Death and the Compass (IC)

[Liriena]

"Reality is not always probable, or likely."
-Jorge Luis Borges

You wake up, with your hands covered in dried blood, on an incredibly uncomfortable bed in a seemingly empty hotel room. Every inch exudes mediocrity and bland style. The only reason why it being a hotel room is clear is the little pamphlet lying on the bedside table. It reads, on poorly typed letters, "Hôtel de Nord".
Upon further examination of your surroundings, you discover that the nearby closet is opened and filled to the brim with books: a Vindication of the Kabbalah, a review of the philosophy of Robert Flood, a literal translation of Sepher Yetzirah, a Biography of the Baal Shem, a History
of the sect of the Hasidim, a monography (in German) on the Tetragrammaton, and another on the divine nomenclature of the Pentateuch.

Rabbinic literature.

On the floor, right beside a nearby corner, there is a copy of a newspaper. Yidische Zeitung. Despite most of it being in Yiddish, there is one little message on the front page, on the bottom right corner, written in perfect English.

Prepare your mind for the gruesome picture you will find ahead, once you turn over the corner. It is of the utmost importance that you preserve your focus and do not waste a single instant.
There is nothing you can do for Dr. Marcel Yarmolinsky. Focus on your own well-being.

Yours faithfully,

Borges

As you turn the corner you find, just like the newspaper told you, a disturbing sight.

An elderly man, clearly a rabbi, of white beard and grey eyes, lies on his back near the door that apparently leads out of the room and into the hotel's corridors. Half his face is obscured, but what can be seen of it shows an expression filled with pain and panic.

This rabbi is dead. His chest has been cut open by a powerful stab, giving you a perfect view of his blood soaked heart.

When you finally decide to move on, you discover that the door is locked. On the wall, parallel to the doorknob, there is an electronic device and a note written in thick paper with a skilled pen.

"Behind you, on the other side of this room, there is a desk with a typewriter on it. In that typewriter you will find the only clue I'll provide you. The device before you requires that you type in a four-letter password to open the door. This room has countless resources for you to find the password. From the very moment you wake up, you will have ten minutes to discover it. If you fail to find the password on time, you will spend an eternity in this room.

PS: Beware, for time is not linear in this place, nor is space definitive. Events can repeat themselves ad infinitum, and universes can overlap. What you did to Dr. Marcel Yarmolinsky could be done to you as well, and most likely by the same culprit."

Just as the note said, there is a typewriter on a nearby desk and, in it, there is a single, mostly blank sheet of paper. On it, the following words are written:

"The first letter of His name has been uttered."

You wake up, with your hands covered in dried blood, sitting on an luxurious, apparently ancient and excruciatingly uncomfortable chair of red velvet and mahogany, in a small, cluttered drawing room. The room's walls filled with pictures of a beautiful woman in her middle thirties.

Beside you there is a tall coffee table. A small, elegantly written note lies on it. Across it, there is another chair, exactly like your own. On it rests a massive object, the size of an overweight man, completely covered by a large white tablecloth.

The note says the following:

"Prepare for the most troubling sight imaginable. I need you to keep your mind clear and focused for the task at hand.
You cannot help Charles Argentine Daneri. The only one that you can assist right now is yourself.

Yours faithfully,

Borges"

When you remove the tablecloth, you find yourself face to face with a sitting corpse. Pink-faced, overweight, gray-haired and fine-featured, the man's hands have been cut off. The half-empty glass of wine beside him implies that he died after drinking poisoned cognac, the limbs removed post-mortem.

Across you, on the other side of the narrow room, on top of another coffee table, rests a an ancient gramophone, apparently from the late twenties. It is is perfect conditions, its golden metallic horn glistening in the faint articifial light.

When you decide to try turning it on, it surprisingly works, and a record begins to play, the entire room filled with the sound of a distorted voice. Its words are comprehensible, but it is impossible to distinguish the speaker's age or gender.

"The pictures in this room are photographs of a lovely woman called Beatriz Viterbo. Each picture speaks of each important moment in her sadly shortened life...

Beatriz Viterbo in profile and in full colour; Beatriz wearing a mask, during the Carnival of 1921; Beatriz at her First Communion; Beatriz on the day of her wedding to Roberto Alessandri; Beatriz soon after her divorce, at a luncheon at the Turf Club; Beatriz at a seaside resort in Quilmes with Delia San Marco Porcel and Charles Argentine Daneri; Beatriz with the Pekingese lapdog given to her by Villegas Haedo; Beatriz, front and three-quarter views, smiling, hand on her chin...

These pictures are the key to your freedom from the place you are in. The only door out is locked, but there is a device beside the door, which shall unlock it if you pass a card through the card reader. The key card is inside one of the pictures. To find the card, you will have to burn the correct picture. There is a single match on the table beside you to do so.

Now, you may be wondering...how will you know which is the correct picture? Well, I shall give you a single clue: the picture was spontaneously taken, yet she looked perfect and happier than ever.

I must warn you...From the moment you wake up, you have ten minutes. If you fail to find and use the real key on time, you will spend an eternity in this room. And if you use the wrong keycard from the wrong picture, the door will only lead you to further torments.

PS: Beware, for time is not linear in this place, nor is space definitive. Events can repeat themselves ad infinitum, and universes can overlap. What you did to Charles Argentine Daneri could be done to you as well, and most likely by the same culprit."

