To reach seventh, you must have the keys to open the locked door:
The Seventh Floor
The Prisoner: (You may not go back down the Tower past this point. Your group finishes in this thread.)
Beyond the door you find yourself on the seventh and final floor in a richly opulent chamber. A man of dark, unworldly beauty lounges on what appears to be an ornate casket, surrounded by hundreds of books. Many are old, thickly bound, and cracking with age, but mixed in are more modern books, brightly coloured paperbacks, and even comics. He stares down at the book in his hands, Avalon High, in discontent. "They all contradict one another and a few don't make any sense at all." Looking up, he takes you in with a sort of pleading frustration that should be obnoxious but comes off as rather vulnerable. You feel a need to help him, that somehow doing so will make life ever so much easier. "I don't remember most of it you see. I don't even know which I am, and all I can find are a hundred different versions of who I might be."
Tilting his head, he stares at you with eyes that gleam with an inner light, "But you're here to release me, correct? From this prison, and maybe from ignorance as well." The prisoner smiles at you and it fills you with a sense of pride and accomplishment. He gracefully holds out his hand to you, and without a pause you hand over all your keys, one of every colour. Lovingly he traces over every curve and tooth, and an unease fills you as they light up.
What was once vulnerable is now petulant. Charismatic sours into obnoxiously smug. He's still beautiful but it feels planned and arranged, from his hair to the way the lighting flatters him as he poses to artfully in this prison. Within moments the prisoner's hold over you fades, but he doesn't appear to mind. "I must have done something impressive, to merit this prison, don't you agree?"
With a wistful smile he crushes the keys easily and voices begin to fill the air.
...I know this is difficult, but you must not let them suspect...
...are you sure your true intentions remain hidden...
...you're like a son to me...
...my brother in all but blood...
...my disciple...
...my most trusted...
...my darkling prince...
...you...
Mordred.
Mordred?
Mordred!
Traitor.
The voices begin to grow too many, too rapid, too furious to pick apart any further. Sitting back, Mordred leans back and drinks it in. "I always had a feeling I might be the betrayer, you know. There's a certain glamour to being the bad guy that I find very charming." He smiles, "It was unsettling, though, to never know exactly which side I took in that tangled conflict." He makes a small gesture and you feel yourself grow brittle around and hard around the edges. "Such a relief to find that it was always my own."
Your form flattens and smooths until it’s shifted fully into a mirror. Glancing in you, his smile widens, "Thank you for freeing me, by the by. I suppose I'll have to give you something in return."
You remember how you see yourself. You remember how you think others see you in return. You receive a blessing of sorts:
Turning within the mirror you find yourself in a hallway full of mirrors, but none of them reflect you. Glancing back through the glass toward Mordred, you note a sudden rage filling his visage. And then suddenly he's engulfed in flames as an explosion fills the seventh floor. Inside the mirror everything begins to shake and rock, the hallway reflecting the fire, making it seem like the explosions went on forever.
The world around you begins to crack and shatter, forcing you to run along a path the hopefully leads to a new, more stable, world.
Posted: Thu Aug 22, 2013 11:09 pm
They had made it to the end.
A few of his party had chosen to stay behind, to collect the keys they wish to keep and test themselves against those trials. Remi was lazy by nature, so he chose to go on ahead. They had opened the door together, but he walked through quietly. He had not wanted to leave Thackery behind truthfully, but he seemed confident the King could take care of himself.
More curiously, he stared at the man in question. He was....well. Honestly? Beautiful. He could not even call the man handsome, he truly had a feminine quality to him that left him 'pretty' and not 'masculine'. Though honestly? He would never say this to his face.
When he spoke Remi stopped and stared, finding himself unable to move. He spoke of books and of falsities. He spoke of many and yet none of them correct. Oddly he then spoke of freedom. Before he knew what he was doing, Remi approached the other and handed off the keys he possessed.
What had he just unleashed?
Voises filled the air, worried tones. Hushed tones. Angry tones... hard felt tones. All ending with a single name.
Mordred.
Traitor.
The voices grew until they became muddled, his head pounding as he clutched it in almost agony. He couldn't even scream. He felt himself growing weaker, brittle, as the man spoke. He spoke of betrayal as he felt himself fracturing. Flattening out, he looked around.
You remember how you see yourself. You remember how you think others see you in return.
It was nice to get to the end of something. When Freya was carried through the last door with Kettil, she felt safe and secure in his arms. The problem, of course, laid in when she wasn't - which was suddenly very noticeable after she'd gotten a good look at the room she was in. The first thing she noticed was how pretty a 'prison' it was. The second thing she noticed was that she had mysteriously been removed from Kettil, and was now alone.
