Log Date: 11/8/96, 11/9/96 Log Cast: Trouble/'Niriah', Doreel Log Intro: Now believing that she is Doreel's daughter Niriah, and growing increasingly dazed and incoherent due to prolonged consumption of Doreel's shrooms, Trouble continues her blissful existence in her 'father's' grove.... ---------- Waking and dreaming are two pretty much indistinguishable states, these days; at least, almost. She who knows herself only as Niriah slides into a slightly more aware kind of dream, and frowns softly to herself. Her skin is chill, and she shivers delicately as she turns her head on the furs where she lies. The tree is still and otherwise deserted, at least currently, everything neat and in it's proper place. Only the fact that light manages to enter through openings high above you give any sense of time, it seems to be late afternoon, but other than that, nothing seems any different than it has been for as long as is easily remembered. She considers, then thinks at last, 'Father.' Find Father! To move is a sluggish effort, for all that her limbs are thinner than they used to be -- but then, isn't this normal? She is, at any rate, unbothered. Slowly, she toddles to her feet, and looks about. Yes, the tree is empty, he isn't here, and from the looks of his bedding, hasn't been for some time. Dinner has been provided though, in the form of a pair of large reddish fruits, a rather tiny piece of meat, and as is somehow customary, several of the mushrooms, both green and purple. She beams and toddles over to the food. Her stomach does not feel empty -- but there is a need, and these things, she knows, will fill it. She reaches first for the mushrooms, to languidly lift and eat each one. The familiar sensations of cool enveloping fog, soft and blue-violet, mingled with the limb-caressing fizzies come out almost at once as the shroom flesh crumbles in your mouth, adding to the mind-numbness as they do. As her skim warms, she smiles vaguely into the air, relieved and content. After a while it occurs to her that Father would want her to eat the fruits and the meat, too; these she slowly lifts, giggling a little as she feels the weight of them pressing against hands charged by the fizzes. But there's something else. Something she has to ask Father about? Thinking, she half-sways, half-toddles out of the tree, searching. Leaving the tree causes you to sigh slightly, as the warm life that it contains is replaced by the cooler air of the grove. Grove(#9784RJLU) Life fills you as you walk into this grove. All around you plants grow, twisting around each other in a magical dance of life. A majestic tree stands in the center of the grove, it's life force encompassing the whole area. Small rock formations dot the garden adding another level of beauty to the place. A small spring flows from between some of the rocks and becomes a miniature stream meandering through the many trees and flowers. Other than the huge tree in the center of the grove all the others bear wonderful fruit of all different varieties while each flower is in bloom and full color. You notice stairs curling up around into the tree directly into it's heart. Even through all this beauty you can hear the constant *click* *click* *click* off in the dark woods surrounding you. Contents: Helper Obvious exits: Woods Path Hole Tree Doreel walks down the stairs from the heart of the tree. Doreel has arrived. Doreel isn't here, apparently, at least.. not at first. No, he sits at the far side of the grove, just beyond the first layer of trees, one of the helpers standing by keeping watch. Far, far, far away, off through the mist and the glittering fog. Niriah considers. Easy to just sit here and wait for Father to come back; indeed, her legs, almost more water than muscle, hint at wanting to just bend where she stands, so that she might lie on the soft grasses. But no. She wants to ask... something. Nibbling at the red fruit as she thinks, she wobblingly makes her way across the grove. The helper spies this motion and tugs on his master's sleeve, gently at first and then harder when the old one doesn't readily respond. "Eh?" can be heard as Doreel finally looks up, followed by something mumbled by the small green one. "Oh," nods Doreel. The maiden is very slow in her progress, swaying back and forth with most of her steps. The slightest thing distracts her, till at last she is within earshot; then, attention caught raptly by a fluttering leaf, she