Beyond the Wall of Sleep

[Seth_Bloodmoon]

Brilliant blue eyes narrowed just slightly as Seth watched the unscarred Jirai launch herself towards Glenn while the scarred version took off running. The tall elf tensed but didn't launch himself into the path of the dark elf who rushed Glenn wanting to regain the crossbow. Instead he hoped the weapon wouldn't accidently fire in the scuffle over it, and tried to keep an eye upon the various unknowns. Those being the cursing, scarred Jirai and Suede. At the very least he was near Glenn, so if it seemed his help would be needed, he could intervene quickly.

Seth noticed it, that strange resonation that seemed to come from within and without. There was no real way to describe it, no single word at the least. Then it was gone, though Seth did not notice the appearance of the dreamwalker just yet, still focused upon what was going on near him. At least until the entity spoke in the calvacade of voices that was more than a little disturbing to hear. There was a narrowing of brilliant blue eyes as they fell upon the odd being for but an instant. So was this the one responsible for the two dreams a couple of years back?

There was little time in which to ponder this dreamwalker, though. Out of the corner of his eyes he caught sight of Suede lurch towards Glenn with fist flying. So the walker of dreams was forgotten for the moment, hopefully such was not a grave mistake, and Seth launched himself into motion. The tall elf lunged towards the tailor, seeking to crash into him bodily with a lowered shoulder in the hopes of knocking him away from the map-maker who was dealing with a crossbow desiring Jirai. Now things were getting interesting in a not so good way.

[Jirai]

Jirai had no expectations. Courtesey, of course, of the dreamwaker himself. Her mind had been so bent and broken, in no small part due to this... thing... that normality was gone and past noticing.

So things stood: the unscarred Jirai attacked Glenn and so, it seemed, did the tailor, while the elf attacked Suede in turn. Wonderful chaos, was it not? The dark elf was well able to writhe away from the mapmaker's hit, only to find chains she hadn't been aware of wrapped around her.

The other Jirai, though, was not so hindered, and two things had altered her plan - assuming, of course, that she HAD one. She'd come to a screeching halt once the dreamwaker appeared, and her scarred face had twisted with an odd mix of emotions - none of them pleasant - at Glenn's words to her other self.

And so out came the daggers, Jirai's instinctive response by this point, one launched at the dreamwaker, and one at Glenn Burnie. Fortunately for those surrounding him, her aim was usually quite good. They'd best hope it remained that way.

[Suede]

Suede had no idea if his hand connected with Glenn, or Dream Glenn, or anything of the sort. Seth had efficiently blocked Suede sudden act, and the elf may have felt the tailor's free hand on his shoulder as he shoved himself away from the momentum of the charge.

When he landed he stood up very straight, brushing his chest and sleeves off before adjusting his cuffs. He was standing a yards or so away form the pair and giving them a very casual look, though his words were more for Seth. "Tell him to watch his mouth or next time you won't be able to get in my way." Then he blew the elf a kiss timed with Jirai's throw. One couldn't be sure if it was intentional on his part or not, but it did have a delightfully theatric effect that sent the tailor's eyes flashing.

Ah, he loved it.

[Glenn]

And that was exactly why Seth Bloodmoon had been invited... well, that and some lingering spite over the elf leaving in the first place right when Glenn and Rhaena needed him the most. Generally, though, it was to watch the mapmaker's back against crazed, untrustworthy tailors.

So, Suede was intercepted. The first Jirai was pulled away. There was an exceptionally powerful weapon in Glenn Burnie's hands and he had someone he considered as much of an enemy as anyone save for Sarayn in his sights. Well, this was fortuitous if anything was. The crossbow had various different functions. Glenn only knew of one of them. Perhaps it was how Jirai usually had it set, little pyromaniac that she was, or perhaps it was Glenn's limited knowledge that informed the magical weapon when it was his dreaming self that held it, but the room began to get very hot very quickly.

"I've waited around two years for this." What did he know about this Dreamwaker? Fairly little. He was powerful, powerful enough to severely traumatize Rhaena when she tried to look into his mind years before. He was arrogant enough to claim it was all for their own good. He was in his element, far more so than Glenn. Would the crossbow's magic transcend into the dream in any way that mattered? Would it be enough to harm the wretch? Burnie was a creature of questions and curiosity. When faced with the Ashfiend he did not fight him. He tried to learn. This monstrosity, however, was an exception. It was an abomination that had violated all of Myrken in the most primal ways. It had to be put down. So it was that Glenn pulled the trigger on the crossbow with full force and watched as an explosion of flame burst towards the dreamwaker's form.

