[ Graduation Dungeon ] Brenley

[Smerdle]

[ immediately preceded by this ]

He jerked awake when what felt like hundreds of tiny, cold fingers simultaneously dug into his exposed skin. Brenley blinked groggily, focusing on the whisper of movement around him. The creatures touching him were... gnomes? From their size they had to be. And yet he had never met a gnome quite like any of these. There were at least thirty of them, wrapped in cloaks so dark he might not have known they were there at all had it not been for their glowing eyes and pale little hands.

"What do you want?"

His voice was muffled, swallowed by his bedding and the sea of fabric around him. No one replied, but he soon got his answer anyway. The hands rose, lifting him off of the bed, and when he opened his mouth to protest, they stuffed a gag between his teeth. He wanted to be afraid. He was being kidnapped... again. But Parker Freeman or the Fracs or whomever had done so before hadn't employed a pack of stealthy gnomes to do their dirty work. At the moment, he was mostly just curious as to who would actually do something like that. He was content to watch.

A blindfold joined the gag. Its addition lit a spark of mild unease in his gut, but he remained still. Once it was secured, they were properly off, embarking on some twisted journey, the end of which he could only guess at. He didn't recall his dream at all until they dropped him hard on the ground and pulled the fabric away from his eyes.

The gnomes had fled. A cheery banner stretched above a large door in the stone in front of him. Graduation. His final exam.  

[Smerdle]

Brenley's nerves hit him like a fist to the throat. He had considered this moment many times before now, but it was quite different now that he was facing it in the flesh. And so soon. He didn't want to leave. There was still so much he hadn't discovered.

As the shock of his situation wore off, fear that someone might come along after him intent on taking their own exam crept in. There was no way he was sharing this accomplishment, especially not with someone who would negatively affect his performance. He rushed to stand, straightening the t-shirt and shorts he had worn to bed. It was chilly here now that his legs weren't protectively curled against his torso, which was unsurprising, but still a little irksome. He might have dressed more appropriately had he been warned. With a faint sigh, Bren strode forward before he could flee, slipping through the doors and into the dungeon.

The room he entered remained a room until the door closed behind him and the large, empty space faded pleasantly into darkness. When his senses returned the day was bright, the midday sun warming the top of his head and the back of his neck. He was standing outside of Cloverhorn's. Instead of the bristling mortification he had felt the last time he had passed this spot, Bren felt wise... confident... almost proud. In the years since he had graduated he had accomplished a great deal here, and together he and Dahlia had risen to a shared renown greater than either would have found alone.

He raised his hands, aiming to press his linen suit flat against his chest one last time before he entered. In the process, his fingers brushed over the sigil at his heart. It blazed brightly beneath his shirt and jacket, and Brenley couldn't help but think of the one who had helped him put it there. His resulting smile lingered as he entered the shop.

"Why are you so early, overachiever?" Dahlia said. She peeked up over the edge of the counter as she spoke, rising fully to her feet and emerging from behind it after giving him a proper glare. "And all... fancy. Stop smirking."

"You're the one who called this 'important emergency meeting,'" he replied. "The last time you did something like that you had arranged a lunch with some Easter Town dignitary to discuss singing eggs and I was dressed in a holey old button down. You set the bar, Dahlia." He sighed, though he was still grinning.

"If you wore robes like I do, you wouldn't have that problem."

"No, but I would look..."

"Hm?"

"Slovenly."

Dahlia's unrestrained cackling filled the shop quite abruptly and Brenley relaxed when it failed to attract any giant rabbits. "The little prince thinks I'm slovenly! Perhaps I'll cry myself to sleep tonight."

"Dahlia."

"Yes, yes." She sighed. It wasn't as long suffering as his had been. It was quick and nervous, the sort she expelled when she was afraid he wouldn't approve of what she was about to say. He stood straight as she fished in the deep pocket of her rove, drawing out a small off white card and holding it out for him to take.

"Here."

Brenley recoiled a bit. "What is it?"

"A bit of paper," she said slowly. "I thought you were a learned young man." She shoved it at him. "It's nothing."

"You're not acting like it's nothing."

"Oh for..." Dahlia roughly grabbed the back of his neck and shoved the card and his face together until they touched. Neatly printed at its center were the words:

CLOVERHORN & QUINN

Bren reluctantly took the card and held it at arms length. "I don't understand." He was pretty sure he understood perfectly well, he just wanted to hear her give voice to his suspicions.

