Dr. Gracein's Terrible Mansion ((Closed))

[Solomon]

Slam

The door behind him shot down from the ceiling and shut him in the next room, nothing to welcome him but a darkness that seemed to hunger for it's next victim. Solomon turned around, his eyes peeled wide and his forehead lined with sweat as he looked onto the entryway he had only meant to check and not to enter. He ran up to the wall, hoping to find where the door had vanished. However, even the telltale cracks had filled in as the unknown door came crashing in. He was sealed inside now, he obviously wasn't allowed to 'just check first.'

"I hope your happy..." Solomon muttered towards the ceiling, his wide eyes falling inwards. Displaying his discontent to no one in particular. He had just escaped a room with a massive Venus Flytrap, what on earth awaited him in here?

Truth be told, he wasn't even exactly sure where 'here' was. He had woken up in a small, dimly lit chamber only ten minutes ago. With him there was nothing but an old cot, a torch on the wall, and a doormat sitting by the foot of the corridor which read 'Start.' A feeling that made him a little uneasy when he had read it. His memory had been a little cloudy when he had first woken up, but shortly after he triumphed over the large and greedy weed he seemed to recall how he ended up in this place. The last thing he remembered was leaving the Inn in Radasanth, finally heading home after a long strain of fighting and soul searching. He was just a mile out of town when he came across a man struggling to fix his rickety old buggy. He was a short man, balding, and had a long but well trimmed grey beard with sun tanned skin showing under his snug, colourless outfit. Truth be told, he looked a little more urban than the other countryside folk that used these of buggies.

"Could you lend me a hand?" The man had asked, trying hard to lift the heavy back wheel with his spindly little arms.

"Of course." Solomon agreed, smiling at the thought of doing a good deed for a change. He bent down beside the wheel, and the man let him take care of it. However, once he had his back to the stranger he felt a sharp, stinging pain in his body, as though bitten by a snake. He didn't even have enough time to turn around as his body seized up and tumbled over. The last thing he saw before the darkness of this dungeon was the stranger's dull face peering down at him with a sinful satisfaction.

The Venus Flytrap hadn't taken him long to destroy. He still had the torch at that point, and the plant obviously didn't get a lot of water in this place for it had gone up in a flash. He had been dodging it's vines for several minutes trying to get close enough to ignite it. However when it stole an opportunity and grabbed him by his free arm, threatening to fling him into the wall, he threw the torch as quickly as he could. It fell right against it's stem, and immediately Solomon was released as the plant went up with an unnatural howl. In the light of the dying foe he had seen three open doors. One straight ahead, one left and one right. Once the plant had become nothing but ashes he inched towards the door on the right, although peering his head inside he could not see a thing. No more than two careful and quiet steps inside was he suddenly sealed in.

"Hello?" He called out into the darkness, trying to see if anyone was there. He could sense many things in the darkness, pretty much in every direction. There seemed to be something in this place that gave off energy readings so he wasn't sure what was real and what was fake until he was within visual distance. Whoever that stranger was, he obviously knew about Solomon's sensing ability. That was a bad sign.

There was a blinding flash, and suddenly the room lit up with lights from overhead. Solomon stood ready, his eyes slowly gathering themselves as they adjusted to the light. There he was, staring back at himself, beside himself, and even behind himself. He immediately stirred in his position, only to see the several dozen reflections do the same. He was surrounded by mirrors. Which way was out?

[Breaker]

It wasn an unusual night.

My Dajas Pagoda battle for the evening had been cancelled when the challenger in question got mugged on their way to the arena. Spared from an evening of trying to teach some "up and coming" fighter to use their body as a weapon, and amused by the irony of the whole situation, I immediately headed to the closest pub.

I entered the tavern-- a seedy place called 'Till You Drop-- lazily, lacking any real purpose. I wasn't in the mood to get drunk, specifically, but could see myself enjoying sitting on a barstool for a few hours with an empty glass in front of me, meditating and listening to other people's conversations. I didn't think of it as eavesdropping, because I never acted on anything I heard, or tried to use it to my advantage. Mostly it was just a source of entertainment, like television, or more accurately, radio. Getting half-buzzed and listening to some mythril prospector rant about the day he almost struck it rich, before realizing what he thought to be mythril was actually soap... well, Althanas isn't exactly Club Med. Normally I passed the time by working out, but recently my physical activities had become a little obsessive, and I was trying to cut down. The only other option; a night at the pub.