You wake up, with your hands covered in dried blood, on the floor of what must be a cellar. It's dark and the air is moist, but you can see that there is a single sparkle of light far away, from which you can hear the most subtle plethora of sounds. When you listen to it, it sounds like an entire world exists in that little ball of light.

As you walk up to it, you find a finely handwritten note on the dirty floor, which is possible to read thanks to the light coming from the mysterious object in front of you.

"Prepare for the most troubling sight imaginable. I need you to keep your mind clear and focused for the task at hand.
You cannot help Charles Argentine Daneri. The only one that you can assist right now is yourself.

Yours faithfully,

Borges"

As you take a few more steps forwards, you are greeted by the sight of a corpse lying on its back. Pink-faced, overweight, gray-haired and fine-featured, the man's eyes have been brutally removed. A red stain on the floor implies that he was stabbed in the back.

Eventually, you keep walking, and find a third surprise in your long travel towards the alluring light: an ancient gramophone, apparently from the late twenties. Its metallic parts are rusty, and the wooden parts are either rotting or being slowly devoured by termites.

When you decide to try turning it on, it surprisingly works, and a record begins to play, the entire cellar filled with the sound of a distorted voice. Its words are comprehensible, but it is impossible to distinguish the speaker's age or gender.

"Before you you will find a very special object. It's called an Aleph. With it, you will be able to find your way out of this cellar.

By looking through the Aleph, you will be able to see every single inch and angle of the cellar at the same time, without distortion, overlapping or confusion. You shall find that there are several keys hidden in here. Only one, however, will open the door that will free you from this place. All other keys will only lead you to further torments.

So as to make your task easier, allow me to provide you one single clue: the Aleph is also the first letter in the Hebrew alphabet, and every key has a Hebrew symbol on it.

From the moment you wake up, you have ten minutes. If you fail to find and use the real key on time, you will spend an eternity in this room.

PS: Beware, for time is not linear in this place, nor is space definitive. Events can repeat themselves ad infinitum, and universes can overlap. What you did to Charles Argentine Daneri could be done to you as well, and most likely by the same culprit."

[Yuktova]

I feel sore, the rather uncomfortable bed not making me feel any better as I realize my hands are covered in dry blood. I quickly check myself out, making sure I don't have any injuries before I get up. I examine the books, before turning my attention to the Yiddish newspaper, and reading the small section in English. "Hmm... Who's Dr. Marcel Yarmol-" I say before turning the corner, and finding who I presume to be Dr. Marcel Yarmolinsky. I stumble backwards, away from the dead Rabbi. I then decide to move on, discovering the door is locked. I quickly read it, and run over to the typewriter, frantically opening it up and grabbing the note. "The first letter of His name has been uttered." Fuck, I think to myself, What could that possibly mean? I go back to the books, and open up A History of the sect of the Hasidim. "Might as well start with this one... By the title, I'm guessing it could be religious... Not sure which religion though..." I say as I flip through the book... "Oh! A sect of Orthodox Judaism promoting spirituality and joy... Okay... So, we have a dead rabbi, and a book about this.. I'm guessing that he was part of this sect..." I then grab A Biography of the Baal Shem. "Perhaps this could contain something useful.." I toss it, and pick up the monography (in German) on the Tetragrammaton. "Dammit, it's in German... Well, perhaps it may still contain something useful..." I read through it, coming across an explanation of the Tetragrammation, the ancient Hebrew theonym YHWH. "Wait... four letters..." I say, quickly slamming the book down before I type in the typewriter "YHWH".

Edited post accordingly

[San Monteriano]

I immediately look down at my hands once more, blinking several times to make sure that this was not an illusion and was indeed reality rather than fantasy. My mid-section of my back and upper neck feel stiff and sore, indicating that I must have been sat down for a prolonged time. I take a swallow from my dry, parched throat as my eyes began to cast at the photographs of the named woman, Beatriz Viterbo. I first look towards her wedding picture, a posed one, with her husband, quickly discarding it as the photo was clearly staged. I move to another picture - the one of Viterbo wearing a mask at some of carnival. "Her face is hidden..." I say to myself, believing that she could not have been happy due to her hidden face, therefore excluding any facial expressions which signify happiness. Moving over to her first Holy Communion I quickly ignore the possibility of it being the picture which the narrator referred to. Moving across the pictures, I spot the picture of Viterbo at the luncheon shortly after her divorce, looking somewhat liberated and happy, yet unaware that the photograph was being taken.

"Could it be..." I mutter to myself, leaning closer to inspect the photograph. I clasp my blood-stained hands around the photograph's frame, lifting up off its holder and analyzing it more closely before walking with it back and forth in front of the other photos across the room's walls, taking the ultimate decision to pick the photograph in my hands as my final choice. With the picture in my hands, I walk over to the table with the single match and place the photograph on the ground in the centre of the room, inhaling sharply before deciding to light the match and toss it on top of the picture, the frame beginning to burn and heating up the glass, and cracking it as he heated, eventually smashing. Using my heeled shoes, I stomp onto the photograph and frame, patting out the small fire which had begun. Smoke smoldered off the burn't frame, which had turned from a dark wooden brown to a crispy black. I squat in front of the picture, pulling out the photograph from the frame and picking up the card which lay behind it on the back of the frame.

