"That's what I like to see, well done Samen," Gate says without looking, as he pulls on the Boots of the Winterlands.
"These are quite nice, these boots. Is someone taking that mace? Not my style really."
Gate enters the room.
There is a golden lamp in this room, pillowed on an elegant pedestal made of puffy white cloud.
The room is otherwise empty, and seemingly safe.
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The boy gazes at the words on the wall, attempting to discern their meaning.
"This place is full of mystery."
As Gate admires his reflection, a fine mist begins to trickle out of the lamp. It flows faster and faster, becoming a swirling vortex in seconds, pulling everyone's hair and loose clothing towards the epicenter.
The torso and head of a man coalesce from the maelstrom, and the whirlwind quiets to a lazy churn. This man is twice as tall as Gate, and his pale lazuline skin is tattooed with delicate azure patterns. His braided, storm-colored beard hangs down his flat belly and is decorated with six chunky golden bands — his knotted ponytail is decorated likewise. His tight silver vest with long sleeves is embellished with gold, and his purple velvet cape flutters majestically in a breeze that none of you can feel.
Welcome — and well-returned — travelers-through-Air. Ilmoitse the Enlightener, at your service. He makes an graceful, but very shallow, bow (one appropriate to the acknowledgement of subordinates).
He peers down at Gate, rubbing his well-oiled beard. Little one, why have you called Ilmoitse forth from the comforts of his traveling palace? It is no mere looking-glass for the vainglorious to admire their own beauty.
”What was that? Vainglorious? Are you talking to me?” Gate puffs out his chest, still making sure his shirt covers the bare spots in his chest hair.
”Well, I didn’t call you so much as polish your magic bottle here, but if you’re saying my vanity is glorious, then I accept. Not many chances to get compliments down here, I’ll have you know. Did you say you’re living in a traveling palace? Is that in your bottle? What’ve you got in there then? Any way we can come inside and have a look? I have to say, we’re quite exhausted and could use a nice spot to rest.”
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Ilmoitse the Enlightener laughs good-naturedly at Gate’s puffing. The force of air blows his shirt further open.
With such an attitude, how could it be anything but glorious?
"Glorious Ilmoiste, we thank you for speaking with us. Humbly we ask, perhaps you might enlighten us regarding the rooms ahead, and what we might find there?"
Ilmoiste listens carefully and nods. Glad is Ilmoiste the Enlightener, to see one so enlightened. His job has been done already, haha!
He claps his hands like thunder. Ilmoiste can tell you of this small realm… but was he not hand-picked by Sultan Zafer XXXVIII himself — the Lord of the Heavens and All the Stars of the Mortal Void — to be the ambassador to this tiny plane? He was, I tell you. It is true. And he is a keen emissary at that!
Knowledge is a valuable commodity. Further, you have disturbed Ilmoiste from his couch, where he was taking repast of dark wine and sweet dates in the cool shade, and admiring his palatial gardens (which stretch to the horizon, further than the eye can see).
In brief: who are your friends? Let them speak!
"Milord, my friends here call me Jack or Birne, as it fits their mood. I serve the lady Lumi, bride to be of he who'll rule these humble lands. If I may be so bold, I wager that milady's beauty and her grace would make her fit for even such a lion as Zafer.
"Pray tell, oh Enlightened One, what discourse would you have with us? What secrets would you deign to share?"
The boy is implying as an aside to Samen, What are you up to with this djinni, that you would ask him to keep your secrets?
Ilmoiste the Enlightener grins at the Boy. Littlest one, aren't you clever! To deal so with Ilmoiste the Enlightener, to be so bold as to deem what might be fit for the Lord of the Trillion Empyrean Diamonds himself! Were this not true of Lumi, Ilmoiste would not hesitate to toss you into the endless sky from where you stand!
The clever are wary of they meddle, little one. And Ilmoiste the Enlightener is famous across the realms for his fox-like wit!
He laughs. You are quite entertaining. If nothing else, you will help Ilmoiste pass the time. Come, come inside!
