In the Spaces Between.

In the Spaces Between.

Postby Kylerryth » Sat Nov 24, 2012 7:41 am

"Good afternoon, Governor Burnie."

Perhaps not the greeting Glenn had expected, considering his previous experiences with the supernatural and what limited information Ariane had possessed to share, to better prepare him for this encounter--but was that such a terrible disappointment? If there were one other thing Ariane could have told Glenn, it would be that the enigma known as Kylerryth was not prone to grand theatrics. No flashing lights to dazzle the beholder and inspire soulful awe; no deepening, encroaching shadows with tempting promises and hidden cavernous maws--no; none of that, now or later, but what appeared before the Governor of Myrken Wood was, in its direct simplicity, possibly more frightening.

On the surface, Kylerryth was nothing more than a man of above-average height with green eyes, a pale complexion, and long, straight-flowing black hair. He was clad in casual clothes: a loose-fitting dark green shirt, its sleeves rolled back to his elbows and its laces left untied to expose more throat and chest, that bloused over the waistband of his tight yet supple black wool pants, which had not a trace of ornament or embellishment, not even a belt; and a pair of soft-soled leather slippers, dyed to match the exact color of his shirt.

That was where his resemblance to humanity ended.

No human male in existence, past, present or future, could have been so symmetrical in shape and aspect, so beautiful without seeming unduly effeminate that it inspired simultaneous terror and wonder, and so cold and silent. His alabaster complexion was flawless, poreless and too-smooth, with delineated muscles that accentuated every graceful movement. Surrounding Kylerryth was not an air of malaise, but of absence--he was here yet not, present but removed from this realm, and that unnatural confluence resulted in a steadily increasing weight on the world. He pushed, and the world pushed back; conversely, the world pulled him closer even as he pulled away; and this never-ending battle of push-and-pull was illustrated visibly, perfectly for Glenn when the enigma rested a hand on the back of the chair in front of the Governor's desk: the hand stopped a fraction of a hair from actually touching the leather, and in response the foundation of the Meetinghouse groaned.

Kylerryth's eyes, however, were the twin destroyers of the human reflection he maintained. Green irises, but a lambent, limpid emerald green, seemingly without depth and flecked with pearlescent bits of gold that moved in a slow, concentric spiral, emptying into the razor-thin, elliptical abyss of each pupil. There was nothing inside them hinting at empathy or compassion, but neither was there malice. When those eyes focused on Glenn Burnie, he felt himself weighed, measured, and analyzed like a curiosity, an unknown variable that must be examined ... and tested.

"I believe you received my message," he said, "from our mutual acquaintance."
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Re: In the Spaces Between.

Postby Glenn » Sat Nov 24, 2012 2:54 pm

Glenn Burnie looked straight to the creature's eyes. His own were a tempest of emotion and control, of ambition and determination, of patience and youth, of scorched fields and of a golden city. Mostly, though, control and the weight of it. He wanted to stare forever. He wanted to stare down this force of inhumanity and ascension and show him the endurance of mortality, the perseverance of the flesh.

Unfortunately, this meeting was not for Glenn. Most meetings were not for the young Governor alone anymore. He had lost that luxury when he became Governor. He had lost that luxury when he had decided not to run away, when he had decided to care five years ago. This was about Myrken. "Welcome. She did." Eyes to his notes, though it was a wistful movement. Papers were shifted until he was ready to write. "I'll admit that it's been frustrating, trying to learn of you. The files are very incomplete due to the destruction of the Meetinghouse six years ago and, well, this is a trifle embarrassing, but my predecessors and their staff seemed to have a terrible time spelling your name."

A little shrug and a polite glance back to the eyes. "So I'm travelling through this conversation more blind than usual. It's actually a bit of a novelty, but then I imagine you get that quite a bit." And that would be the smalltalk from is side of things. He wasn't about to waste this opportunity.

"Dreams, then." And here the Governor would pull down his collar, a nice collar as well, and reveal a tattoo, a touchstone, black ink in the form of a long scar across his collarbone. "Let us talk of dreams."
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Re: In the Spaces Between.