I pick it up, rising as I stare at the card, wondering - hoping - it was the right card. Hesitantly, my feet began to move towards the door, taking single steps at a time. Looking down at the card, I tried to find some distinct markings on it, but no avail. I reached the door, taking in a lungful of air before extending my hand towards the door's device. "Fine, I'll play your games." I whisper, forcing the card into the device and waiting for my destiny to be decided.

[Liriena]

You wake up on the floor of a balcony, the moonlight bathing your face with its soft light. Your hands are stained with dried blood. With further inspection, you realize that you are in a massive country estate. Far away, you can see the sparkling silhouette of a city. Between you and that seemingly large metropolis, an endless wasteland stretches before you.

As you turn your face, you find yourself in the presence of the corpse of a middle-aged man lying on its stomach. A pool of blood is bellow the darkened head. On closer inspection, you find that the blood comes from a massive bullet-wound on the man's forehead.

Beside the body, you find a note written by a very skilled pen.

"You cannot help detective Erik Lönnrot. The only one you can help is yourself.

You are currently in the Triste-le-Roy residence.

On this balcony, Erik Lönnrot realized two things:

-First, that some things are not complex, nor do they have deeper meanings. Looking for the final piece of someone else's puzzle lacks any guarantee that said piece exists.
-Second, that a labyrinth need not have countless forking paths for it to be impossible to surpass. One only needs to apply Zeno's Paradox.

But I'm merely rambling.

The quid of this matter is this: From the moment you wake up, you have ten minutes to leave that balcony. If you fail to leave the balcony on time, you will spend an eternity in it.

The door out of the balcony is locked, and there is no way you will be able to open it within the ten minutes I have provided to you. There is, however, an electronic device beside the door.

However, there is a way out...

If you look down the edge of the balcony, you'll see that it is a rather significant fall, most certainly deadly.

That's your way out.

Jump and kill yourself.

If you do as I say, in your next incarnation you will find that the electronic device has unlocked the door, and ready for you to walk through it and into a new, more simple labyrinth.

PS: Beware, for time is not linear in this place, nor is space definitive. Events can repeat themselves ad infinitum, and universes can overlap. What you did to Erik Lönnrot could be done to you as well, and most likely by the same culprit."

You wake up on the floor of a balcony, the moonlight bathing your face with its soft light. Your hands are stained with dried blood. With further inspection, you realize that you are in a massive country estate. Far away, you can see the sparkling silhouette of a city. Between you and that seemingly large metropolis, an endless wasteland stretches before you.

As you turn your face, you find yourself in the presence of the corpse of a middle-aged man lying on its stomach. A pool of blood is bellow the darkened head. On closer inspection, you find that the blood comes from a massive bullet-wound on the man's forehead.

Beside the body, you find a note written by a very skilled pen.

"You cannot help detective Erik Lönnrot. The only one you can help is yourself.

You are currently in the Triste-le-Roy residence.

On this balcony, Erik Lönnrot realized two things:

-First, that some things are not complex, nor do they have deeper meanings. Looking for the final piece of someone else's puzzle lacks any guarantee that said piece exists.
-Second, that a labyrinth need not have countless forking paths for it to be impossible to surpass. One only needs to apply Zeno's Paradox.

But I'm merely rambling.

The quid of this matter is this: From the moment you wake up, you have ten minutes to leave that Triste-le-Roy. If you fail to leave the residence on time, you will spend an eternity in it.

The door out of the balcony is open, but as soon as you step through it you will be entering a complex labyrinth of twenty-six rooms and fifteen corridors that ends in a closed door. To find your way the door, the only clue I can give you is this: follow the compass in your pocket.

The door at the end of this labyrinth is locked. But an electronic device rests beside it, one which will unlock it, provided you fulfill one certain condition: you must type God's name on it. For further clues on that, check the three pieces of paper in Erik Lönnrot's pocket. In their proper order, the papers spell Y, H and W. That is the password for the door, but it is unfinished. It requires one final letter. You are an intelligent, cultured individual, so I am certain you will find the answer in time. Be warned, however, that you only have one opportunity.

PS: Beware, for time is not linear in this place, nor is space definitive. Events can repeat themselves ad infinitum, and universes can overlap. What you did to Erik Lönnrot could be done to you as well, and most likely by the same culprit."

You wake up with your hands covered in dried blood, sitting on on a wooden bench facing the Charles River. A few hundred yards to your right you can see a tall building while gray water hauls large pieces of ice through its stream.

On your lap you find a handwritten note.

"Prepare yourself for the sight to your left. I need your mind to be focused for the task at hand.
There is nothing you can do for the Sarah Shepard beside you. The only one you can help right now is yourself."

When you turn to your left, you are met by the gruesome sight of an older version of yourself, her eyes wide and full of fear, her lips slightly parted and filled to the brim with...paper.

You cast your eyes back to the note on your lap.

"If you are wondering, the cause of Sarah Shepard's death was suffocation. That is what happen when someone forces a total of one hundred sheets of paper down your throat.

But, as I said before, you must not linger for too long on her. Just have more important things to focus on. Namely, escaping the invisible prison you are in. Reality is not always probable or likely. The scenery before you is not necessarily real, let alone as open as you may think.

