In Which One Was TeleportedThe freedom of movement was the first thing to register with Iawen's mind. The knight had to catch herself from flailing down to the stones on the floor. The second thing was having found her voice once more as she audibly gasped. Twisting around this way and that to get a full view, Iawen found herself standing in an ante chamber: round and carved from stone. The green began to dissipate from her vision, giving way to a room with light shining down from an unknown source. Iawen dropped her view down, discovering a bright cobalt blue sigil glowing under her feet, larger than her head. The ticket in her hand had the matched blue but faded fast, as the tinged force that had held her in place moments before now seemed to be soaked up by the floor, rolling off her fabric and skin like water droplets.
Iawen took a moment to mentally calm down, attempting to apply the zen that the late Kellerburan had taught her. Also, green tended to equal goblins in her mind, or trolls, Chimeron; all things that usually weren't fond of her. To add more confusion to the situation, the sigil's light died down, sopping up the last of the green as the ticket stopped glowing.
'I'm screwed now,' thought Iawen, squatting down where she stood, grasping the ticket strongly and closing her eyes. Her mind and magic sought out the regionals of this place, and any regionalist worth his salt could usually tell within a few moments (in any given environment) what kind of power he would be wielding that day. Words came and went, heard through her good ear; textures were felt and scents were made known. The tingling taste of mana (a monster in Coventry claimed it tasted like mushrooms) skittered across her taste buds, and Iawen opened her eyes. The regionals were affirmed... and a little mundane. Iawen didn't hide her disappointment as she began to cast Repair Item upon the ticket via her fourth circle regional. "What does the Lady Tarnisha say?" she quipped to herself. "...ah yes. I think it's 'I bend thee, I break thee, I mend thee, I fix thee, I tear thee, I rend thee, I fix thee, I make thee'... or something like that."
The walls of the round room flickered with rainbow colors, rippling throughout through the walls as the ticket completed itself in Iawen's hands. The ticket was scrawled in elvish, but thanks to Sir Shean O'Quinnlin of Creathorne, she could read a couple of differing rune sets. The words read CAUTION: May cause disorientation. Extra-planar travel not recommended for mortals or those of lesser powers. Magic Users only recommended!
"I *hate* teleportation..." Iawen grumbled to herself as she stood up, glancing upwards towards the ceiling. 'Friggin' wizards. What did you get yourself into now--?' she thought as her eyes eventually landed back on the sigil, this time stepping off to get a better view.
The sigil wasn't one that she recognized from any library: from the bright halls of the City of Ivory, from the marbled columns within Chimeron, to the hidden tomes within the former Borderlands' Black Library. Casting her mind further back, she could find no records within the memories of her father nor her mother, and that puzzled Iawen. Both of her late parents had engaged in quite the array of adventures, but neither had come across anything like this. Iawen quietly rejoiced about finding something new, but rapidly focused on the task at hand: figuring out what happened so she could reverse it. In this case, it seemed like magical teleportation, and thus Iawen was at a 'Point B'. She needed to return to 'Point A', her house.
Iawen crouched down again to see if the stone upon which the sigil was engraved could be removed. It could not. Glancing about the room once more revealed no doors, but furniture: a book case, a desk with a wing-backed chair, and a window. Iawen blinked a few times, for there was no 'view' other than the stone behind it. Nothing in this place suggested a natural light fixture of any sort: torch, candles, sunlight, crystals, nothing.
The knight tentatively began walking to the desk, now quiet in voice but a dozen thoughts clamoring to be sorted within her mind. 'Alright, think...What was the last thing you ate before succumbing to the weirdness of Life?... The roast beef and horse-radish rolls from Chimeron. And then did I eat after that? ...not really. I rode straight to Wendmor and returned the mount, paying out some coin as a thank-you. This is clearly something to do with what I've been asking about... but it could just be Disk-gah!'
Iawen was startled out of her reverie as a plate laden with rolls appeared on the desk. They were sliced neatly in half, revealing meat, and the pungent smell of horseradish tickled Iawen's nostrils. 'Crap... they always say don't eat the food in Faerie, but never once is there a don't eat the food anywhere else... Well, I haven't eaten yet... and if I just pick it up and eat it, whoever or whatever might think me rude... or worse, they *want* me to eat it so I become sick. I wonder if--' Iawen's stomach growled loudly at that point, and the knight shook her head, pursing her lips together in finality. 'I think too much.'