The latter took precedence over the former.
The man who all the gargoyles called the prisoner, was surrounded by books. She was reminded of the library, and the quesy feeling she got whenever there was too much to read. But he seemed to be as disinterested in them as she was, at the moment. And all he wanted was to be released.
Without realizing it, that was what she'd come to do. Wasn't it?
The keys were handed over, and they disappeared. It was so sad; they'd been so pretty.
Despite the voices whispering things that meant nothing to her, Freya just watched the man. He seemed to garner more information from them than he did. She just didn't care. He kept talking, and she kept trying to look like she was listening, but all she could think about was why was she alone? She didn't even notice when she'd started to change, to transform into something so hated, so reviled, that even she couldn't handle it.
A mirror.
She remembered looking in mirrors. She remembered what she saw. The fat, dripping off her body. Even when she was emaciated, all she'd ever seen in that mirror was fat, fat, fat-
Mordred was in flames, and she was breaking almost as quickly as she always did.
Posted: Fri Aug 23, 2013 12:09 am
There was something oddly frustrating and heartrending when he realized they had been separated as soon as they entered the door. He glowered angrily at the prisoner but yet he couldn't find it in himself to completely ...
No. No. He hated him. This Mordred reminded him of his brother Onyx.
Traitorous, sly, dark, and worst of all? All under that façade was something darker still that even made Kettil uncomfortable. Yet, he couldn't find it in himself to deny Mordred anything. He'd given up the keys he had. Deep down, though it made him sick to admit, if Onyx asked something of him as family? Kettil would relent and agree to it - within reason. No matter how horrible Hania had ever been to him in the past, Kettil would still be the better Brother.
His edges harden and he feels himself panic, he was going to go to that painful place again - like in the maze. Kettil's heart hammered hard and fast within his chest out of panic. He'd never see Freya again - he'd be trapped like this for ever and...
So caught up in his fears he almost missed the change - the chatter the figure was making at him.
He had almost missed as Mordred caught fire - there was an odd satisfaction to this, probably because Kettil had envisioned Onyx in flames for a second.
Shattering. He'd find Freya again. They'd reassure each other.
Efflo glared, the momentary pride he’d felt crashing down around him. What did this man take him for, an idiot? There were no locks in this room, only the invisible shackles that held the beautiful stranger. Efflo quickly handed over the keys, his face still sullen and sulking. The man is still talking, smug and annoying now and all Efflo can think is that he doesn’t care, he just does not. He doesn’t care about the secretive voices that whisper around him as the man crushes the keys, or at least he doesn’t care about their secrets. He wants them only to stop, covering his ears and glaring darkly at Mordred.
But Mordred doesn’t seem to notice, caught up in his story and congratulating himself on becoming a traitor. Even as he turned to Efflo, and with a gesture turned the boy into a mirror, he was still talking about himself. Efflo was livid, but he was also uselessly a mirror and mirrors couldn’t walk away from strange narcissistic men.
Or so he thought. But turning, Efflo found that he could indeed move within the mirror and, with Mordred’s blessing, he stepped into the hall of mirrors. They all stood empty, reflecting each other but not his own darkness and Efflo glanced over his shoulder at Mordred one last time, wondering where exactly the traitor had sent him.
Mordred’s face, however, was no longer self-assuredly serene. Instead it had twisted into something awful and ugly, his handsome features warped into a rage. A fire consumes him, and an explosion fills the room and the mirror shakes, the hallway finally reflecting something as explosions shatter through its mirrored walls.
Efflo ran, forced along by the sounds of cracking glass. He felt strange now, surprised that he was running out of necessity, rather than out of fear.
He knew who he was. He always had. He knew what others thought of him, and frankly, he didn’t care. His apathy gave way to determination, and unhindered by foolish feelings, he was going to persevere, alone.
Posted: Fri Aug 23, 2013 3:13 pm
Rep entered the door to the final chamber, what he expected was something big and very lethal. What he encountered instead was a strange man with a lot of books. He didn't recognise him, but then again he didn't recognise anyone much in this strange land, so for all he knew the guy could have at one time been his best friend. He decided it couldn't actually hurt anything to help him, and since they'd come all this way they might as well go the whole haul.
He took the keys and whatever glamour he'd possessed faded. Rep didn't know what the guy had done, but everyone deserved someone to bail them out.
The clamour of voices became unintelligible as he seemed to recall who he actually was.
Everything shifted again and he was uncertain if the man before him would kill him.
