"Mind Games" Log Date: 9/22/97 Log Cast: Winnowill, Rayek Log Intro: Winnowill has scored a coup -- the capture of one half of the Scroll of Colors out of the Palace of the High Ones, and the capture of the one elf in the world who can arguably match her in power and arrogance. Intending to bend him to her will, the Lord of Blue Mountain has shaped Rayek's form to better match that of the Gliders... and has, furthermore, attempted to magically convince him that he is in fact one of her own people and has been betrayed by the elves of the outside lands. But so far Rayek has resisted the insinuations she has tried to plant into his mind -- and although he cannot physically break out of the Mountain on his own, physical strength is by no means the only weapon that the airwalker has at his disposal. For he is, indeed, a match for Winnowill in cunning.... ---------- Quiet Room The ceiling of this chamber is high, extremely so. Contents: Winnowill Obvious exits: Out Winnowill enters smoothly, the soft slippered step muffled by the silks strewn across the floor. Her eyes are sharp yet not as glacier-like as has been so often in the past. A send, soft and almost sultry wraps about the room. ** Hello, Rayek. Have you slept well? ** The airwalker is casually floating in mid-air, three feet off the cushion-strewn stone floor. His hair is unkempt, his clothing rumpled; his face, already thin, is even more hawklike in the shadows, made more so by the shaping done to him... and by his long imprisonment. As his jailer enters the chamber, he shows no sign of acknowledging her, but simply continues to float there, his legs crossed under him, his hands gracefully placed upon his knees; his eyes are closed, and a small smirk curls one side of his mouth. Winnowill regards him for a moment. ** You seem peaceful, Rayek? Are you finally accepting your new life? ** Rayek slits open one amber eye, then lazily closes it again, remarking as he does so, ** It was but my duty, Mother of Memory, to help the Sun Village feast well this Festival. ** Winnowill chuckles faintly. ** Gone into your memories to escape, Rayek? Little wonder the Palace came into the disrepair it did... alas, what I could show you of our efforts now. ** Without opening his eyes again, Rayek replies, his tone quite languid, ** The dancers move well tonight. ** It's delivered with just the right touch of arrogance, polite enough to compliment, bored enough to imply that he could do far better. Winnowill clucks her tongue softly. ** So you finally slip into the madness, Rayek? Pity. I suppose then I shall ever have to keep you here... for a mad and powerful elf is a danger to himself and to others. ** ** No, Leetah, I shall simply.... watch, ** sends the airwalker calmly, continuing to float, his features arranged in utter serenity. He certainly _appears_ at peace, content. Winnowill tsks softly, leaning against the wall to contemplate the floater. Her presence turns slightly more open, and if he were to look, an expression of almost - defeat might be caught within her eyes. He is not, however, looking. The dark-skinned elf simply remains where he hovers, smiling thinly, evidently completely oblivious to Winnowill's presence. A faint sendril reaches towards the floater, seeking to merge with the mind held within. His mind--at least on the outer layers--seems open enough. Completely unguarded, images drift there, of Sorrow's End bedecked with flowers, glittering with flames captured in the hearts of lanterns. Gauzily clad elves rejoic in the Festival of Flood and Flower, the night ringing with their music and their glad cries. At first, she recoils from the brightness, but she mentally cloaks herself in the gauze, slipping further into the images, looking and noting what is presented to her. The Festival is in full swing, the most talented group of dancers in the village acting out the founding of Sorrow's End in the middle of the central square. Scents of roasting meat, fresh, warm bread, and wines and fruit juices, along with the heady odors of countless desert blooms, blanket the air with tantalizing aromas; music delights the ear, and for those who indulge in the food and drink, their tastes delight the eye. Foremost among the village maidens, Leetah, resplendent in her red and blue silks, golden jewelry glittering against her dark red hair and bronzed skin, dominates the attention of he who is the chief hunter of Sorrow's End. Over it all is Savah, the Mother of Memory, smiling with kind affection and joy for her thriving children. Winnowill waits, watching carefully, for there is a reason for this seeming madness. It will present itself in time, and She has all the time She needs to See. So cloaked in the gauze of his