It was a typical tavern, with the exception of a large sign raised above the alcohol rack. It read "Down Tonight: 4". Apparently, 'Till You Drop took its name seriously, and recorded the number of people who literally drank themselves unconscious. I passed by the rickety tables and chipped chairs that covered most of the floor space, heading for a preferred seat at the bar. Before long I had a foamy mug of ale before me and a young girl on the barstool next door. This wasn't unusual; the legendary name of the Dajas Pagoda gave even the lowly warriors like me a celebrity status. The girl had very pretty green eyes and a smile that wrote mischief not just all over her face, but straight down her neck and beneath the diving "V" of her blouse. I was beginning to feel that maybe Althanas wasn't so boring, after all.

"So, um, what was the hardest time you ever had fighting someone in your arena?"

It was a question I was getting a little sick of hearing. "Focus on the girl, not what she says," I reminded myself.

"Well, there was a wizard once who kept tossing invisible barriers and fireballs at me. That was tough. But one time in the Citadel--"
"By the Thaynes, like, no way! You've been to Radasanth?"
"Yes, quite a few--"
"I'm so jealous! I heard that in the bazaar you can buy like, anything they can make, and...."

I winced at the shameful redundancy and tuned the bosomy maiden out, taking a long pull on my ale. Seconds later, I realized that for some reason the girl had stopped talking. Glancing over, I noted that her eyes were focussed intensely on my mug, with the tip of her tongue pointing out the corner of her mouth, as if the mug had asked her a difficult mathematical question.

Confused, I took another sip, then put the mug down. Here eyes followed it like twin green kittens chasing a flashlight beam. Suddenly, she looked up at me.

"Aren't you going to finish your drink?" She was almost breathless, which to be totally honest, made her even more attractive. I shrugged.

"Eventually, I was just--"
"Wouldn't you rather like, drink it really really fast?"

I couldn't help myself. I stared at her, my expression matching the face Dave Foley had built his career around. It stated quite plainly; What in the fuck is wrong with you?

A couple moments later she noticed my uncomfortable facial positioning and blushed, mumbling under her breath about just being curious. Right. Curious the way cucumbers are curious about vinegar. A funny thought struck me.

"What, are you trying to roofie me or something?" I joked.
"Yes." She replied. Her confidence was back, along with that devilish smile. I shrugged again, cruising with the joke.

"Sounds like a good plan for the night." With that, I tipped my head back and chugged the rest of my ale, finishing with a great sigh and wiping foam off my nose and eyelashes. I blinked. The girl was gone. I spun around on my barstool and saw the hem of her periwnkle summer dress disapearing out the door. "Sweet. Follow the leader," I thought. Quickly paying for the ale, I got up and hurried after her. Two steps, and suddenly I was face down on the floor. Rolling onto my back, I felt my head swim, consciousness swiftly eluding me.

"Crap... I guess she wasn't joking about the roofie."

The last thing I saw before the knockout drug took effect was the bartender climbing down from a small step stool, his sign now proudly displaying new information.

Down Tonight: 5

"Wow... for a Dajas Pagoda warrior, he sure is a lightweight." Someone said.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


There was only darkness.

Then there were shapes. Shapes caused by different levels of light. Slowly the shapes began to grow in detail, like an educational film on evolution. Before long I was positive that there were two shapes, quite similar in size and detail. In an odd way, they seemed familiar. I delved back in my memory, trying to recall where I had seen them before.

They were my feet.

I was sitting with my legs out straight in front of me, leaning forward with both hands bound behind my back. Something seemed unusual, aside from the whole waking-up-with-hands-tied-behind-my-back thing. I wasn't wearing shoes, that was it. Socks either. My eyes slid lower in their sockets, and I was relieved to see that I still had on my pants and shirt. But everything else was gone; the contents of my pockets, my faithful nunchaku, and of course my footwear were all mysteriously missing. For the first time, I looked around.

The room was very small, in fact it looked like a cube with a side measurment of about seven feet. A single candle blazed before me, casting flickering shadows over the rough wood floor, walls, and ceiling. There was a door on the other side of the candle, made from the same rough wood with a shiny brass doorknob.

"Well, this doesn't take a genius to figure out," I thought.

Bending at the waist, I easily slid my bound hands around my legs so they were in front of me. I stretched the rope taut, holding it above the candle. Before long, the tough cord began to blacken and burn. In a few minutes, I would be free.

[Christoph]

Plink, plink.

“Ow…”

Christopher’s world slowly spun out of the void of blackness and silence. Small dots of light came first, pinpricks forcing their way through his throbbing skull. Next, an unhealthy chill passed through his body, though he wasn’t able to tell if it was the air or the product of his own body. And, of course, there was the steady staccato of water dripping against stone.

Plink, plink.

“What the hell?”

Immediately, flashbacks from his time in the Radisanth jail flashed through his mind and everything that he’d endured. At first, he tried to dismiss it all as a paranoid dream, but he knew better. And wherever he was, it was probably far worse than a simple jail cell.

