"The Blossoming of Magic" Log Date: 9/26, 9/29, 10/2/02 Log Cast: Oriolle, Doreel Log Intro: Doreel, the Keeper and Shaper of the Grove, has made a discovery. His Elisel, his treasured special Tree, is not really a tree at all. Despite the efforts he has made to restore her to what he'd once thought to be her true form, as of late he has sensed something more within her, something deeper... something that has told him that this Creation of his is in fact an elf. Or at least _could_ be, if he but exerts himself to undo the damage he has done to her weakened body in the many turns of the seasons she has been with him in the Grove. That something more he has sensed is a Name, glowing within her and ringing with an undeniable truth: Teme. It has brought something like clarity to the ancient Shaper for the first time in longer than he can remember, and now, he has applied himself to trying to mend the maiden, turning the hue of her hair and skin back towards what his fractured memory can tell him should be more 'elf' and less 'tree'. It has let him find another name within her, one that feels as though it might be truer than 'Elisel': Aureole. But in his efforts he has also rediscovered the presence of something else within her: the soul of another elf, a wolf-blooded one, one who had once striven to take his precious 'Elisel' away from him. And one who now, rising up in her fury to drive him away from the helpless maiden, throws the Shaper into a recoil of horror. Returned to sleep by the strength of Doreel's magic, the maiden slumbers within the shelter of his great Tree... but as she does, something else begins to wake within her, coaxed into life at last by the ongoing flow of power with which he has been filling her... Her own magic. ---------- Tree The inside of the tree hums with energy. Like the inside of a Wolfrider father tree, except a lot more. Similar images to those entwined in the limbs outside have been shaped into the walls here. Every once in a while you think you see one of the images move but when you look it is the same as when you entered. Narrow and steep stairs curve around the inside of the tree to a small area where soft and warm furs have been left lying for a sleeping area. Several windows line the highest parts of the tree and give a wonderful view of the sky and stars. This place is surely one of the most wonderous things you have ever seen. Contents: Doreel Obvious exits: Out She sleeps. She sleeps, and she dreams, deeply, aware of nothing save the last influx of magic that swept into her senses and pulled a sparkling fog across her consciousness. The awareness of the magic floods her dreams, permitting nothing else to enter them; she _wants_ nothing else. For within the magic, within the shining fog, glittering gold and green, everything is marvelously simple. Marvelously blissful. In her dreams she willingly opens herself to the magic, eager for it to shape her, for her branches and roots to be restored so that she may be a proper Tree once more... Outside her dream, still cradled within the lush bed of leaves... she begins to glow. Doreel, on the other hand, has slept very little over the last couple days following the nasty way in which what had been looking like a good moment for him was denied by that cursed wolflike mind inside your head. Since then, his mood has been sour; he's kept mostly to himself and only checked in on you every once in a while. One of those moments approaches, the shaper using his staff to help him along. Though he'd started to look more alive, more vibrant while working on you, the mumbled words of a lonely soul have returned, a tired and weary note to his movements. As he approaches the great tree, Doreel senses something..odd inside. Something that doesn't feel normal. "Aureole..?" he may be heard to ask, hobbling over a little faster. You're../glowing?/ "What in the name of the High Ones...?" Stunned - that's his reaction, a look of utter disbelief on his face. She _is_ glowing, a pale greenish-gold aura that flickers and plays across skin that has been rendered translucent by your art. And where she glows, tiny little tendrils of vine have begun to creep up from the greenery upon which she lies. Delicate newborn leaves nestle against her, their color that of the very beginning of spring... and subtly bringing out the lingering green tint that still colors the maiden. She does not otherwise move, or show any sign of waking, though her expression is one of rapt delight even though her eyes are closed. This..delight is perhaps the first thing Doreel notices after closing his gaping mouth at the glowing light and the sight of the small vines in action. /He/ was the only one here who could do that..! Or so he thought. "What are you doing?" he asks, as if you would just answer right away. Crouching closer, a tentative, shaky hand reaches out to touch an arm, by the vines that grow. Unsurprisingly there is no reply from her, for sleep has yet to give up its hold upon her. The trembling fingers have no more effect than the whispered words; that glow remains, though, tugging daintily at those vines, apparently coaxing them higher around her. But..but you're not /supposed/ to be a tree any longer? Didn't Doreel come to his senses and pull you out of that? Much as he might enjoy watching on to see what you do to yourself with this newfound magic - and what a surprise /that/ is! - you're supposed to be an elf again...not a tree. Without a word, he lays both hands over your form and uses magic of his own with the intent to override and stop yours. _That_ makes her eyes snap open, unseeingly, the green depths of them glittering with the same glow that