mind, she extends to wait, and watch. Madness, exquisitely detailed memory, or something both or neither? Whatever the cause, the vision plays out through Rayek's outermost thoughts, and he lingers over it with evident attachment, acting out his own part in the Festival in his thoughts. He dances... he takes food and wine to his lips... and at last, as the moons and stars provide their own ornamentation to the night sky, he whirls the brilliantly clad Leetah into his arms, retreating with her to the privacy of her hut. She seeks deeper after a time, curious indeed as to the reasoning and rationale behind this seeming retreat into madness. Vividly painted though this waking dream appears to have be, beneath it is a surprisingly flimsy foundation. Wisps of emotion and sentiment glimmer there in the next layer down of Rayek's awareness, but when reached for, they vanish away into golden light, like tendrils of fog before the strength of the Daystar. Here, she chooses to wait a time. Wait and see if a glimmer will come close enough to be shared and seen. Her Self cloaks again, thicker than before, but still oddly open. Nothing... at least, not for a span of time that goes unmeasured, at least by the one who floats there in apparently tranquil meditation. The glimmers form and re-form seemingly at random--and then, at one point, begin to shape themselves into something not unlike the outermost shell of the Egg, save in far brighter hues, the shades of sun and desert rather than of rock and cold Mountainl halls. Symbols pattern themselves into the shaping, of Sun Folk, of desert creatures...of the Wolfriders, even, and their bond-beasts. Other elves. The Palace. But just as a glimpse of something that might be a High One flashes ephemerally into the pattern, the whole thing sparkles out of existence, casually dismissed, as if Rayek were a child whose attention span has just exhausted itself. And the glimmers swirl on. A send ventures into the expanse, softly pitched in tone and word. ** Rayek...? ** ** Hrmm? ** His voice drifts across the mental shimmers, bathing them all in liquid amber light. ** Ah, no, Mother, my shoulder is fine. ** ** You haven't rested, Rayek. ** The send is still soft. ** The hunt is almost done, Mother. I'll return to the village by moonrise, I pledge it, ** comes the breezy reply. She gathers softly to move on now, further and deeper, seeking carefully for something as yet unidentified. And at that, as if he senses the searching Presence, or at least as though some part of him does, the symbols of the strangely sun-bright Egg begin to form again. This time, though, they form around that Presence, setting it a trail with glimpses of Sorrow's End, chambers of the Palace... a rough rock-shaped place that smells of elk and unwashed elf and can only be the lodge of the Go-Backs... a place with smooth wooden walls and furs on the floor, smelling of the living forest. A send shimmers softly across. ** Rayek? ** For a moment, the images feel startlingly rich, as though their reality is about to break forth into the floater's surroundings... then, in a spray of gold and amber sparkles, everything vanishes again.... until there is simply a blankly casual curiosity hovering there in his thoughts. And amber eyes open, with the dreamy observation of, ** Ah. It's you. ** Winnowill sends openly ** Indeed, Rayek. Why are you here? ** Her send is soft and almost even gentle. Black eyebrows arch over eyes that glint with slightly disdainful surprise, as if he considers the question foolish. ** Is there a reason I shouldn't be in my own hut? ** A look of surprise crosses her eyes. ** Have you forgotten, then, Rayek? You are in the Mountain... ** ** A mountain? In Sorrow's End? ** Rayek's tone takes on droll amusement. ** You've been under the Daystar too long, maiden. ** Winnowill sends openly ** Do you even know who I am, Rayek? ** Rayek's lean mouth curls in an urbanely condescending little smile. ** Of course I do, Ahdri. Why don't you retire to your chambers and sip some cool water? I'm sure it will settle you. ** Winnowill sends openly ** I am not Ahdri, Rayek. ** She turns away, searching again for another level... Rayek angles his head slightly, _just_ enough to look down the fine-boned length of his dark nose, and he sends patronizingly, ** Of course you aren't, maiden. Ask Savah for a cloth to bathe in the water, and place it over your forehead. ** A send echoes behind her. ** Rayek... rest. ** ** I'll get to it, maiden. Run along, now. The Mother of Memory cannot go without her handmaiden. ** She drifts away, disregarding the last send as she searches deeper. Still nothing, nothing of any real form or substance within his thoughts... only those ethereal