Mist suddenly fills the room, and you're pulled into the lamp!
You find yourselves on a sumptuous veranda that overlooks a palatial estate. Swathes of jewel-colored silks billow from the roof; matching plush pillows are scattered across floor, which is tiled in an 10-fold rosette pattern done in shades of pale amethyst.
Ilmoiste the Enlightener settles atop a large golden cushion and gestures to an array of refreshments that his handsome servants are even now laying out on shining silver trays.
The aroma of mint wafts up from a steaming silver teapot. Candied fruit and sugared confections sparkle atop tiered plates. Saffron chicken, savory crepes, and more are gracefully set down, making your mouths water.
Help yourself to whatever you like… I'm sure there is something here to suit any taste!
A servant, bowing, pours chilled wine from a silver carafe into a diamond-studded goblet for Ilmoiste.
A pleasantly balmy breeze drifts riffles the servants' loose clothing. Strange creatures prance in the distance, among the hedge-rows and vineyards.
"Forgive me, mighty Ilmoiste. My time with faerie kings and queens has made me too impertinent. For them such beauty's draw is but a fact. But they cannot compare to he of Facets Infinite."
He bows. As the mists swirl, though, he begins to move away. "But I didn't say y..." But he is too late.
A box, a lamp, a palace. Cages. One hopes the gaoler is benevolent.
The hunger of a youth entering puberty fills him, but he hesitates at the sumptuous spread. "Milord, I do not mean to doubt your hospitality. However, I have reason now to ask: what contract might my eating of this feast imply?"
Ilmoiste pauses, goblet nearly to his lips. Little one, you have been in Ilmoiste's power since those tiny feet stepped onto his airy floor. Now your situation is fully clarified. You have gained wisdom. Ilmoiste should be, perhaps, thanked.
He takes a sip of the wine and leans back into a pillow before continuing. Contract? Cost? Why, nothing! He gestures negligently to the splendor about — the lush landscape, the airy mansion, the sumptuous pillows, the beautiful servants in their delicate silks. Ilmost the Enlightener has not a drop of parsimony in his soul. Faerie kings, faerie queens? PAH! Inveiglers!
He puts down the wine and leans forward. Should it not be that the guest's company, to the host, is a gift in of itself?
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”That depends on the guests, wouldn’t you think? So, what do you do down here then? Just lie around and eat, not that I’m complaining, mind you,” Gate stuffs his mouth with a savory crepe. ”Is there any entertainment? Don’t you have, like, dancers, or musicians, or something?”
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"Down here"? Where is "down"? The djinn glances at the floor, then the ceiling, bemused… and then seems to dismiss the idea as if it's not worth the effort.
Of course — music! Ilmoiste claps, and five musicians walk in from behind a saffron curtain. They carry a harp, a daf, a drum, and oud, and a pipe. A an athletic and bare-chested dancer follows; he wears a brightly-colored dhoti loin cloth, wrapped to form a kind of loose trousers.
Ilmoiste says a few words to the performers in a breathy language that you don't understand. He then turns to you. Ilmoiste has chosen a traditional piece for you. A handsome servant at the court of the King falls in love with one of the other servants, who is off-limits on pain of death (for them both!). This piece is about the pure and beautiful grief of longing.
Ilmoiste sucks the juice out of a pomegranate seed and daintily spits the meat into a crystal tray, which is held aloft by a servant. Why has Ilmoiste the Enlightener chosen such a sorrowful piece, may you ask? Why, the answer is simple! You see, the pleasure of sating our own desires here at the table is enhanced by virtue of contrast. In this case, of one whose desire — or hunger of a different sort, if you will — will never end. Luxurious it is indeed, to be so replete and yet know a poetic yearning.
The song is slow and melancholy, but also pretty; the dancer's style is improvisational; he utilizes delicate, graceful movements of the hands and arms and animated facial expressions that capture a difficult-to-define flirtatiousness that slowly metamorphoses into hope, yearning, and finally grief.
