"So they've found some ghosts?" Sorenson nodded, impressed. "Fascinating! We need a society like that in Faerun. Any chance they'd commute to other dimensions?" Probably not. He, too, squinted down the hallway, and three of the lights soared up ahead again.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
"I doubt it," I said. "And they didn't exactly find ghosts on their own. There's the Problem. It's probably less of one now that old Marissa's been taken care of, but."
I shrugged.
"There's always going to be ghosts to find after you tear holes between here and the Other Side."
Spoiler! :
I feel like now might be a good time to let them stumble onto a room. >>
"Beg pardon?" That didn't sound terribly good. "Dimensional tears? Good gods, that's a mess."
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
That wasn't exactly how I had worded it, but the conclusion wasn't wrong.
"Oh, it was," I agreed. "Ghosts were showing up everywhere. No one even knew where the ghosts were coming from, so the best they could do was send out agents to handle each threat-"
I suddenly stopped walking.
I had been looking forward. Just moments before, I hadn't seen anything there. But now there was a door in the distance on the right side of the hallway. It was a simple door, with a single face nestled in its center.
"...That wasn't there a few minutes ago, was it?" I asked.
Sorenson blinked at the door. "Er...no, I don't believe so!" He approached it warily. "Shall we open it up and see what might be inside?"
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
Given how the door had appeared out of nowhere and the faces on the walls had suddenly started moving on their own, I shouldn't have trusted that whatever was behind the door would be safe.
But I was getting tired of walking down the hallway.
(Want me to decide what's in there or would you like to? I have no particular idea)
Sorenson crossed his arms, stepping to the side and casting one of the orbs forward to help them see. "Well, what do we have here?"
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
I also have no idea what's in there, so I'm cool with you deciding! We could also figure it out together, since I know I'm also pulling a blank with it right now.
Hi again! I just realized I should probably throw some ideas out in case we're both struggling to come up with them. We talked about having the labyrinth be tied to their lives, as well as getting Skull spooked enough to accidentally possess something. Skull has a thing against magic mirrors, so maybe the room leads to a hall of mirrors that are very clearly tied to death/ghosts/the other side? That would really freak him out.
(That sounds like a great idea! I don't have any better ones this early in the morning, that's for sure.)
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
Awesome! And I feel that. >> I've been up for the past three and a half hours, so my brain is all ready to think now.
i'm also procrastinating on school work, which always gets the creative juices going xD
The moment I stepped inside of the room with Sorenson's orbs in tow, my breath caught in my throat.
The room wasn't really a room. It was a hallway, wide and seemingly as endless as the hallway we had just come from. Every single wall space was adorned by mirrors of various sizes and shapes. Without getting close to a single one of them, I could feel how wrong they were. I wanted to avoid them. I wanted to look away. I knew what mirrors like that could do to people. Why were there so many here? How did they all get here-
I turned, ready to head back down the other hallway.
But then the wall and doorway moved. It surged back around Sorenson. The door slammed on its own once Sorenson was in the room with me. I didn't need to try opening it to know we were locked in.
The air temperature plummeted, and I couldn't tell if it was because of the mirrors or because of me.
Sorenson shivered as the temperature dropped again. "Fancy that!" he said, seeming unperturbed by the sudden transition into the room. He approached one of the mirrors, peering into it and grinning at his image. "The room's got good taste, I'll give it that. Better without a roof, but that's a minor detail. Do you suppose if I touch it it'll come out and grab me?" He chuckled.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
"Don't," I said, my tone harsher and more to the point than at any point before. I tried to keep my gaze away from the mirrors again, but I kept seeing them out of the corner of my eye. "You don't know where they lead to. What they're tied to."
Sorenson paused with one finger inches from the glass and looked at Skull. "Fair point." He shrugged and backed away, giving the mirror a closer look. "I expect you have more experience with evil mirrors than I do, then? What do you propose we do?"
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
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