Postby Kylerryth » Sat Nov 24, 2012 6:17 pm

"Straightforward," said the enigma, sparing the tattoo a glance before continuing. "An admirable trait in a politician. Or one that might lead to his downfall."

Kylerryth moved around the chair and lowered himself onto it, with the same easy, unnatural grace earlier displayed, and the chair, unlike the Meetinghouse, issued not a single sound of protest. He spent a moment arranging himself: smoothing invisible wrinkles from his pants, tucking a lock of hair behind one ear, and so on, until he seemed satisfied and comfortable. Then he looked at Glenn again--and for a moment, was silent and still, seeming not even to breathe. If Glenn watched the creature in front of him long enough, however, the Governor would realize the enigma did not breathe at all.

In that short period, Glenn might also come to both understand and experience the feelings of a field mouse when it finally sees the hawk's growing shadow.

"I believe there is a more important question in your mind," Kylerryth said, shattering the prolonged silence. The words were punctuated, albeit briefly, by a tiny smile that did not reach those terrible, wonderful eyes. "You want to know of dreams, Glenn Burnie, and I will tell you of them. The window, the woods, the snowy hill, the flesh-hell ... and now your beloved town on fire. What is next, you wonder? That I cannot tell you--and that is not the question, either.

"But we will come to that, Glenn Burnie," he said, leaning a little closer as though he intended to confide either a secret or a profound truth, or both. "We will, because I have seen within you. I know you will try to wring from me whatever insight you can in order to help and protect your adopted--and adoptive--people. You no longer run, Governor Glenn Burnie. You are the steadfast sentinel of your new home, and will see your flesh tattered and your bones broken, your grave marker made a martyr's monument, before you run again. Hm?"

He then waved a dismissive hand and settled back into the chair. There had not been an ounce of ill intent in any of those words, nor had Kylerryth ever raised the volume or intensity of his voice. He had had, if anything, the demeanor of someone discussing a potential horse trade, or the quality of a bolt of silk. Would Glenn notice in the wake of this that the wind outside resumed blowing, that the framework of the wall behind him emitted a sigh of great relief, as if both had been pushed back by the sheer force of his focused attention?

"I will allow you to ask five questions," the enigma said. "Ask what you will, but be precise in your wording, Glenn Burnie. You may not hear the answers you need otherwise."
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Re: In the Spaces Between.

Postby Glenn » Sun Nov 25, 2012 3:59 am

Field mouse? Growing shadow? A growing shadow just meant a clear target was closing in. The Glenn Burnie who leaped out a window to escape the Ashfiend in his first two weeks in Myrken was long dead. Agnieszka Kaczmarek had torn open his chest. Ariane Emory had put a sword through his heart, and Underdark had burnt the body.

A martyr? Oh yes, Glenn Burnie sacrificed for Myrken Wood, no more so than today with this creature. Any fool could die for Myrken Wood, but to show the restraint not to tell off this godlike, omniscient asshole, to show the patience to sit there and deal with his pompous, querulous musings. His spewings of pathetic know-it-all-ism? THAT, that took effort.

Still, for Myrken, Glenn would go to great lengths. He would play this game. Five questions. Endless wealth, five questions.

He'd hold off on what he actually wanted to ask. Obviously today was a special occasion. The meetinghouse, the building itself, the wood and stone and whatever else, was practically pulsating with aroused anticipation. He supposed he ought to treat it as such. So Burnie leaned back in his chair, staring once more.

"What benefit? What could any creature possibly get out of us putting us through that sick, demented hell, to take the time to develop it, to pair us off, to run us through the maze of it? It may have seemed effortless, but it wasn't. It took knowledge, planning. It wasn't just whimsy. So then, why? What possible benefit?"
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Re: In the Spaces Between.

Postby Kylerryth » Sun Nov 25, 2012 4:38 am

"Very astute, Glenn Burnie. Where others might belabor the actual suffering, you question the motivation behind it.

"Surely by now you have noticed that between these dreams is a considerable space of time. Therein lies the research and organization you correctly guessed at; the Dreamwaker is a meticulous being. That is part of its nature--its design, really."