You find that the performance doesn't stop polite conversation. After sllowing you a few minutes to admire his performers, Ilmoiste turns to the Boy.
And speaking of longing, how is the bride-to-be? Has young Lumi found her True Love in Prince Rhutin? Ilmoiste himself was invited to your quaint little ceremony of Matching Cups, but has been, to his grief, otherwise occupied.
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The boy has difficulty following the sad melody as he ogles the singer. He starts a bit as Ilmoiste inquires. Blushing and shifting a bit uncomfortably in his chair, he keeps the tune, singing,
"What has become of the maiden fair
And her bonny prince, Rhutin?
The groom is full of fear and dread,
For someone's come from who knows where.
"They took milady of the raven hair—
She who kindly took me in.
And now we follow where they've led.
Through forest, maze, unto their lair."
The performance alters shape to harmonize with the Boy's tale, and the dancer dances very slowly to the rhythm of the dirge. Another song, full of delicious sadness! Illmost drinks deep and looks at the boy. Perhaps you would like to accompany Ilmoiste's performer? You'd make special music together indeed, haha!
The djinn lean forward, suddenly more far serious. Who has taken Lumi? Does Rhutin do nothing but cower in dread? He puts his goblet down, rather roughly.
Were Illmost's love taken, he would send the vault of heaven itself tumbling down, and all the stars in the firmament, until his love were returned. And why not? For what good are all the stars in the sky, without love?
The boy deadpans his response to the beat of the dancers' feet.
"It's not my place to gauge the love of princes, nor their queens. What nobler ends they seek, I surely would not know. But you, milord, have right to say. Do I correctly hear, you think Rhutin to be a lily-livered mouse? Too quick to blame mere servants for his failure to protect?"
"Are you saying Rhutin doesn't love Lumi? Is that what you're trying to get at? Wouldn't surprise me none. Who gets married for love anyway? It's all about politics with these royal types. Love." Gate spits a date seed into a silver bowl with a resounding clang. "All that happily ever after s%@+e is for fairy tales and bard songs, if you ask me."
The boy gives Gate a funny look. "What is this thing called fairy tale?" He giggles. "‘Tis life writ sideways, and yet the thing itself."
Attempting to match the dancer’s form, he continues. "I’ve heard a tale of boys grown into men. Of Sultans formed of mortal flesh, whose hopes are never turned from thought to actuality. But we all know a sultan and his favorites have a wish or three to give. Were I a lord of air I’d make myself a man to match your dancer’s every wanted move."
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Perhaps it is not your place, but wise Ilmoiste knows that decorum does not stop the little ones from thinking their own thoughts, nevertheless. It is good for Ilmoiste to know these opinions; the little mouse is the only one who sees the king's very own cheesy feet, after all! The djinn keeps mum about his own opinion of Rhutin.
He lays back on a cushion and watches the dancer, smiling. When Gate interrupts the reverie, Ilmoiste leans over with his elbow on a cushion, head resting on his palm. He toys with a cluster of grapes with his other hand. Do you truly travel this tiny world in ignorance? Ilmoiste must counsel you, chesty one. After all, is he known far and wide as the Enlightener? I tell you: he is. And so it is that you are soon to to gain wisdom. Prepare yourself and listen closely! He eats a green grape before continuing. Every thinking creature in this little dimension is born with a counterpart who is their True Love. True Love is a force suffused into your brain and heart, much like instinctive gravity suffused all superior beings on Ilmoiste's native plane. However, it is not guaranteed that one will ever find their very own True Love. He pauses. Why would this be, I ask you? To have universal law that is so rarely satisfied. It is very quaint, this True Love!
Ilmoiste grins wolfishly at the Boy. You think like Ilmoiste, who is known from the Haunted Forest to the Haunted Forest to Mohkba as a judicious being! This is a thing to be admired and cultivated. Perhaps you will live long enough to attain such heights. Perhaps one day, you can even be a favorite of his — who knows? And were it true, would you wish yourself a True Love, or just a dancer for a day? Perhaps both, like a veritable Lord of Air!
