This is a log between Dusk and Lrilanya, and it is the first one between the pair that happened after she and Talek were captured to the Underworld. In it, Lrilanya uses suggestive sending and various herbs and candles in an attempt to convince Dusk she's someone else entirely. It should be assumed that it took place not long after the end of the events of dusk-talek-captured.txt, so it should be fit in between that and talek-uw.txt. Call the date early July 3. Logged by Dusk. ------------------------------------------- Dusk ---- Of average height, this lithely muscular elf wears no clothes, save a broad green band of soft leather that hangs over her right shoulder and splits in three further down: One band passing over her left breast, one below it, and the third curving down to her waist. The band is used for the sheer joy of decoration against the rusty fur that covers her from head to toe, streaked darker down her back and darker still around the clawed nails that grace both hands and feet, while turning paler against her belly, soft and well-groomed. Her headfur more closely resembles hair, twining down wildly, swept back from delicate, fine-tipped ears. Lupine eyes, no longer cub-round, are yellow, spring-green irises standing out against the shade. She is 40 turns old. Lrilanya -------- Resembling her sister in everything save height and build, Lrilanya seems to be the very definition of pale. Her face is the shape of an elongated heart, her eyes large and bright, the color of ice with the faintest touch of blue. Her skin is moonlight pale, with white strands of hair serving as a silky frame that pulls back from her face save two wispy curls, the rest bound in a headdress made of gray metal beaten into intricate patterns that mimic the winding of vines. She is taller than her sister was, and an inch or so taller than many other Underworlders, yet the most striking thing about her appearance is her build. It cannot be described as thin or slender; she is skinny and deathly so. Her cheekbones jut out and her eyes seem sunken when her mood permits it. Her fragile form is clothed in white robes, the first impossibly tight so that it appears to be choking her. Only the skirt is free enough to allow her legs movement, and she moves as fluidly as any other. The light touches of blue in the fabric are enough to highlight her rib cage - so thin is she that each and every rib could be counted - and her collarbone. She wears a second robe over it, a darker blue that is lighter in material and looser in its hold on her, and a third robe still, this one kept open like a long overcoat, its sleeves falling past her slender hands. Her hands are hidden in white gloves, their fingertips smudged slightly with dirt. For all her apparent frailness, Lrilanya possesses a sort of inner strength that betrays it all. Her lips are thin and her voice is quiet when spoken; her sending, in contrast, is sharp and defined. Often, there is an aura of emotion about her, yet very few can tell what sort of emotion that might be. The first thing you might notice is a dry, dull ache in the back of your skull. Quickly followed are the sensations of pressure against your ankles, tight and coarse, like poorly tanned leather sewn into forms too small and tight for you to wear comfortably. The room is damp and poorly ventilated, the air feeling slightly sour, but there is a spicy scent as well, like burning 'shrooms or herbs. And a.. humming, like a swarm of bees or a musically deficient singer, that seems to envelope the otherwise silent chambers. The elf with the rusty coat of fur groans softly, questions forming in her sore head. What happened again? Who did it? Where is she? More importantly, is she safe? Can she get out? Blinking her eyes slowly, she expects to see the light of the moons, but alas - nothing. She rubs the back of her head carefully, producing a hissing wince. Maybe she can stand. No..something's around her ankles. What? She moves a hand to touch whatever's around her ankles. Ow..too tight. Something's wrong, she thinks. What's that smell? What's that hum? Her fingers touch rope made of thin moss and wall fungus woven together in thick tight strands to make a thicker length, tied tightly and trailing off into the pitch darkness where its source cannot be seen. Your weapons, should you have any, appear to be confiscated and while the source of the hum cannot be immediately identified the smell can. Candles made of digger-fly wax and dried-out fungi, the trails of smoke curling into the darkness. They are the only source of light you can see and are very faint.. yet their smell is not unpleasant; its almost intoxicating actually. The humming grows louder slightly and occasionally your wolf-keen eyes pick out a wraith-like pale