pauses to stare at it limpidly. The old one stands, brushing bits of grass off his garments, and moves fluidly back into the confines of the grove proper. Duitifully, the burrower follows, staying just behind him, and they both come somewhat closer before stopping. "Niriah?" She looks around, softly. Then beams. "Father!" Her voice flows out of her, slowly and slurrily. Tsking softly, he holds out a hand. "What are you doing out here?" Her own hands, now deprived of the fare she has consumed, lift after a moment's concentration, then drop limply to rest in your grasp. She stands there swaying a bit, as she looks owlishly up at you. "Out here... out here... pretty...! Oh.... something... something to ask...? Should... should I not be out here, Father?" Smiling gently, he attempts to steady you, gaze faintly cloudy and slightly distant. "Yes, it's pretty, isn't it? It's alright to be out here, I suppose, as long as you stay in the grove." He bobs his head a few times in some semblance of a nod. "What did you want to ask, Daughter?" Her features relax into contentment... mostly. There lingers a bit of a crinkle to her brow. "I had... I had... I had a dream, yes, that's it. I had a dream!" "Oh? A dream?" A silver-blonde brow quirks. "Share it?" After a moment, she bobs her head slowly, and her eyes squeeze shut in what amounts to intense concentration. Then come sendings, hazed and fogged: she can remember an image of a brown-skinned elf with long dark tousled hair and huge brown eyes tinged slightly with purple. He doesn't wear much clothing, and he lives in a hot, hot place, with hardly any trees.... "Father, I... why did I have that dream?" Silence follows the question as the other blinks once, twice, and even a third time. "I'm not sure," he answers finally. "Too much fruit before bed, perhaps?" Niriah tilts her head slightly, pondering this as she gazes foggily up at you. "I... I thought I remembered... I keep dreaming about him, Father...!" She sways a little before you. Smiling again, Doreel nods. "You're remembering Vargo. That's quite alright, it's not bad to remember." Again he tries to steady you, without much luck. The burrower peers up at the both of you, rubs his eyes for a moment, then shakes his head. Pleased, she smiles, and leans bonelessly against your arm, apparently not noticing that she's about to fall over. "Vargo," she repeats dreamily. "I like to dream about Vargo... where'd Vargo go, Father....?" He leans back in an effort to not fall over. "He.. eh.. he left with Reeya and the others." Glancing over your head for a moment or two, he shrugs. "Left with them." "Gone....?" Disappointment blurs her voice. "All gone...?" "Mmmhm." Her face crinkles a little more as she thinks very, very hard, propped where she stands on her strengthless legs. "Then... did... I see him here, Father?" Your daughter adds, frowning vaguely, "I don't... remember the hot place, very well... was I there?" Doreel bobs his head, nodding again. He's prompted to sit down by the burrower, and does, lowering you with him. "You were here before he left us." The nod pauses, reversing as he shakes it now. "Your mother might have taken you there.." Niriah crumples obediently, not so much sitting as dropping downwards into a vague puddle-like sprawl. "I don't... remember," she murmurs. "Hard to remember." "Of course it is," he agrees, before he's tugged by the helper. "Oh.. yes." Apparently that reminds him of something. "I'm sure it'll come to you." She smiles at the comforting tone, then asks absently, "How... did I get back, Father?" This one takes him quite a while to answer, his expression becoming progressivly more troubled as he attempts to formulate something to say. Finally, though, he speaks again. "Vargo brought you." Her liquid eyes blink several times. "But... but he's not here....?" "He's not here." Niriah's face goes even more distraught. "But... but... why did, why did he go awaaaaaaaay?" Doreel frowns once more, patting your hand sympathetically. "He just did." Her head whirling, the maiden sways a little, then slumps against your shoulder. "Will he... will he come back, Father? Why do I feel so sad about Vargo?" Doreel hugs you gently to him, sighing, a sound echoed by the helper who shakes his head and pads off. "He might," answers Father. "I don't really know." She sniffles a little. "Don't like to be sad..." Gentle fingers move to smooth out your hair. "There, there.. I know." Making