What you must do is easy: there is a compass in your pocket. You must follow its arrow.

PS: Beware, for time is not linear in this place, nor is space definitive. Events can repeat themselves ad infinitum, and universes can overlap. What you did to Sarah Shepard could be done to you as well, and most likely by the same culprit."

The instructions are deceptively simple, but you have no choice but to follow.

[Shadyrya]

Alex shook. "STOP PLAYING FUCKING GAMES, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT!" Alex hyperventilated, before puking. The dead man..he must have killed him; note the blood on his hand. Steeling himself, he said, "Who the hell are you, you twisted, sick son of a bitch!?" As he looked at the detective, he realized he was surely dead. Cursing, he looked over the balcony. Running as fast as he could, he slammed into the wall; he heard a crack as his shoulder broke. He broke down, crying. "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU, I SAID!? WHAT DO YOU WANT!?" Alex knew this fucker wouldn't answer. "You... WHY FUCKING ME!?" he said as he leaped off the balcony.

[Liriena]

Those of you who got these numbers: I am going to re-use the plots of other, previous numbers. This can be explained by the fact that time is irregular (and tending to circular) and universes overlap in the world of this RP. Also: number 8, you will meet up with 4 and 5 in the middle of the labyrinth.

You wake up, with your hands covered in dried blood, on the floor of what must be a cellar. It's dark and the air is moist, but you can see that there is a single sparkle of light far away, from which you can hear the most subtle plethora of sounds. When you listen to it, it sounds like an entire world exists in that little ball of light.

As you walk up to it, you find a finely handwritten note on the dirty floor, which is possible to read thanks to the light coming from the mysterious object in front of you.

"Prepare for the most troubling sight imaginable. I need you to keep your mind clear and focused for the task at hand.
You cannot help Charles Argentine Daneri. The only one that you can assist right now is yourself.

Yours faithfully,

Borges"

As you take a few more steps forwards, you are greeted by the sight of a corpse lying on its back. Pink-faced, overweight, gray-haired and fine-featured, the man's eyes have been brutally removed. A red stain on the floor implies that he was stabbed in the back.

Eventually, you keep walking, and find a third surprise in your long travel towards the alluring light: an ancient gramophone, apparently from the late twenties. Its metallic parts are rusty, and the wooden parts are either rotting or being slowly devoured by termites.

When you decide to try turning it on, it surprisingly works, and a record begins to play, the entire cellar filled with the sound of a distorted voice. Its words are comprehensible, but it is impossible to distinguish the speaker's age or gender.

"Before you you will find a very special object. It's called an Aleph. With it, you will be able to find your way out of this cellar.

By looking through the Aleph, you will be able to see every single inch and angle of the cellar at the same time, without distortion, overlapping or confusion. You shall find that there are several keys hidden in here. Only one, however, will open the door that will free you from this place. All other keys will only lead you to further torments.

So as to make your task easier, allow me to provide you one single clue: the Aleph is also the first letter in the Hebrew alphabet, and every key has a Hebrew symbol on it.

From the moment you wake up, you have ten minutes. If you fail to find and use the real key on time, you will spend an eternity in this room.

PS: Beware, for time is not linear in this place, nor is space definitive. Events can repeat themselves ad infinitum, and universes can overlap. What you did to Charles Argentine Daneri could be done to you as well, and most likely by the same culprit.

You wake up on the floor of a balcony, the moonlight bathing your face with its soft light. Your hands are stained with dried blood. With further inspection, you realize that you are in a massive country estate. Far away, you can see the sparkling silhouette of a city. Between you and that seemingly large metropolis, an endless wasteland stretches before you.

As you turn your face, you find yourself in the presence of the corpse of a middle-aged man lying on its stomach. A pool of blood is bellow the darkened head. On closer inspection, you find that the blood comes from a massive bullet-wound on the man's forehead.

Beside the body, you find a note written by a very skilled pen.

"You cannot help detective Erik Lönnrot. The only one you can help is yourself.

You are currently in the Triste-le-Roy residence.

On this balcony, Erik Lönnrot realized two things:

-First, that some things are not complex, nor do they have deeper meanings. Looking for the final piece of someone else's puzzle lacks any guarantee that said piece exists.
-Second, that a labyrinth need not have countless forking paths for it to be impossible to surpass. One only needs to apply Zeno's Paradox.

But I'm merely rambling.

The quid of this matter is this: From the moment you wake up, you have ten minutes to leave that Triste-le-Roy. If you fail to leave the residence on time, you will spend an eternity in it.

The door out of the balcony is open, but as soon as you step through it you will be entering a complex labyrinth of twenty-six rooms and fifteen corridors that ends in a closed door. To find your way the door, the only clue I can give you is this: follow the compass in your pocket.

The door at the end of this labyrinth is locked. But an electronic device rests beside it, one which will unlock it, provided you fulfill one certain condition: you must type God's name on it. For further clues on that, check the three pieces of paper in Erik Lönnrot's pocket. In their proper order, the papers spell Y, H and W. That is the password for the door, but it is unfinished. It requires one final letter. You are an intelligent, cultured individual, so I am certain you will find the answer in time. Be warned, however, that you only have one opportunity.