"Jackie H. Skellington," she muttered. "Don't go stupid on me now, kid. I want you to be my damn business partner. Fifty-fifty. What do you say?"

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1. Prompt - A Letter To My Future Self
You step into a room. Except it now isn't a room anymore. A quick look down at yourself reveals that you've changed. You know that you're still you, and part of you realizes that you are your future self. Describe a day in the life of your future self, the future that you see your character in.

 

[Smerdle]

The world faded again, reality overwhelming him. Brenley lost his footing and dropped to the ground, his heart swelling with happiness and hope even as pain jolted through his knees. He didn't believe what he had seen, but that didn't mean he couldn't take temporary pleasure in the false vision as he would from a movie or melodic chant.

Him... a partner in an actual reputable business that relied on his tinkering and skill with enchantments? Approval. A real feeling of... confidence, he supposed. Bren remained kneeling until his smile faded and the truth of his situation came back to him. Presumably he had to find a way out of this place in order to graduate. He couldn't afford to sit around pondering the meaning of what he had seen.

The boil got up to look around. There were only two doors out of this place, and since he couldn't very well leave through the one he'd entered and still consider it forward progress, he turned the knob on the second and stepped farther inside. He hadn't made it three steps before the ground tried to shake its way out from under him. Reaching out, Brenley caught his balance on a rough stone slab and pushed against it to remain on his feet. A headstone. He was standing in a graveyard.

Though Halloween had plenty of them, none that he had ever seen had been quite like this, all bowed heads and weeping. A huddled group of reapers stood nearby and Brenley remained as still as he was able so as not to disturb them, until he realized they couldn't see him. They weren't reapers either.

"Oh," he whispered under his breath, his posture losing a little of its military precision. The boil spun sharply when he heard an answering chuckle issuing from somewhere behind him.

"I wondered when you'd figure it out."

The man who spoke was short and wiry with two pairs of small brown horns spiraling from his temples. The humans couldn't see him either.

"You're very... new. You need any help?"

Bren smiled politely. He had a list, which was admittedly not as good as a map or directions, but he wanted to do this on his own. Still, asking for a hint as to which way he should go first wouldn't leave him with a demon mark or anything.

"Cambridge? M... itt?" It was supposedly a school.

The demon's brows dipped, broadcasting his mild confusion. He glanced at the human family, alone in a graveyard, the perfect targets for prime scaring, then shifted back to the boil who wasn't scaring them.

"South a couple of miles. That way." He pointed.

Bren glanced off in the indicated direction. A couple of miles. He'd be there in no time. With a nod, the boil was off.

"Aren't you going to...?" The demon gestured at the humans, an open invitation.

"No." Brenley watched them holding hands, rubbing at their faces, weeping. "Have fun."

He wandered out of this vision with much less confusion than the last. It was closer to reality, something he was certain of rather than something he only hoped. Others might question why he wasn't particularly interested in gathering FEAR, but he didn't think he would mind their scrutiny. He had more important things to worry about.

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8. Prompt - The World In My Hands
The room you step into shifts and spins. When it settles, something tells you you're in the Human World. What will you do? Will you harvest Fear the Halloween or Horseman way? Will you perform Tricks or Treats? You have full run of the Human World now. What will you do?

 

[Smerdle]

There were two doors in front of him this time, one forged from iron and decorated with delicate, twining chains, the other unadorned save for a cluster of blocky blue runes. They crept up from the floor, pulsing with what he came to realize was the rhythm of his breathing. Once he figured that out, Brenley tried to test it, taking in more erratic breaths until the door caught on. It dimmed completely, its afterglow painting the insides of his eyelids with flame.

He didn't consider his options for long, choosing the second door solely due to its physical similarities to him personally. As he touched the tips of his fingers to its cool surface, the runes blazed blindingly bright, their light consuming the world.

When the boil regained his senses he found that he couldn't move. He lacked limbs and eyes and a proper body, though he could still somehow feel the world around him despite their lack. He was small and lost in the dark. He was lonely.

Time ticked by. Seconds, hours, years, he couldn't have said. Eventually he felt the stirrings of company, not physically, but in his mind. The one who called to him was his, and yet the human insisted on regularly conversing with others as if the bond between the two of them wasn't his sole reason for existing. Deep down, Brenley knew it wasn't. He pushed the thought away as he had many times before, concentrating on the here and now and that beloved presence in his head.

I've gotten us into some trouble, buddy, his human said, the cheeriness coloring his inside voice completely absent from the shouting Bren heard as he was lifted from the safety of his pocket. The girl won't leave us alone.