He laughs, drinks the cool wine, admires his dancer, and muses: Is Rhutin a True Love, or was he just a dancer for a day?
*“... much like the instinctive gravity suffused within all superior beings on Ilmoiste's native plane.”
*You think like Ilmoiste, who is known from the Haunted Forest to Mohkba as a judicious being!”
You can finish the meal and spend the night. Please level up your characters!
We can do more scenes in the djinn's estate as well, if you like, but level up!
"Ah, my wish is not for bonny lads. ’Tis that I may become their match in stature and, well..." The boy puts aside his blushing innocent act, an almost business-like tone in his voice. "But I’ve been favorite to a lord before. I’ll not be toy again, milord, though your menagerie does truly please the eye."
Who made you are you are, impatient one? A mere dozen or so years is but a blink in time! Can you not grow? Ilmoiste would not wish to cross any powers of this realm, as he is here to make alliances! Perhaps, were you to secure permission or provide assurances, as well as get into his good graces, Ilmoiste would be amenable to this…
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The boy grows quiet, ashen. "But he would only put me back into his chest. The Rabbit Prince is he who made me so and kept me bound."
Wiles gone, the boys fear is unmasked.
Ahh, that one!? I am sorry; he is a power indeed — strange beyond even Ilmoiste's vast knowledge.
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A tear trickles down the boy's freckled cheek. He sniffles slightly, and begins a dusky tune.
"I have not beard upon my boyish face,
Nor meat upon these limbs to fence or forge.
And yet I stand here of my own accord,
No slave to men or yonder rabbit lord.
"Enough to sing duets with you, my bard,
And dance within this castle in the clouds.
Enough to dine with friends and kindly lords,
And dream of even better futures hence."
His song goes on a bit as he plays to the gathering, perhaps most ardently towards the dancer.
Ilmoitse thoroughly enjoys the Boy's verse. Rarely has Ilmoitse been so moved, in all of his numberless voyages throughout the Spheres.
Discourse with the djinn last late into the night; eventually his troupe of entertainers joins you for food and drink. You sleep more comfortably than you have in a long time, here among the bright cushions on a balmy summer's night under strange stars.
In the morning you are served breakfast: deliciously doughy barbari bread topped with clotted cream and honey, simple omlettes scrambled with just-picked tomatoes, and piping hot chai shirin tea.
Before you leave, Ilmoitse has a word with you.
Ilmoitse the Enlightener is a goodly ambassador, known far and wide for the power of his alliance, which is — to those who are wise — more valuable and eternal than a carriage full of diamonds. Now — he pauses
— by the grace of Ilmoitse (who is known throughout the Planes for his benevelonce, just as he is known for his other infinite and admirable attributes), certain… tenants enjoy their space in the mazes beyond. Others… are less welcome.
The Dutchess of All Winds has sent her own emissaries here, and they seek to overthrow all that is good and wise and generous from this place! Indeed, it as you may already fear: they seek to destroy Ilmoitse the Enlightener himself! No other! Do you quake in fear for this potentiality? Ilmoitse assures you, there is no cause to fear, not for him!
It is thus: while these interlopers are but dust in the wind to his maelstrom, Ilmoitse's hands cannot be sullied with the likes of these lowly creatures. It is beyond what is seemly for an ambassador to realm, even to such a great one assigned to one so little as this.
Were you to destroy these interlopers, Ilmoitse would be grateful and consider a small favor to this Lady Lumi and her friends, whose beauty nearly outshines the stars in the Vault of Heaven.
And even if these beings kill you, be assured that Ilmoitse will live on. Nuisance as they are, they cannot harm him. In such a potentiality as your demise at the hands of these agents, you may be certain that Ilmoitse is safe and drinking his cool wine in his garden. As it should be. A happy assurance, in the event of your death! Is it not so?
If you do this thing for Ilmoitse and if you survive, he will see to it you are rewarded well, and better equipped to save your princess… and to perhaps help her solve the riddle of True Love. For what is more important than True Love? Perhaps nothing… not here, not in this quaint plane.