has been playing across her prone form. The moment your own power rises, it becomes easy to tell: something new has arisen within the maiden, but it is weak, as weak as her physical form, and easily overriden by older, stronger magic. Nevertheless she whimpers in protest, a tiny sound in the back of her throat, and her body twitches ** .........?! ** Doreel sits back on his heels before kneeling instead, the latter stands a more comfortable one in comparison. There's no questioning what he can feel in you now, only one explanation he can think of. He must've awoken some shaping magic in your own body. But if not that, perhaps all the shaping he's done has infused you with some of the magic yourself. ** Not a Tree. ** He tries to issue the reminder sternly, but in there is a moment of uncertainty. Slowly, Aureole writhes where she lies, her unfocused eyes blinking languidly. ** ** And indeed, one or two of those tiny tendrils seem to have tried to twine about her frail wrists. Doreel's eyes slam shut while he partially turns away, hands leaving your body again in the process. First you were an elf, then a tree, then an elf again once he came to his senses, but now you seem to believe yourself to be a tree again. Was /he/ wrong after all? Should he have left you a tree? If he did, what about the companionship he sought, that sense of loneliness you picked up on? ** ** Looking back to you again with a frown, he rubs at his eyes. They seem to see you as being greener than before, again. True, she _did_ seem to sense your loneliness... but on the surface of her thoughts, at any rate, there seems to be nothing but a richly woven thicket of Dream-vines. ** .........? Wh... wha....? ** There's no small amount of that confusion still lingering about Doreel's thoughts, but for the moment the tingle of the magic commands most of his attention. In truth, there's an open curiosity at what you might do with this. Around the time he decided to remove you from the tree, the Dream was strong even in his own mind while he fought over which way to go. Not so lucid is he now, inhaling as he seeks to consider that which you dream of, perhaps to join in a bit. As if she senses your presence, Aureole's thoughts wind out towards yours; like the vines over whom she seems to have gained a marginal command, they try to twine about your own. Her body turns slightly towards you as well, enormous leaf-hued eyes gazing blankly at you... and oddly fathomlessly, oddly keenly. They still glitter, those eyes, with a hint of the glow that played across her. ** ........ ........ ......... ** Her mind's touch is slow and sweet, like honey... like sap. Is she elf? Or is she tree? Elf on the inside... tree on the out? Or the other way around? To Doreel, that line between elf and tree begins to blur again. Used to forcing the imagery on others, it's still new that his subject openly, willingly sees such things. Susceptible to the power of the Dream himself, it's no trouble to twine thoughts together, the mindsick shaper drawing some form of companionship from it this way. Maybe it doesn't have to be the way he tried before. The resistance is nil, now. ** ** That touch of the mind..he wants more. Her mind latches onto your own -- again with that surprising strength she has exhibited before, a contradiction to the fragile state of her body. It increases her presence in your mind, pulling you farther into the Dream that has claimed her along with the sleep into which you'd placed her... and lets you see what you'd asked her. How she sees herself. ** ** Too many selves, that much would seem clear. That's been the biggest problem, too - just when Doreel thought he'd had you figured out, something inside changed and threw him completely off. Now, it seems as though his own semi-pliable mind is left open to your own strong influences, his need for any kind of closeness causing him to come to you like a moth to flame. Physically, he settles more on his side, facing you as his head rests against the soft bed of leaf and vine, near a shoulder of yours. ** ** Opening like a blossom... yes, doesn't it make a kind of odd, wondrous sense? To be sure, her sending slowly unfolds, blossom-like, for the input of your own. Dream-deep, the other Selves subside till there is only the High One and the Tree... each rippling into the next in a langorous, colorful glimmering of light. Aureole the Plainsrunner vanishes; so does, at least for the time being, Thicket the Wolf. _Teme_ remains, somewhere near, first glowing like a tiny sun and then sending out leafy tendrils through her consciousness, as though she is uncertain as to which Self that name belongs. ** ** Her skin begins to glow again, ever so faintly, and one of the vines finishes encircling a delicate wrist. ** ** Perhaps a combination of various selves..a new one. Doreel's thoughts and sending grow thicker, enshrouded in the fog that you've drawn him into. Head shifts so his forehead touches your shoulder, one of his hands draped across the wrist of yours that the vine wraps around. Lightly, his own magic continues, adding to yours to bolster it. Vines flow smoother, seeking both of them now. ** ** Does his remain unchanged? She quivers at the touches: the gentle pressure of hand and brow, the sending enveloping her, and the stronger vine-beckoning magic augmenting the nascent sparkle akin to it within her blood. Her sending quivers too, with dreamful acceptance. ** ** And as she quivers, her body presses, ever so slightly, towards the shaper's own. Blind, open eyes gaze up at him, very green now within the increasing glow. Doreel remains otherwise still for the moment, a light yet encompassing weight