Kylerryth paused to sip from a small cup of paper-thin porcelain, the contents of which sent eddying curls of steam into the air. The steam dissipated, but in its wake lingered a bittersweet smell. A smell that, were Glenn at all familiar with the inventory of Myrkentown's infamous tea-house, he might recognize as one of the exotic black teas imported from Xanth Grange.

The tea and cup had not existed a moment ago, though. Better, perhaps, not to dwell too long on how they had manifested here, now.

"What benefit, you ask?" he continued, lowering the teacup to the opposite hand's palm. "What does the Dreamwaker get out of these collective experiences? Why, the same thing you seek now, Glenn Burnie: knowledge. Information. In much the same way you have your collection of files," he said, nodding at the stack of documents on the Governor's desk, "the Dreamwaker collects information about people--in a different way, with different results. But your files are rooted in the past and present, in words and deeds.

"The Dreamwaker," said Kylerryth, speaking over the brim of the teacup as he went to sip again, "is rooted in thoughts and spirits, and what will be."
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Re: In the Spaces Between.

Postby Glenn » Sun Nov 25, 2012 5:12 am

"Nature." Little heed was paid for the cup. Perhaps there was an ulterior motive for checking for that scar, though. It made everything that followed slightly more unsettling, but only slightly so. In truth, it was preferable. Magic changing reality was not something Burnie was entirely unfamiliar with. It was, in many ways, easier to combat than just one's perceptions changing. "That doesn't surprise me." There it was, that mild underpinning of disdain. "It reeks of nature. It reeks of following the needs of nature without the control to constrain yourself."

Then, almost despite himself, the young Governor would smile. "He wishes to create a future then, the selfsame reason that I gather information. Either he wishes to create a very specific one here and needs to both know and shape how we, the players, will react to certain stimuli, or he wishes for something far broader, and uses us as a handle, a means of leverage, to understand human emotion in general." No question there, just discussion, Burnie's own reaction.
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Re: In the Spaces Between.

Postby Kylerryth » Sun Nov 25, 2012 4:22 pm

"Or," the enigma added a beat after Glenn finished, "perhaps he simply wishes to wipe the slate clean and start anew." Another tiny smile, no more than a hint of a curl in one corner of that soft, dreadful mouth, and then he sipped from the teacup once more.

"I will give you a clue in this matter," he said suddenly, "and then we must move on to your next question." Steepling his fingers above his lap--and just like that, both cup and tea were gone--Kylerryth settled fully into the chair. "Years ago, before the dreams began in earnest, there was a trio of tremendously powerful demons that attempted to lay waste to Myrken Wood. No one ever learned their identities, but everyone here suffered regardless.

"I will share that with you now." Again the enigma leaned in; again, the world seemed to pause and hold its breath in anticipation. A horrible hush fell over the Meetinghouse, and in it his voice seemed not unlike it was rising from the hollow depths of a cave. "There was Archimedes, who was the embodiment of Famine; Madison, who was Pestilence; and Tveitan, who was War. Archimedes caused a simultaneous heat wave and drought, and spoiled food and drink with its presence alone; Madison brought a bloody plague borne by enormous wasps; and Tveitan turned the town into a slaughterhouse, driving people mad with perceived slights and spurring them to violence at the smallest provocation.

"There were some, however, who stood against them. Ariane Emory--our mutual acquaintance--whom, I am sad to say, I must meet again on more unpleasant business--was one of them. Agnieszka Kaczmarek. Kerrak al'Nerun. Others whose names you may or may not know. They stood, Glenn Burnie, and they vanquished the demons one by one. In time, Myrken Wood healed.

"Then," said Kylerryth, leaning back and spreading his hands as if to say And now here we are, "came the Dreamwaker."
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Re: In the Spaces Between.

Postby Glenn » Mon Nov 26, 2012 3:16 am

Clues. How peculiar.

"Nature." Burnie began once again. "Because we are speaking of it. How you come to me today, that is laced with it as well. Restrictions. Limitations. Rules. Not propriety but a confinement of one's own being. Five questions. Asked specifically. As the building ripples in anticipation." His voice softened just a little. "Clues. I have rarely seen a being confined thusly able to offer such clues. It is a welcome thought in the face of all of this, and a frustrating one." So he would not exactly thank the creature before him for such generosity. If he was truly stretching the confines of his own nature for Burnie's sake, that was one thing, worth thanks. If he was, instead, capable of going far further but making a game of this? Well, that was something else.