PS: Beware, for time is not linear in this place, nor is space definitive. Events can repeat themselves ad infinitum, and universes can overlap. What you did to Erik Lönnrot could be done to you as well, and most likely by the same culprit."

You wake up, with your hands covered in dried blood, on an incredibly uncomfortable bed in a seemingly empty hotel room. Every inch exudes mediocrity and bland style. The only reason why it being a hotel room is clear is the little pamphlet lying on the bedside table. It reads, on poorly typed letters, "Hôtel de Nord".
Upon further examination of your surroundings, you discover that the nearby closet is opened and filled to the brim with books: a Vindication of the Kabbalah, a review of the philosophy of Robert Flood, a literal translation of Sepher Yetzirah, a Biography of the Baal Shem, a History
of the sect of the Hasidim, a monography (in German) on the Tetragrammaton, and another on the divine nomenclature of the Pentateuch.

Rabbinic literature.

On the floor, right beside a nearby corner, there is a copy of a newspaper. Yidische Zeitung. Despite most of it being in Yiddish, there is one little message on the front page, on the bottom right corner, written in perfect English.

Prepare your mind for the gruesome picture you will find ahead, once you turn over the corner. It is of the utmost importance that you preserve your focus and do not waste a single instant.
There is nothing you can do for Dr. Marcel Yarmolinsky. Focus on your own well-being.

Yours faithfully,

Borges

As you turn the corner you find, just like the newspaper told you, a disturbing sight.

An elderly man, clearly a rabbi, of white beard and grey eyes, lies on his back near the door that apparently leads out of the room and into the hotel's corridors. Half his face is obscured, but what can be seen of it shows an expression filled with pain and panic.

This rabbi is dead. His chest has been cut open by a powerful stab, giving you a perfect view of his blood soaked heart.

When you finally decide to move on, you discover that the door is locked. On the wall, parallel to the doorknob, there is an electronic device and a note written in thick paper with a skilled pen.

"Behind you, on the other side of this room, there is a desk with a typewriter on it. In that typewriter you will find the only clue I'll provide you. The device before you requires that you type in a four-letter password to open the door. This room has countless resources for you to find the password. From the very moment you wake up, you will have ten minutes to discover it. If you fail to find the password on time, you will spend an eternity in this room.

PS: Beware, for time is not linear in this place, nor is space definitive. Events can repeat themselves ad infinitum, and universes can overlap. What you did to Dr. Marcel Yarmolinsky could be done to you as well, and most likely by the same culprit."

Just as the note said, there is a typewriter on a nearby desk and, in it, there is a single, mostly blank sheet of paper. On it, the following words are written:

"The first letter of His name has been uttered."

[Liriena]

Alex shook. "STOP PLAYING FUCKING GAMES, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT!" Alex hyperventilated, before puking. The dead man..he must have killed him; note the blood on his hand. Steeling himself, he said, "Who the hell are you, you twisted, sick son of a bitch!?" As he looked at the detective, he realized he was surely dead. Cursing, he looked over the balcony. Running as fast as he could, he slammed into the wall; he heard a crack as his shoulder broke. He broke down, crying. "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU, I SAID!? WHAT DO YOU WANT!?" Alex knew this fucker wouldn't answer. "You... WHY FUCKING ME!?" he said as he leaped off the balcony.

Just as if it had all been a dream, Alex woke up once again on the balcony's floor, beside the corpse of the detective. There were no wounds on Alex's body to show what he had just gone through. In the end, it might as well have been a horrible dream.

That hypothesis was obliterated when you found the same note from whoever was behind your appearance in this place.

As you explored your already familiar surroundings you found that, just as promised, the door that would lead you out of the balcony was unlocked.

[Shadyrya]

Alex shook. "STOP PLAYING FUCKING GAMES, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT!" Alex hyperventilated, before puking. The dead man..he must have killed him; note the blood on his hand. Steeling himself, he said, "Who the hell are you, you twisted, sick son of a bitch!?" As he looked at the detective, he realized he was surely dead. Cursing, he looked over the balcony. Running as fast as he could, he slammed into the wall; he heard a crack as his shoulder broke. He broke down, crying. "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU, I SAID!? WHAT DO YOU WANT!?" Alex knew this fucker wouldn't answer. "You... WHY FUCKING ME!?" he said as he leaped off the balcony.

Just as if it had all been a dream, Alex woke up once again on the balcony's floor, beside the corpse of the detective. There were no wounds on Alex's body to show what he had just gone through. In the end, it might as well have been a horrible dream.

That hypothesis was obliterated when you found the same note from whoever was behind your appearance in this place.

As you explored your already familiar surroundings you found that, just as promised, the door that would lead you out of the balcony was unlocked.

Crying, Alex stepped through the door. Shaking, he stopped sobbing and just walked on blindly.

<OOC> Wasn't much room to post. Anyone want to meet up?

[Liriena]

Crying, Alex stepped through the door. Shaking, he stopped sobbing and just walked on blindly.

<OOC> Wasn't much room to post. Anyone want to meet up?

The only one who might meet up with you should be, at some point, number 5. But he/she hasn't posted yet.

[Shadyrya]

Crying, Alex stepped through the door. Shaking, he stopped sobbing and just walked on blindly.

<OOC> Wasn't much room to post. Anyone want to meet up?