glimmers of memory and vision, color and light. On, she seeks, waiting and watching. The glimmers run deep... flowing closer and closer together, once more forming their symbols of elves and beasts and things of the Outside... and of the stars from which the elfinkind came... until at last they run, inexorably as a river, right back out to the outermost level of Rayek's consciousness. ** Ahdri, ** sends Rayek dryly, ** that tickles. ** Winnowill sends openly ** Tickles? ** Rayek smirks, not unkindly, and patiently clarifies, ** The brush of your gown, maiden. ** ** And what would you have me do about it? ** Rayek lifts a lean, slender hand, waving it languidly. ** I am flattered, maiden--but I believe one of the others in the village would be more suited to your attentions. Thank you, but no. ** He gives another thin, condescending smile. ** Do you know of Winnowill, Rayek? ** The send is tinged somehwat oddly. Black eyebrows crook once more as he appears to ponder the question. ** Winnowill... Winnowill... ah yes. What of her? ** ** What do you think of her? ** ** Lovely, deadly, and to be no more trusted than the lowest of trolls, ** he replies promptly, his tone conversational. ** Why do you ask? ** ** Just... curious. Thank you. ** Again, she drifts away. Rayek graciously inclines his head, once more closing his eyes. ** Think nothing of it. ** Madness. That is the word that echoes through her mind as she drifts without seeming end. And still he continues to float, as though his will could hold him aloft forever, his consciousness glimmering with images as brief and fleeting as reflections on a pool of water. She begins to retreat back towards herSelf, escaping what she percieves as madness. The floating one shows no sign of hindering that retreat... or aiding it. Indeed, he shows no sign of even knowing it is occurring, as those glimmers in his mind swirl themselves into a vibrant vision of a hunt in the hills that border the Sun Village, the scent of bristle-boar rousing his blood... On she goes, back towards the outer world, focusing on the crystaline reality that is her own mind and form. ... and Rayek floats, his expression and body apparently perfectly at ease. Dark eyes watch him now, a tsking sound issuing from her lips. "You could have had more than you could imagine, Rayek." ** I'll let the Mother of Memory know you need the rest, Ahdri, ** he replies airily. "Rayek..." Winnowill's voice echoes softly. "Would you like to leave the Mountain?" An elegant dark eyebrow quirks up. ** Hrmm? ** he sends in reply, sounding distracted. "You heard me, Rayek. I asked you if you wanted to leave the Mountain." ** Leave the Mountain? Why, Ahdri, I already did. High Ones, maiden, perhaps you should ask Savah to excuse you for the rest of the day. You certainly sound addled. ** The send is sharp, clear, and as gripping as a frozen day in the wastelands. ** Rayek, for one fleeting moment of your life, pay attention to the here and now. I am Winnowill, and I have just asked you a very important question, so open your eyes and look at me. ** He does, but his eyes, blank, reflecting out nothing save what little light is in the room, resemble a pair of amber chips of clearstone. ** Come now, maiden, there is no need for hysterics. This sun-sickness of yours will pass. All you need to do is lie down a bit, drink much water, and you'll feel better next dawn. ** Winnowill walks over, bodily reaching up to grip a leg and pull at him in almost Imperial anger. Her first send is mostly to herself. ** Ktai was a fool to love this idiot. ** The second send, however, is straight to you, laced with healing magic, and every tingle annoyed. ** It is you who should drink the water, Rayek. Come back to yourself before you find yourself an all-too-permanent resident of your precious Palace. ** Rayek's eyebrows crook yet again as his limb is pulled, and he shows no sign of resisting it, letting his body limberly shift position in mid-air. In an almost childlike fashion, he quirks his disheveled dark head, and inquires blandly, ** Why, Ahdri, is a little bit of thistledown like you trying to drag me off to her sleeping pit? ** The healing magic laces within, tingling sharply, seeking infirmity and the possible reason of retreat. Winnowill sends openly ** Can Ahdri do that, Rayek? Can she? ** He simply seems to... flow with it, allowing the magic to envelop him. Rayek arches back slightly where he floats, and his mind arches, too, almost as though he were a feline stretching lazily in the sunshine. But there seems to be nothing wrong to healing's probing... nothing save glimmers of gold and amber that flitter strangely cheerfully in response to the incoming power. Winnowill hisses, looking