blood. But created no wounds.

"Cry, child! Weep for all you've done!" it wailed, in impotent fury. Unable to breech the mind, unable to instill the horror it sought...

"You're at peace, now, mama," she whispered happily, closing her eyes. And there she lay, the shattered, gory form of her late mother wailing and clawing at her, as she huddled close, sucking in the comfort of the presence.




And not far away, that ever present staple in all of Synna's dream. That one part she would never recall upon awakening. Standing at the edge of the hill, that one form, shrouded in a dark robe and hood, staring from darkness. A part, but apart, from this dream. From all the dreams. Simply watching. Staring. Ever so.

Drip, drip, drip, drip

The sound created a steady rythym which soothed her. It was a large part of why she had chosen this cave as her own.

The thick black stone created perfect darkness when the oil lamps were cold. They soaked in the harshness of the light while she did her writing. The enterence, far above, fed no natural light into the keep. In fact, it barely provided fresh air.

Situated against the north wall was a mound of pillows. Dove grey to an elegant midnight black. Their surface woven from the smoothest silk, stuffed then with the softest goose down. She had traveled all the way to Hythero to purchase them.

The west wall had been painstakenly hewn into shelves. It's entire length, until it reached the narrow upward passage to the outside world, was a home to her extensive collection of herbs, potions, books and scrolls.

Save for a stone chair, nearer the east wall, the rest of the keep was bare. Left in it's natural state, cold, and harsh.

Far above, now only a slight depression in the snow, it rested. Past the myriad of wards, in place long before any of it had happened, was a simple, crude, hole in the frozen earth.

"Katella"

Even in this place, a simple memory, the voice was somewhat startling. A single word. A name. A name she had almost forgotten.

In the center of the bare rock floor, lay a journal. Open, a quill and ink well close by. Neatly placed, as if their owner would pick them up again shortly.

A shadow lingered, near the passage upward, which she tried to banish from the nearly clean memory.

"You have removed me once before, Galacia Tarin. You will not remove me again."

How long ago had those words been spoken? Had it been lifetimes?

And suddenly, in the memory, he was there. HIs once young and handsome face, distorted, disfigured. The sweet young slave boy a torturous vision of what had been. His face covered in wet dirt. Once tender lips now black, and cracking away from yellowed teeth.

His words fresh, as if only yesterday... This was her memory! She did not want to remember this.

"I remember. I remember more than you would ever wish, Galacia...For your betrayal will never be forgotten...by me...or by you."

It had been then, her own lips, her own voice, that spoke those words to her that night. She had looked into the face which was her own, but was not.

It was torture. It was a punishment from some God that only mortalss and fools believed in.

In her memory she moved to her nest. The comfort of her pillows. A place of many warm memories. A place to forget, a place to live again.

"So begins your punishment, Galacia. I have you within me...and so you shall live forever. You...need no longer exist."

The haunting voice almost her own, but it was not.

"No."

And this was her voice. In her memory, obsidian talons tore at her precious pillows. Pure white feathers swarmed in the pitch blackness of the keep. A light, from where she could not tell, reflecting on them. It seemed each was illuminated individually. Creating a stark white snow storm in the darkness of the keep. The sharp contrast of white on black, startling.

"I must exist. I will exist. I did it for you!"

Through the storm of feathers, she ran. Toward the freedom offered by the entry. Toward the voice which taunted her.

Face to face now, with the only memory to ever give her pause, she saw his face. Clear now, as perfect and different as it had been that day in room 23. Galacia dropped, to her knees, in resignation and acceptance.

"You submit to your punisment? You realize your wrong, and embrace your death with honor?"

As cold here as they had been that day, those words. She raised her head, looking directly into those eyes. The eyes which held worlds for her.

"Yes."

And the onyx claw descended...

***

Ebon eyes opened to the relative darkness of the room in the Broken Dagger.

That had been a lifetime ago. It was time to begin to put the pieces back in order...for both of them.

Synna slept. Her breathing told the tale, that she had begun to dream.

Galacia rose from her nest, and took two long steps to reach the woman-child on the bed opposite her own. Graceful, yet deadly, fingers reached to cup Synna's face, as if caressing the cheek of a lover.