For this small task, Ilmoitse offers much. You will be pleased, as are all those who bargian with Ilmoitse in mutual good faith. For is Ilmoitse not known as the Generous, as well as the Enlightener? I tell you true: he is! Do you agree?
"You’ve shown in deeds what surely all the winds confirm," says a much refreshed, rosier boy as he gorges himself. "With wit and strength of arms I’m sure we’ll see it so."
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"I'm sure it would be great consolation, as the last light of life flees, to know that even then the great Illmoitse remains unharmed. Still, all things being equal I would prefer not to find out." Samen looks to his compatriots, then continues. "We shall perform this task for you with gratitude in our hearts, though I hope to complete it quickly--every moment that passes brings more potential danger for our princess."
Double consolation, Samen, that should you die, your accomplices — those who survive, that is — would be taken under the mighty wing of Ilmoitse the Enlightener, where it is safe indeed!
He claps thrice and you vanish in a puff of smoke, finding yourselves in the lamp room. The lamp is gone.
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"Well, I for one am glad I rubbed that magic lamp. Can't remember the last time I slept so well. Probably been weeks. He was an awfully arrogant host though, wasn't he? Going on and on about how enlightening he was. And that talk about true love. Bunch of hot air. You can always tell how big someone's ego is when they refer to themselves in the third person. Nothing more annoying, if you ask me. Aside from talking in rhymes that is. Good food though."
"Back to hunting and killing now, is it?"
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As gate talks, a gentle breeze begins swirling about. It picks up speed at the words "hot air", tugging on his shirt and then pushing it shut and ruffling his hair in an unflattering way… no matter which way he turns, the fingers of air seem to insistently follow, and the translucent bubble floor seems to sink a little more under his feet…
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The boy rolls his eyes. "I trust you, dear Gateau, to know the taste and sound of arrogance. An expert's hands in fighting and the love of self! It seems the air agrees: such insight is a heavy thing."
You move to the short hallway ahead.
The room beyond is filled from floor to ceiling with thick fog, and you can't see anything more than a few feet into it.
"I don't like the looks of this. We'd better cover our mouths or something, try to breathe as little of it as possible."
The boy sings a little spell . "Right you are!" He gulps in air dramatically.
”Hold on. What was that? Are you two plotting something?”
The boy lets out his breath with a hiss and a roll of the eyes. "Two treats in one, Gateau: You hold your breath and thereby stay your tongue."
He gulps in air again, retrieving a handkerchief as he does so.
"Who has time to plot things, way down here? Come on, let's get through this. Be on your guard, too. I'm sure there's a reason whoever created this foul mist doesn't want us to see through it." Samen pulls out a hankerchief and ties it around his head, covering his mouth and nose.
Klaytal stirs from his dream, one last grape in his hand. "Well, that was certainly pleasant! And yet.. I must saw that for all the talk of True Love, it gives me pause to fear what happens when you have that fleeting moment only to have it stolen from you."
Klaytal pops the grape into his mouth. "Gate, I think it's just a bit of uh; poisonous air here." Klaytal lights a torch, takes a deep breath, and moves forward into the mist.
Cloth over your mouths, you move on into the room.
You move into the mist. The vapor obscures all sight beyond 5 feet.
Strange shapes seem to coalesce about you — faces with large eyes and yawning mouth, claws…
You suddenly hear Klaytal, somewhere in the mist, laughing uncontrollably.
Something's wrong, but you're not quite sure what.
Klaytal
Gate
??
The Boy
Samen
Gate is up. Klaytal, please make me a will save as a full round action.
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”He.hehe...hehehahaha HAHA hahAHhahehahehehe.. hehe.. he.. whoa. Uh..... Gate I swear I saw you trying to tickle one of these gaseous figures here...”
As Gate considers what to do, something materializes behind Klaytal; another creature appears on the other side of the elf.
They look very strange.
The creatures chitter at Klaytal, who is no longer disabled. They silently slip out of this plane of reality, back to wherever they came from.