The chef was lying with his back against the cold stone floor. It turned out that the dots of light were not products of a head injury. The damp room that he’d found himself in was completely dark save for dozens of tiny specks of light being let in by odd cracks in the ceiling. He stood up, smashing his head painfully against a wooden beam that he his eyes hadn’t adjusted enough to see. Immediately after, his unsteady feet slipped on the puddle of water that he should have known was there, sending him right back onto his back, the water dripping from the ceiling right next to his face.

Plink, plink.

“Ow!”

Chris struggled back to his feet, carefully trying not to add any more head injuries to the list. He had absolutely not idea as to where he was or how he got there. To his dismay, without these two important details, nothing about his current situation made the slightest bit of sense. Of course, that sort of thing was nothing new to him.

He remembered being in a tavern. He was sitting by the fire, impressing a few young sell-swords and a couple of attractive tavern wenches with some dramatized stories from his visits to the legendary Citadel. Everything was going well; it was probably his most pleasant evening since he’d left his home in Salvar. Things got blurry from there, though. At some point during the evening, he must have gone unconscious somehow. No more cheep Elven wine after dark for me. Of course, that didn’t answer any questions at all, but such was life.

The chef felt around for a minute before he realized that he was wasting his time. A quick flick of his hand summoned a swirling ball of flame into his palm. The blue fire danced in his hand and illuminated the entire room like a beacon of hope. The chamber was ten feet across and wide, but only six feet high. The beam that he’d whacked his head on came down a foot from the low ceiling. Finally found what he was looking for! A wooden door was on the opposite side of the tiny room. Holding his burning light out in front of him, Chris made his way to his only exit only to realize that it was locked from the outside.

The keyhole was so rusty that he doubted that he could pick it even if he had the skills and tools needed. He was tempted to try and burn it down, but given how damp the wood was, it would have taken a tremendous effort to destroy with his magical fire. The only other option seemed to be breaking it open. While ramming the door full-force didn’t sound like a comfortable experience, he reasoned that if he could withstand a blow from a barstool, then he could handle this. One… two… THREE!

The chef smashed through the door, pain jolting through his left shoulder. The old wooden portal flew open, crashing against the wall, sending the vibrations echoing as far as he could hear. With a thought, Chris called his warm light back into his hand. He found himself standing at the bottom of a short stone staircase. Without anywhere else to go, he climbed it and was immediately hit with a wave of foul air, like a rancid swamp. His eyes went wide when he saw what was in store for him.

“What. The. Hell? ”

[Lord McFat Muffin]

The dockside was relatively warm. That is, it felt mostly tolerable for the first five minutes. Of course, in reality, that five minutes is just the amount of time to takes for one’s brain to stop lying to itself. This was one unpleasant fact that the young revolutionary was finding out on his own.

Like most idealists, Koutai tended to be crazy to such a degree that most people just ignored him. Thusly they resort to free areas of rest such as benches and alleys and food-stops like dumpsters. He liked dumpsters because they could be used for rest if there weren’t any benches available. Little do They know that the peoples’ champions can thrive on the scraps of society as they bring the very walls of it crumbling down around them. At least, that's what these idealists tell themselves at first. Over time, thought, most of them tend to wise up and get a simple working job, discarding their delusions of grandeur. Most did.

Koutai was huddled up in a ball on a roughly hewed oak bench right in front of a rubbish-filled dumpster. It wasn't comfortable in the slightest, but it felt a bit better than the cobbled street and was a bit drier. The dark grey cloak draped over him did a little good in breaking the strong coastal winds, but was piss-poor in the role of a blanket. The wind whipped and howled through the slightest opening, as if unrelenting in its spite, denying him a moment’s of peace.

Sitting up, he grumbled a few curses at the weather. There was a little bit of cloud cover, so the temperature wasn't below freezing. It was NOT comfortable, however. Pushing back a large bang of hair, he started looking down the lamp-lit street for something to improve his situation. Mostly, there were taverns he'd already been thrown out of for preaching his cause and a few other ruts infested by homeless people.

Then there was a wagon! He couldn't make out too many of the driver’s features thanks to the poor lighting. Koutai’s eyes immediately locked onto the hay and cloth in the back. They might stand half a chance of keeping him warm! Best of all, the fact that it was a closed-top wagon meant that there wouldn't be wind!

As the clopping of hooves grew louder, the young revolutionary rolled off the bench obscure his profile. He hit the ground with a muffled "oomph" and his body let him know that he just smacked into stones like a retard. Sometimes the body really needs to shut its mouth once in awhile. The sounds of the bouncing wooden frame changed in pitch as it creaked past him. Fortunately, it maintained a leisurely pace down the dim street. Standing up in a half-crouch, Koutai dashed over and latched onto the back, scrambling to haul himself inside before someone started asking questions.

