Gwindolyn and Olwë Meet

[This scene is intended as practice -- character studies -- rather than actually taking place within the storyline.] June 18, 2010 Gwindolyn Spiritor and AelKennyr Rhiano [19:52]  Gwindolyn Spiritor walks into the room. The males fall to their knees, bearing an elf down with them. She ascends her throne. As she lowers herself down with a dark grace, a sensual movement. She arranges the few slips of silk that magically stay put across her body. She turns her head and murmurs to her dragon as she scratches his head a bit. She lowers her hands to the arms of the chair. She drapes them there. She looks to the males and says "rise all and bring him forward." The males instantly rise, bringing the elf upward with them. They bring him forward whether he likes it or not. "Unbind him and leave us." She watches as the males take away his bindings, leaving him dressed and alone, but stripped of weapons before her. [20:00]  Olwe struggles weakly between the two dark elves that are holding his arms, the ropes tight about him.  He watches a dark skinned female, elvish in face and form enter the room and the males knee as one.  Someone kicks at the back of his knees and he kneels, unwillingly.  As she seats herself upon the throne, he looks up through his hair and gazes boldly at her face.  He watches her every movement, taking in the dragon, the reaction of the males around him.  She speaks, and the males rise, dragging him to his feet and push him forward, shoving him to walk toward the throne.  His eyes widen in surprise when his bindings are cut, and the males leave the room.  He casts a glance about him, the throne room empty but for the woman before him and himself.  He licks his lips and swallows. [20:02]  Gwindolyn Spiritor sits quitely a moment, letting the music of silence unnerve him. She watches him intently to see his reaction. She says nothing and makes no hint that she speaks common yet. She tilts her head slightly to intensify her gaze. Her long braids fall to the side to betray the small movement. She holds her body still, excpet her chest which rises minimally for breathing. Her daggers the only weapons in clear sight except for her silver tipped manicure. Those things are filed like dagger tips. [20:06]  Olwe rubs absently at the rope burns on his wrists and gazes at her, sitting still and watching back.  His eyes flicker over her clothing, and a slight blush rises to his cheeks.  He looks to the daggers, then her face, his own face reflecting a frank curiosity.  He shifts a little, nursing his left side, and an arm wraps around his waist and the hand presses to the left side.  He continues to  wait in the silence. [20:10]  Gwindolyn Spiritor smiles suddenly. The smile is not warm nor welcoming, but condescending and smug. "Good, you know your place already," Her voice is as smooth in common as it is in drow. LIke she was born speaking it. A spider crawls out from under her hair and meanders its indirect path about her face to sit upon a cheek and rest. The dragon is well trained in not eating the spider. The dragon sits there, interested in the shiny ring on the elf's hand. "You have questions. I may grant an answer. Ask." Her voice is not quite granting permission so much as commanding. She sits still and unmoving, relaxed possibly. There is an alertness in her though. Like a cat that sits in resting position but is able to pounce at a moment's whim. [20:15]  Olwe's eyebrows rise when she remarks upon him "knowing his place" but is quiet, watching the spider crawling up to her cheek.  He never looks away from her face, though the dragon is obviously watching him.  He can hear in her tone the voice of command, of being used to being obeyed.  He stares at her face intently for a few moments, searchingly.  Then, when he speaks, although his voice is a little hoarse, it is strong and resolute.  "I would know before whom I am brought." [20:22]  Gwindolyn Spiritor dips her head just slightly "That is always a wise first question. You show intellegence. A rare thing among your kind." She pauses as she tilts her head in the other direction. Her braids slip over the other way, covering the dragon. He rumbles a little growl and fidgets until he can see again. New rivlets of blood begin on her shoulder. Normally she would not make a note of it, but she cared to do a little show of things. Her blue eyes begin to pulse from the thin red lines through them. A kiss from her Goddess. A bit of chaotic energy flows through her and her skin knits back up to a perfect smoothness as if it was never even punctured. Her grin only becomes more smug "I am Ilharess of this fine home. I am a favored priestess rising quickly through the ranks and so much more. You may now recite your titles for me." Her voice is only a touch softer, but there does not seem to be so much softness as to leave one with the idea disobedience is a good plan. Besides that if one listens well, you can hear the breathing of the guards outside the room. Not that she isn't more dangerous alone than her whole army is together, but appearances are often more intimidating than truth. [20:30]  Olwe's eyes narrow a little at her dubious praise.  