Daethwin steps into the room, eyes flickering about, watching Blue for any telltale glance he might make, or even the fragment of one hastily suppressed. He didn't expect to see much, though; the elder was old enough to have experience with controlling every facet of his expression. What intrigued him, though, were the torches, and the images made by the patterns on the wall. He began to inspect them, singing softly to himself to help concentrate. The tune, however, became more elaborate as he continued to stroll along the room, picking up strange melodies and harmonies that seemed to appear from nowhere. The rhythms, however quiet, reverberated around the room, harmonizing with the mirrors and building upon themselves in the subtle magic that all music has. Daethwin could try to find the strange parts of the room by the way it echoed his song, but he had also begun weaving spells into it; not necessarily on purpose. It was simply that any music a bard makes is magic as well. The spells were, of course, finding spells, revealing spells, coaxing the hidden items in the room to come out, convincing their protections that it was better to show themselves off, not stay hidden in a place like this. The manner in which the results might manifest would be equally subtle, of course: a flickering of the torches to reveal a different set of images; a glimpse of the real, caught in the flash of a mirror's reflection; or perhaps a simple shift in the atmosphere, a wind that seemed to have no source, or a precariously balanced object that fell suddenly, as if in response to the vibrations from the sound...