vaguely disgusted. Rayek sends openly ** Maiden, for one without healing hands, you do a splendid imitation of it--rub my back, will you? I threw out a muscle on that last hunt, I think... ** A moment passes, then she smirks, all healing fading. ** Come with me, Rayek. I want to show you something. ** ** Eh? ** He stretches out in the air, blinking owlishly. ** What, then? ** Winnowill does not clarify, but only looks to you. ** Come with me. ** ** Of course, ** he sends placidly. Soothingly. Exactly as one might send to someone overwrought with the desert heat, perhaps. ** Lead on, maiden. ** Hand firmly in grip of your arm, she tugs you relentlessly towards the archway. Winnowill has left. Halfway down the 'tunnel', you reach a rockshaped wall. After a moment, a send shimmers, and a before-unseen elf shapes the wall open for you. Winnowill's Room(#4542RJL) A pale golden light, just more than a flicker from a shadow, trickles down from overhead. The room opens up to an ornate bathing tub, leading to a series of hooks with Lord Winnowill's wardrobe. In the far corner, a large bed appears to be formed out of the rock itself, canopied with a transparent veil of dark gray silk. The floor has been smoothed over kept clean, almost a softness of stone underfoot. The ceiling breaks off into stalactites that crane down to form arches against the wall and pillars in the center of the floor. A light musk smell hangs within the air, perfumed with a honeysuckle sweetness radiating from several vines and plants that grow near the entrance and the bed. Several piles of folded leather, dyed black and streaked about the edges with a dark sky blue, lay near the tub and at the foot of the bed. Contents: Winnowill Wrapstuff rattle cradle goblet(#8640C) Obvious exits: Archway Grotto Rayek doesn't resist this either, floating adroitly about as though his form had no more substance to it than a feather buffeted by the breeze... little more substance to it than the flittering glints of thought scattered across the surface of his mind. Still she drags you onwards, out of her room entirely. Winnowill has left. Grotto(#564RL) Water cascades from the very heart of this cavern, from its spiralling roof down over forms of stone to the uneven floor. In the center of the room, dry, a number of circular basins nest, each within a larger one, sinking in order into the floor and edged with shells shaped from the very stone. Illuminated with the same far-off luminescence as the water and most of the Mountain, two paths sinew off into the stone: one low-ceilinged hallway, and a set of stairs descending into the floor. Contents: Winnowill Obvious exits: Stairs South Hall You may +view the fountain. ** Spirit of Orolin, ** Rayek remarks mildly in passing, ** are we to cross the entire village, then? ** A Glider nods to Winnowill, taking the other side, assisting her in prodding the drifting airwalker. ** You will see, Rayek, ** is all Winnowill offers. Winnowill leaves the grotto towards the south hall through a smooth stone passage. Winnowill has left. You ascend into the south hall through a rising, smooth stone passage. Southern Hall(#280RJa) Sheer elegance of size unfolds before you. The Southern Hall, entrance to Blue Mountain, expands upwards into a dark indigo, slowly falling back down in lighter hues, mauve just overhead and a damp pink at foot. Carved and shaped from the stone, hawks and falcons adorn the walls near the entrance. Stone ivy, tainted with a vibrant green and brown of shaping magic, slowly progresses towards the north, first intermingling with real flora, then disappearing behind what could only be lush vegetation for a cavern. To the west, a staircase forms an octagon as it angles down in a colorful and playful design of color. Although the bottom step shares the same rich blue stone as the floor, each consecutive step shifts hues until the last reaches a deep green, leading into the shadows of an arch. To the southeast, another arch decends into a grotto, nightsky blue pillars shouldering either side. The air is fresh and clean, a breeze blowing through unseen places high above. A rich sweetness of vegetation rolls in through the northern arch. Overhead, shadowy bridges span the eastern and western walls, drawn from the very stone. Although lit well enough to make out the distinct details of the hall, the huge space echoes voices and footsteps several times, contributing to the immenseness of Blue Mountain. Contents: Winnowill Obvious exits: Stairway Grotto Into the Air Blue Mountain Catacombs Main Hall Rayek inclines his head quite affably to the Glider who takes up his arm, sending pleasantly, ** Ahnshen. Your new mothsilks are prepared, I trust? ** The two nudge you on, relentless