He follows the tilt of her head with his eyes and watches the dragon fidget, his rumbling vibrating under his feet, through the stone floor.  He grows still and watches the blood flow on her shoulder.  The pulsation in her eyes causes him to catch his breath a moment, and he lets out his breath softly in astonishment when her flesh knits of its own accord.  He murmurs something in another tongue, the tone betraying his suprise.  But her smugness is answered by his drawing himself up to his full height.  Her tone is soft, but also deadly, and he glances again at her daggers. "Does Ilharess mean 'priestess' or 'queen?"  He asks.  "Are you 'dark elves'?" He watches her face carefully. [20:36]  Gwindolyn Spiritor takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, her blue eyes back to normal. The thin lines barely visible again. She holds her hands still on the arms. She seesm to be accustomed to sitting so completely still during interviews like this. She does not seem tense at all, or uncomfortable. She says slowly but purposefully. "Your tongue is unfit to speak the language of the drow. I grant you a single word. My title. Do not press your luck in asking for knowledge of that word." Her tone carries a slight growl to it. It existed as a warning. Her voice goes back to normal. "I granted you this one time to not answer my question straight away. Do not test my patience. List your titles." [20:42]  Olwe keeps his voice even and tranquil as he answers her, his face, though showing open surprise at times, does  not show fear.  Wariness, as he is obviously in the hands of those who are not friends, but there is an patient air to his manner, though he, now and again winces. "I do not know this term, 'drow.' I am Olwe, of Alqualonde."  He tilts his head up and gazes into her eyes. [20:47]  Gwindolyn Spiritor waits a moment as if waiting for you to continue. When you do not speak further, her face grows cold and the smile is gone as if it never was. It is possible that her face looks more natural now. She says in a very controlled, but evidently unhappy voice, "you hold no title? No power?" She leans forward as she speaks. She looks about to rise. The pulsing in her eyes begins and steadily picks up speed and intensity until her eyes are almost a solid red flare. Her fingers begin to flex. "If you are the wrong drow...." her words trail off. [20:52]  Olwe watches the woman as she leans forward  and looks ready to rise.  He watches her eyes, his own blue eyes widening.  "Drow?" he echoes again, the word very much a question.  "I am King of the Teleri elves and Lord of Alqualonde and Tol Eressea.  My people are one of the three eldar clans of elves.  But elves such as your people, these I have never seen." [20:56]  Gwindolyn Spiritor growls and reaches a hand out. She unleashes a wave of chaotic energy. it is designed to inflict minimal wounds. so about 10% of your full health at most. It is more pain than damage. She releases her connection to Lloth and lets her eyes go back to pale blue. "I'm no elf. You are but a pervsion of our race. Do not mistake your place." [21:03]  Olwe gasps and staggers back as the energy courses though his body.  He bend overs a litle and holds his left side tighter, his breath hissing as he slowly recovers from the pain.  Looking up from this position, he looks at her eyes, and there is a hint of pain still in his gaze.  "Perversion?" He said, a hint of anger in his voice.  "If you are not elf..drow...." his voice is steely at the word 'drow'...." then perhaps you are a perversion of my race. What mean you by my 'place?'" [21:06]  Gwindolyn Spiritor rises, tall and proud, regal and terrible. She steps down with the grace of a dark dancer. She steps until she has your full eyes. "I am drow. We are born of Lloth. We are the first concept, the first idea. You were just a stolen attempt to twist the ideal. A betrayal. Nothing more." She would lift a finger to the side of his face. Her hand is not in a threatening pose, but looks as if she means to stroke the side of his face. "There fore you are beneath us." [21:12]  Olwe straightens up as she rises and walks down. His eyes lock onto yours, but the anger is gone.  He listens, his hand still nursing his side, but otherwise still.  His gaze switches from her face to her hand as he catches the movement from the corner of his eye.  "I am of the firstborn of the Children of Illuvatar.  I know not your Lloth.  But I cannot believe my kind beneath any other being as we are beloved of him."  