Crawling inside, he was hit with the strong farmhouse-scent of old hay, dust, and sweat. It wasn't an altogether pleasant smell, but it was oddly comforting. This was mainly because he was often screwed with the job of baling the hay back when he and some others were being trained (rather, indoctrinated) by Mr. Wiggles.

Looking around the interior of the wagon, he noticed what appeared to be furniture draped in cloth. There were a few sacks, probably seed or something. Sighing slightly, he stretched out his legs and leaned back against what he thought was a bag of seed. It started to writhe! A muted noise was coming from inside of it. It sounded muffled and incomprehensible, but undeniably human. The wagon was transporting people!

The driver must have heard the commotion, because he immediately ordered the horse to stop. Koutai's gaze was stuck on the front, trying to discern a moving shape in the dark. And of course, being human screwed him again when he felt something heavy whack him from behind. Maybe he should've been more pre-occupied on someone coming from behind than looking at the front... No, that’s what They would have said.

===============================================

God damn it! Did I roll off the bench and whack my head?

The black that consisted of his current vision changed as he slowly opened his eyes, expecting a harsh-alteration to light...only to be greeted by black. What was going on? Had he gone blind? was he still sleeping!? Not overtly concerned about this, he was still trying to wake up as he grinned to himself.

"I did fall off the bench! Then...uh...oh shit..."

It was Them! They made that convenient trap! Damn their brilliance! Who'd have ever suspected a wagon on a dark night? The best thing to do now is wait and prepare for the interrogation...

And wait he did for a questioning that would never happen from people that most likely never existed. It was only when a deep grinding of stone on stone echoed in the black that his fruitless waiting ended. Soon, faint edges of light crept into his vision. Judging by the way the noise echoed and resonated and how the light didn't reach the ceiling, he could guess that the room he was in was very high, roughly twenty feet wide, and about three hundred feet long. The walls were made from a dull grey stone that he couldn’t recognize. Lined up in five rows, four feet apart were Torches the height of men filled the room, lined up in rows of five. There were six rows, all four feet apart. Each two torches, however, only had a gap of a single foot in between.

Two rows of small metallic discs were beyond the display of torches, each holding a one-foot white candle. Their wicks were already burning. These provided no substantial lighting for the room at large, but they did serve to illuminate a brass ziggurat-shaped structure near the back. There were six “steps,” each one a foot long and a foot high. A circular pedestal sat atop the unnatural structure, illuminated by the unnatural sources of light. On top of this pedestal was the Rubber Ducky. Koutai could tell that the strange object was very important. It was basic in design, consisting of a supernatural material called "rubber." An ominous paint job of yellow and orange completed this strange artifact. The soulless black-dots it had for eyes bored into the young revolutionary’s soul, measuring his worth.

From above, a crackly voice descended like the voice of a god. It was heavily distorted, as if thick sheets of rain were hitting metal in the background, but from what Koutai could hear, it was a male voice -- albeit a callous and oddly disembodied one. He had to admit, that wasn’t something encountered very often.

"Now, to-" The voice was abruptly cut off as Koutai pulled out his mace and started waving it around in the air while shouting at the top of his lungs.

"I'm ready for you fiends! I'll never talk! The cause still burns strong within me! I'll die before my will breaks! One day, one day everything you have become will come collapsing around your ears so you can hear the cheering of the victorious people as they throw off the shackles of oppression!"

There was a fairly audible pause as Koutai took in several deep breaths, having ranted a bit too loudly and long without a real pause. It was then that the voice started up again, a slight note of irritation and uncertainty.
"Just touch the goddamn rubber ducky and you'll get out."
A clicking noise followed, cutting off the mutterings of things like "Idiot kids these days." Just like that, Koutai was left alone and in the clutches of Them, forced to find a way out so that he could finally rally the people for their victory crusade..."

[Kially Gaith]

The day had been long and Kially was fairly exhausted, the streets of Corone had become as dead as the night itself and the child found himself wandering them aimlessly for a place to stay the night. Coming across a large doorway to what looked like a disused building, the child sat himself against the porch door frame. The grey stone was cold on the childs back but the summer night held a partial comforting warmth in the air. Settling back, the child gazed to the stars in utter admiration, picking out his favourite stars with a slowly moving finger.

On counting the 32nd star, an old male passed by, seemingly looking for something, his eyes flashed from place to place. “Where can I find one…? The pay’s to good to refuse.” He muttered to himself as he gave gaze to every nook and cranny as he convinced himself his dirty work would be worth the payment.

