Dreamwaking: Chimera - Sacrifice.

[channe]

No. Don't use that word, Glenn.

This feeble effort is enough for Agnieszka; she hadn't wanted to get into a pummeling match to begin with, and despite those words she'd uttered it was Glenn who took it to a physical level. And, clambering to her feet, all she says is: "You'd better call me nothin' but 'Agnieszka' for the near future," and, turning on one heel, picking up her knife again where she'd strewn it when they'd started fighting -- see, Glenn, she hadn't wanted to use it -- she begins to stalk off, nothing of the sapphire coolness in her visage at all.

"You're no better," then; "if you were better, you'd not have punched me in the first place."

[Glenn]

He picked up his own Dagger. Use Me it said, but he had no desire to use it, not on Agnie. He hated her, sometimes. She made him so angry, so frustrated, yeah, but at the same time, he was quite fond of a lot of things about her, even things that weren't likable at all.

"Nah, Agnie." Oops. There he was forgetting to call her by her real name. "I'm no better than you. I'm not even a better puncher. Hell, my eye hurts. Sometimes I don't think we're that different at all, maybe." Still, he was half smiling, even as she continued to scowl, or whatever she was doing. He was staring at her back now as he followed. Who knew it would feel so good to actually nail her across the face like that? It was worth the lumps. It wasn't worth being in this... this place. As he walked, the land continued to split and mend under his steps.

"So what's the plan again?"

[Seth_Bloodmoon]

It would seem these two companions had something in common then with looking for death and crawling out of bottles. There is a slight nod of Seth's head at words of knowing much loss over his long elven years. He had also caused much loss in his years, there was no attonement, in his opinion, for deeds he had commited in service of Ozmosis.

He would listen quietly as Kurt spoke, brilliant blue eyes searching for sight of others or a final destination as did his companion. It is unfortunate you must take in the grotesque scenery to do so. It was fortunate Seth had a strong stomach as did his friend, it would seem.

As Kurt mentions the dream of snow and hills and one that was no longer alive, Seth would glance towards him, "I had a similar dream... Snow and a hill in the center of a clearing... My experiance was not as pleasent, in the end..," trailing off into quiet for a moment.

A heavy sigh signals the end of that brief silence, "I found a friend and yet an enemy on that hill... Talvari was a great friend, a good man... I had killed him because he stood in my way when I was far more foolish and walking a dark path in life... In the dream he had reminded me of what I am... Of what I cannot escape..," were the land not so obsecene and perhaps trecherous, Seth would have closed his eyes as he spoke the next words quietly, "A monster, murderer, slaughterer... He was right, in the dream... Nothing I do now will make up for what I have done in the past..," another moment of silence and perhaps Kurt would no longer like to consider the tall elf a friend in this hellish place.

Silence breaks again, "I had wanted him to draw his blade and slay me in that dream... He didn't... He merely walked away... There are those in Myrken who think of me as one of the good guys, I believe... I am no such thing... I may no longer walk a dark path but I shall forever remain a monster for what I have done... What I have been..." a moment of defeat intermingled with acceptance.

[Lent]

Men and monsters. Elves lived a long, long time. Man could be both hero and monster... and everything else along the way in that time. Whole idea it brought a frown to the Detective Constable's face. "Funny thing about me, Seth, is that I don't quite know all the bad things I did. When I woke up, I was surrounded by those who had been my friend. They were quick to tell me all the good things I did. No one wanted to tell me the bad ones. Telling me about my family was bad enough."

He was telling that story, wasn't he? There was a matter to deal with first, a matter of dreams. "You had it too?" Hnn. Couldn't say he liked that. Made this suspect. "Maybe that's why we're together now. Can't say we have much else in common, 'cept for the part of the story I'll get to soon, 'course."

They had walked for a while. If there was anything at all to bump into here, they would bump into it soon. "Wife dies. That's when the drinking started, apparently. Still was a good father for the two of them. That's what they tell me, but maybe I wasn't good enough. Flux took them both. They got sick. They died. That's when the drinking really started." All of this was second hand. It was like reading about someone else's life and then being told it was yours. Frustrating. That's what it was.