figure - chalk white against the charcoal black - but it is only occasionally and the candle's smell overlaps any other scent you might determine. Dusk swallows quietly, her greenish eyes darting back and forth in the near- darkness, widening as she catches a glimpse of the figure - or what seems to be one. Ankles tied up..she's got to undo that, first, then worry about other things. What in the name of Timmorn is going on here? Her claws begin to pick at the ropes around her ankles, and she buries her mouth against her shoulder, to breath that instead of the smell of whatever's burning. Pleasant or not, she doesn't care much for it. She holds off speaking for the moment. The sending tickles your mind like a feather against your nose, oddly pleasant despite the strangeness of the setting. ** Kellynn, are you awake now? Splendid. ** The chalk white figure appears - so thin! so skeletal! it takes a few moments before she registers as an elf - her blue eyes hollow and her smile empty. Despite your attempts to block it out, the scents of the candles still reach for you, trying.. and this strange, frightfully thin figure seems unaffected. ** I had begun to worry, Kellynn, that the Upworlder had hurt you dreadfully. ** Kellynn? Who's Kellynn? Certainly not Dusk..no way. She shakes her head, ignoring the impossibly thin and frail elf that approaches her - perhaps Kellynn is off in the darkness somewhere. If so, what's Dusk here for? She pauses, to answer. ** I don't know who you're talking about. ** she sends annoyedly, not at all liking this. She inhales the candle scents, despite her attempts to avoid doing so - they're so penetrating. ** You must be mindsick. ** The candle smoke is like dreamberries - intoxicating, leaving behind a pleasant warmness and a slight dizziness. It makes you feel open, blearily so, and makes the walls seem to shift and move. ** Oh, my dear one, I am not the one who's sick.. ** They make you dizzy, but it is not an unpleasant dizziness. As you inhale the fumes, the effects intensify, making you drowsy, but not enough to lull you asleep. The skeletal maiden crouches beside you, her features masked with concern. ** That terrible Elessardo.. look what he's done to you, my dear, sweet Kellynn.. ** Dusk lifts a hand to her head again, as the effects of the smoke begin to get to her. She winces again as she is reminded of the pain in the back. "Ow.." she mumbles, wincing again momentarily. "Unnh.." Things seem to be going topsy-turvy on her, and it's not as pleasant as a dreamberry-induced state is, no matter what. "You -are- sick..I'm not your Kellynn..I'm Dusk of Willowholt, and I demand you let me free." She speaks the order clearly enough. ** Send, dearest. I know that Elessardo hurt you terribly, but you do your mother shame to speak to her as if she were a troll. ** Tsking softly, sadly, a bony hand reaches to smoothen your head-fur - a gesture that, made vivid by the candle smoke, draws up memories of Talek's affectionate gesture mere nights ago. ** I know he's told you otherwise, my dearest, but you are Kellynn! My daughter now, understand..? ** And the smoke, the curling tendrils of smoke as they wisp into your breathing, seem to make her sendings somehow believable. Somehow, but not nearly enough to make her truly believe it. Dusk has lived nearly 41 turns, and she just recently found herself. She won't be fooled so easily, intoxicated or not. She would send, if her thoughts were clear enough to do so. "Can't..send right now.." she grunts, and she shies away from the touch on her head-fur, despite the images of Talek it brings. "You're sick..I'm not your daughter. I don't know any El..ess..ardo..and I don't know any Kellynn. Now let me go before I make you untie me.." she warns, though the words slur faintly. ** Of course you do! Oh, my dearest Kellynn.. ** The hand continues to stroke the rusty head-fur with unwanted affection. ** What has he done to you? First all this dreadful fur.. now you won't even acknowledge your own mother? Ancestors have mercy.. ** She rises to her feet, the robes-upon-robes rustling thickly with the movement. ** Don't you remember good Evenek that saved you from that dreadful Upworld? And Talek.. yes, that was his name.. do you remember that terrible wretch? ** She moves away to a table you cannot see, so black is it, and selects a vial and a cup. ** I know it's hard for you, daughter, but do try to remember. ** "Talek.." Dusk whispers the name. Yes, she remembers him. Pretty well, in fact. "He's no wretch..what are you talking about?" She lifts an arm to deflect the hand on her hair, lowering it again as the elf moves to the table she can't see. "And I've always looked like this. Have you always been insane?" ** Hush, dearest. ** Almost immediately she is before