a soft indistinct noise, she lies placidly there. Her hair has gotten tangled again; perhaps she has forgotten to comb it. Niriah seems to forget that a lot, lately... and to forget other things, too, like when to eat and when to drink, when to straighten her leathers. "Make me feel all better, Father?" she murmurs tinily. Warmth runs from his fingers, tingling golden-feeling stuff that serves to aid in the fixing of your hair, but also to nulify at least some of the mind-numbing fogginess. Her hair obediently untangles itself somewhat, and Niriah giggles, smiling sweetly, as her head is swathed in light. "Tickles," she murmurs drowsily. "'S it feel better?" he inquires, continuing to fondly stroke. "'Course it tickles, but does it help?" Her head lolls a little, and her brow furrows, as she thinks. "Makes... makes blue go away... and the fizzies..." "Those can come back, though, if you want them.." Sing-song, she goes on, softly, "Pretty pretty fizzies... soft and blue and purple... I like the fizzies....!" Then the maiden giggles and confides, "Don't feel sad in the fizzies, all the dreams are pretty...!" "They're supposed to be." He nods knowingly. "I had _another_ dream, Father... I was a flower, pretty flower and I had leaves and I drank the rain and the sun and I grew..." "Oh? That's a nice one.." Pleased, Niriah smiles again. "I like flowers... and I dreamed... I was part of the tree... and the stream...." "Vargo came, and we danced together in the stream..." Her head rests against your shoulder, and her eyes go distant. "Except... the Grove looked all different, and it was hot, and then Vargo said... Vargo wanted me to stay with him...!" "But Vargo left you," Doreel points out quietly, still hugging you to him. "Still, that sounds like it was a lovely dream." "I... wanted to be with Vargo, but... but then I was a tree, Father, and I couldn't talk.... I could just grow...." She frowns a little, unsurely. He frowns now, looking distant as his eyes unfocus slightly. "Nothing wrong with being a tree," he says quietly. Niriah considers this, mumbling dreamily, "Better than... being with Vargo?" He doesn't have an answer to this one, so doesn't reply. She offers in sending more glimpses of dream, that concern her. Vargo's face, strangely sad, almost frantic, and she cannot figure out why. And the dream of being a tree, so peaceful, that she remembers it with fondness. She knows that it is difficult to move... so to not move, to simply stand, entices her thoughts. You can hear them whirling closer to that second remembered dream. He just watches, or perhaps listens, frowning thoughtfully to himself. ** Maybe... maybe Vargo will come back... and... I could share my dreams with him... it would be nice, I miss Vargo.... would you like that, Father? ** Niriah lifts a hand lazily, tracing a single fingertip through the air, as if trying to draw a symbol before her. An outline of hair... a tapered ear. She can almost see Vargo drifting before her in the fog, and she beams distractedly at him. ** He'll come back... maybe we could... go to the hot place again...? ** "Maybe," he agrees, nodding once or twice. "If he comes back.." Again a frown creases his brow as some faintly nagging thought enters the fog of his own mind, not quite distinct enough to catch, but there none the less. "Maybe he'll come back, and maybe he won't." ** What are you thinking about, Father? ** Niriah's head twists slightly against your shoulder, as she tries to look up at you. As she sends, Niriah's hand drops slowly, brushing against first her clothing and then yours. Idly, giggling just a bit, she plucks at your soft garb in fascination. He ponders the question before smiling gently. "Trees." Easy enough answer. One brow arc at the picking, but he doesn't comment on it. "Trees are nice, but elves are preferable." Through a veil of glitter and fog she sends, ** Elves... ** That nagging feeling comes back, and again Doreel frowns. He shrugs it off, though, nodding. "Odd dream.." ** .......? Dream? ** she repeats, bemusedly. ** Was it... just a dream? The hot place, and the brown elves...? ** "It must be a dream." Now he attempts to rationalize. "I've never seen those.." Earnestly, Niriah considers. ** A dream, ** she echoes pliantly. ** And... More dreams? ** Doreel nods. Three languid blinks, from her wide eyes. ** But... you said... that I went away....? Didn't I go away, Father? Or... did I dream that, too? ** "You