in the travel to somewhere as yet unknown. A careful glance from the assistant to his Lord, and he ignores the airwalker, simply moving him along. Winnowill heads north into the cavernous hall, fading into distant darkness. Winnowill has left. You move north across the immense hall. Above you a slender rock bridge spans the hall. Main Hall This great room in the interior of the mountain is dome-shaped, much like a great bell, and the stone walls curve up to an eventual meeting far over your head. Stone columns stretch from ceiling to floor, or from wall to wall, in odd locations and arrangements. The floor is smooth, the stone walls textured, and far inthe shadows ventilation shafts dot the walls, lending the drafts from outside free rein to flicker the torchlight. On the far end of the room from the hallway that curves back towards the outer rooms sits the Throne of the Lord of Blue Mountain, a massive piece of artwork done in shades of blue and purple. Contents: Winnowill Pedestal Throne Pillar Column Obvious exits: Into The Air Northeastern Hall Western Hall Southern Hall Completely uncharacteristically, Rayek chattersends as he is guided along, his feet never once touching the stone over which he passes. ** Ah. Ahdri, you and Gentlerock have surely been at work with the new huts--the village has never looked so grand. Ekuar has taught you both well. What's that? Maiden, do not be modest, the new images in Savah's hut look as though they'll leap forth from the walls! ** Yet another Glider takes her place behind the trio, eyes cold but far from vacant. The odd entourage moves on towards the western hall. Winnowill disappears down a winding tunnel to the west. Winnowill has left. You wander down a long hallway, the curling nature of solid blue vines, thicker than many elves, twist around you. The going makes which direction you face a confusing one. --- Western Hall(#2913RAJL) Dismal incarnations of memories whisper history within emerald twinkles, sporadically glimmering throughout the hall. The ceiling high above is immersed into the black veil of shadows, creeping down the sloping walls. Through the arch to the east, leading to the main hall, an aura of green and life itself bleed into this place, only to sift into a hazy purple and finally a deep, morose violet. Several vines grow along the edge of the arch to the east, though immediately begin to intertwine with shaped stone vines, decaying at their ends. The air is thick and musky, dust prone to stir and add additional flavour at the slightest movement on foot or flight. Tall, carefully, though wickedly accurate shaped stone trees immediately immerse their trunks and branches into the darkness of the air. The stone forest remains in a perennial state of shaped decay, almost a picturesque design, crossing a wolfrider holt with a lonely forest setting. In the center of the hall stands a particularly horribly twisted trunk, a single branch all that remains, set forever into stone. Upon the branch a stone falcon sits, talons knitted into the branch, though something almost lifelike gives a smooth, soft reflection from its eyes. Various holes have been artfully placed into the northern and southern walls. Contents: Winnowill Treewee Obvious exits: Into the Air Gathering Hall Main Hall Egg This room has 'holes'. Winnowill turns to the two who have joined, sending once. Both nod, and release the airwalker... only after pushing him towards the northeast archway. Winnowill simply drags him along. Winnowill goes down the dim northeastern hallway. Winnowill has left. You notice, oddly enough, that the forest has fallen away from you soon after you leave the room, and the winding tunnel is entirely smooth except for cracks and holes where the strain of Blue Mountain has forced its hand on the beautiful shaping. --- Chamber of the Egg Somehow this room seems level while the rest of Blue Mountain is at a disturbing angle. Somehow the damage that has wracked the very foundation seems faultered before it hit this room. But it's only an illusion created by the tilted form of the large stone Egg floating in the center, twisting just a bit off its axis. Obviously the pillars here, majestic once perhaps, have crumbled and split. Obviously the walls here, once smooth, are riddled with curls just like on the Egg, as though this room was once part of the Egg, as though the Egg is inside itself. And you with it. The dizzying effect here makes you uncertain, but there seems to be only two ways that lead out into the more tangible halls of the Mountain. One leads 'out' to the western hall, the other 'northeast' to Tenspan's hall and the dining room. Contents: Winnowill Scroll of Colours Egg Obvious exits: Tenspan's Hall Western Hall