Burnie wouldn't have much time to enjoy his handiwork however. He was uniquely trained to dodge Jirai; perhaps no one else in or out of Underhill knew her attacks better. That only helped when he was paying attention to her, however, and right now, having launched that blast of fire and desperately hopeful that it might be effective, he was focused on the dreamwaker. The dagger embedded deep into his side; it was easily the best and most deadly blow she had hit him with, awake or dreaming, in the many months since they started upon their morning routine.

Were this the waking world, he would not be long for it.

[Kylerryth]

Deep unspeakable suffering may well be called a baptism, a regeneration, the initiation into a new state.

* * * * *

It was not until fire and steel came rushing toward it that the dreamwaker actually moved.

Until that moment, the creature had simply stood there and observed the group in front of it -- despite its eyeless face, there was no doubt it watched them. Each of them, from the drow and her duplicate to the struggling mapmaker to the self-sacrificing elf to the assumptive tailor, could feel the weight of the dreamwaker's impossible gaze as it shifted from person to person. That, however, was all. It did not speak again. It did not flinch or attempt to intervene when violence erupted. It did not even seem to breathe. Aside from the soft pulsing of the glowing golden veins across its entire body, the dreamwaker could have been mistaken for a remarkably lifelike statue.

Now, though -- now it was alive.

One could say that its hand rose to meet the explosive torrent of flame, the flashing, flipping edge of the blade, but that would be inaccurate. One moment the dreamwaker was standing there, a silent, motionless sentinel; in the next, it stood at a bladed angle with one arm outstretched, its fingers splayed wide -- as if it intended to catch what had been unleashed at it. The golden throb of its veins slowed, dimmed; the white void vibrated in response.

And then, with the spinning knife lost in its burning depths, fire engulfed the dreamwaker.

It became a liquid silhouette in the midst of the roiling conflagration, all but its shadow-shape lost to view. Even the eerie light of those veins was extinguished by the intensity of the flames, consumed as readily as the rest of the creature. The dreamwaker made no sound as the fire embraced it, obliterated it -- it just stood there and let itself be destroyed.

Or so it seemed.

"Two years, Glenn Burnie? Two years, and this is the best you have to offer."

When the fire and smoke cleared, what remained of the dreamwaker was its now-brightening, otherworldly circulatory system -- but the light had changed from a brilliant gold to a livid scarlet, the color of arterial blood. All of its skin had disintegrated, exposing the countless palpitating vessels, large and small, leading to the blazing core of the creature: its heart, which, when it beat, caused the nightmarish tracery surrounding it to flare and quiver. And in its extended hand -- or what had once been a hand -- was Jirai's knife, the veins and arteries having twisted around it.

The dreamwaker now moved toward them, its steps slow, almost casual, and punctuated by a subtle surge of red light. The knife slid from its grasp, vanishing from existence in the space of a blink; the aforementioned vessels resumed their usual shape, forming the spidery outline of a human hand.

"Two years, Glenn Burnie," said the dreamwaker, its multitude of voices lowering to a whisper. "For naught. Let me show you and your companions what I can accomplish with two seconds."

The dreamwaker's heart gave a split-second shiver, and then...

[Glenn]

Two years to prepare and this was all he had?

It wasn't, of course, despite the evidence otherwise. Here, Glenn was attacking in mundane ways when he could have fought the dreamwaker head on. He could have at least TRIED to pit his will, or maybe their collective will against the creature. Instead, he ignored everything he had been taught and just shot hopelessly with a feeble part of the dream itself.

It was completely backwards. But then, Glenn had not expected him. Glenn had prepared, but not for the dreamwaker. He had prepared an ultimate solution for the problem of Jirai, 'the drow problem,' and as everything was beginning to fade at the dreamwaker's touch, he simply refused to accept this. With all his might, despite the injury, he began to steel his own will. All he needed was a scant few seconds more before they all woke up to their respective fates. He wouldn't go this far with Jirai just to fail so completely, not when they were just beginning to make sense of her. He wouldn't fail, no matter what.