went away." He nods again, rather slowly. "These dreams of yours might be influenced by what you saw when you were gone." Niriah giggles slurrily. ** Then they were real....? ** "Maybe." ** Everything... so hard to tell, what's real.... ** Another giggle. **But... Vargo was in the hot place... so it MUST have been real.... Vargo, Vargo, Vargo.... ** Her sending turns into a soft chant, and her eyes take on a glimmer of something that may well be adoration. Niriah suddenly beams and sends in languid certainly, ** Vargo will come back because he loves me, he said so, he followed me away from the Holt! ** Once more his brow furrows, and he looks at the far end of the grove. Then he blinks. "What?" Placidly, your daughter repeats, ** Vargo will come back, because he loves me. He wanted me to stay with him in the hot place. ** "He will come back.." It's his turn to repeat now, and he does, under his breath. That registers somewhere deep within, and he nods once. "We'll see." Niriah trails off into sending and murmuring 'Vargo', over and over, interspersed with unfocused images of his face and form. ** Pretty Vargo... kind Vargo... Vargo loves Niriah and Niriah loves Vargo, dream about Vargo and be with... ** Oh dear. Doreel straightens, frowning intently to himself. "Vargo." He repeats again, looking again at the far end of the grove. The maiden slumps as you move, smiling absently into the air. "Have to fix that," Doreel says to himself, nodding once or twice. "Vargo." Feh. Niriah continues to send, whether to herself or to you or to some other audience is unclear: ** Vargo pretty on jack-wolf, ride Vargo ride... just as good an archer as Strongbow I bet... can talk to humans! Vargo can do everything... ** Doreel pats your shoulder gently before moving to sit up, letting you lie on the grass now. "Of course.." he nods, really more to himself than to you. "Can do anything but come back." That last is, of course, muttered. She slumps back bonelessly into the grass. ** Vargo mate Niriah? Pretty pretty Vargo, pretty pretty Vargo... ** Once or twice, as if chilled, she shivers delicately. He stands fully now, brushing himself off again. His eyes clear and focus, watching you intently before he scowls. "Pretty Vargo, indeed." In utter guilelessness the dazed maiden beams up at you. A tendril of sending drifts out of her, carrying with it an echo of a memory of a voice asking, huskily, whether she will stay with him... "We'll see.." comes the answer, quite possibly directed more to himself than to you. "Vaaaaaaargo," croons Niriah, gigglingly, her voice sweet and soft. "Niriah love Vargo..." And she sends again, a vision of herself... being embraced by the brown one. Doreel shakes his head and moves toward the treeline. He'll have to do something about this, he's afraid. And soon, just in case Vargo really -does- come back.. Niriah remains where she has lain down, alternately humming tonelessly, waving a heavy hand around slowly above herself, and giggling into the air. As you move off from her her sendings grow less distinct. Thoughts blur together in blue-violet fog and golden liquid light, and Niriah giggles as a vision takes hold of her. She is.... in the hot place, and she is riding one of the fur-creatures. It feels so good to ride, with the creature under her legs and the wind whipping back her hair and the Daystar heavy and warm on her skin. Vargo is there and howling, firing an arrow-whip at the prey. Hunt-prey! The hunt is good! (And, as she dreams, the maiden rolls over, to her hands and knees, and gigglingly tries to crawl around the grass, growling to herself. When that doesn't work she swayingly gets to her feet, and hopskips in random patterns through the mushroom-bedecked grasses, making little howling noises to herself.) The elder paces back and forth along the edge of the grove, but stops on one of his rounds to watch this, more than a little puzzled. When you start to howl, this must apparently settle -something- in his mind, because he starts walking toward you again. "Niriah?" "Ayooooaoah... ayoooo...." She trails off into a husky cough, and then a giggle. Swaying, she stands there, and tries again. "Ayoooaoahah...." "Niriah," he repeats, a little more firmly this time. Blink blink blink blink. Father's voice. She looks up muzzily and offers with a giggle, "I'm a Wooooooooolfrider ayoaoaoah..." Doreel ponders this for several moments before stalking over to the mushroom