And it made what the being said next absolutely maddening.

There were a few big questions in Myrken, things that nagged at you even as you pushed them aside in the face of immediate danger. One of the biggest was whether or not it was all connected, whether or not everything that happened was somehow tied together. The Baie. The Bloody Flux. The Drought. The dreams. Three gods. What followed. Burnie shut his eyes and worked through it all. He knew more than anyone. He made it his life. Information. There were so few records from then. The Meetinghouse burned to nothing. Councils disbanded, dissolved. Still, he had made it his life. And now, with new puzzle pieces thrust at him so nonchalantly, a new picture came into focus.

His entire Defense Committee standing against the darkness. Things come full circle, heroism made incorporated, official. Mandated. It was.. a distraction. He pushed past it. None of them were here to help him with this now.

Young Glenn Burnie rubbed at his eyes. Damn it all. "I need context." The frustration from before massed, became intolerable. It would cost him a question better used elsewhere. It was an apology, to Kylerryth, to himself, yet also a compliment for the creature, in its own way. "My second question: Your role in this?"
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Re: In the Spaces Between.

Postby Kylerryth » Mon Nov 26, 2012 9:46 am

"Confined?" The word seemed to bemuse and intrigue the enigma all at once, like a man tasting something foreign to him for the first time. "That," he went on, "is the first real assumption--and mistake--you have made during this conversation, Glenn Burnie."

Overall, a benign rebuke--but a poignant one as well.

Kylerryth watched the young Governor agonize over the pieces of the puzzle, moving them to and fro in an array of attempts to see the broader picture--and the hidden ones; the silhouettes and shadows that dwelled in the peripheral were as important, if not sometimes more so. He waited, resting his chin in the palm of one hand, but without the appearance of impatience. No--no; this was not a creature given to such ... human tendencies. The enigma watched; he waited; and when the moment arrived, when Glenn realized he absolutely needed more, he only smiled as before.

"You do," Kylerryth agreed. "You may even get it, here or later. But--ah. Me.

"I am strictly an observer. I cannot take direct action against the Dreamwaker, nor the Four, for I am the source of their existence. This conversation," he added, lifting a hand to forestall what he considered an obvious and inevitable theory on Glenn's part, "does not count against me. Giving you these answers, these clues, is vastly different, as you are still the one acting. I am simply ... nudging you.

"In fact, Glenn Burnie," Kylerryth said, smiling again, "if you think about it, this is rather beneficial to everyone involved. It levels the playing field, to use a phrase you might be familiar with. You and your companions will present more of a challenge to the Dreamwaker, which it and I will both enjoy. That is ... should you allow yourself to be drawn again into the dream, Glenn Burnie."
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Re: In the Spaces Between.

Postby Glenn » Mon Nov 26, 2012 10:21 am

Glenn Burnie smiled. His mind was certainly a strange thing, a thing of contradictions, of conflictions, of whirling, churning chaos all tempered by order. What he had said there, or at least he had implied, was that Kylerryth, this monstrous being so far above them and their petty little human squabbles, was not confined in the least. Were he so, he would not be able to give such clues.

Of course, then the creature went on to explain exactly how it was confined, how and why, by its own hand and its own rules, but it was all of what the Governor wanted to know. If he led with a potential misstep, it was to bring him to his desired location in the end.

Except.

Except for the fact that this was everything he could not bear. Not long ago a dreamwitch tried so very hard to learn what Glenn Burnie wanted in this world. Kylerryth here, his tea, his throbbing presence, his very existence, his claims, his rules, his pathetic little symmetrical face, was everything that was anathema to the Governor. Rarely did Glenn Burnie rise to hatred anymore, but here? This? Oh, this deserved it.

Yet in spite of all that, he smiled. Such a smile.

There was nothing, no sign inside or out. Hollow was Glenn Burnie, his soul cut off, his emotions elsewhere. So he smiled, and it was the static, unchanging smile of two years before, a smile that had not graced his face for so long, a beautiful, striking thing. And were Kylerryth to listen, as it was want to do in its own inestimable way, it might hear the distant sound of a cane steadily tapping.