She was a reaper... or maybe a ghost or even a well-preserved undead. Halloween blurred sometimes these days, but the ghoul who had confronted them didn't possess any of the showier features its citizens could. He only knew for certain she was a creature of FEAR because he could smell her. For a moment, he thought he might have known her. It didn't matter now.

Brenley keened with unrestrained delight as he shifted from a golden coin into a thin rapier, his blade carved with so many runes that it might have been crafted from light. This was why he had been made. He lived to be called upon to defend his human, to consume and destroy the ones who hadn't wanted—

He struck her, and he remembered. Every hollow place in him filled with laughter, excitement, adventure, euphoria, triumph. Had he been able to, he would have split apart and released the boil he had been so that he might experience those feelings again firsthand. He was a breath away from screaming when the contact ended.

Run, he whispered. Retreat.

Bren, what?

Go. Leave. Please. All of the articulate words his hunter routinely teased him for using were gone. He was numb, and he certainly couldn't explain himself, not even in imbecilic grunts.

All right, man. Calm down.

He was calm. He was hardly thinking about her at all.

By the time he collapsed back into the coin, he had almost recalled her name.

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3. Prompt - Forged Anew
You step into a room. Except it now isn't a room anymore. You realize quite quickly that you are now a Hunter's Weapon. What kind of weapon are you? Who is the human you're with? What is your relationship? And oh, look -- your human appears to be fighting against someone you recognize. You don't remember their name. But there's something about them that sparks... something within you. Is it joy? Sadness? Hatred? You... You don't quite know why you're feeling it, but you can't deny the feeling is there.

 

[Smerdle]

A low wail forced its way between Brenley's clenched teeth as the cold stone floor beneath him phased back into existence. His arms tightened around his knees, and a trickle of tears ran across his face, several adhering to the curve of his cheek and winding up in his ear. This was ridiculous. Even after acknowledging that fact he remained huddled on the ground.

In the past he'd only been able to come up with stuttering, unconvincing reasons as to why he would never side with the hunters. No limbs. Didn't like people enough to be wholly dependent on one. They were single-minded tyrants with dangerous agendas. Now he didn't need an excuse he could articulate, not for anyone. The very thought of hunters coming near him with malice in their eyes prompted a desperate desire to push, to keep on pushing until they all fell off of a cliff.

He stayed on the ground and waited for his tears to dry on their own. Only then did he open his stinging eyes and focus on the wall ahead. The rune-covered portal was gone. The iron one persisted, though a pale blush of orange oxidation now colored it, presumably due to him not choosing it first. A jealous door. It made him smirk in spite of himself. Bren rose onto an elbow then hauled himself up by the bar that spanned the door's width in lieu of a knob. He leaned his weight against it and stepped through into a crisp, efficient conference room. Twelve of the most dangerous creatures in Halloween waited for him there. Some had draped themselves artistically around the room while others sat, stoic and proper, at the long marble table that dominated the space. Immediately to the right of the seat everyone knew was his sat Twiz, the most loyal of the group. The puggle monster nodded in greeting as he caught her eye, a glint in hers that silently informed him this meeting would likely prove difficult.

"Good afternoon," he said, looking over the rest of his advisers in turn. Mira, the only other reaper present, smiled warmly, putting his apprehension to rest. She rarely had more to contribute, but he had never thought much of it. "In just four short days, we will be deploying the Mastodon—" He paused when one of the triplets tsked. "Is there a problem?"

"You know how I feel about that name." It was Wilma. She touched a hand to her throat in apology, though her perpetual sneer and condescending tone negated any of the gesture's sincerity. "I'm sorry. Sometimes these noises just... leak out of me."

"Apology accepted. And the name stays." Ever since he had heard rumors of the massive human world creatures, Brenley had been fascinated by them. "You are always free to leave if it bothers you that much." She wouldn't go. None of them would. He didn't wait for her reply.

"Continuing on. Four days from now, the Mastodon will hit the streets of Halloween Town. It will spend its first six months of existence getting a feel for the populace—their wants, their fears, how best to lead them without inciting rebellion. I know it might sound like I am putting too much faith in our creation..." A secret satisfaction rose in him at his seamless use of our instead of my, "...but, I assure you, there is no such thing as too much faith in the Mastodon. It is a masterpiece of FEAR. With it, we will take over the world."