The only one who might meet up with you should be, at some point, number 5. But he/she hasn't posted yet.

The rest of us won't meet up? *Cries*

[Liriena]

The rest of us won't meet up? *Cries*

Actually, you will. But not yet.

[Eon Prime]

Sarah looked at her dead body with distaste, but in her heart there was fear, suffocation was number five on her mental list of most feared deaths, below drowning, being eaten alive by carnivorous insects, being burned to death, and getting skinned. She bit her index finger until blood was drawn, hoping she was just hallucinating, when nothing happened she tried to disblelieve her suroundings like a mage in one of her books, when that also yielded no reults she realized she had no choice..

She crumbled up the note in her fist, throwing it into the river. Why me? she thought with a sigh, shuddering from the cold as she reached into her pocket and pulled out the compass. She watched the spinning arrow as it settled on one direction and began following it without looking up to see where she was going.

[Latin Hispania]

Ok, so this wasn't the first time that Daniel had seen a dead person. It wasn't the first time he had seen a dead person with a massive gunshot wound to the head either. Well, truth be told, Daniel was lying to himself, the current state of his country meant that every single tabloid had very graphic pictures in the first page every few days. Still, for a kid in his late teens, he showed remarkable cool-headedness when examining the body and reading the unsigned note left to him by whomever had kidnapped him.
Or this could just be a dream... Daniel told himself. He then looked over his shoulder and saw the almost fantastical-looking land in between himself and the city. Right, a dream.
Daniel was an inquisitive person, so the first thing he did was pull out his cellphone from his pocket and look up Zeno's Paradox.
"No signal," he said to himself. "Great."
Daniel reread the letter quickly before shoving it into one of his jean pockets and opening the balcony door. He expected to face some fancily adorned room the moment he stepped out, but that was not the case. Instead he found himself staring at a well-lit hallway that stretched for a couple dozen meters before stopping abruptly and then going to the right and left. Daniel pulled out his phone to check the time and started down the hall at a brisk pace.
YHW, he thought to himself. He smiled as he walked, that was truly an easy one, born to a Catholic family he had been enrolled in a religious school. Luckily for him, they thought that the Old Testament was important too. Yhwh, or Yahweh is the old Hebrew name for God. Something about not being able to pronounce it and removing the vowels...
Daniel stopped right when the hallway separated into two different directions and pulled out the compass from his pocket. It was pointing to his right, so that's the way he went. When he came up to a large chamber with several different doors, the compass magically changed the direction it was pointing at. Well, maybe not magically, but who knows. Daniel followed his only lead and entered another corridor.
Doesn't seem too hard, Daniel thought to himself. Then again, complex doesn't always mean hard and simple doesn't always mean easy.
It was somewhere along the fourth or fifth corridor that Daniel started sweating, he was going to be late and would be trapped in here for eternity. Or until he woke up. Something told him that this wasn't a dream, it was too...real. After what seemed like half an hour he pulled out his phone and checked the time. To his pleasant surprise, only three minutes had passed since he had started off. He made sure that his phone wasn't broken by tapping around some commands. After he was satisfied that it was working properly he checked his chronometer. It seemed to go awfully slow.
Time isn't linear...
With that realization Daniel started at a steady jog, hoping that the minutes would tick by slowly and not suddenly flash by at murderous speed.

[United Slavic Nations]

Wasilij scoffed, most definately not surprised he had killed someone. He had thought of it many times, he had even acted upon it once or twice - although, they were all animals; he hadn't gotten around to acquiring any human victims, until now - and yet, he still felt as though a tiny part of him had been lost. This man, Yamolinsky, was a Jewish Rabbi. His mother was a Jew, and had even taught him some Yiddish in his youth; he had all but forgotten it now. Judging from his last name, he was also Russian, and Wasilij felt as though he had betrayed his mother by murdering him so senselessly.

No matter. He would pay his dues later. Currently, he needed to focus on leaving this room. He flipped through the literature scattered about, having a faint idea of the answer to this riddle. The name of the Jewish version of God was Yhwh, correct? Perhaps that was indeed the key...

Without further ado, Wasilij stood - taking the Yiddish newspaper with him for entertainment - and walked across the room to enter the simple four-digit name into the device. "Let's see," he said, trying to remember how to spell it. "Y-H-W-H-, right?"

[Frigola]