When the old lecherous eyes caught the child in a visual net, he continued to walk as his brain processed his goal, before taking four steps back as realisation clicked and the child was all he needed for payment. “Hello…Little boy, are you cold?” From a bag, he produced a small makeshift blanket, and a rosy red apple, fresh and crunchy, so fresh infact that it still had a single leaf flicking from its’ stem.

Kially had not the common sense nor adultile advice of staying away from strangers, so kindly held out his arms for such blanket with an infant like smile. “A little, mister.”.

The older fellow grinned darkly, his lips spreading half way up his wrinkled old face. “Here you go then…”. With utmost façaded care, the fellow laid the blanket over as much of the boy as it would cover, comfortably housing three quarters of the tiny child. “I have an apple, too, would you like it?” The aged human offered, with an unnecessary pause of hidden hesitation..

“Ooo…Can I please?” Kially giggled, cuddling the blanket to his small pale form for warmth, as he offered nothing but a sweet and innocent smile to the one whom was offering all this kindness without reason.

“But of course, such a polite boy!” The smile further grew, his plan was in its’ final stages as he gently set the apple in the little boys lap. ”Gold, here I come!”, he thought as he patiently awaited the child to eat up the apple that had previously been soaked in a muscle relaxing sedative.

And devour it, Kially did, eagerly eating everything, even the core, as such a sweet taste had not been his to savour in such a long time.

“Good night, little boy.” The old geezer said with a sneer as he promptly left to go wait round the nearest corner with his cart, ready to collect the child as soon as the drug got the better of him.

“Night, night, Mister! Thankoo!” A bright smile, blissfully unaware of what was planned for his young form. Returning to counting his favourite stars, he settled, suddenly finding that moving was becoming progressively more difficult, as the drug took more and more effect as the boy attempted to struggle, the drug only pumped faster into his blood stream, denying him use first of his legs, then his arms, then his neck. Soon enough, the boy had the shame of his bladder muscles giving way, promptly soaking himself with warm urine, fortunate in that he had emptied his rectum a few hours before. He quietly began to sob in shame, wishing for help, until even sobbing became difficult. The sedative took hold of him quickly and dragged him down into unconsciousness.

#~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~#

A single eye opened, blurry.

A second, blurry.

Blink once.

Blink twice.

Headache.

“Urgh…” Where Kially was, he had no idea. He ached from head to toe, all his muscles tightly clenched as the drug wore off. He required a great deal of effort to even breathe, each breath taking all of his might, getting easier in slow progressive spaces of time. He used this time to examine where he was.

The décor of the gas light lit room was that of expensive taste, royal crimson wallpaper scattered the partially empty rooms walls whilst a gas light hung high over head out of reach, illuminating all with a weak eerie glow. To the left corner of the room was a small box, suspended by wires from the ceiling. Over such was draped a purple cloth, the carpet was of black persuasion, whilst a large solid door of oak presided at the direct center of the room, there were no windows.

Kially was still carefully wrapped up in the blanket, his pants and underwear had dried, but he still stank of urine, and a mild rash itched about his crotch. The lack of mobility in his general form due to the come-down of the sedative was the only reason he did not attempt to tend to it.

Eventually, his senses fully complied with his brain, and as his nerve endings tingled, Kially carefully stood wearily to his feet, using the wall as support and as he did, the blanket about him dropped to the floor.

Now to find a way out…

His eyes tore at the walls, scratching at them for detail and for a way out, his foggy mind not even quite upto comprehending what he could do, use or move to get out.

May as well try the door first, right? Limping, tiny gait took him towards the door, stumbling once, before once again grabbing his footing, another step, and he fell to the floor, sat next to the door, a single carpet burned knee, he sulked, his knee was now sore. “Oww…” Tenderly rubbing his left knee, he pulled himself back up using the door knob, his ankles almost buckling at the fast movement.

A single hand reached onto the knob and gave it a turn, it clicked a horrid failure for the boy, ugly rejection that was not comforting to the lad in the slightest. “L’ me out.” He managed to almost whisper, as he banged on the door once with a weakly bunched fist.

”Why me?” the child found himself asking deep inside, as realisation that he could be stuck here slowly set in.

[Solomon]

How do I get out of here?

Solomon began wandering around the ranks of mirrors. The lights that had come on were no longer as bright. They had been dimmed purposely to mess with his vision. To quickly blind him, then take the light away so his eyes were dazzled and could not focus well. There was enough light for him to see the outlines of the mirrors, but he could hardly see where his feet were going without meeting some of the glass face to face. The paths he had found would end or turn on a dime. He had collided with himself twice now, and was beginning to feel a little annoyed.