His advisers were silent as his brief speech sank in. Ingmar was the first to clap, the silken strings trailing from his finger joints tangling loosely as he did. George, Abe, Linda, Snip, and Spy joined in, but Mumu sat as stiffly as Wilma and her siblings, an angry frown creasing her translucent face. She seemed poised to throw a tantrum, though Jack only knew why. Brenley hoped she didn't break anything when she did.

"Kid..." Mumu leaned over her clenched fists as she rested them on the table. "You're worse than... everything! Worse than cheese and pink and scarelings! And less effective than my neighbor's prissy comet elnin!"

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12. Prompt - Who You Wanted to Be
You step into the room. In the blink of an eye, you realize that you are now your childhood dream. What did you want to be when you were a scareling? For those that were suddenly spawned into existence, you are now the first profession you took an interest in. What is it? Are you successful?

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For my own reference:
1. Brenley - sorcerer (m)
2. Twiz - puggle monster (f)
3. Mumu - revenant (f)
4. George - yeti (m)
5. Abe - nyctophobia demon (m)
6. Linda - fish demon (f)
7. Snip - poltergeist (f)
8, 9, 10. Belinda, Wilma, and Barnum - vampire triplets (f, f, m)
11. Spy - shade (f)
12. Ingmar - puppet monster (m)
13. Mira - sorcerer (f)

 

[Smerdle]

How dare she! Mumu was gunning for a stern reprimand! Nobody called Brenley an elnin in his world domination meetings! He was going to tell her exactly what he thought of her insubordination, right after...

Though the boil hadn't passed through any noticeable portal this time, a familiar sensation settled over him nonetheless. Indignant irritation gave way to unhappiness tinged with shame, then to nothing at all as Mumu's hissing argument faded away. He lifted a paw and pranced forward a few steps on a whim, the bangles and jewels decorating his fur tinkling merrily.

"Brenny! Darling!"

He nearly faceplanted in the leaves as he whipped toward his mistress's voice, returning to her side with a demure whuff.

"Don't run through the dirt, dearest, your little pawsies will get filthy." She scooped him up and he turned to lick her cheek, a distant part of him wondering why he was so keen to do so. It tasted like chalk. "You have to be your handsomest for the party tonight. So many people will want to see my beautiful boil, and with your lovely new medal, I'm sure we'll be able to find you your first..."

He stopped paying attention when she mentioned the medal. It was one of the few words he understood besides his name, and that was only because so many people had been saying it lately. He looked down, just barely able to see its golden glint past the end of his muzzle. Shiny. He licked his nose.

Life was good. He had been born pretty and strong with all the right parts in all the right places. It meant he would never have to worry about being smart or thinking or—

His mistress shrieked, her voice bubbling up from her chest in slow motion. The sound was high-pitched at first, tapering off into a bellow that shook his small body and made his fur stand on end. He whined and struggled, and he was rewarded for his panic when her arms went slack and he began to fall.

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9. Prompt - Another's Eyes
The room melts away. You are now a minipet. What kind are you? Are you in Halloween or in the Minipet Closet? Or are you unlucky enough to be transformed into a minipet and in the Life Labs on Deus Ex?

 

[Smerdle]

Brenley's left shoulder and hip hit the ground hard. He flopped onto his stomach and lay still, too stunned to attempt to recover for a time. Fully expecting another disturbing vision to cloud his mind, he braced himself for it, but it wasn't long before he began to wonder if his test was finally complete.

He would have the rest of his life to sit and decipher all he had experienced here. Now was the time to move. The boil did just that, cracking open his eyes to find his world shrouded in mist. This wasn't over.

As if answering his thoughts, something heavy and slow clanked through the clinging fog, shaking the floor beneath him as it went. He hopped to his feet, widening his stance as the knight split the mist ahead with its shadowed weapon.

HALT
YOU SHALL NOT PASS

Beyond the creature's intimidating bulk, Brenley spotted a pale, shimmering pedestal, topped by a curled scroll tied with a wide blue and grey ribbon. It might have been anything: a letter from his parents, a summons to detention, a recipe for spookies, but he knew it was really none of those. He shuffled his feet toward it, but didn't otherwise move. Still the creature leaned close, its version of a low growl rumbling through the boil's body.

YOU SHALL NOT PAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSS!

The javelin struck him in the stomach, sending him tumbling back to the ground. He rose again, his own weapons materializing in his ready hands. As was becoming a regular occurrence, he flung the smaller blade at his opponent. It sank deep, though whether or not it actually hurt was something he couldn't judge.