The other two do not follow. A strange conglomeration of magic-feeling fills this chamber, old and even older yet magics blending and changing, shifting what seems to be into what might yet or might have been. A shadow takes its place high in the upwards-leading exit of the room, near-brilliant eyes regarding the scene below. Guided into the chamber by Winnowill's insistent hand, Rayek hovers there, wreathed in the golden shimmers habitual to his floating. His gaze casually drifts about the room, and if it jerks slightly at the sight of one of the Scrolls, it jerks again at the sight of the Egg... and at apparently fascinating curls and swirls and symbols here and there on the walls. The airwalker actually whistles aloud, then remarks fervently, ** High Ones. Ahdri, you and your Recognized _have_ been at work...! ** Winnowill sends openly ** Rayek. The Scroll, if you will... where are the Scrolls of Colour? ** Rayek curls his long lithe form about where he hovers, his features blank, bland. ** In the Palace, of course, though I must comend you on that excellent reproduction, Ahdri. Truly, your shaping skills have surpassed all my expectations. Ekuar's tutelage, no doubt. I have never known a greater shaper of rock! ** Winnowill sends openly ** Touch it, Rayek. ** His head quirks with that oddly childlike curiosity again. Obligingly, he drifts over to the thing, lifting brown fingertips to its glimmering surface, turning his face towards it. A moment later, when he looks back to meet Winnowill's stern gaze, there is no sign in his own that he registers this thing as holding any importance. ** Most excellent shaping, ** he sends smoothly. ** Well done, maiden. ** Winnowill sighs ever-so-faintly. ** Madness. Perhaps it is inherent to those not of Glider bloodlines. ** As if he had not heard that remark, Rayek drifts away from the Scroll and towards the Egg, studying that mighty creation with detached interest. ** Another truly magnificient shaping. I am most impressed. ** Winnowill snorts. ** It is late, Rayek. Perhaps you should assist me back to my hut? I grow weary... ** ** Eh? Why of course. I've been telling you you _should_ be resting, maiden, ** sends the airwalker, benignly. He glides straight back to the black-haired one who guided him here, offering a hand, apparently in complete trust. Perhaps there is an end by the means, and so she will see. ** You're so right, Rayek... and it's so late. Do you know the way back? ** He inclines his head, his odd graciousness not faltering a whit. ** Maiden, I may not be as old as you, but I know this village just as well. Of course I know where your hut is. I'll take you there straightaway. ** And with that, his face and form radiating calm assurance, he glides out of the chamber. [And very soon...] You enter the narrow, oval passage way into Winnowill's room. Winnowill's Room(#4542RJL) A pale golden light, just more than a flicker from a shadow, trickles down from overhead. The room opens up to an ornate bathing tub, leading to a series of hooks with Lord Winnowill's wardrobe. In the far corner, a large bed appears to be formed out of the rock itself, canopied with a transparent veil of dark gray silk. The floor has been smoothed over kept clean, almost a softness of stone underfoot. The ceiling breaks off into stalactites that crane down to form arches against the wall and pillars in the center of the floor. A light musk smell hangs within the air, perfumed with a honeysuckle sweetness radiating from several vines and plants that grow near the entrance and the bed. Several piles of folded leather, dyed black and streaked about the edges with a dark sky blue, lay near the tub and at the foot of the bed. Contents: Wrapstuff rattle cradle goblet(#8640C) Obvious exits: Archway Grotto Winnowill arrives from the grotto. Winnowill has arrived. ** And here you are, ** Rayek sends politely, executing a dextrous half-bow where he floats. ** If you will excuse me, I shall retire to my own hut now. The Daystar will call me early to the hunt on the morrow. ** With that, he floats straight for the wall--evidently expecting it to open for him, or perhaps he sees a door there? The elf of the archway-shaping fame shifts the wall, opening the arch for Rayek. Winnowill scowls darkly behind the airwalker's back. She doesn't like this at all, but her send is light. ** Sleep well, Rayek. ** And with his face turned towards the archway as he glides through it, Rayek misses that dark expression that crosses the face of the Lord of Blue Mountain. On the other hand, _she_ misses the smile that stealthily curls his mouth, and the glint of cognizance in his eyes, as he keeps his face pointed towards the darkness into which he vanishes. [End log.]