Who was that man that kidnapped him? And why had he done it? He couldn't figure it out, and found himself racking his brain for anytime he might have encountered the stranger. Had he done something to offend him? Or perhaps he was collecting a bounty on him. Then again, if he was collecting a bounty, why was he in this maze of mirrors and not dead or behind bars?

What if he's just some nut-ball? He began to think once no other reasons came to his mind. It seemed a perfectly sound explanation, but it didn’t make him feel any easier about his situation. He stopped for a moment, and with him all his identical twins that stood at his side. Had he been this way before? Did that last path just lead him around in a circle? Quickly he searched the ground for any trace of himself, but couldn't find anything other than that funny feeling he had been there before.

"I'm getting nowhere fast." He muttered, looking up over his shoulders towards the ceilings and the surrounding walls. Was anyone watching him? Did this man know what was going on? Solomon began to grumble, the thought of being the rat in some psycho's maze. He wouldn't just let the man sit there and enjoy the view. A new smile of triumph rolled over his face, and with a quick flash of his foot he shattered the mirror in front of him.

Bad move.

Before the shattering glass had even touched the floor, and a red light illuminated the darkness, flashing on and off somewhere in the distance. It was like he had set off an alarm, and immediately he felt himself beginning to panic. What on earth was happening now? He looked about from shoulder to shoulder, waiting for something to appear. What was about to happen? What the hell was going on?

Then it came, and vanished just as quickly. Solomon felt his side searing as light hit it, a beam of light that suddenly appeared on every mirror until it reflected onto him. It came, it shot him, then it was gone with no other trace but the hot and stabbing feeling it left on his body. He clutched his side with his hand and began to run, only to find that another beam caught him on the opposite side seconds later.

An angry moan escaped him as the beam cut into his flesh. The red warning light continued to flash, and Solomon knew he had to get out of here before the beam came again. Breaking the mirrors wasn’t going to help him, the beam could easily hit him from a different side. Counting the seconds in his head he made a move against the next beam. He threw himself to the floor as the light whipped around the room, and crawled on his elbows as the laser missed him.

He had to get out of here before his aggressor took countermeasures. How did he even know which way to go?

[Breaker]

With an acrid smell the last few strands of cord burned away, and my hands were free. I extinguished the candle quickly, snuffing the life out of the flame with two calloused fingers. I assumed I would be able to break out of the room, but didn't want to waste anymore air than necessary. Already the small room was uncomfortable, stiflingly hot. My feet left moist prints on the floorboards, the dark patches following me around the cube as I ran my hands over the walls. Finally I arrived at the door, feeling my hand encounter the now invisible brass knob. The candlestick hung from my other hand, for it was made of solid iron and made a decent improvised weapon. I tried to twist the doorknob, but nothing happened. It seemed as if a round lump of brass had just been attatched to the wall. I tapped the door with the candlestick, receiving a dull thudding noise.

"Cute. A solid wall dressed up to look like a door. Good thing I didn't throw myself against this thing."

Again I circled the walls, this time tapping the walls with the candlestick. The first wall and the second produced similar sounds to the "door". Halfway along the third wall, however, I evoked a hollow noise, familiar to anyone who has ever knocked on a door. Grinning, I took a step backwards.

The wall seemed to explode, splinters of wood flying in all directions. I had taken the impact on my shoulder and followed my intertia, diving forwards in a tight forward roll. Two full rotations later I was sprawled on the floor, spinning like a top, checking three hundred and sixty degrees for any threat. The room was incredibly similar to the one I had just left, except larger, and with many torches in brackets on the wall. There was a dark patch in the middle of the far wall, which led to a deep hall. I was about to approach the opening when a deep, throaty growl came from it. I was wondering what kind of animal had made the noise when a rough bark followed the growl, and the snout of a large, wolflike dog poked into the well-lit room. A second beast followed the first, and like twin reapers, they raced towards me, vicious teeth shining in the torchlight.

[Christoph]

“Where in the hells am I?”

It didn’t take long for Chris to figure out why there was water dripping from the ceiling in the room below. The room at the top of the staircase was completely flooded in murky, rank, and polluted water. Green slime dripped down from the ceiling and coated the walls. The strongest sensation the displaced chef felt, however, was came from the stench. The massive rectangular room was one hundred feet long and at least fifty wide, yet it was completely saturated with the smell of dead rats bathing in human fecal matter in a giant frying pan cooking above a bed of brimstone. At least, that’s what Chris immediately though of when he choked down his own vomit.

After fighting down the wave of nausea, the chef turned his attention towards how best to escape from the absolutely disgusting room. Scanning the soiled walls, Chris spotted ten unlit torches bolted into the slimy stone with large red candles next to them. There was a rope leading from the rancid water to each torch and candle. More ropes were tied a few inches above each torch, each leading up to where a large ladder was tied to the ceiling. Said ladder was next to a square trap door of sorts in the ceiling.