"Le hannon," Iawen called out quietly to the room. The walls glimmered a split second in the same rainbow of colors. 'Like it heard me', thought Iawen. ''Don't let them know you're afraid' is the only thing Vawn ever taught me...' Iawen continued on in a lighter tone, struggling a bit with the elvish... "Iston aníral maded, ae anírach..." and waited to see if the room would stop her from devouring the rolls. After a minute or two with no response in any form, Iawen descended upon the food, hungrier than she previously thought. And it was exactly the same food: stuffed with meaty goodness and fresh ingredients, everyone who ate them at the Black & White praised the Lady Lindsay of Pax Tharkus that evening. Iawen was sure it could reduce her uncle Cain, lord of Ivory, to tears at the simplicity of size and the powerful, rich taste that came with it. As she finished off the last roll, her eyes shifted back and forth beneath the glass spectacles. Some adventurers treat objects as though they were intelligent, but a room is actually not an object. In fact, her late father Nero used to have a sentient place like this in the Neo-Hellenic Isles...Iawen briefly indulged in the memory before addressing the room again. "Man eneth lín? Room?" asks Iawen in halting elvish, and scowls. 'The phrasing is a bit off. Don't annoy the Room, for it is bigger than you think and more magical then you can comprehend at the moment...' Her senses gave Iawen pause as the room's presence loomed ever larger: the desk farther away from her standing point as was the chair.
She arched an eyebrow, focusing slightly upward as to impart politeness to the grand place. 'Is this Nero's brownie magic that he spoke of? Was that in the food? Crap, I don't have a cantrip to spare on an immunity to poisons of that type!' A couple of disjointed thoughts went through Iawen's mind as she turned her back on the furniture. 'No, be sensible --. Experimentation is needed if you are to understand this. Some things that you have thought about have literally come about. The room seems to be reading thoughts, and thus can bend the reality here to its will... only testing will tell.'
Looking around the room once more, Iawen sent out a clear thought: 'I'm practically the size of a child's doll in this room.'
When nothing happened, Iawen allowed herself a relieved smile. 'Excellent. Now that I've got a feeling that I won't screw up something heinous...' "Room, I'd like to sit and think a while, if that is alright. Heniach nin?" Perhaps it dealt better in Common than Elvish, but Iawen was getting to the point where she knew she was much better at reading than speaking the dialects.
A second chair appeared slightly behind the knight, over-sized with much stuffing. Iawen turned her head slightly, a bit wary but also pleased. A room that responded to thoughts? Or worded requests? Uncanny. And amazing! "Le hannon," Iawen responded, perching her back side on the edge, leaning her elbows on her legs as she leaned forward. 'What is that rune for? I dare not disenchant it. Not that I really could, anyway. I don't have the spell in my repertoire, nor do I have a weapon that could do so. Also, I do not want to break the hospitality shown to me... Wait.' Iawen straightened up. 'That's an avenue I haven't explored yet.' "Room, man anírach cerin an le?"
In response to Iawen's request to help it out, an archway opened. Iawen saw a set of stairs leading upwards. 'Not surprising.' thought Iawen. 'This must be the tower depicted in all that imagery... but *where* in the tower? And where *is* the tower?'
Iawen didn't get a chance to ask the room through thought or vocalization, as a grayish elf hurriedly walked down the stairs and through the archway. As soon as he stepped on the room's floor, the archway disappeared, leaving but a solid wall once more. The elf took no notice of Iawen, rapidly speaking in Elvish. It took a second to catch up in the translation: "What do you mean something magic tried to get in here? What have you been up to NOW?!"
Iawen skimmed the floor once more, maybe tapping the sigil could get her out. But it was neither under chair nor desk from what she could see: the sigil was gone.
'Oh, bollocks!' thought Iawen in a panic.
Created by Janna Oakfellow-Pushee at 02-17-10 01:58 AM
Last Modified by Janna Oakfellow-Pushee at 11-29-10 12:46 PM