But instead he remembered.
Hating everything about himself, pathetic, unworthy, genetically flawed. Inferior in every possible way, a woman could be desirable, could be possessed and wanted simply for what they were. But not him, not really, he was scarred and lanky, tattered like an old awkward mongrel. Broken, unlovable, detestable, shameful.
It was unbearable.
Until it shifted and he was faced with, for a moment another perspective. Feared, hated, loved, pitied. How other people looked upon him. He opened his mouth to speak.
And the world exploded around him.
Baneful Crew
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Posted: Fri Aug 23, 2013 3:16 pm
They made it to the Seventh floor, and was greeted by a perfect creature; a strangely beautiful man with a book as open as his thoughts. He didn't seem to remember who he was or what happened, and his only clues lead to confusion. She couldn't imagine how difficult that must have been, and her heart honestly ached for this poor man.
"I am." Amrita nodded as she handed over the keys, sure of herself...and then something clicked. This was staged, wasn't it? The light that fell from this dark cell, the way he sat just right to make the miniscule beams reflect off of him, giving him a backdrop of innocence. Dread filled her heart as she realized her good deed was turning into a disaster. She was used, She was---
The keys shattered, and along with it came a name, echoed on the staged air. Mordred. The Traitor.
In horror she realized she was now trapped in her own reflection, forced to look at nothing but herself. Her true self. The Vetala. The cold, expressionless monster that plagued the Haunted House, raging and maiming, intent on senseless destruction in the name of Revenge. A hurt being who wanted nothing more than for others to suffer with it. In her mind her form shifted, the anger smoother over by carefully matched flesh held together by perfectly aligned stitches, the hate and rage masked by bone and a smile.
The caring, sweet Amrita the public knew. The persona she carefully maintained in order to not feel so alone.
It was all just a lie.
Amrita's form shifted between the Vengeful Vetala and the Peaceful Patchwork, her glowing blue - but sometimes corpse grey - eyes drifting to see Mordred in the distance, noting with surprise that he looked particularly outraged. Her mirror world began to shake and crumble, and with a start she turned and fled, finding a path just before the whole world seemed to explode.
Hel stared down at the white key in her hand, and the other hand lay over her patched up chest, patched up with some of Amrita’s skin, as she climbed the stairs to the seventh floor. She wanted to keep this key, as a memento, of the kindness of another while they climbed the tower—
Though all of that flew from her mind as she pushed the last door open, and stepped into the large and opulent room. She took in all the books, and once her gaze rested on the painfully handsome figure, somewhere in the back of her mind she was kicking herself with guilt for finding him beautiful. Hel managed to piece together what he was saying though. Something about finding his identity, right? Ah, actually, Hel wasn’t completely sure why she was here. She found herself here, and moving forward, or up in this case, seemed like the only answer. But if he was trapped here then she had done a good thing, right?
Hel handed over her keys when prompted, even the white one she had just sworn to cherish, the one that caused a hole in her chest.
The spell disappeared, and as the keys were crushed, Hel realized she had been played. Her lips immediately curled up into a snarl. “You mother fu—“ She was drowned out by the voices that filled the room, and one word in particular made her hair stand on end. Traitor. One of the worst things one could be called ever. She was about to open her mouth again when her form shifted, and the next thing she knew, she was in a mirror, and she remembered how she saw herself and how she thought others saw her in return.
Realizing she was no longer in the space that was in the seventh floor, Hel threw her head back over her shoulder and stared down the long hall of mirrors that reflected nothing. She tossed her head back towards Mordred, and she didn’t know why he was suddenly in rage, but damn, did it make her vindictively happy. That feeling was short lived though, as outside the mirror went up in explosions and flames. Hel swore, and she knew when she shouldn’t linger. Hel took off down the hall, vehemently hoping she could outrun and survive the shattering.
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chiickadee
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Posted: Fri Aug 23, 2013 4:09 pm
Chel wandered herself up to the next floor at a slow, meandering pace. It was fancy, but so not her style. She preferred a cozy holed up place to opulent palaces.
"They all contradict one another and a few don't make any sense at all."
Cue tall, dark and handsome. Chel's face lit up in a pleased smile, sauntering closer to the man. She'd tap that faster than a pair of rabbits. "I don't remember most of it you see. I don't even know which I am, and all I can find are a hundred different versions of who I might be."
"Identity crisis? Ooh, that's not pretty." She shrugged. "How can I help, Tex?"
"But you're here to release me, correct? From this prison, and maybe from ignorance as well."