seeming to settle over him. Quite a pleasant one at that, one that doesn't need to go away any time soon. While his sending fluctuates mildly, it then grows stronger as it mixes with yours, Oriolle there. The vines begin to thicken faintly, new blossoms growing to add leafy adornments around both, and he shifts ever closer when he feels your touch somewhere out there. His eyes open as well but do not seem to focus on anything. ** ** Her body arches towards the warmth beside it, even as both her hands quiver in the embrace of the vines... Vines. She can feel them. They are like her sisters, and she reaches out unthinkingly with her infant magic, like a youngling wishing to touch something that shines. One hand grows tangled within the tendrils, immobile; the other, slack along her belly, still trembles and glows. ** ** Doreel responds with additional warmth that spreads when you arch closer, feeling the vines as they curl around that hand, his own slipping closer so they might do the same with his. It is a good feeling, a soothing and comforting one. Sisters and brothers, those plants. To him, it is all that remains among the pair, and as he basks in your budding Dream he finds it right and proper, enforcing it with positive thoughts of agreement, a sense of an approving smile and desire. Yes..this is proving to be much more preferable than the first attempt. He must have had too narrow a viewpoint, trying to choose just /one/ side rather than both. ** ** ** ** -- echoed by a true flower that buds into being at her temple -- ** ** Doreel has not known anything other than what he's become for a great many years. The mere concept of being something greater than that requires a few moments of consideration. Your reinforcement of the thought is the main reason he doesn't simply give up on it on the spot, really. ** ** ** ** And she glows again, vines shifting, just enough that one of her arms has room to move. Slowly, jerkily, that arm moves until it drops heavily around you... and once it does her vines twine again, both they and _she_ now closer to you than before. Doreel's head tilts closer as his body curls slightly as a vine may. That head nestles in closer when your arm settles about and the vines snake closer still, the living mass of greenery helping aid one of his own arms in falling over your torso. ** ** The pain _is_ clear, and it calls a little whimper out of the back of her throat even as her arm tightens around you; her eyes tear over, wetness sheening the green and beginning to streak down her features. ** ** And then... ** D... don't... be afraid... ** Doreel must be strong in the wake of the discomfort and thoughts of being alone. It's been easier to simply shut it away, attempt to bury it all deep inside for another time. Repeat hundreds or even thousands of times though, and it's a recipe for trouble. The shaper shivers lightly in your hold, his mind's eye picturing quite the beautiful image of you commanding the vines and blossoms that spread at your merest thought, like he's done countless times. ** ** Are you..growing, then? To provide shade? Perhaps closing around him further to enforce the union? ** A..fraid? ** comes, finally, a hesitant question. She _shines_, or so it seems, the nascent glow of the magic that seems to have been born within her resonating into her sending as well, and lending it a dimension and power she has not had before. Her thoughts are as pure and clear as the stream that burbles past the great Tree, as though washed clean by rain... and, clear and radiant, they convey her reassurance. ** ** Now it appears to be Doreel's turn to become drawn to that shining light, as if it were a sun or something casting soothing, enveloping warmth over the grove and its contents. He provides encouragement to work harder at becoming more accustomed to using this magic; it must be difficult if it is the first time or early in the practice of it. Turning in closer just a spot further, he bathes in the variety of sensations, reassurances, and comforts given to him, responding with a touch of appreciation and gratefulness. All he needed, perhaps, was someone who could understand and support. The fear does not need to exist, and there does not need to be worry over what cannot be changed in the past. Work harder; the Shaper wills it, and she, his Creation, strives to obey. Dreamily, her will ripples, first causing a vine to tangle about her ankle before the surge of magic flows inward... and makes her emotions twine about your own, vine-like, as well. The sending deepens. So does her pleasure, her body molding against yours, her other arm lifting -- or lifted, by the vines? -- to come to wind around you. ** ** Of course, Doreel is not trying to have you overdo anything. Always remember to work within one's limits - he's had to learn about that the hard way. Eyes flutter as he feels your other arm settling about him someplace, and the shaper ends up wriggling closer to press firmly together. The vines could help keep them that way by twining around, perhaps. At least to him, to his mind, that would not be unwelcome at all. It may help to enforce the dual sides of elf and tree. ** ** General agreement on his part, aided by further encouragement. You are doing so well, Oriolle... Somewhere, deep down within her, there is a feeble stirring of unease. A she-wolf growling, her hackles rising at the almost overwhelming rush of magic shooting through the veins of the one in whom she resides. A voice that might be muttering, 'Hairballs! Not you too!' But the she-wolf is buried deep, and it is far more difficult than usual for her to reach up from within to Teme, to try to rouse her and