patch. This will never do. "Niriah, sit down before you hurt yourself?" Oh. Father's voice again, speaking in that firm way. He wants her to do something? Her head bobs agreeably, up and down and up and down... down. Down, as her legs crumple in slow and drowsy grace. Sitting. Sitting again, more or less. And she lets out another soft "Ayoaoaoaaah!" Several mushrooms are picked, three.. no, four of them, before the old one straightens. He cups his hands around the deep purple things, concentrating on them as his hands begin to glow. Swaying from side to side where she sits, Niriah watches you foggily. Her mouth moves slowly through the syllables "Vaaaaaaar... goooo, ayooaoahaah Vaaaar-go...." As his hands glow, so do the mushrooms, purple bathed in endless golden light. Then, almost as quickly as it began it fades, save for a definite incandescence the shrooms still seem to have. Doreel smiles in approval, and moves once more toward you. Focusing on you, the maiden blinks owlishly, then pipes in childlike tones, "I wanna fizzy shroom!" Oh. Doreel complies, moving to pick a few of those as well. They can't hurt anything, can they? "Here you go." A happy giggle bursts out of her. She drops a shroom or two as you place them in her hands, but she doesn't seem to mind. The fizzyshrooms are reached for first, and practically inhaled, in so much as Niriah can manage to do anything fast at all. Then, as a new wave of fizzyness percolates her blood, she inhales softly, arching back for a moment; at last, then, she gazes round-eyed at the new shrooms. ** .......? ** Those new ones are not -quite- what they should be, the fog that comes with them somehow heavier and coloured more darkly than it has been in the past. But, when mingled with the fizzyness, it isn't at all unpleasant. Trustingly, she eats, and her eyes go slowly more blank as the heavier, darker fog drifts across her mind. When the shrooms are eaten, her hands drop to her lap, encouraged by the weight of that fog; as if propped up by it, she stops swaying, overdelicate body going very still. Her vacant green gaze remains pointed more or less up at you, and a curve that might be a smile if she could somehow figure out how to make it go a little farther softens her mouth. ** ** Doreel crouches nearby, watching this intently. It might be that his form becomes fuzzy, blurred by the fog that twines through everything. He remains rather quiet, though. ** ** A glow in the darkness. This could be nice, very nice indeed. The mist supports quite nicely, making you buoyant, yet still washing about you in whispers of black-blue-indigo. ** ** Father. Ask Father, he would know. She considers opening her mouth to speak, but the fog presses gently against her lips, and she cannot move them. So she sends, distantly, ** Fath....er? ** The fog whirls about that as well, coating it, threatening to drown it. And yet, from somewhere beyond it, an answering send comes, one gold and silver and sky-coloured in the dark. ** Mm? ** ** Fath... er... was... I.... dr.... dreaming? ** Very hard to send, as when she tries, the fog swirls in closer about her head. ** Yes, you were. ** The answer blends into the fog, almost one with it, almost lost within it. Oh. With an effort, she concentrates, and does not quite manage to get her next question into words: is she dreaming, now? Is this a new dream? Briefly, she wonders what that other dream must have been about... but that curiosity sinks, in slow-motion, under the swirling dark fog. No, you aren't dreaming.. not quite, anyway. And yet, maybe you are.. it becomes ever so hard to tell. Not... dreaming? Oh... then this... must be real. She tries to think about it, but that, too, is extremely difficult, and the effort it takes her flickers and dies under the weight of the fog. But the fog feels like Father, and so it must be alright... at last, her mind blanks completely, and her consciousness, while remaining open to you, diminishes. She is.... a single spark, hanging swaddled in the fog, and nothing more.... Gentle, the darkness enfolds you, blotting out everything but its own infinite shadows. It might indeed be real, almost tangible as it is, and yet something about it is ever so faintly feelingless, and with that feelingness comes numbness that seeps into your physical limbs. The maiden's body does not move; her breathing slows till her chest can be barely seen to rise or fall at all. Her eyes stare glassily out, and