"Ooookay that's sort of a strange request, but I'm ears." Chel handed over her keys because that seemed like the smart thing to do. If they were unlocking something, he was going to need keys. She bit her lip as he moved his fingers over them, lovingly and tenderly.
The facade disappeared, but Chelsea didn't mind. She hadn't been much into the quibbling lamb he'd been before. "I must have done something impressive, to merit this prison, don't you agree?"
Chel nodded in agreement. "Sounds like it. Care to divulge?" With a single fist, he crushed the keys, letting them disappear and fade away with the wind. Voices resounded in the air, leaving Chel baffled.
There were two that resounded with her.
Mordred. Traitor.
"I always had a feeling I might be the betrayer, you know. There's a certain glamour to being the bad guy that I find very charming. It was unsettling, though, to never know exactly which side I took in that tangled conflict. Such a relief to find that it was always my own."
The betrayer? Who did he betray? What was going on? Chel was definitely one hundred percent lost now. "Thank you for freeing me, by the by. I suppose I'll have to give you something in return."
"Nah- that's not really-"
Chel felt the blessing surge through her veins. It was small, but it would be enough for now.
She walked away, leaving Mordred to his own devices. Suddenly there were flames, and if there was one thing she knew, it was to run away from flames. What she was running towards? That was a tower for another day.
Posted: Fri Aug 23, 2013 4:20 pm
Ami had died and gone to heaven.
She didn't even hear half of what the man said- he wasn't that good looking anyways (okay he was very good looking, but there was something of great importance!).
BOOKS.
Books as far as the eye could see! Old ones! New ones! She was never leaving. This was her tower now.
She nodded to the man, rolling her hand. "Yes yes, move along," she ushered, eyes not removed from the books.
The air filled with angry voices, rushing and proclaiming him a traitor. Mordred the traitor. Why did that sound familiar? It was probably nothing.
"Thank you for freeing me, by the by. I suppose I'll have to give you something in return."
A key to the library maybe? Her own personal section? The deed to the tower?
No, a stupid blessing.
Ami huffed, turning tail to leave, going to one of the shelves. Where to even begin? Fire ignited behind her. She gasped, thinking only of the fact that the books were in danger. "What the hell are you ...?!" The man was no more. In his place sat embers and anger.
So ... the tower ... could she keep it?
chiickadee
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Posted: Fri Aug 23, 2013 4:29 pm
The top of the tower was similar to the rest, only... much nicer. The entire room was covered in books, all save for the bed - no, the casket - upon which its inhabitant was lying. Aymet was confused, initially, giving way to an unexpected level of concern as the man spoke.
He begged, and Aymet, too, passed his keys on to the prisoner, never once stopping to consider why there were so many locks.
"I must have done something impressive, to merit this prison, don't you agree?"
There was a sick sense of betrayal as the prisoner switched their charm off light a lightswitch. The keys turned to powder in his hands as he smiled.
Mordred.
Mordred?
Mordred!
Traitor.
Aymet couldn't make sense of much else of it, but it was enough. The prisoner - Mordred - seemed to be aware of the way Aymet made to move toward him, continuing to speak even as he made a simple gesture.
Everything warped - and the next step Aymet took found his hands against glass. It was a mirror - he was trapped -
With himself.
None of the other mirrors reflected him. It was empty in here, infinitely.
There was a blast from the seventh floor, and a spiderweb of cracks began to form reaching fingers into the hallway that projected out behind him. He ran, and the flames licked along every reflection. There was only one thing Aymet could do.
He ran.
Posted: Fri Aug 23, 2013 4:39 pm
Feng stepped through the door into the final floor and stopped.
The man on the other side was gorgeous.
In a strictly dark, scared-Fengs-pants-off and made-small-children-cry sort of way. To be honest, Feng was too terrified of him to be in awe of his beauty. What kind of sane, harmless person laid themselves out on a casket?
He spoke about a book Feng was pretty sure he'd never read, and what he same made no sense, but when he looked up Feng felt like he just needed to help him. There was something vulnerable and needy in those eyes that compelled him to do what he could.
He held out his hand, and Feng knew he had to help him. These keys were meant for this. He hands them all over. In his hands they begin to glow and.. that was weird. The man twisted from vulnerable and darkly charming to sour and an unattractive sort of obnoxiousness. He fit the setting a little better now; unwelcoming.
Feng began to backpedal, but it was too late and there was nowhere to go. Voices filled his head, first reverent and loving, quickly turning dark and betrayed. They got progressively angrier until the unease made Feng curl in on himself and cover his ears to try to make it stop. It was just too much.