A smile, of questionable nature, rose on those full lips, as it began.

***

It seemed it always began here. A grassy knoll. A childhood memory for most, sometimes just a neutral place, a place of beginnings. She found herself now, on another grassy hill, which seemed to writhe and changed in a steady rythym. The cycle of life was reflected here, many lifetimes passing in this place in minutes.

The Dream Witch watched the two women from afar. Contemplating their interactions with true interest. The songs crooned by the first were genuine. Songs a mother sings to her child, instilling a false comfort, an untrue safety, before sending them, alone, into the dreaming.

Synna was the woman in the other's lap. Happily cradled like a child, despite her passing from that age many cycles ago. Dreams were like that. In dreams they could find comfort which had eluded them for a lifetime...or horrors long since thought dead and buried.

As she watched the mother change, Synna's reaction to it was what caught her interest. Something else lay beneath. No child could watch their parent fade from life in such a way, and not be shaken. Something else protected her from realizing what was happening.

A movement. A shadow. Somewhere in the dream, another memory lay just hidden.

Galacia moved from her hidden place upon the hill, toward the willow which held the woman, and the corpse. Unclothed, as was the nature of Synna's dreams, she approached the two. Long ebon spirals of hair almost clothed her, though she had no shame about her chosen form. It seemed this was they way people were presented in Synna's world.

"Hello, little one."

The name was a pet name, one she had called thousands of others in her lifetime. It held no age, only a comparison to herself, in which all were little.

Ebon eyes, fully black from lid to lid, a vast starless sky, looked toward the woman.

"Perhaps you could introduce me to your friend? I do not think I have had the pleasure."

Dark gaze shifting over the dead thing that was once Synna's mother. Then toward the shadow clinging somewhere close, but out of reach.

Galacia smiled, in that strange comforting way, as she waited for the girl to lead her further into the dream.

"This is my mama," Synna said, smiling faintly at the intruder in her dream. Her subconscious was not familiar enough with the woman to truly recognize her, but nonetheless, Synna smiled as warmly as if Galacia were her oldest friend. After all, what was truly unusual in a dream? Not much.

But, of course, she would be quickly assured that it was not the ravaged undeath who was referred to as 'friend'. Synna's icy eyes turned slowly to her mother, still raking skeletal talons across unyielding flesh. Begging her, commanding her to feel sorrow, to mourn her deeds. Gently, Synna put a hand to the woman's chest, to the bloodied, ravaged flesh, and pushed her gently back against the willow. As shoulders hit it, the mother dissipated, wheezing into a smoky mist. The blood that had slicked Synna faded as so did the maternal cloud. As if the undead figure had never been.

Synna got slowly to her feet, without struggling, wobbling, without any of the weakness or flaws that haunted her waking hours. And as the cloaked figure was pointed out, her icy eyes swept uselessly over it. Not once did recognition or even awareness cross her features. She simply seemed to be incapable of perceiving the cloaked form.

"Who?" she asked, at a loss to see the form in the unusual cloak. Beneath, shadows engulfed any features. It was impossible to say who or what it was that watched the girl's dream. Watched all her dreams. Watched. Constantly. And yet, it was not a part of it, despite standing right there, hardly more than ten paces away. Synna would frown at Galacia, at a loss.

And the figure, it, too, turned its head, now, towards Galacia. And like Synna, it watched, and waited, to see what was forthcoming.

In the distance...

It stirs.

"Come with me, child."

The slender hand, decorated with pale, rusty-colored tattoos, reached for Synna. Obsidian talons, much longer than in the waking world, closed around that of Synna. Galacia's hand was warm, warmer than might be normal, but this was a dream, afterall.

Gently, she led the woman-child down the hill, the grasses continuing their constant change from life to death beneath her bare feet. Approaching the mist which mirrored the sky above, she paused, and looked back at Synna.

"Trust me."

The pair continued into the mist, their vision obscured for but a few moments. As the mist cleared, a door stood before them. Aged oak cracked and splintered, yet still remained whole, a great brass ring set in its center.