she does not so much as blink, for she is only fog-swaddled light, and a spark does not have a body, to feel or not feel. There is only the remembrance of Father. And the infinite, shadowed, blue-black-indigo mist. Doreel moves in now, slowly, coming to sit beside you. One hand reaches out to gently caress your cheek, producing a shimmer of burgundy somewhere in the fog. The maiden's eyes shift, ever so slightly, in the direction of your hand.And within: light. Her attention drifts to it, but it takes effort to focus on it, for the fog is soft and enclosing, and she wants to sink down into it... The shift in colour somehow only adds to the enveloping, the change an encouragement to forget whatever it was you'd been doing and remain lost in this sea of darkness. Forget. That's no trouble at all. She IS only a spark, isn't she? Just a single spark, floating in the dark and the mist... what else could she have been doing? That's best let go of, if there was anything to begin with, which is ever more increasingly doubtful. No, this is nice, the warm flickers of colour that accompany the faint sensation of touch originating somewhere out beyond the darkness, registered most detachedly as his fingers play over your cheek. Entranced, the spark floats, and watches the dark hues flicker and glimmer out in the fog... the spark flickers a little in response. Nothing but the colors. Is the spark one of the colors, too? Maybe. Maybe not. It's difficult to tell, now.. there is so much of one and so little of the other, the spark almost lost in the shifting mists. Better not to think, then. Better to just... float and drift and watch the colors.... Drift, yes, that is a good idea. Unfortunatly, almost as soon as you've made that decision, if it may be called that, the fog begins to dissipate. Green eyes stare vacantly ahead, shifting every so often to follow the colors. Still without moving, the maiden sits.... and at last, gives a single slow blink, eyelids down..... then up again, as though heavily weighted down. ** ** Yes, the darkness is leaving, the colours bleeding into it and melting it away as rapidly as a fading dream, taking with it memories of.. of what? What was there before this? There was Niriah, wasn't there? And something else.. maybe.. ** N.... I am... Niriah? ** The sending trickles out of her, languorous, confused. Are you? Yes. Niriah. She remembers Niriah. She.... Is. As colors coalesce before her into images, an image, a delicate face with fair hair and blue eyes, her brow furrows a little, all the expression she can manage. ** Fa.... father? ** Everything begins to clear, coming rather slowly into focus. "Eh?" ** Father... I... feel.... strange.... ** "Oh?" is asked now, accompanied by a tipping of the speaker's head to one side. "Do you, now?" Again her eyelids drop and lift. ** I... forgot... something....? ** He tsks softly, shaking his head. "I don't think you'd do something like that.." ** But.... wasn't... I coming out of the tree....? ** The maiden frowns a little, as she manages to remember that she has a mouth with which to frown. Now he ahs, nodding. "You did.. you came out here to tell me you'd been dreaming." Your daughter nods, slowly, tousled hair drifting across her languid eyes. ** Dreaming.... yes... what... what happened then? I... don't remember. ** The old one smiles benignly, reaching to brush that hair back. "Nothing, really." ** Did.... I have... a good dream? ** "Mmmm.." Again his head tips sideways. "Yes, I think you did." Her eyes lighten, slowly. ** ** And then, after a moment, as her head slumps a little, she lifts a hand. The motion is extremely slow, as though she is swathed in honey, and she watches her own hand in fascination for a few long moments. ** ** Doreel doesn't answer, he only watches, frowning ever so thoughtfully to himself. He smooths the rest of your hair out before sighing quietly. Niriah -- yes, she is Niriah, she remembers -- lifts her head drowsily. ** ? ** "Was this dream pleasant?" Doreel faintly quirks an eyebrow. "I hope it was.." A smile spreads vaguely across her face. ** ** The smile is rather gently returned. "Good." ** Will... the dreams make me better, Father? Help me remember? ** "Perhaps." That seems to please her, and she simply gazes fully at you... but with that lingering, fogged blankness in her green eyes. As thought, perhaps, she awaits her next dream, waiting as pliantly as the trees for shaping. [End log.]