But what it would see would be a smile.

"Our eternal thanks, Guest Kylerryth, for your creative additions to our lives here in Myrken." The words were cool, steady. "Look at how we've grown. Through toil and pain. Through flux and drought. Through rain and through dreams. Look at how we've come to know ourselves and each other. A fraternity of suffering and strife." And then a little sigh, a little shrug, an ever constant smile. "One more theoretical question, for which, once more, I shall ask your forgiveness." Burnie had been staring straight at Kylerryth since its last answer. Staring and smiling and there was no end in sight. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. A lick at the back side of his teeth.

Still there had been that sigh, that sad shrug, and he'd shake his head now, though never lose that eye contact. Never that. Never more. "The theoretical question, about you, and then a practical one about the dreams." He continued, no breath, no hesitation. Absolutely no hesitation. "He creates the dreams for information, to give himself ammunition, shall we say. Ideas to be used in creation, in mapping a future and remapping a reality. He plays a game against us, against you. Why did you create them, him? Less relevant than it could be? Yes, of course, but I did promise my next question would be rational and productive, and truly, dear friend Kylerryth, it would do no one here the least bit of good were I driven to distraction with such a ponderance instead of focusing on what need be done. Best to sweep it aside now at the cost of a question."
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Re: In the Spaces Between.

Postby Kylerryth » Mon Nov 26, 2012 3:44 pm

Glenn Burnie smiled. Glenn Burnie went cold and unfeeling, clinical, regarding the enigmatic creature seated in front of him with a pleasant facade and a numb, necrotic soul. Glenn Burnie spoke in a voice bereft of emotion, an aural marionette designed to pantomime the meaning of his words without revealing the seething cauldron of pure hatred behind them. Glenn Burnie never looked away, dared not even to blink, to show this ... inexplicable thing that it could be met on its terms--that Glenn Burnie, representative of the people of Myrken Wood, would not falter, no matter the consequences to himself.

Glenn Burnie smiled. The cane tapped, a staccato second heartbeat full of concealed lividity, a rock hammer chipping away at the little fragments of the young Governor's sanity and resolve to expose--what?

The deep, dank darkness of endless tunnels and caves containing civilizations.

The agony of a shattered femur, and the resultant frustration, the eventual resignation.

Glenn Burnie smiled. Glenn Burnie spoke. And in response, Kylerryth laughed at him.

His laughter was not loud, nor was it mocking. If anything, it was the gentle, warm laughter of a man sharing in the newfound mirth of a well-told joke. The airy, musical sound of it swelled to fill the Governor's office; the power behind it, however, was enough to rattle the windowpanes. Even after it physically stopped, Kylerryth's laughter seemed to echo in the office, like a silvery tinkling of delicate wind chimes--or like a distant rumble of autumnal thunder, and all that that promise entailed.

"You already know the answer to that question, Glenn Burnie," Kylerryth finally said, shaking his head. "A wasted opportunity--which you also know--but I will answer you.

"Your disingenuous gratitude, your half-hearted mockery of the trials and tribulations you and your people have endured--right now, your arid humor could turn the whole of Myrken Wood into a desert. There is, however, a grain of truth to be found in your wit; and therein too lies my answer.

"I created the Four and the Dreamwaker because I could, Glenn Burnie. To both amuse and challenge myself. Ah, but that is not the heart of your question, so I have given you no answer at all, really.

"Your real question is, 'Why did you create them, Kylerryth, and then set them loose on us?' And that, Glenn Burnie, that," Kylerryth said with a tiny chuckle, "is a far more interesting answer."

He had leaned forward while speaking, but now the enigma eased into the cushioned comfort of the chair--and now it was his turn to smile.

"I did it because I wanted to see what all of you would do, Glenn Burnie. How humanity and its ilk would respond. So far, the vast majority of you have simply died--and that is very, very disappointing. Boring, even.

"But now, here we are!" Kylerryth said with a swift, sharp clap of his hands--which, in a strange turn of events, produced nothing in the way of surreal after-effects. "Three of the Four dead, and the Dreamwaker being challenged. You and yours have made progress, Glenn Burnie ... and I could not be more piqued to see what you will do next."
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Re: In the Spaces Between.