my year of philosophy at the university is finally paying off, I see

Daphne rubbed her eyes and wondered why she was lying on a cold stone floor. She pulled back when she saw the silhouette of a person on the floor near her. She cautiously raised her self to a crouch and held still as she attempted to see if the man's (as it was a man) chest was moving. She glanced at the head and breathed a sigh of relief as she saw the bullet hole and beyond that, the pool of blood.
“He won't be bothering me.” she muttered as she got to her feet and examined her surroundings more fully.
She picked up the note beside the body and began to read. As she finished she glanced down at the body. Her lips moved for a few seconds before any sound uttered forth.
“Zeno's paradox. Zeno... Zeno. The greek philosopher? Or something relating to a foreigner?” she asked, looking at Mr. Lönnrot. “If it is indeed the philosopher, then it's relating to the inability for movement to exist as all distances can be divided into an infinite number of half-distances, or something. Yet I recall Aristotle refuted these paradoxes.... Though whether that will be taken into account in this...” she looked back at the note “non-linear, indefinite place, remains to be seen. As for reaching the door, it should be quite straightforward, as long as my memory serves me well and the compass works.”
Folding up the paper and putting it into her pocket, she pulled out the compass and examined it.
“Now, I must get going, the timer has probably started. So, good day to you, Mr. Lönnrot.” With a final glance, smile and nod at the corpse, she pushed open the door from the balcony and stepped into the first of the 26 rooms.
And so it was: in each room and corridor, the compass indicated a door to open.
“We just have to hope it points us in the right direction...”
In the second corridor, a shadow spoked her and she broke into a paced jog, trying to remain as quiet as possible. She was grateful she was in the 'high' part of the cycle. She could just imagine herself curled up in a corner of the balcony if the 'low' part had hit her. She doubted her captor had taken the time to administer her medication when she had been unconscious: she certainly felt no effects from it, and definitely more alive than normal.

[Liriena]

Ludovic had felt a plethora of paralizing emotions in his first five minutes in that cellar, but when he finally realized how much time he had wasted, he moved swiftly and coldly. He took the final, decisive steps towards that glowing object, and peaked into it.

Just as promised, he found that he could see every single inch of the dark cellar clearly and with no confusion, overlapping or distortion. And, again, just as the voice had promised, he found all the keys in the cellar. All of them had an Hebrew symbol engraved in them.

"That person said that the key had the Aleph in it...Which was the Aleph?" Ludovic asked himself, trying to get his scrambled brain cells working. He was supposed to be an intelligent man, dammit!

He remembered reading a paper on the Hebrew alphabet, and could remember reading about the Aleph...now he just had to remember which symbol was it, and fast.

After what must have been two more minutes, he finally remembered, and ran frantically around the room, searching for the definitively correct key.

When he finally found it, underneath a four-foot tall stack of rotting papers, he only had a few seconds left, so he rushed to the door out of the cellar. His body was filled by the pain of muscles that were not used to any exercise. One of the downsides of practically being a hermit.

Between gasps for air, his black eyes wide and almost bulging with tension, he pushed the key into the keyhole and turned it along with the doorknob, and ran through the threshold as soon as he saw that the door was opening, hitting his shoulder in the process, but barely noticing.

Those of you that have found yourselves in locked rooms with a puzzle to open them, will walk into a massive library you finally manage to unlock your respective doors. The library seems way too large to belong to the residence you were in. Its ceiling is as high as that of a grand gothic cathedral, probably a dozen million books gracing its endless rows of shelves. There are many ancient and elegant tables, chairs and couches at your disposal to rest.
As for those already walking through the labyrinth in the Triste-le-Roy residence, when you meet at the middle of the labyrinth you will find that there is an unlocked door leading to said library, and that time appears to have stopped, all the clocks in the residence becoming quiet.

You walk for hours, but the far away sights seem to grow only farther and further away. You are hungry and thirsty, and exhaustion is already taking a toll on you.
Soon, it seems entire weeks seem to have passed, and you feel your life slowly slipping away while the Sun remains high and bright in the sky, as if not a single second has passed through your endless trip.
Eventually, you collapse on the floor and die slowly from starvation and dehidration...

...only to wake up on that same park bench again, the same note on your lap, but this time with a little change. There's a second "PS" on it this time.

"Now you can see...you cannot physically leave this place. Only your imaginative mind can help you escape. You will find that most of the paper the other Sarah Shepard suffocated on is dry and perfect for writing on, and there's a pen in your pocket.
For a long time, you have claimed to suffer from writer's block. Regardless of whether that's the truth or just an excuse for your laziness, your instructions are now others: write. Write as many pages as you can. There are hundreds of pages you can use, and you have as much time as your body can provide, before you perish from the same symptoms that have already assaulted you in another universe."

[Yuktova]

I hear the door unlock with a loud click. I rush to the door, and open it. I am partially shocked when I step out and see a rather large library, filled with quite possibly thousands of books. Still in distressed from dead Rabbi, I take a seat at a nearby comfy chair, and rest.

[Shadyrya]

Seeing another person, Alex sighed with relief. "Hey! Mate!" Almost crying with relief, he ran over to the man. "You have any idea what the hell this is?" Alex was freaking out inside; he put on his mask and decided that he needed to lead by example.

[Yuktova]

Seeing another person, Alex sighed with relief. "Hey! Mate!" Almost crying with relief, he ran over to the man. "You have any idea what the hell this is?" Alex was freaking out inside; he put on his mask and decided that he needed to lead by example.

"Oh! Why, hi there!" I say, noticing that the man is slightly disturbed by something. "You seem...distressed. What's the matter? And no, I don't know what that thing is... Perhaps someone else does though."

[Eon Prime]

Sarah’s eyes widened as she read the rest of the note. She stood and began pacing in vigorous circles around the bench she woke on, reading the end of the letter over and over again.