As Mordred continued to talk Feng felt like he was being shifted, flattened, but really he was being moved. Moved behind a mirror, where he could see himself.
Awkward. Creepy. Anxiety filled him as he realized this was how others looked at him. Like he was something to avoid or be wary of because he was so socially inept. He frowned.
He turned away from that awful truth and to the room around him. Mirrors were everywhere, but they were more like windows into the floor he'd just left. All of them were Mordred, looking progressively angrier. Suddenly flames shot upward and an explosion rocked the room he was in. Feng felt sick, watching it from the other side. He turned away and walked down the hallway of mirrors, trying to focus on the floor.
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Posted: Fri Aug 23, 2013 4:53 pm
Rikki's face screwed up as he walked through the door and saw the man. A casket and a lot of really old books. Had he walked into a crappy romance novel, or?
The man had a greasy sort of charm as he spoke. Like he was trying to pull Rikki into the depths and keep him on his side. But when he looked up, Rikki was hooked. He had to help out, because it's what would be best.
The man spoke again and held out his hands, and Rikki immediately handed over the keys. That's the only reason he could have possibly collected them all. He had to help. They began to glow in the man's hands, and suddenly Rikki's stomach went sour. That greasy aspect of the man's personality was back, but it was even more twisted. The charm was gone.
Voices filled his head, light and dreamy at first. The got faster, harder, angrier as they went, multiplying until it was all too much for Rikki to handle, even as the man, Mordred, seemed to revel in it. Rikki gritted his teeth and tried to will the sound away.
He found himself on the other side of a mirror, looking at himself. Looking at his tattoos, his expression. Failure. Disappointment. Slacker.
He turned sharply away. He didn't want to see himself from the outside. Didn't want to see what others thought of him.
There were other mirrors lining this room, making a long hallway. The other mirrors didn't reflect him though. They showed Mordred's face, over and over. Rage began to fill those sickly handsome features until a fire roared up, and the room around Mordred began to shake with an explosion.
Rikki couldn't help but think he'd wasted those keys.
Frowning he continued down the hallway, because there was nowhere left for him to go.
Posted: Fri Aug 23, 2013 5:04 pm
Nowhere to go but down again, nothing to do but refuse or agree. Jordan hesitated a moment, but he handed over the keys, watching as the dark, compelling, handsome person smiled a wolf's smile and began to trace the keys, one by one. The compulsion soured, the man's charm turning suddenly deliberate and manipulative, and Jordan kept his face an expressionless mask as he listened to the wisps of voices, someone else's memories.
He didn't think that he should maybe be getting away until too late. He had become a mirror. Maybe he'd been one all along. Hollow, changeable, afraid; charming and pleasant with the occasional flash of ugliness underneath. He was liked. He was admired and envied. He was considered too soft, too slippery, something of a snake. The knowledge was a blessing, by certain definitions of blessing.
He turned inside the mirror, realizing suddenly that there was a mirrored hallway behind him. When he looked back through the glass to Mordred, the man's face was contorted in rage, and then obscured by fire as an explosion rattled the mirror. The glass began to crack, and Jordan ran.
They turned the keys in the locks and Erebus entered, glancing backwards to Xiu and Wilson, ready to catch them anytime if they started stumbling from fatigue.
Wow, this room seemed a lot nicer than the rest...
He stared briefly at the man, but his attention was soon drawn by the hundreds of books all around. Some of them were so old, and Erebus wondered if he could pick them up and read them. They had to be pretty interesting, right? Oh, such knowledge...
But the man was talking, and Erebus knew it wasn't polite to snatch up a book and start reading as well. Sigh. Without even thinking, he handed the keys over when the man asked for them. He needed help, after all. He needed help and if he could provide any assistance at all, why not--
Oh.
The voices filled his head and Erebus clutched his head. Wait, what? Traitor? He stared up at the man (named Mordred, right?), unease and confusion settling into his stomach. "Wait, how could you..."
But the man did not care and he found himself flattened into a mirror, as Mordred observed himself in his depths. They had freed a traitor. No. He hadn't, he hadn't meant for this to happen...
He sees himself, nose buried in a book, skulking around hallways, the library, in his room. Always paying more attention to what was within those depths than anything else. His ears were perked, as if listening for the footsteps of other so he could deftly navigate out of their way while he continued reading, not ever tearing his eyes away--
Mirrors. Mirrors everywhere, but he saw none of which held his reflection. Erebus looked back towards Mordred, hoping that maybe, somehow, he could talk some sense into him, but wait. Was he angry? But at what? Erebus hadn't done anything...