you again, pressing a cup half full of liquid into your hands. It smells richly of wine and is pleasant enough. The crumpled, burnt herbs are so tiny and masked by the thicker scent of wine so it would be quite difficult to realize that they are there, let alone know what they are for. ** Drink this, Kellynn. It will keep your head from hurting so much. ** Dusk lifts her hands to decline the cup, openly. "Take it away. I don't want your drinks, and I don't want your lies." Her words are still slurred, and slower than normal. Her nose wrinkles at the scent of the wine, not wanting to drink that. "High Ones, stop calling me Kellynn. How many times do I have to tell you? My name is Dusk. Dusk. Understand?" She crawls away from the one struck with mindsickness, and tries to pick at the ropes binding her ankles together again. "Somehow I don't think you'd tie your own daughter up like this.." She's pretty sure Kellynn doesn't have a thick winter coat of fur, either. She follows, her footsteps mere echoes against the walls. ** Please send, Kellynn. The reason you are bound so is because you were so fretful in your sleep! Whining, moaning.. I thought surely you would not know who you were when you awoke - not after spending so long with that wretched, wretched Elessardo - so I had to tie you so. I am sorry, daughter, truly I am.. ** The ropes do not give away in the slightest; they are tight and chafing. Again you feel the cup pressed towards you. ** Does your head hurt? It surely must for there is a terrible bump at the back.. please, Kellynn.. the drink will soothe the pain.. ** A warning growl rises in Dusk's throat. "Get away from me," she speaks slowly, a lot more clearly than before. "I'm tired of your lies and tricks. Are you so sick that you really think I'm your daughter? I feel sorry for you if you are.." That bump is a big one. What could have caused it? Dusk shuts her eyes for a moment, still picking at the rope with the claws that tip her fingers. As the cup nears again, she lifts an arm, close to backhanding it away. The sending comes gently, feather-soft and soothing. ** I have angered you when I meant only to care for you. I have not been a good mother, I know.. letting you fall into the hands of Upworlders.. letting them do this to you, shape you like a beast.. steal your immortality.. oh, daughter.. ** There is grief, seemingly genuine and unhappy, and though the cup draws away a hand reaches to stroke your cheek kindly, gently. The other hand, unseen, lights another candle, bringing more illumination and more intoxicating candle smoke in the process. ** I want only to make up for the years I lost with you, Kellynn.. I will even call you Dusk if you wish me to.. Do not hate me, dearling.. ** Helplessness, pity, need. ** ..I do not think I could bear it.. ** "Then learn," Dusk speaks through gritted teeth, trying not to give in to the game being played, for she's sure that's what it is. "Nobody changed me. I have always lived outside." If she had her thoughts, she might suspect she's in the Underworld. "I was not shaped. I'm a Wolfrider. I live, and I die. That's the Way. You're the one not letting me live free like I should be." She resists biting at the cold hand on her cheek, once again slinking away from it. The smoke from the candle drifts her way, as if it seeks her out, and fills her as she inhales. "Uhhn..." She shuts her eyes, and lifts her hands to her head, rubbing her temples. ** Are you certain? ** The hand continues to touch, to feel.. as if exploring your face, memorizing it. There is something undeniably sensual about it, but unsettling as well, and only then do the eyes of your seemingly mad captor come into view. Bright blue and empty, they are like the empty sockets of a skull save that they are eyes and not holes. The hand reaches to tuck beneath your chin, cupping and supporting it firmly so that you look at her. The tendrils of smoke still reach, numbing your mind and seeking to open it, to make you vulnerable. ** Are you so certain? ** The lupine eyes that belong to Dusk look glassily into the ones of her captor, and they widen for a moment, before the exact reason why is lost on her. "Certain..? Aye..I am.." She murmurs, her mind beginning to fail her as the effects of the burning candles do their part. She doesn't even try to back away this time. ** You are not. ** The sending is not an accusing one, but more of a prompting one, hopeful and fleeting. Unseen, a smile creeps across the maiden's lips and you feel the cup pressed to your fingertips again. ** Does your head hurt, dearest? Please drink.. you are dehydrated and it will soothe the pain.. ** Dusk's mouth is dry. Yes..maybe something to soothe it. "So numb..." she mumbles, near-incoherently now. Her hands won't work