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You enter a circular room. A fine, clean mist covers the ground. The clatter of steel and iron can be heard as a large figure emerges from the mist. Some may be jolted with recognition. Others may marvel at how large and foreboding the figure is.

The large, Green Knight plants itself in your way. Beyond it you can see something glimmering, something you want really badly: your diploma.

A large, shadowy javelin suddenly appears between your feet as you try to step forward.

"HALT. YOU SHALL NOT PASS."

Of course it was going to end with a fight. You ready yourself and prepare for combat!

 

[Smerdle]

He called it back to him and darted away, farther from his diploma than he wanted to be but, for now, closer to safety. The knight rumbled after him, every plodding thud of its feet a threat. He wasn't going to have the luxury to hide until his foe grew tired of him or run away while someone else took care of it. There was nowhere to hide in here. He was going to have to handle this himself.

Damage: 6
HP: 45/50
Hits: 1/3  

[Smerdle]

But how to do that? Strategically, he supposed. The thought made him snort in sarcastic amusement, and that faint sound drew the knight to him once more. Brenley turned and ran, but this time he was too slow. One metal-clad foot slammed to the ground inches in front of him. He ran into it, sprawling over its top as he fought to recover.

He sank both blades into a break in its armor near the ankle before he was kicked far away, coming to a sliding stop near the wall.

Damage: 2
HP: 40/50
Hits: 2/3  

[Smerdle]

Once again, he desummoned his weapons out of necessity, rather surprised that he was able to do so without much physical impact. Yes, he hurt, but it was due to having been thrown around, not an overexertion of his FEAR.

Brenley rose to his feet, realizing almost too late that he was situated at the edge of a darkened pit made almost invisible by his monochromatic surroundings. The mist should have been pouring in, but something was keeping it floating over the hole as if there was no hazard there at all. If ever there was a strategy staring him in the face, this was it.

Damage: 4
HP: 35/50
Hits: 3/3  

[Smerdle]

He backed away with utmost caution, careful to keep from toppling into the chasm himself. The knight was on its way across the massive room. He could hear it coming. He had to think up a way to get it into that hole before it did worse to him.

Ruling out using himself as bait for fear it would be suicide, the boil immediately considered enchanting as his next viable option. The problem with that was there was nothing around to enchant... with the notable exception of his diploma. Brenley nearly groaned with despair. The one thing in this room that he didn't want to endanger was also the most logical one to use as a distraction.

Forgoing the pedestal itself for its unwieldiness, Bren closed the distance to it in seconds, having recently been flung much nearer than he had been before. Grabbing the rolled paper off of its surface, he held it loosely in both hands as he muttered a brief spell and flung it into the air. Its ribbon snapped when it spread its wings, flapping frantically toward the knight's helm. The creature stopped, clearly curious about the phony bird, but it didn't move again, not until Brenley shakily relented, rising from his crouch out of the fog and calling out to the knight.

"Here!" He locked his knees to combat their quaking and remained still. The knight began to move, this time largely distracted by the diploma flapping around and through its eye slit. It swung its javelin wildly, so close now that it almost took Bren's arm on the way past. It never noticed the pit.

He didn't have time to bask in his victory, not when the knight lifted a giant hand as it fell and reached for his fluttering certificate. Brenley didn't think as he darted forward, throwing himself across the chasm to retrieve it. It slipped through the knight's mailed fingers, but its fist served as an intermediary platform for the boil to launch himself off of when he was halfway across.

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8-10: You do something really cool and impressive, like hit the Guardian so hard that its armor flies off and it dissipates like the badass you are.

 

[Smerdle]

As he flew through the air aimed for the safety of the opposite side, Bren only had a moment to examine his poor decisions. He was hurtling toward certain doom, all in pursuit of a well-abused piece of paper that in no way indicated what he had been through as a student of Amityville. Was it worth it?

A pained grunt left him as his chest hit the edge of the pit. Brenley froze for a moment, unable to believe he had actually made it. When he began to slip, he realized any celebratory reaction would probably be a little premature.

He scrambled to safety and rolled onto his back when he got there, resting his crinkled diploma on his heaving chest.

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AMITYVILLE ACADEMY

To all whom these presents shall have come: Greetings unto you.

Be it known that we, the Headmistress and Faculty of the Academy under authority of Fear and the Laws of Halloween, have admitted

Brenley Davis Quinn, The Swift and Daring

the Rights, Privileges, and Dignities to which a Persons of Halloween with Amityville Experience may Expect.

Had it been worth it? Yes. Yes, it had.