"Not yet... Not yet!"

----
Interlude: Ricathair, Two Weeks Ago:

Port cities are wonderous places, full of exotic goods, strange people, and a lively bustling that can be found almost nowhere else in the world. They are places of successes and of failures, often times more the latter than the former. People pay for passage in the holds of ships with the promise of a new life to be found upon a new shore. For most, this promise turns out to be false. With no money to return home and no one to turn to, people fall through the cracks of society, friendless, homeless, hopeless. In Ricathair, these people end up in the neighborhood known as Sorrow's Point. Located just past the far end of the docks, it is a tight collection of hovels and alleys, a den of beggars, whores, and thieves. Neither law nor religious authority has any sway there, nor does either wish to. In their eyes, it is full of people best left ignored and forgotten, people far more trouble than they are worth. Therefore, it is an ideal place for people who conduct the sort of trade that would be forbidden elsewhere. It is an idea place for those who wish to find such people. It was an ideal place for the young man in the dark cloak who had made his experienced inquiries and had been willing to pay well for answers. He referred to himself by the unlikely name of Alastir Demonsbane (unsuprising considering the mapmaker's terrible inability to name things) and he was currently in a dusty shop full of dubious arcane items, a middle-aged woman with greying hair and a gaunt face sitting across from him, a cloudy crystal ball on the table between them.

"You're uncomfortable with this, Alastir." She noted, with an impatient kindness, the sort that both of them knew was just for show.

This only seemed to annoy the young man, who generally prided himself upon his ability to make his face unreadable. "I hardly think that..." He began, only to be cut off by the woman.

Her voice was curt, the impatience rising. "I am an Empath, an ARCH-Empath, as you well know, or you wouldn't be here. If you have second thoughts, at all, I suggest you leave now." Her clothing and make-up attempted to counteract the unfortunate effects of the last decade and a half of aging, with little success. Both of them seemed to be aware of that as well. It did not improve her mood in the least. There were many downsides in knowing what all around you were feeling.

"My apologies, Tam." The young man frowned slightly. "No, I need to do this." He believed completely in the necessity. The empath could tell that as well. "I at least need to have the option. You're sure that there is no real risk to me, though?"

"Little risk." She could all but taste his hesitation. A fear of magic, more educated than superstitious. Perhaps it was a shame that he would not be wise enough to heed it today. "From what I can surmise, your mind is rather unique. Apparently, what hasn't killed it has made it stronger, that and the rather absurd amount of training you claim to have gone through. Combined with the fact that it seems to be fractured in just the right places, you should be at little risk. In fact, the fracturing makes it all but ideal." Somehow, learning that his mind was fractured, while not completely surprising, was not exactly uplifting news, even if it would make the procedure easier. "Still, Alastir, instead of moving forward with the procedure, I could manage a rudimentary healing of your mind. You would feel better. I would still get paid. We all would bene.."

This time it was the young man whose interruption was curt. "I am no one's patient, Tam." He did not like for a moment what she was implying. Part of him now wished to go through with this partially to spite a woman back in Myrken who had once idly called him "her patient." THAT thought would make him feel better."If you're unwilling to do this, I will find someone who DOES want your ridiculous fee."

"Good luck finding anyone else willing and able to achieve this without leaving you or your target a vegetable." She clicked her tongue three times. Money was money, after all. "You're sure? Alright. Let me explain the procedure one last time. After that, you can pay me and we can begin.:

"Emotional atrophy, then. People can find their emotions, or their ability to understand the emotions of others, stunted due to various unfortunate stimuli; some go cold through a head wound, some after a traumatic experience, some are magically cursed. Some are simply born lacking. There is no easy way to cure such a malady, to restore one's true emotional understanding. Those in my craft have, however, developed a simulated solution, a method to impart artificial emotions, or in this specific case, artificial emotional understanding... artificial compassion and empathy.