"I was the last one of my family, last of my wife's lot, too. Appparently I drank through the rest of our money in a year or two until I finally hit bottom. When Helstone formed the Constabulary, I joined up. By then, I wanted death." While he said he hadn't been unlike Seth, here was the difference. Even this, he couldn't remember. Even with the death of McCoy, he couldn't imagine feeling loss on that level, feeling it so intensely. "I thought that if I could die helping to prevent the horrors of Myrken from harming someone else, well, it was all that was left for me, right?

"Haberdasher's Row happened not long after. Fought like a madman, they say. No surprise. Was a madman. I had no love for either Janeiro or Bromn, anyway. Neither had protected my family all that well. I fought hard enough that when they thought I wouldn't wake up they gave me a promotion. When I woke up but didn't know myself, they let me keep it." And eventually, they even let him earn those wages once again, not like he had anything to spend them on but food and replenishing that flask, which he sipped from now as they walked.

[Tebrin]

Mark this one's words, Jirai... by the end of this... somehow, someway, you would perish. Tebrin's patience could only last so long. White-knuckled grip clenched the dagger, which pleaded its utility, in his left hand, and soft footfalls make their way across the putrid landscape in pursuit of his... companion.

Tebrin hated Drow. He hated their beliefs, their society, their attitudes, their magicks, their looks... there was absolutely nothing redeeming about the dark elves. Above all, he hated their spiders.

Why did it always have to be spiders?

Still, even Jirai was preferable to the landscape which surrounded them... right?

"What, exactly, are we doing?" A simple enough question. Where was there to go? What was there to do? They could hang out under the jibbly tree. That sounded entertaining, didn't it? Or perhaps the festering, fleshy fir over yonder?

[Cinnabar]

Steady steps onwards as Karolinger relates his tale, the Governor holding back for a moment until they might walk abreast, rather than have one looking back to the other all the time. He might have hoped for enlightenment from the fugitive's tale, might have hoped that things would be cast in a new light, in which it was tragic, regrettable, but which cast both killer and victim in a sympathetic light. Unfortunately, were this the case, he would surely be disappointed.

"No. No, I disagree. You're not a soldier, Karolinger. You're a murderer." He shakes his head sharply, scowling at the crest of the ridge that looms ahead, sinew-trees scattered thinly about that exposed space.

"First off, the knife was unnecessary. He had a blackjack. It hurts, yes, but you have to put in some serious and concerted effort to kill a man with one of those. He was no threat to you. You could've punched him, or kicked him in the pods, or whatever other moves might let you give a man a beating and settle things without ending him. Or are you saying that it's common practice in the Brotherhood for your soldiers to knife one another over insults?" A glance for the man at that, before his gaze returns to the skyline.

"You lost your temper, and you lost control. If you're a soldier, where was your discipline? You weren't some hot-headed novice, you were the commander. You're expected to set an example to your men. To be someone they can look up to, and not just because you can punch harder, or swear louder, or piss further up a wall than they can, or however it is that you won your commission." Inflammatory? Maybe so. There's a certain something about they die, you die that encourages a tendency towards rather frank expression.

"And when it comes down to it, you weren't on a battlefield, and he wasn't an assassin. You were in a tavern, and he was some young and idealistic Constable who'd been trying to do his job, and do it properly. According to the law. During which you'd done your level best to frustrate him at every turn, even before you spat in his face, and killed him when he fought back. You overreacted." Now there's something of an understatement. Let's phrase it more clearly.

"You fucked up."

[Jirai]

"No! I took no pleasure in that, Ariane, I swear it. And neither did she."

Ariane smiles. The girl, on the other hand, was most certainly NOT smiling. She was upset, unhappy - and not just with the disgusting locale. Arms were curled about her chest, shoulders hunched slightly. She listens to the rest of Ariane's words in miserable silence.

This is a "discussion" she cannot win, for Ariane holds the best argument of all - that knife. "Use Me," it says. Rhaena has no wish to be the one it is used on. And so there comes some further silence from the girl - then the ordered shouting begins anew, slightly louder.

Hopefully they will encounter someone soon - anyone, simply to take the swordswoman's attention off of her!

[Jirai]

Oh, Jirai hated drow, too. She hated their beliefs, their society, their attitudes, their magicks, their spiders... But then, Jirai hated everything. There were a grand total of two things that she did not hate - but she hated that she did not hate them and now the two had been reduced to one.