Postby Glenn » Tue Nov 27, 2012 1:57 am

"I needed confirmation. It was no small thing." The frozen smile was there, ever-present, focused. Tap. Tap. Tap. And then, he would reach down, break the gaze, take something from a drawer and place it upon the table. When he looked up again, the smile was gone. The focus had relaxed. He leaned back in his chair with all the ease of before.

And he placed a carefully folded paper crane upon the table, upon the corner of the table. "For now, let us consider that this represents what you just told me. We'll just leave it over here for now while we deal with more practical matters. We shall come back to it at the end of our talk." Then, almost as an after thought. "I spent an hour this morning learning how to fold these. It was timely, but still took effort, so I would appreciate if you didn't make it fly around or turn it into a real crane or anything like that. It represents you, yes, but also an idea, and it's damn hard to talk about an idea when it's flying around the room trying to shit on you." More, at least.

One lone breath and he would make eye contact again. "Practicality, then. Two questions remain. You say it thusly. The Dreamwaker spends years devising these scenarios for us. They are worlds of his own making with rules that he controls completely. There are those here in Myrken with gifts," and that he was able to say that word without spitting was a testament to his control, one of so many. "Magic, but not just that, trained skills, innate traits and characteristics. Ultimately, he does not create his own world. He simply crafts a dream. In that dream, people cannot use their abilities, cannot use even learned skills because of their own perceptions. If it is the environment, it can be changed, overwhelmed, tricked. If it is the dreamers, they can be awakened, convinced. Which, then, and if you can give it to me, how?" If it couldn't give Glenn that, then he would figure it out himself.
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Re: In the Spaces Between.

Postby Kylerryth » Thu Nov 29, 2012 3:19 pm

Mutability. Above all else, that was what the crane represented. That with enough time and effort, the potential for change forever exists; and that that change can be brought about in something as simple as a piece of paper ... or in something as complex as the constructed dream world of the Dreamwaker.

Or, perhaps, something as deceptively simple as a human life.

Kylerryth left the crane alone, though not due to Glenn's sardonic request. He could feel the pressure of this realm steadily increasing, which meant that his time was short; as a result, the enigma's mien shifted to one of distraction. Push and pull, with no relief, no quarter on either side. How much longer could he remain? For that matter, how much more could the world take from his continued presence?

In spite of his earlier words, Kylerryth was not a purveyor of genocide. Should he linger too long, however, the ongoing battle between himself and reality would begin to tear apart the latter. He was not certain what it might do to him. Part of him was curious; the other part, more concerned with seeing his experiment achieve completion.

At least, that was what he wanted Glenn Burnie to think.

"Ah," he said, returning his focus to the young Governor, "and now we have cracked open the bone to reach the marrow. Again, I must compliment you on your clarity of vision, Glenn Burnie. I wonder how many others have pieced together what you have, and with such limited information? With only your experiences to guide you. But experience is the best teacher, is it not?

"But I digress. It is the former--the environment. Those drawn into the dreams are locked in until the end, whatever it may be. The rules of the dreams supersede those of reality because they are not precise reflections of one another. Another way to put it might be that one," he said, lifting his hands to represent the uneven balances of a scale, "holds more weight than the other, due to the spiritual and emotional nature of the dreams and the Dreamwaker.

"So, how do you correct the balance? Well, Glenn Burnie, to do that," Kylerryth said, folding his hands over his lap, "there is a ... catch."
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Re: In the Spaces Between.

Postby Glenn » Sat Dec 01, 2012 7:58 am

The story of Myrken since you left is very much the story of Catch.

The air had shifted. No, it had been shifting, and the Governor was not unaware of this even if he seemed unaffected by it. Kylerryth's words had moved him far more than his presence, and that movement had resettled with control, with balance. Now, however, Burnie raised a finger, slowing the pace of the proceedings. Everything had to halt, for there was something to be done and time was running low. "It was gracious of you to come, to help." A politician's words, said with the slightest of smiles. False. "So a gift, as we speak." Paper was before him, quill and ink. This was not something he had done for a long time, but it was a skill that had not left him, a knowledge that had only deepened with need and understanding. Lines began to form upon the page, quick but precise strokes.