“FUCK! Fuck me, why now? I can’t write... it was an excuse, I’ve just been holding onto the hope that I could do it, the only reason I’m still trying is because...because,” Sarah sat down next to Sarah and began gently extricating sheet after sheet of paper until she had a sizeable quantity in her lap, took the pen out of her pocket and scribbled on her dead body to make sure it wasn’t dry and then stopped to think. What was she supposed to write about? Did he care? If he didn’t like it was she going to be suffocated with her own work? Was it a he? Does it matter if it’s a he or she? Who was she going to bounce ideas off of with no one here? How would she know she had written enough? Would he stop her when her writing satisfied him? Was this simply a mental ploy on his part to break her free of her writer’s block that would ultimately end in her death once again? These are just some of the questions she asked herself before she began writing fervently while whispering things to the only other person there, Dead-Sarah.

A day had passed, maybe more for she couldn’t tell in the state she was in, but she wasn’t dead, not yet. Crumbled sheets of paper lay scattered around Sarah, more thrown away than those that comprised the neat stack in front of her. Her fingers were cramped painfully and she was pretty sure she was going to begin bleeding out the ears if she had to think anymore but there was no stopping now. She had grown desperate as her stomach began to compress on itself from hunger and had tried eating her own dead body, needless to say it wasn’t very good, but she refused to drink from the river, if none of this was real then false sustenance wouldn’t help her, after what happened earlier though she was sure that body was real. Cracking her knuckles she laid page 192 on top of the rest, the end was near, of her story and probably her life. Complete with three dimensional characters, realistic and numerous villains, corruption, purity, plot twists, deities, and all the seven deadly sins in copious amounts. This was the best thing to ever happen to her and if she ever got out of here she knew it would be published…or at least in her semi-lucid state she thought she was writing a good story, it was hard to tell at this point and as time was a luxury she lacked there would be no proof-reading this. Her head lolled under the weight of her exhaustion, try as she might her eyes refused to stay open as she collapsed forward onto the stack of paper.

[United Slavic Nations]

Looking about the library, Wasilij felt strangely at home. Taking a comfy seat near the back, he unfolded his Yiddish newspaper, a Yiddish-to-English dictionary from one of the shelves, and a few stacks of paper. Pulling a pen out of his shirt pocket, he began to attempt to translate the document, brow furrowing as he struggled with the unfamiliar language. He faintly recognized a few words, such as "it", and "they"; but he had to struggle forth with the dictionary to even begin to understand. He wasn't even half-way through when he felt the bones in his fingers ache, so he sat his work down and began to sift through the seemingly endless amount of literature crammed into the library.

[Latin Hispania]

It was quite possibly one of the most frightening things that had ever happened to Daniel. He was checking for the speed time was passing by on his phone's chronometer when time simply slowed down to a halt. It didn't help that he was in a room filled with pendulum clocks. Daniel shuddered and then walked to the single door in the room.
As promised there was a keyboard right next to it. He barely hesitated when putting the password and then stepped back as the door clicked open with an ever-so-cliché beep.
On the other side of the door there was a library. Well, a library might've been selling it short, it was perhaps the mother of all libraries up to eleven. Even when standing outside of it Daniel could tell that there was no possible way for the room to fit inside the estate that he was in. Hell, there was no way that somebody could build a structure so large. Countless floors went up and up until they blurred with the darkness of a ceiling that was too far up to see. When he looked in front there was no end to the rows and rows of shelves filled with books.
Daniel enjoyed reading very much, so the first thing he did was step through and start exploring. Before he saw any book that caught his attention he found a bunch of papers, a newspaper, and a small book that upon closer inspection was revealed to be a Yiddish-to-English dictionary. Daniel examined the items and was about to reach for the lone pencil sitting on top of a paper with writing covering half of it when he heard a voice. Or more accurately, he heard two different voices.

Seeing another person, Alex sighed with relief. "Hey! Mate!" Almost crying with relief, he ran over to the man. "You have any idea what the hell this is?" Alex was freaking out inside; he put on his mask and decided that he needed to lead by example.

"Oh! Why, hi there!" I say, noticing that the man is slightly disturbed by something. "You seem...distressed. What's the matter? And no, I don't know what that thing is... Perhaps someone else does though."

"Uh, hello?" Daniel called out, trying to walk towards the source of the voice. "Can you guys hear me?" When Daniel didn't get a response he switched to English. "Hello?! Anybody there?" He turned around yet another shelf and walked towards the voices.

[United Slavic Nations]

Wasilij turned around sharply as he heard someone enter, and frowned when he saw a strange person rummaging around his hard work. Before he could stop him, he began to call out to invisible ghosts, and walked away. Shrugging, Wasilij returned to his newspaper and translation, pencil scratching furiously against paper as he strung words and sentances together. None of it made sense as a literal translation, but as soon as he was done, he would correct grammar and hopefully come up with an interesting read. It would serve him well to have some entertainment on this long journey.

[Shadyrya]

"I sort of woke up to the realization that I had killed someone, promptly killed myself, came back, went down a hall and ended up here." Alex reminded himself to keep composure.


<OOC> Sorry for short post, tired as hell from football.

[Frigola]

Daphne stopped dead as she found she had reached the exit of the labyrinth, with three minutes to spare. Smiling, she approached and carefully typed in the code: YHWH. She pushed open the door and found herself in rather large library. Her jaw dropped and she walked in, gazing up at the books. Her head snapped back down as the sound of voices caught her ear.
"Great, people. That's all I need." She muttered disappointedly
Ignoring her better judgement, she rounded a bookcase and saw two people conversing. She stopped and just looked at them with a suspicious expression.