"We are hunting." The woman explained patiently, without pausing or glancing over her shoulder. "Hunting for someone." She clarified.

[Vanidor]

"Yeah. Maybe. But then, I was no a commander, was I? Thanks to yourself and the rest of the useless council." A slight smile towards the other man. "You are right, though. I do be a murderer. I enjoy the sensation of thrusting me knife into another body. Rather thrilling, to be serious. Knowing that I do still be alive, and someone who has tried to harm me be dead upon the ground. There be something... primal, about it, Governor. That is where, you and I, do be different."

The knife was spun again. Twisted from one hand and towards the other. They were nearing the crest of the mound of.. whatever the soil beneath the skin-like surface of the 'earth' happened to be. He spun the weapon, then caught it and pointed it vaguely towards Cinnabar. "I did lose my temper. But I did no lose control. I did be very direct in putting my knife in his stomach. As I said. I did no want him to suffer for it. Besides, Agnieszka already punched him for it." The knife, it twisted again.

"Perhaps your man should have thought better about hitting a dangerous man for no reason. I certainly did have none to harm him, until he harmed me. Think on that, Governor. I only act against those that do me a harm. Violently, that is. If you think this be bad, be glad that Feul did no become Captain after Kerrak. You would no be alive now, he would have thrown you down and proclaimed Myrken for the Duke before your body did be cold in the earth. Me..."

He paused and looked down at the knife. The top of the hill? Had they reached it? Close. He looked at the knife, at the way his footprints were seared into the ground. His lips pressed tightly against one another. "You. You I do think do right by the folk here. But you do it by right and wrong. There do be no in between. It is law. And order. You cannot abide chaos, disorder. Perhaps this be good. For Myrken, that is. But for me? There do be no place in a world like that for me. Discipline. It do not be a part of my words. Not once off of the field of battle."

"Not what you wanted to hear, I wager. That you find yourself hand in hand with a vicious, murderous thug. I have a truth for you, though, Governor Cinnabar Calomel." Aeryn turned his eyes towards the other. There was fierce pride there, set deep within dark orbs. "A better man, you be, I think. I prefer you over Helstone, for certain." A smile, and then his eyes would cast out to see what they could see from their vantage point.

[Seth_Bloodmoon]

Seth nods a little at Kurt's words. It might seem a blessing to not know what bad things one had done. Then again it could be more torturous not to know. To question what you may have done but cannot remember. He is quiet again, listening to his companion. It had been damned hard for Seth to speak of his dream encounter. To speak of killing Talvari in the past.

There's another nod for 'You had it to?' and a brief break in his quiet, "It could be why we are both here... There were others who also shared the dream from what I have been told... Perhaps those others are in this place as well..?" and now quiet as Kurt continues his tale.

The Detective Constable had plenty of reasons for seeking out stiff drink, from his story. To lose so much? Seth could not imagine for he had not lost family, lost children to death. He had lost a wife but not to death, she had simply vanished one day. No word or note to say why and he was sure she had not been kidnapped or perished. His answer for that had been to travel and sell the services of his sword arm.

"We have both known our fare share of loss, Kurt... When we make it out of this place, my friend, I will buy you a drink... I know I will be needing one, myself... We can drink to friends and family lost..." he had no doubt they would make it out. There was no room for doubt. If one allowed doubt to creep in here they might as well just kill theirself.

Silence claims him once more and it may seem he has no plan to speak much more of himself. He found it hard to do such, especially about certain aspects of his past.

[channe]

They're out on the terrible skin-field, inhaling terrors --

She's breathing more normally now, pushing curly black hair out of her face, sweating and narrowing her eyes at the place around her. There are hills surrounding them; she turns, loath to leave her back too long without Glenn in her eyesight now that he's decked her. Not -- a betrayal of trust, really; the two of them had little enough of that to begin with. But perhaps it's one more reason for her to stack another black mark in Glenn's direction. He's never liked her, and despite his numerous protestations to the contrary, he's never given her a chance. No. He's been too busy following Cinnabar and Ariane, the people with power --

"Up a hill," she finally says, pointing. "That one. We can maybe see where we are, cities and shit. Other people. Last time I was in this shit there were other people. Can you walk, or did I smack you one too bad to do it?"