well enough to grasp the cup, however - this is evident as she tries to reach for it and little happens. She winces again, and her mind pieces itself back together in a reflexive action, trying to convince Dusk to hold out, to resist. "No..leave me.." The cup, as if on cue, presses to her lips. ** I will leave you be, Kellynn, once you drink, ** the sending promises softly. Dusk's nose tells Dusk of the cup brought close, and she shakes her head slowly, leaning away from it. "No.." she again mumbles. Despite the attempts to get to Dusk, she is still strong-willed, sure of who she is, even if it does not seem apparent now. She has not given in to the suggestions that she is Kellynn. ** Drink. ** This time the sending is more forceful and the cup does not move. No longer a plea, but a command, and the mind-numbing smoke is tempting. It seems like such a little thing to protest, unneeded and bitter. So what if you are not Kellynn? Besides being.. eccentric.. she does seem to mean well.. and the wine smells so good.. All true..but there is a nagging voice in Dusk's mind telling her not to drink. Don't do it! All is not well! She may either pass out first, or give in and drink from the cup. It could go either way right now. She wants to keep awake, and get away. Because of that, her fingers try to work at the rope again, though it is more than fruitless. She blinks in the dim light, seeing only blurred shapes and shadows. Her mouth parts slightly. She is vulnerable. And her captor always was skilled at those vulnerable points. She remembers, long ago, the careful nights spent toying with her sister's vanity, building up her ego only to shatter it with a word. Her eyes promptly blacken and she forces the cup to the rust-furred beastling's lips, tilting it to try and fill her with the wine despite her protests. Then her little sister had to go and die on her, leaving her lonely and bored, and suffering a new, strangely disconcerting pain: grief. ** Drink /now/. ** Dusk sputters at first, as the liquid fills her mouth, then the reaction is to swallow, and down it goes, inside her. She coughs afterwards, catching her breath after it so suddenly left her. "Gahh.." Dusk winces, wiping her mouth with the back of a furred hand, and she blinks slowly. "You.." she growls, though there is nothing frightening at all in the sound, this time. The effect is like the candles, but multiplied a hundred-fold. The herbs snuck inside the wine are quick-acting and pure, spreading throughout your mind a pleasant, but disconcerting numbness. It threatens with pushing you into unconsciousness, but keeps you hovering on the brink. ** That's a good girl, ** your captor soothes, suppressing her glee. ** That's a good girl.. ** The wine is discarded for it does not take much. Unbidden, the sendings trickle in, trying to suppress your memory and replace it with new. Do you remember? she whispers as images of growing up in the darkness; of the enjoyable taste of moss and fungi; of Talek's warm eyes turned cold and hateful; of rust-red fur sprouting on moon-pale skin and the pain that came with it. They are merely sendings and nothing more, offers of memory, of explanation. They can be refused if willed enough to, but, oh why would you want to? Dusk's body slackens, her head slumping so that her chin rests against her chest. The herbs do their job, as Dusk is unable to do a thing to stop the effects of them. Her mind is left pliable, and the suggestive sendings and memories attempt to cover up her true ones. It begins to work, slowly...until, resistance. Somehow, someway, there is still Dusk's sense of self that she found, that sense fighting its hardest to keep Dusk safe. And it does. Eventually the images stop as your captor withdraws, setting things back in order in a meticulous fashion. She must not wear this one out too quickly, she decides. The Upworlders' minds tend to be weak and easily broken and she would like to play with her a while longer before breaking one aspect so fully she must find another. Idly, she sends, ** Sleep now my dear Kellynn.. the Elessardo was terribly cruel and you must rest from the injuries he inflicted upon you. ** Dusk's mind relaxes and rests, finally, once her captor leaves her be for now, her defenses having held up this time, though they were put to a serious test. Shortly, Dusk sleeps. As for Kellynn..who knows? Silently, the pale wraith of a female continues tidying up the damp, dark room, robes rustling slightly. She does not sleep, for the will to do so left her long ago, but she relaxes, releasing her colorless strands of hair from the binding topknot and removing the outermost robe of her many to recline backwards in her chair. And she watches the inert figure of the slumbering Dusk. And chuckles silently.