Chris grinned, analyzing the situation. Whoever had kidnapped him must be playing some twisted game, and this room was just one of the stages. It wasn’t hard to figure out, either. He was supposed to swim to each of the ropes, climb up to the torches and use the candles to light them so that they would burn the ropes, thus releasing the ladder. From what he could tell, the wooden ladder would come down within ten feet of the entrance. I can jump that…

The challenge was obviously designed to be very difficult and ridiculously unpleasant for any normal person. Chris, of course, was not a normal person. With a sly smile, the chef took a moment to concentrate, feeling the magical energies surge through him like the blood in his veins. Then, with a flick of his hand, he called a palm-sized ball of brilliant blue fire. The first shot hit true, igniting the targeted torch instantly. Those remaining were struck with similar efficiency. The task was easier than target practice he used to put himself through back home. He laughed as the ladder lowered into the water.

“Sometimes I swear that I’m the smartest person I know.” With that, Chris whistled smugly as he took a few steps back to prepare for his leap to the ladder. Before he could, though, he heard a disturbance in the water. The previously calm water was bubbling and churning, spreading even more noxious gas through the chamber. A moment later, an ear-shattering roar added itself to Chris’s sensory overload. In an instant, the massive, toothy head of a giant eel was starring at him. Its head was as large as Chris’s entire body and it was dripping in grime even fouler than what coated the walls.

“Uh… um… Hi?” In response, the grey, scaly beast roared again, spraying the chef with slime. Chris clenched his jaw, knowing that he had nowhere to go. If he tried to flee, the creature could easily devour him. Instead, he steeled himself and tried to hide the fact that he was terrified beyond imagining. He even cracked a smile. “Nice… day?”

In response, the giant eel tilted its head, probably confused by having its next meal smile at it and make conversation. That moment’s hesitation was all that Chris needed. His grin quickly turned sinister as he called up a swirling inferno of blue fire. Before the dumb beast even realized what was happening, its head was completely engulfed in a steady stream of burning wrath. Its eyes burned, leaving sizzling craters in its head. It thrashed about in pain, slamming against the wall and taking bites at phantom targets. With a chuckle, Chris jumped for the ladder, climbing up just before the raging monster destroyed it.

“Wow. Am I having fun? This is sick!” Even so, the captured chef couldn’t help but laugh as he gazed around his new room.

[Lord McFat Muffin]

All he had to do was touch the rubber ducky, and he'd get leave. It seemed a bit too easy to him, the greatest challenge at the moment appeared that he might slip on a slightly exposed brick, fall, and break his neck. This was quite obviously a very perilous path ahead of him – that is, if he had the motor skills of a two-year old that had accidentally consumed a bucket of vodka..

Confidently walking towards the small path illuminated by the torches, he paused for a second to look at the flames. They twisted and writhed, as if there was an unseen breeze. Just above them, hardly noticeable in the dim lighting, there was a dark trail of smoke rising up from the top of it. This meant these things were being fueled with oil or some other combustible liquid. Given the odd construction of being a metal pole placed directly inside the stone, it was more than likely these things were fed by a source under the floor.

"Right now I could really use a small rock, a baby seal, or a small, easily trusting child..."

Not having either, he pulled out one of the lumps of explosively enchanted clay and squished it into a shape that almost resembled a ball, before throwing it at one of the torches. He was hoping for a non-hostile reaction, but was sorely disappointed. In a very large and painfully bright flash of flames, the clay ball was thoroughly cooked and smacked into the top of the torch. It exploded and caused a volatile spray of oil around the torch, which happened to ignite virtually instantly.

Blinking a few times, he tried to get rid of the after-images from the initial flame burst. Koutai’s face still tingled from the sudden wave of heat. This situation wouldn't be fun. IF he could knock those infernal burn constructs down, there'd be no guarantee the magic or mechanics that pumped the oil would stop working. There was an unnervingly high chance that there would be a carpet of burning oil covering the floor, and him, in moments.

Curse these machines of oppression and tyranny!

The young revolutionary sighed. He would need to think… When the first of the strange torches spewed forth its fiery death, there was a slight gurgling hiss first, which meant that there was probably slight time delay between bursts. At least, he hoped there was. Otherwise, he was about to die most gloriously for his cause.

Going to the far right wall, he hugged his back to it and started to inch across. He hoped that he was out of range. As the revolutionary edged near the part where he'd broken one of the deadly fire-sticks, he amazingly didn't become engulfed in flames – complete with a lot of writhing, screaming and generally painful dying. That confirmed if he broke the top, they couldn't shoot anymore. The problem was that he didn't have an unlimited supply of exploding things to throw at them.