There's business, apparently, and as long as Glenn gives the sign that he wants to work -- her name, her *real* name, not Agony or that swear word -- she'll treat him well.

The moment he doesn't -- well.

Heh.

[Glenn]

That first night he met her he had given her every chance in the world, a smile, some friendly talk, and the worst possible words in the world to say to her. She had been looking for a fight that night and he had given her everything she wanted. How does either of them recover from a first impression like that? Not well, apparently.

Oh, no, he would follow her towards that hill. He wasn't going to show that sort of weakness in front of her, not again. He had shown it when they first arrived here, hadn't he? "High ground works, and I can get up that damn hill. Don't you worry about me." Hopefully the hill, whatever unthinkable material it was made out of, didn't collapse underfoot the second he stepped upon it. At least he didn't come off like some sort of temperamental devil.

Huh. Accurate. Wait! If that was so accurate for her, just what did the ruined "earth" beneath HIS feet mean? Hell. "This sucks, Agnie. This really, truly sucks," then a slight pause. Now that he wasn't hitting her and getting hit, now that the adrenaline had faded, some of his bravado was fading too. His voice took on more of a youthful tone. "Hey, Agnie what do you think a city would be like here?"

[Malaroth]

The stink had begun to settle, begun being the significant word there, while bile tickled the back of his throat with an ever-ready desire to purge the reeking stench from his system. If it were possible he would purge it from whatever nightmare-scape had stolen him here from the bed at the Remedium. He forced himself to read, and re-read, those simple, scattered words in order to prepare himself for the sight of those disgusting trees once more.

For a man not yet thirty, the great press of age bore down upon the breadth of his shoulders and colored his haggard countenance with a distinctly ashen color. Layered, loose-fitting garb hung over a lean frame, hardened by sword and weather, and ever-cold since the great fire had all but purged his work for Myrken from its face.

A glance for that knife. In this forsaken land, the bowels of whatever nightmare gave shape to beset Myrken, there were strangers, sights to burn the memory with revulsion whose taste ever-lingered, and a weapon and a person. A person met so briefly in passing, and yet one who had left a lasting impression. A person, a woman, whom he regarded through the concealing veil of lengthy hair, gold and silver bleeding together, while pale lips entertained a grim scowl.

"This is a place of nightmares and I can only hope that it is only that. And yet somehow," he paused a moment as he climbed unsteadily to his feet and swayed thereupon for a moment. "Somehow I know better."

[ShadowRose]

"Is there anyone here.. or are we the only bloody ones, Azale?" The drowess whispered to her companion, the one she had woken up to at the start of this horribly bloody charade. Sarayn stepped lightly over a protruding blood vessel that, down the length of it and thankfully away from them, splurged out its life fluid. The woman carefully picked her way past the assumed tree created solely of rippling muscle, dropping thickly of mucus from an unknown source. She shuddered at the gruesome scenery, and glanced over a shoulder in essence to see if her dark-skinned friend followed suit.

But where were they headed? Toward whom? Perhaps time would tell.

[Cinnabar]

"No reason why you couldn't have still been commander. Nothing to stop you from negotiating a new contract, after you so helpfully pointed out what a useless mess the old one was." Credit where credit's due, after all. There's the occasional sidelong glance for that twirling blade, Calomel's knife, meanwhile, remains tucked into the waistband of his trousers.

"You've an interesting way of justifying yourself. Provoke a man to throw the first blow, then murder him. I suppose Feul throws the first blow and then kills them if they fight back, hm? I've heard about him. And to be honest, I don't think there's a place for either of you in Myrken." Not the Myrken Wood that the Governor would see created, certainly. Madmen, murderers and monsters.

"You're wrong, though. Or at least, not fully right. It's right and wrong, yes. The law is a means to that end, but it's not the end itself. If there's a law that helps the wicked rather than the good, then it's a worthless law. And if there's disorder that does no harm, I've no trouble with it." A curious glance for Aeryn, then. Huh.

"I rather guessed your preferences, given that you didn't march your men against me. But here's a truth back for you, Aeryn Karolinger:" Standing at the brow of the hill now, grey eyes narrowing to sweept the land below.

"I've still got your arrowhead. Better or not, I don't forget."