Bespelled? No. <3

Stepping into the haze within the centre of the arch, your vision goes black and an eerie chill runs down your spine. Just as you teeter at the edge of death, the light returns and you are tossed hastily out from within the mists once more.
The Fulcrux of Manteekan.
Dark water fills the majority of this expansive chamber, a haunting mist settled over the still liquid. Within the centre of this massive lake, an island of frost-rimed rock rises, the jagged stones piercing through the haze that fills the air. Frozen remains cling to the sides of these icy crags, clawing at the surface of each as they try to escape the pool below. A massive arch of roughly hewn stone rises from the ground, a ghostly haze drifting lazily in its centre that coats the rock in a thin layer of frost. A tomb of icy stone rises within the centre of the room, statues of innumerable twisted fae poxing its sides.
You see a single exit leading through a frosted stone arch filled with haze.

You incline your head politely to those around you.

You drop a slender amethyst slaugh bottle.

A swirl of snow finds resistance around your feet, forming little whorls there. Two eyes filled with vortices of snow open over the placid waters, focusing their attention upon you. "Hello, child of Mine."

Lilting in a dark, ethereal voice, you whisper, "Hail, Lord Manteekan. I thought it appropriate, as head of the mortal house of Shee-Slaugh, to give You tea as a gift welcoming Your return. Though I understand if You do not imbibe."

Maniacal whispers come in bursts as a hazy mist chills the air with its cool embrace. Amidst the frigid fog, two pale eyes glow as the incorporeal form of Manteekan, the Nightmare slowly coalesces within.

LOOK AT UNCLE ICECUBE
Nearly transparent flesh is pulled taut over a tall, lanky and ectomorphic frame. Hanging in the air like a veil of fine mist, the presence of this immortal seems nothing more than a chill upon the skin. A ghastly aura hangs around His figure, manifesting in a cool fog that gathers at His feet, the miasma roiling like an impending storm. The collected mist beneath Him carries him aloft, His slender and nearly skeletal feet never touching the ground. What can be seen of His facial features must have once been fair; handsome if not for His otherwise spectral existence. His unnaturally long, needle-like fingers constantly fidget, as though grasping at something unseen. His intense, icy blue stare is the most corporeal thing about Him, as though His eyes are more real than He is, swirling with internal vortices of ice and snow.

Ghastly alabaster locks billow behind His head, each thread glowing white as it whips frantically through the air behind Him. Icy mist trails behind each strand as it thrashes about, slowly drifting to the ground to settle in a cloud of haze that churns about His feet.
He is wearing:
a torturous noose of thorn and vine
billowing robes of a chilled mist

Manteekan picks up a slender amethyst slaugh bottle.

You give Manteekan a respectful bow, one hand clasped over your heart.

Manteekan turns over a slender amethyst slaugh bottle in His hand thoughfully, fingers clinking against the outside. "A generous, thoughtful, and sincere gift. I approve." His eyes capture you with His gaze again. "Tell me, what has become of Eliron Shee-Slaugh."

You have emoted: Seemingly unbothered by the chill of the fulcrux, Esei's dark wings snap shut. "Grandfather Eliron is drawn to deep meditations of late, for... rest and recovery, as I understand it. Though I have no doubt he would be elated to hear of Your return, and of the Voice's, if irate because he was not there to witness it."

His spectral expression drawn down into a frown, Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "That is unfortunate. We require a... discussion."

Manteekan presses His needle-like fingers through His hair, something akin to violence written on His face. "Very well. You will tell him that I desire his attention, when you are able."

You nod.

The features of Manteekan's face distort as a malicious smile grows upon His face, His features frozen as if caught in a rictus of death while He stares madly into the distance.

His voice lilting malevolently, Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "Tell me, how does Silent Nocht fare these days? He has not shown Himself to me."

You have emoted: Esei's eyes trace over the fulcrux with a barely restrained curiosity, wings flicking at Manteekan's question. "My Lord is well," they say, low voice even. "Though I suspect He will be... much different, from when You last saw Him."

Manteekan steps out across the placid lake. Though His feet do not touch the water, it ripples nonetheless. "I see. I look forward to when We may speak again." His fingers pull at the noose around His neck.

Lilting in a dark, ethereal voice, you whisper, "I am certain that He will be... overjoyed to hear of Your return, Lord Manteekan."

A shrill ringing fills the air as Manteekan bursts into a fit of deranged laughter.

Manteekan Straightens, His already strangely proportioned body growing stranger. "I am pleased with your gift. I will show Llaironai some mercy, when I get around to such things." His eyes drift toward the archway. "Have I some magic to keep you held here, or is there another thing you wish to discuss with Me? If it is a spell, I should like to know more, that I may steal you from Him."

A sadistic chuckling rises from within Manteekan's throat, the estranged laughter escaping in both loud bellows and hushed whispers.

You have emoted: Esei dips their head. "No, Lord Manteekan, merely curious if You had any closing thoughts. As for the spell, no, though I would personally protest if You tried, all due respect."

You give Manteekan a respectful bow, one hand clasped over your heart.

The Nightmare abruptly appears much closer than you remember, pressing a finger across your jawline. He shakes His head. "Such a shame, that is precisely the problem. Well, no matter. I would be furious should Someone take what belongs to Me. Rest assured that I would not actually try."

The features of Manteekan's face distort as a malicious smile grows upon His face, His features frozen as if caught in a rictus of death while He stares madly into the distance.

Lilting in a dark, ethereal voice, you whisper, "I shall leave You to Your business, then. Be well."

Manteekan inclines His head politely to you.

Stepping into the haze within the centre of the arch, your vision goes black and an eerie chill runs down your spine. Just as you teeter at the edge of death, the light returns and you are tossed hastily out from within the mists once more.