"It works thusly: I will take an imaging of the current emotional state of everyone I can reach in the city, thousands of people. This will cover the entire potential range of emotions and a massive number of emotional stimuli related to them. I will then compress these images into what you may picture as a miniscule ball. This ball will be placed in an isolated compartment of your mind, which is why the fracturing is particularly useful. If you can truly connect with the dreams of the person in question, all you have to do is release the ball from your mind in the midst of her dream. The emotional content will overwhelm her mind, which, unable to deal with them in any other way, will then, as a defense mechanism begin to symbolically map these emotions to her own memories, forcing her mind to relate the emotional memory we are imparting upon her to her existing memories. She will be unable to prevent herself from seeing both her memories of others and her current interactions with others with newfound empathy. It should be a seemless process. What I have described is, by far, the path of least resistance. Even if she is otherwise deranged, it would take some considerable unforseen element for the process to get muddled. Though of course, as best I know, this has never been done with a non-human before."

The young man nodded along to the empath's words. Some of it made sense, some did not, but the end result was clear. "So she'll be forced to consider the emotions of others, both in her past actions and her current ones." It had been his one major conclusion about the Drow. They were incapable of compassion. Whether this was due to something in their nature or something in their harsh upbringing, he wasn't sure of, but it was seen so plainly in Sarayn and all but confirmed in his interactions with Jirai. It was why they were able act as they did, with neither sympathy or remorse. If he could not bring sanity and reason to Jirai, he would force this upon her. If he could not fix her, he would attempt to neuter her. "I understand, then." A pouch brimming with coins rose up from his side. "Let us begin."
-----
Now:

"Not yet!" The scene wavered but remained; the sleepers did not yet wake. Then Glenn, even as he stood wounded and in agony, found the strength to pull a glowing orb from his very chest. Before the scene would fade, before the sleepers would wake, a blinding light would overtake Jirai and her dreamscape. A few seconds was all he could manage, but those few seconds were all he needed to unleash that which he had prepared.

[Seth_Bloodmoon]

Indeed, Seth had felt Suede's hand upon his shoulder as the tailor shoved himself away from the brunt of the charge. Something which didn't surprise the tall elf, and he was actually glad the man had done so. Upon coming to a halt, he immediately turned his attention back towards the tailor, to be sure the man wasn't going to lunge for Glenn again. A slight nod of his head was given to the man's words, even if Seth wasn't quite sure of the reasoning behind them, though he offered nothing in return. As for that blown kiss from the taior, well that brought a slight smirk of amusement to his angular features, despite the situation.

Unfortunately, during those moment when his attention had been focused upon Seude, he did not see the unchecked Jirai's throwing of the daggers. If he had, Seth would have tried putting himself in the path of the one aimed for Glenn. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, he wouldn't be getting the chance to be killed by a dagger again in the land of dreams. Somewhere during all the sudden chaos he felt the weight of that 'alien' gaze upon him, but refused to acknowledge it.. for now.

The tall elf's attention, was, however, drawn towards Glenn as the sound of the crossbow unleashing firey death reached his pointy tipped ears. It was just in time to see that deadly dagger slam into his friend's side, "Glenn!" The name issuing forth from his lips as he lurched towards the mapmaker. At least there was the fact this was a dream, and not the waking world. That didn't make it any easier though.

Seth stopped short of the mapmaker though, brilliant blue eyes drawn towards the fire engulfed form of the dreamwalker finally. Did the being feel the agony of being burned alive? That random though dancing through his mind. Maybe it didn't, judging by the fact there was no frantic flailing and running around to be seen. Then came a moment of disappointment. That cacophony of voices spoke and the inferno cleared to reveal what was a ghastly sight in its own right. What in the Nine Hells was this thing? Seriously? Truly, Seth wish he knew more about the being, especially now.

Narrowing his eyes as he saw that the dreamwalker was now moving in their direction, Seth curled the fingers of his right hand about Twilight Heart's handle. Oh, he understood the sword might be utterly useless against the strange being, but it was damned reassuring to have the sword in his grip. Thus, as the walker of dreams addressed Glenn again, the tall elf drew his sword from its sheath, relishing the song of steel singing as it was freed.

One step was taken by Seth towards the dreamwalker, then another even as their surroundings wavered and Glenn spoke. The glowing orb the mapmaker pulled from his own chest went unnoticed by the elf, his full attention upon the creature of dreams, or maybe nightmares was a better way to put it? Yet he never made it to his destination as that blinding light enveloped everything...

[Jirai]

And then.

Somewhere, Jirai awoke.