His face is a bit quizzical. [21:15]  Gwindolyn Spiritor lays her finger on the side of his face and leans her head forward to the other side of his face. She whispers softly to him as she draws her nail down along the side of his face "You are stolen by a god who had no original thought, who had no original love, an inferior." She begins to pull back, hoping to see the blood on the face. [21:20]  Olwe feels her nails rake down on the side of his face as she speaks and clenches his jaw at her words.  He feels the braids of her hair tap against his shoulder and whispers back, "You are allowed your illusions, of course.  But I doubt not my 'place," nor my Creator. You have displayed many sides to you, here, but not one remotely connected to love.  Yet you accused my race's beginning spring for a lack of it."  He turns his head  and leans close to her face, lips close but not touching.  "What is it that causes you to dispise my kind so?  What is it we have that you lack or desire?  For one to react so...there must be a cause...a reason that is personal, intense." [21:26]  Gwindolyn Spiritor laughs loudly in his ear. She does not hold the volume low nor pull her head away from him as she laughs at his words. "The elf admits no knowledge but tries to teach the teacher. Amusing. Perhaps I might let you live. I broke my last toy." Her words are non-chalant and full of dark mirth. She might actually be amused. "Other than amusing me, what would a lesser being as yourself have to offer me?" Her voice is almost sweet, taunting and mocking in its sweetness. She remains close. Had it been another place, a different set of skins, one might think 'lovers' rather than 'cat with mouse'. [21:30]  Olwe is a little startled by the laugh that spills from her, puzzled at the mirth. He searches her eyes and sees no anger. "The elf has a name," he answers softly.  "Your people descended upon mine when we offered no violence to you and yours.  Unless it be that you are servants of the Dark Lord, and Loth is but the name he is known by.  He has many forms and many faces, but all of them false."  He draws back a hair's breath. "As to what I offer you, what would you have of me?" [21:38]  Gwindolyn Spiritor smiles to him and with movement so quick that even an elf would pause with admiration she leans in and takes a kiss from him. Not for any sexual pleasure, but to let him know who the aggressor here was in case he forgot. "I have had my fun this day, you may go home." She flips a hand and guards appear as if out of no where to escort you home. They have a blindfold prepared, it would not do to leave you able to see. She takes a step or two away and then halts and holds her hand up to stop her guards. They freeze at once. She tilts her head as if seeing you're hurt for the first time. She says "it would not due to send my newest toy away broken from first meeting." Her eyes pulse bright red and she reaches a hand out to touch you lightly. Almost tenderly A lover's graze of arm. Through the touch, she releases more chaotic energy. It is a double spell woven as one. Healing and inflict minor wounds. She does not heal lightly and it hurts as much as any pain she delivers. And the spell this way prolongs how long it takes to heal, allowing the pain to last longer. Still, when it ends health would be fully restored, but broken bones would still be broken. [21:44]  Olwe gasps as your lips pull away from his, his eyes reflecting his utter surprise.  Still gazing at you, face a little flushed, he does not react at first when guards appear.  He hears their footsteps and shakes himself as though waking up, his eyes catching the blindfold in one's hands.  He watches as they all stop and turns to see your hand raised.  He opens his mouth when he hears the word "toy," but before he can speak, you touch him, and suddenly a wave of pain floods his body, crushing him even as it heals.  He hears a moan and a brief cry and realizes, dimly, it is his own voice.  He bites down on his bottom lip to keep another cry from escaping but cannot help but double over and moan, his breath coming in painful rasps. [21:58]  Gwindolyn Spiritor takes in a deep breath and holds it as he crumples in pain. She smiles as if savoring. She could have just taken a deep sip of a favored wine for the look on her face. Or perhaps just enjoyed a lover's spasm? She laughs as he moans, the pleasure in her voice quite evident. She turns and walks from the room, leaving her capable guards to show him back to the surface, back to the known word. She left them with instructions to not harm, but not letting you find your own way either. They have instruction to keep you blindfolded the whole walk. She left it to their own imaginations how to handle any resistance. None of this was said allowed, but through silent hand signals as you lay on the floor writhing in pain.