Level 14
I joined on January 1970, I am a proud and I've made 888 posts
[Magic]
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Post by Krezley on Jan 5, 2012 17:19:03 GMT -5
Hidden Forbidden Reflection
Labyrinth of Inner Demons Immediately upon entering this Field, you are surrounded by mirrors. And that is all there is to this Field; a labyrinth of mirrors. The ceiling is low at ten feet, meeting the tops of the mirror slabs as to prevent anyone cheating and overlooking the labyrinth. The floor is checkered black and white as to give an illusion of never ending within the reflections of the mirrors. Don't stare into the mirrors for too long or get lost within the labyrinth however as the rumor states that you might face your inner demons.
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Level 9
I joined on January 1970, I am a proud and I've made 406 posts
#Survive
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Post by Ketha'al on Jul 2, 2020 0:07:32 GMT -5
Ketha'al materialized into the field, struggling to control himself, in all senses of the word. It had been far too long, and he was sorely out of practice. He jankily moved himself to the edge of the dais, and stared off into space, muttering to himself, before sitting. The dissatisfaction on his face multiplied throughout the field endlessly, reflecting back into his own countenance with an ever-compounding grimness.
He spent many minutes there, sorting through his menus, his inventory, reintroducing himself to a way of being that was long-forgotten--though he took no joy in it. He coughed, then; a wracking cough that travelled through both player and character, repeating on itself hoarsely while flecks of spittle flew uncontrollably from his mouth. He looked at his face in the nearest mirror, still as youthful now as it was then, clean and unmarred. His body still pristine, and strong.
There was a sense of longing, then, to abandon the ravages of the world, for this place he loved.
He dispelled himself from such dangerous thoughts, and his glaive, same as the last time, shimmered into his hand. The black glass was rough hewn, like an obsidian arrowhead, and it clinked musically against the checkerboard tile as he stood. Keth began to spin it idly as he walked into the one-way labyrinth, lazily arcing it around his body like a staff twirler, scraping the spaces around him, with clattering resonations and shrill complaint, to avoid walking facefirst into himself.
There were no scars, however. The inviolable quality of the Field still persisted, even as a stagnant remnant of a forgotten age. At least, there were no scars visible. Not in this place.
Momentarily, his mind skirted along old roots, travelling deep beneath the conscious mind. Visions of sand, of jewels, of countless adventures. "Hunark. Ugin." He voiced to nobody in particular, the quiet words not even having the decency to echo, or linger. Instead, they were absorbed as though perhaps not even said at all, snatched away into that same deafening silence, punctuated by the scrape of glass on glass.
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Level 9
I joined on January 1970, I am a proud and I've made 406 posts
#Survive
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Post by Ketha'al on Jul 2, 2020 1:28:00 GMT -5
Momentarily, he paused, and considered himself. Age was a terrible thing, wasn't it? No longer a child's processing, but instead the self-reflections of a warped man. He hesitated before meeting his own eyes. That was where he was different, he surmised.
The eyes. They carried the weight of the soul behind them. Not gravitas, but experience. Like being rolled through mud, and layered thick, until unrecognizable to oneself.
The longing was still there, self-expression, an empty canvas, only undisturbed, perfect vision... His blade slapped twice at his own reflection futilely, and he frowned instinctively. "Idiot." he mused, to the only thing there. Empty space, and himself. Where did one end, and the other begin? He smiled mirthlessly and carried on. There was no sense of progression, nor need for it. He paused another moment, his mind drawn back. "Where the heck did I go wrong, Lop?"
A system of distractions, and walls. A maze of relationships. A series of moments. Two selves, neither free. The list goes on.
He wandered deeper into the maze, looking at nothing in particular and remembering his friends, shrieking strikes and lone footsteps resonating in the dead silence.
The loss of two worlds. You've been embarrassing yourself a long time now, haven't you? Acting out like this? What exactly did you hope to accomplish, in this lonely crusade? Is this just catharsis, or did you actually expect to cause a response?
He sighed, his eyes threatening to spill forth freely, and did his best to ignore his inner voice.
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Level 9
I joined on January 1970, I am a proud and I've made 406 posts
#Survive
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Post by Ketha'al on Jul 2, 2020 1:56:13 GMT -5
Still occupying the empty shell? You aren't home, and you haven't been in a long time. This is just the same shape: It isn't home without them. This is just an abandoned house. It will bring you no comfort.
"Tetsuo. Rikku. Aery. Bell." With difficulty, he stopped himself before the point of chanting... a most desperate spell. Collapsing seemed inevitable.
His face contorted, grimacing, wracked with sudden pain. That adversity is what lets you know that you were still alive. Transmission of the selves. Reality, filtered through this medium, becomes art. Or, perhaps, just an indolent tantrum. Darkness surged within the corridors of his mind. Did he choose this place, or simply happen upon it? Did it choose him? There were really too many coincidences. But, it WAS uncalculated...
Slowly, he pulled himself upright. A tired look won over his face.
"Hey there demons, it's me... ya boy." he said, without any real gumption. The immediate conflict within him settled, if only for the moment, perhaps in amusement, or maybe distaste at his own failed attempt at it.
He paced onward, blankly and meekly awaiting the next onslaught. So rapt in his reverie of self-destruction was he, that he failed to notice that his armament had fallen still... and silent. The deafening space threatened to swallow his hearing, the sounds of laughter, of I-love-you's, of anger, sadness... They flowed through him still, like the river Styx, cursing him to stand in place while the shades of his past approached in turn and spoke only unbearable truth. It was an oppressive vision, a prime delusion. "Too many." he choked, breathlessly.
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