"Open the door, Synna."

Her companion looked at her, more clearly than she would have in the real world, but still with some sort of childlike confusion. Synna hesitated, as Galacia knew she would. Their joined hands were put upon the ring, and the dream witch helped her pull the door open.

Before them stood a vast hallway. Doors lined the corridor on either side, continuing on until nothing but darkness could be seen, but one knew the doors continued into that darkness.

Each door was different. Some seemed new, shining paint, gleaming fixtures. Still others seemed as old, or even older, than the one which had led them there.

"Show me the way, Synna. Pick a door, and we shall continue."

Galacia wondered if the shadowed figure had followed them. She assumed not, because she believed that they would find the figure once more, resting comfortably behind one of the doors. What tales would it tell, she wondered.

So it would be. Door after door, whether creeking on rusty hinges or sliding open with the elegance of a palace's great barriers, they opened one by one. Each time, a door was opened, the contents inspected, and after a short confrontation about each, closed again. Memories.

Opened. Synna crawling, still young, through snow, skin blistered with frost bite, teeth chattering. Didn't it hurt? Yes, yes it hurt. But not enough. Closed.

Opened. People throwing stones at Synna as she staggered from a town's borders, crying as usual, but with passion, as she shielded her head from rocks as best she could. Don't you hate them? No. I have bad demons. Closed.

Opened. Synna pinned to a tombstone by one man as another reaches to tear at the silk she wears. Frightened, the sharp, curved blade of her ornamental dagger rends flesh, and kills one. The other goes berserk and stabs her, beats her, but never will she die. Screaming about monsters, he flees. Didn't it frighten you? Yes. Do you hate them? No. I'm sorry I killed him. Closed.

Opened. Synna can't walk. So many of these. Falling in front of people. Being helped up. Falling down stairs, onto stones, even into a lake or river on more than one occasion, nearly to drown. Onto blades brandished in fear or anger. Falling, falling, always bringing eyes of pity or fright to her. Don't you hate yourself for falling down? Yes. But... Closed.

Opened. Weren't you afraid? Closed.

Opened. Didn't it hurt? Closed.

Opened. Doesn't it haunt you? Closed.

Nothing. Nothing could phase the girl as she prowled this hall of memories, nothing in her wretched, horrible life made her do more than lower her head in the occasional, faint shame. There were precious few joyous memories - a life led most tragically.

But all the time they opened and closed doors, it drew nearer. And soon, it was again only paces behind, that cloaked form, shrouded in shadows and unreality, watching.

Just watching.

Synna had proved to be an interesting creature. So much so, that if she were so inclined, Galacia would have dug deeper, to understand the root of the woman's inability to be injured. The truth of it was, there was little she wished to do here. The girl had been through so many trials already that precious little was disturbing to her. It might take another few nights to find the single seed of terror that the dream witch sought.

The being that seemed to flow behind them, like some wraith of a lost dog, was beginning to tire Galacia. It would soon be time to call the night to an end.

~One more, Synna, and then we can go back.~

The woman-child opened a simple door. Neither old, nor new. Neither grand or worn.


Synna stood in the midst of a vast crowd. The scent of cooking meat and live animals was heavy in the air. Strangely, the scene was masked, to some extent. It seemed as though a thick mist covered one and all, but it was not a part of the memory. Instead it seemmed to be an attempt by Synna's mind to hide this memory from SYnna herself.

There was nothing remarkable about the memory. SYnna had apparently gone to the marketplace to find food. As, it seemed, was usual, she found herself losing sight of her goal and watching different people as they passed by. Quickly losing interest in one, and looking on to another.

A womman wearing the fuurs of several dead animals. Small, like foxes, wrapped about her neck, with their heads still attached. Then a burly man with a great axe, almost as tall as Synna. A young man, thin and tired,running into the crowd, perhaps he had stolen something.

Synna's gaze remained on him for longer than the rest. He was interesting, for the moment. As he wove his way deeper into the crowd, something happened, something to hold her gaze for that much longer. Dark brown eyes looked directly at Synna, as he darted behind a couple haggling to buy a keg of dwarven ale. When he emerged from the other side, he still looked upon her, but with strange yellow eyes.

