Hostage

Kavyr – Elven Magus of Greyhaven

Unlike the infant alliance brewing within Kya, where guest and hostess exchanged roles, Kavyr was experiencing a different crisis of identity. Kavyr found himself within the oubliette of his own mind. His senses still conveyed information to him, but it was akin to echoes bouncing off his ethereal prison pit. All sense of control was lost to him.

It started cordial enough, what for the violent nature in which his captor had cast his current role. But that respectful impersonal relation proved ephemeral. As Kavyr realized he was viewed as nothing more than a vehicle, one whose memories were fair game to his warden, he hastily erected mental partitions as best he could, as best his meager training in mental resistance allowed.

This was particularly annoying for a multitude of reasons. He could dwell on his current situation, but dared not try to solve it least tip his hand and make it more difficult for his companions. He dared not even take full mental inventory for the same reason.

He was certain at this point his jailer – he liked that label best – was aware he knew that Kya had figured out the ruse, likely that Windwalker had as well. He couldn’t gloat, dared not even relish in the logistics that either was taking as result.

Kavyr had to content himself with being the observer for now. He attempted to file away all he could concerning his captor - his recollection of what had trapped him here was incomplete. The jailer had made clear, he could slip into the mind of anther just as easily, the process killing his prior host. And as of yet, Kavyr had no reason to doubt him. However, the jailer’s mind was not laid bare as Kavyr’s was. 

Of the jailer, Kavyr recognized tendencies of shorter-lived races. Practiced patience that didn’t come naturally. Methodical and organized, betraying only a hint of overconfidence. But it was the contempt that reared all too frequently - toxic, greasy, restless.

And it was this relentless bombardment that Kavyr found most torturous. He longed for a release from the deafening silence under wave upon wave of crushing emotion; to touch the warmth of the earth, the limb of the tree, hear the gentle of the breeze, the quiet scuttle of fauna, feel the cool of moonlit sky, the morning dew, and the first rays of a new dawn.

But… as he had accepted he was already dead, he bid his time and waited for opportunity to preserve those blessings for those he would leave behind. With the thought of this, his hand absently went to the small of his back before catching and chiding himself on what he couldn’t allow his mind to touch.