As he retrieved another clay-bomb, a loose plan started to form. True, he could miss or trip or stumble, and then he would know how bacon feels in his last moments. As it was, he didn't have the luxury of fancy magic or a ranged weapon. Beggars can't be choosers. They can, however break things, stab people, and demand what they want with a knife, or in this case an explosive ball of clay, in pointed at someone’s face. Slipping off his cloak and holding his beloved device of exploding justice one hand, he got ready to hurl the bomb at a torch near the end of the line. He’d need to time it perfectly.

This would be a bang to watch.

[Solomon]

((I'm going to start off the next round, Kially will try and post when he can. Thanks guys))

The beam of light had missed him, scurrying along the floor like a terrorized rat. It was only a temporary fix, because he still had to find some way out of this mess. He had already searched his mind, hoping there just might be a target he could lock onto. Once again it proved futile. There was just too much interference. Not only that, but he hardly had time to concentrate for fear of the laser nicking him on the shoulder, or in the side of the head. Even if there was a real target out there he needed a little more time to lock onto it.

A breath of relief left him. Worming around on the ground had found a path he was sure he had not been down. An opening between two mirrors he wouldn't have found unless his hands had revealed the space between. Quickly he scrounged his way in, and then the warning alarm suddenly died away. He lay still for a moment. Beads of sweat tracing their way down to his impatient chin. Was it over? Or was something else about to happen? He stayed there for a while. Laying on his stomach surrounded by almost complete darkness, and shadowy images of himself. Once he felt his nerves calming, and the stillness of the night seemed permanent, he reached out his hand. Continuing the journey to the end.

Another bad move. His hand touched something soft. A sensory pad, set right in the narrowest part of the path. Solomon didn't even have time to mutter his regrets when the siren screamed again and this time the laser fired out with new force. Solomon stayed on the ground, hoping the beam would miss him. This time though, it did not disappear. The beam illuminated the room with red, and after a moment of splashing onto the ground it began to wander. Searching for him somewhere on the floor.

He pulled himself along as fast as his knees and elbows would let him. The sensor had told the beam which area he was in, and so it casually circled the floor, generally missing him by only a hair. Not only that, but the floor around him tunnelled off in different directions. How could he concentrate with this laser licking his heels?

The beam moved up, and the moment it hit the opposite mirror the reflection shot back down and left a small burn over the skin of his hip. Immediately he rolled the opposite way to avoid it cutting deeper, and when the beam went away in search of him he finally had an idea that might work. Quickly pulling his energy into his eyes Solomon growled and fired off two blue lasers of his own into the mirror, aiming for the point where he had just seen the laser touching. The blue flashes bounced all around the room, jumping off the mirrors faster than he could see. He kept his head down, and curled himself up now in fear of the red beam, and his own beam bouncing around without control. However, once the blue flash vanished into the farther corners of the room there was a great smash and the beam of red was no more.

This time Solomon stood up instantly. The red alarm light, and the siren died away; and the ceiling lights mysteriously lit up again.

"Good work. But you'll need more than that if you plan on surviving MY mansion." The voice echoed, just as untraceable as the laser had been.

"Who do you think you are?!?" Solomon roared. Nothing answered him. The mirrors began to descend into the floor while he stood around in anger, revealing he was only a twist and a turn from the exit. Not wanting to waste another minute in this room he dashed off towards the door, fearing sticking around would leave him open to some other terrible scheme.

[Breaker]

I steeled myself for the canine assault, but as the dogs raced nearer I noticed something incredible. Each dog wore a studded leather collar, and from each collar dangled one of my shoes.

"What in the hell is going on here?" I leapt high, sailing over the salviating jaws. The dogs skidded to a halt and turned to pursue me, dull claws gouging trail marks on the rough wood. I ripped a torch from its wall socket, dropped to a tight crouch and waved the flame before me. The dog's slowed their charge, approaching cautiously, low growls grinding from their throats. I kept the fire moving, menacing first one creature then the other. My mind raced. One attack dog I could handle; two at the same time provided a serious problem. I considered backing my way down the hall the dogs had entered through, but doing so posed me with a new dilemma; I wanted my shoes.

As the dogs stalked forwards, forcing me into their entry tunnel, I noticed how their eyes had begun to follow the moving torch light. An idea struck me, and on instinct I followed it. With a quick flick of my wrist I tossed the torch between the two beasts. Simultaneously, they turned to face it.

I leaped in, one hand snatching each shoe and ripping them from the dog's collars. Then I turned and fled blindly into the dark hallway, a pair of howling hounds hot on my heels.