"Were I to have four years to plan this, to observe, to gauge, to frame something specifically for Myrken Wood, I would put him at the center as well. He's been the catalyst that has moved us all." The same could be said for Burnie himself, perhaps, but even a false modesty would be enough to prevent that admittance. "In truth, the environment is preferable. When I woke up from the last shared dream, I woke up with a gaping wound in my collarbone. I woke up with very necessary walls torn down. I woke up victimized, my friends traumatized, my land having been besieged for one terrible night. The means became available to me, and I took them, used them. I spent a year learning from a dying man, of spending his last year learning of the mind, of dreams, strengthening myself due to those broken walls, but in order to fight back as well." Such words young Burnie had as he worked. It was like a dance, the shifting of his diaphragm somehow working with the trained flicks of wrist and hand.

The smile on his face was almost wistful. "Worse than that, you see, when the dream struck, I realized that it had happened before, that no one had done anything to prepare for it, to prepare for anything. This, the drow, the Fiend, everything. It was part of what led me down my path. You need more than steel to fight monsters. We need to learn from our past.

"I digress, however. As I said," His eyes were back upon Kylerryth as he continued to work. He seemed to be almost second nature at whatever he was doing. "I prefer the environment. If people are being blocked individually, it is more difficult. When it comes to the environment, those with knowledge, skill not power, may be able to have an impact.Instead of chains binding my people tightly, there is simply a door to open, and as you said, we have the key." The image before him upon that paper was starting to reach a certain clarity.
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Re: In the Spaces Between.

Postby Kylerryth » Sat Dec 01, 2012 10:49 am

"It is only natural that you would prefer the environment, Glenn Burnie. You are, after all, still a cartographer in your heart of hearts.

"You have a gifted eye for details, for recognizing patterns and discerning their meaning, for organizing and compartmentalizing broad swaths of empirical evidence, and all of this has helped you shape and refine the province you now govern. Furthermore, it has shaped and refined your personal and professional relationships.

"But what," said Kylerryth, leaning forward on an elbow, his chin propped on the knuckles of one hand, eyes luminous and curious, "of the individual?

"What of the solitary oak in the clearing not quite two hours' ride southwest, between the walls of Darkenhold and the steady current of the Sagpa? Beneath this oak, Glenn Burnie, is the buried skeleton of a man who died long before you were born. He was a carpenter, known in those parts for having an eye for detail--not unlike you, Glenn Burnie. But his skill was a two-edged sword: it was the highest quality, fit for lords and kings, yet no one there was either rank.

"Times were different then, however, in a variety of ways. The economy was not as complex and developed; barter ruled the markets, not the weight of one's coin. With little actual income and materiel of decreasing quality, the carpenter fell deeper into poverty and depression. He lost his customers, his business, his home, and his hope. He became destitute, an ironic travesty of his chosen trade.

"One day, soon after the carpenter had reached the nadir of existence, a local farmer's daughter was raped and murdered. The carpenter was an easy, convenient soul to blame; to punish him, to mock his innate talent, they removed his hands and his eyes before they strung him to the boughs of the mighty oak. The rope broke his neck, killing him instantly, and they wasted no time in giving his cooling corpse to the dark earth.

"His name," said Kylerryth, "was Cameron Holbrook. Today, in your time, he would have been a renowned architect. But now he is an amalgamation of bones, dirt and stone, and what could have been."

The enigma fell silent; his eyes drifted from the young Governor to the nearby window as he settled once more into the chair. He seemed to be lost in thought, perhaps reasoning through some troubling facet of insight--and then abruptly shifted his attention to Glenn.

"As you know, Glenn Burnie," Kylerryth went on, "the environment can play a significant role in any outcome. Social interaction. Personal development. The perception of one's status. The concept of private ownership. These and more are influenced by one's environment, and the rules and guidelines ingrained in it become one's culture.

"Knowledge and skill have the potential to impact, to cause change, not power. Not chains, but a door waiting to be opened. An apt metaphor. So use your knowledge and skill, Glenn Burnie, your past experiences, and in turn answer a question of mine: Do you know what you must now do, to reach the Dreamwaker?"
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Kylerryth
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