And a moment later, passed out again.

A mind can only deal with so much at a time.

In some ways, though, this was the opposite of breaking. Almost, between the Dreamwaker and Glenn Burnie, it was putting her mind back together - but in a way it had never been before.

It remained to be seen what the results would be - when she finally regained consciousness.

[Glenn]

Glenn Burnie woke in a cold sweat and significant pain.

It had all gone wrong. They had been making progress and it had all gone wrong. After all of his preparations, he had been caught by surprise and had fought the dreamwaker on the worst terms possible. Stupid. They had been making progress with Jirai and ... he had unleashed the memories upon her in desperation. Was there a need? Could they have worked through her problems with the knowledge they had gained? None of it mattered anymore. What had he done?

He stung. It stung. Failure stung... but then, failure didn't sting in one's side. Not like this. With a gasp, he managed to sit up slightly. Glenn Burnie attempted to scream out for help but he had no strength for it. In his side was Jirai's dagger, a last gift from the dreamwaker. The injury from the dream had followed him to the waking world, with the instrument that caused it coming along. At one point, one recent point, he had collected Jirai's daggers like totems, like relics. Now, it was the last thing he wanted. Were he to stay like this, were he to accept this, he would die.

He'd have to pull it out. He'd have to rig a makeshift bandage. If he could do both of those things, the potions flowing through his body currently would do the rest, in time. That was the reason he had to end this with Jirai, why he had tried in the first place. Every night, he'd go to sleep cut and broken. Every morning he'd be mostly fine again. The potions cost him so much; at first, they may have even cost him his friendship with Tebrin. They had cost him his touchstone as well, and getting it back... that was... ghastly on a daily basis.

Now though, he'd be done with all of it. That was the point of last night's excursion. He would be done with training her, would be done with putting that unnatural fluid in his system, would come up with a permanent solution to the loss of the touchstone.

He just had to survive the morning.

[Suede]

Suede had left that needle against his skin this entire time, just waiting for SOMEONE to try something just a little too crazy. He was smart enough to know he didn't want to go into a world where he had no control, or no escape. Suede always had an escape. So after Glenn had offered him his crazy scheme, the tailor had done some research, talked to people amongst his circles, and learned a bit about dream.

Just went Glenn unleashed that ungodly flash of light the tailor jammed the needle into himself, face twitching in pain even as the light blinded him. He sat panting his fingers fumbling at his wrist for the dull end of the needle, slipping on several droplets of blood before they found purchase and he could tear the needle from his arm. He rolled awkwardly from his bed and stood, largely ignoring the lingering blood falling to the floor to follow the pin drop.

He felt dizzy, but didn't reach for a wall, convincing himself he didn't need it. When he was certain he was steady, something that seemed to take forever, he grabbed his cloak from the wall hook and threw it over his shoulders. He reached the door and hesitated. Where was he going? He knew, but he wasn't sure he wanted to... of course he did. With a force of will he grasped the door handle and slipped outside with considerably less zeal than he normally had.

Even before he reached open ground his eyes were darting left and right as if anticipating something.

[Seth_Bloodmoon]

Suddenly, Seth found himself quite awake and sitting up on his bed. His right hand was gripping Twilight Heart hard enough to actually cause a hint of pain to shoot through his hand. A thin sheen of cool covered his flesh as his chest rose and fell rapidly with near frantic breathing.

Slowly, but surely, the tall elf managed to steady his breathing. Finally he released his grip on the sword at his side as he shifted to swing his legs over the side of the bed. Lifting his left hand, he raked his fingers through long, silver locks and closed his eyes for a moment as his thoughts raced.

Things had gone badly, of that Seth was sure. If it hadn't been for the dreamwalker surely things would have ended better? A mental shrug was given to that, it really wasn't his concern any longer. That mess was Glenn's problem, after all. He'd only been along for the ride. Why in the world had he agreed to go along? Surely he hadn't been thinking straight at the time. Oh well, it was done and overwith now.

Outwardly the elven warrior was quite well. As had been expected, he'd awakened without a scrape after the dreamscape had been devoured by the bright light. Yet, in truth, Seth had not escaped unscathed. The dream walker had done something. A part of who he was seemed to be gone, though he didn't percieve the fact. To him, everything seemed fine.