What was this boy, perhaps some sort of were-beast? As she watched, he continued to weave through the crowd. Dark mahogany locks shifted to flowing tresses of gold. Tan skin became ivory white, arms elongating, fingers thinning. Even his garments shifted. And when it was all over, a new being made it's way, calmly, through the crowd, back in the direction it had come. Still, the eyes seemed to continue to shift, shining like beacons, through the mist of the memory. As if that was the only thing of the memory that remmained clear to Synna, those eyes.

They were eyes that Galacia knew, and they gave a chill down her long spine.

~Enough. Let us return.~

Galacia firmly closed the door to the memory behind them. The motion echoed down the vast hallway, slowly fading into nothingness.

It waited there, the thing which had been following them since they left the knoll. Close enough now that Galacia could almost see it's face in the depths of the dark cowl.

This was becoming tiresome. She was not a creature who appreciated company in her realm. This was her place, her world, what right did it have here? Her patience at an end, she wheeled about to face it fully.

~That is enough. What are you? What business do you have here?~

As she spoke, a low growl instead of her normally charming and soothing tones, she approached the creature. One slender hand raised, obsidian talons long and serrated.

~Identify yourself, immediately.~

"What... business... do I have?" it whispered. The whole form shook, suddenly, a brief tremble of thinly veiled fury. It stepped forward... No, it seemed to drift.

"What business... do I have here?!" Its voice was raspy, strained, that of an old and angry man. But it resonated, reverbing throughout all things, bouncing around this place in Synna's mind, Synna's dreams, all at once both an echo and a noise born from every place at once. Perhaps that was why, suddenly, Synna turned her gaze to the cloaked form. Eyes went wide as, for the first time, she saw it. Arms curled up to her chest, crossing over, clutching at the shoulders and neck in fright.

"What business do YOU have here!?" it screamed in outrage, as shadows began to descend upon the form, streaming in towards it from every crack, from under the doors, anywhere out of sight, ripping from down the hall and out of the floor and even from Synna herself, leaking as ink from her eyes, wrapping 'round the creature. And, then...

"I own this place! I own HER!" it shrieked. The cloak it wore exploded backwards, as if struck by a massive blast of air. It tattered and tore, its pieces lost beginning to regrow as they lashed off... And although the shadows consumed its form, they were suddenly locked in battle as divine light erupted from this figure in its outrage. It held this darkness at bay, now, revealing its wretched, cadaverous form...



"Who am I...?" the thing hissed, bones exploding from its shoulders, the remnants perhaps of one-time wings... Synna wailed aloud, in true, absolute horror.

"I AM KYTHELLISGAMOIRE." it reverbed mind shatteringly. And then, hurtled forth, in pursuit, to drive this intruder away.

And Synna just screamed.

It was not so much the apperance of the creature, as it was it's obvious need to rid this place of her. Galacia had seen many beings in her time, and this one was no more, or less, gruesome than any other.

True enough, it has startled her. Until that moment it had been content to watch, waiting for some unknown to spur it in to action. Apparently Galacia had been that unknown.

Synna's screams resonated over the monstrous voice of the creature in Galacia's mind. Sweet as honey, the very essence of life. A moment was taken, even as the being rapidly closed the distance between them, to savor the delightful sound.

She was no fool. She had not survived this long by taking unneeded risks in anyone's mind. Whatever this thing was, it was deeply rooted here, and this was its home. Considering she knew nothing of it, save for the precious little it had offered, it would be unwise to further challenge it...not here.

~Then have her, Kythellisgamoire! Let this sad and desolate place be your home. I have no further need of it.~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A step taken, and she was free of the girl's mind. As easily as she had entered, did she leave it. Synna would follow her to the waking world in short order, certainly she would not wish to remain. Just to be sure, Galacia reached out and pinched the woman-child's arm firmly.

"Return Synna. It is over."

Over for Galacia, certainly. Though from the response given to the being within her mind, she doubted that this was over for Synna. Indeed, it was most likely only the beginning.