pull her back from the brink of green, heady oblivion. Nevertheless, the she-wolf struggles... For a fraction of an instant, the delicate form of the fledgling treeshaper shudders, her magic sputtering in its flow. No... she must keep it going. Her Shaper bids her, and she wants nothing else in the world but to lose herself in this increasingly close, warm living cocoon of viney wrapstuff. ** ** Inside there somewhere, Doreel can sense the faint stirring of that she-wolf. Last time, he did nothing to subdue that tarnished, disliked part of you. Now, at the first hint it may be coming out again, he tries to batter it back into submission. ** ** Quietly he makes a contented little sound in his throat, his own magic willing additional greenery to flow towards and around them, twining about pairs of legs, torsos, and in hair. ** ** Made pliant by years of your influence, her thoughts twine about your own and begin to shape themselves as you will. ** ** And yet, somewhere deep within her, the she-wolf is still stirring. She is harder to sense with this new awakening of power within your Creation, but she is still there... and her presence tumbles across your awareness as she struggles more violently to awaken. ** ** A part of the mad shaper bites back in a possessive way; Oriolle is /his/ now, and there's no place for the tainted wolfsense any longer. Go 'way! ** ** Doreel's eyes flutter for a moment as he inches closer while the vines help keep two together as more of one, his cheek rubbing lightly against your own as a more calming sense issues forth. ** ** An audible whimper rises in the throat of the maiden, and for an instant, for just an instant, her eyes turn wild. A sending that does not taste of Oriolle at all wheels fiercely out of her: ** <_Not_ tree> _NO_ shape cub! _NO CHANGE CUB!_ ** But even as that snarled sending snaps forth, another sounds at the same time, the one that feels like the maiden the Shaper has claimed: ** Ch-changed? I'm... I'm... Help me...! ** She writhes, and as she does the infant power within her spikes up sharply, agitating the vines that Doreel has summoned closer. They snake about both their forms, rustling, flowers opening and closing in eldritch light. Doreel can't help but grimace at the conflicting thoughts and emotions that slip free from your mind, shaking his head at the wolfen side's attempts to get a paw in there again. Not this time..not if he can help it. ** Nothing changed..improved, yes. Made better. ** The panic, he hopes, will be abated if he can just reinforce these thoughts. His magic flows, washing over you with its warm touch, tingling from head to toe, through vine and along skin. ** ** He, too, feels that surge of your own untrained magic, feeling them flow and surge over bodies, the scents of the flowers heavy, thick. Yes. You can sense her power, raw and unshaped, but full of potential to blossom at your will as her body has done. As her Self has done. As a flowering vine will often blossom best with judicious Shaping, so perhaps she has offered forth this power to you as your reward for your attention to your Creation? As your own magic engulfs her she writhes again, her fragile form tautening from breast down to hips, and a strangled gasp of longing escapes her. So does another burst of conflicted sending: ** * There's so much of that potential, Doreel almost forgets himself in the process of marveling at it. Oh, there's definitely more of that pride there, pleased as you show it all off to him by making the vines wriggle, blossoms open and spread their influential scents around both of them. With more subtlety this time, he seeks to simply ignore that part of you that contains the wolf, acting like it's a past memory that's rearing its ugly, annoying head. No, you're not that any more - you haven't been for a long time now. ** Yes, my Oriolle..show me what you can do with your vines... ** he prods. She subsides, her body shivering, her eyes enormous as she gazes greenly up at you; between the floral aroma thickening the air and the magic afire in her blood and your sending washing through her, _Oriolle_ seems to come forward again, the Wolf to step back. ** ** And then, too, as her body begins to mold fluidly against your own, arms once more twining close around you like vines themselves: ** ** Doreel smiles, for all is going rather well in comparison to last time. Now it seems like that wolfen side is still going to be something to deal with, but he handled it better this time. It wasn't such a surprise. While for the longest time he was the only one doing any shaping magic, be it bodies or plants, the sensations he feels when /you/ do it only serve to tug him deeper into the Dream, sending general agreement and reinforcement that the vines are yours to command, if you might practice at making them obey. See how much you can get them to listen. He offers a quiet little sound of pleasure when bodies twist together like vines, the real ones still flowing around and between them. ** ** The flowers help, making it easy, so very easy, to encourage Oriolle to do what you wish... and besides... two of them blossom, one at each of her temples, as one of those vines of hers threads its way about her head and entangles itself, to crown her in leaf and petal. Her eyes going placid with renewed Dream yet still glowing with that raw new power, she obeys her Shaper's encouragement. Clusmily -- for her strength is still a chancy thing -- her limbs slide about you and pull close. So do her vines. And both she and they arch and bend and writhe, slowly, ever slowly, every motion growing more and more suffused with the languor of her Dream. ** ** [End log.]