Mira's in for the long haul down here. Survival under these circumstances is a matter of endurance and the ability to stay sane while making logical navigation choices in a highly disorienting environment. This is a pretty tall order for such a small girl, and sadly, she struggles from the start.
The first leg of the maze has her in top form: as alert and well-oriented as anyone could expect, under the circumstances. She travels for hours, running into dead end after dead end, frustration building, until finally she has to pause, just to close her eyes. (DC 13; +1 WIS = 5 + 1 = 6; next roll -1) Unintentionally, she sleeps. Behind her eyes is a fragment of a memory, one that some part of her knows is hers, something that hasn't happened yet or happened so long ago it's been forgotten. This dream is Mira, pinned behind glass, banging the flats of her hands bloody against the translucent material and screaming, though no sound can be heard. After some time, she bangs so hard on the glass that it explodes — and she wakes.
The dream leaves her groggy, upset, and much more frightened by the mirrored surfaces around her than she was before, no matter how much she tells herself it was only a dream. The second leg of the maze has her jumping at every imagined sound, chilled down to the bone. (DC 13; +1 WIS -1 loss penalty = 4 + 0 = 4; next roll -1) At some point she begins talking to herself, maybe as if to her dog or another loved one or truly just to calm herself down, but once she starts she finds she can't stop. Words fall from her lips without pause; her mouth goes dry and her throat sore with overuse. Nothing is thought without being said.
It's in the third leg that things truly begin to deteriorate. The wall, floor, ceiling remains glass, but streaked through with veins of black spotted with color, the shine of opal. This should make it easier to determine what is real and what is not, but it doesn't, because sometimes the veins don't stay on the walls and floor and ceiling. Sometimes they stretch across the center of the passage, leading Mira to turn to avoid running into a wall only to find it was never a wall in the first place when she runs into the real one. If she passes her hand through the veins, they disappear like smoke, only to reform a few seconds later.
(DC 13; +1 WIS -2 loss penalty = 9 - 1 = 8) The last dead end Mira hits before she has to stop and rest for a few minutes brings with it some kind of revelation. When her palms touch glass, she becomes convinced, she is certain that she is Chosen for something. She doesn't know what, or how she knows, but her knowledge is certain and unshakable. Some greater being wants her for some greater purpose. She has to get out of here in order to fulfill that purpose, whatever it is. (No matter how grand or petty that purpose might be.)
In her fervor, she turns back the way she came.
At the end of the passage, just before an abrupt right turn, is the figure of someone who looks a little bit like her, but not exactly the same. The hair is different, the eyes . . . close enough to be family, but not twins. A sibling, perhaps. It stares at her with wide eyes and then beckons before turning down the adjoining passage. In Mira's ear, a familiar voice whispers, You're almost there.
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Mira's in for the long haul down here. Survival under these circumstances is a matter of endurance and the ability to stay sane while making logical navigation choices in a highly disorienting environment. This is a pretty tall order for such a small girl, and sadly, she struggles from the start.
The first leg of the maze has her in top form: as alert and well-oriented as anyone could expect, under the circumstances. She travels for hours, running into dead end after dead end, frustration building, until finally she has to pause, just to close her eyes. (DC 13; +1 WIS = 5 + 1 = 6; next roll -1) Unintentionally, she sleeps. Behind her eyes is a fragment of a memory, one that some part of her knows is hers, something that hasn't happened yet or happened so long ago it's been forgotten. This dream is Mira, pinned behind glass, banging the flats of her hands bloody against the translucent material and screaming, though no sound can be heard. After some time, she bangs so hard on the glass that it explodes — and she wakes.
The dream leaves her groggy, upset, and much more frightened by the mirrored surfaces around her than she was before, no matter how much she tells herself it was only a dream. The second leg of the maze has her jumping at every imagined sound, chilled down to the bone. (DC 13; +1 WIS -1 loss penalty = 4 + 0 = 4; next roll -1) At some point she begins talking to herself, maybe as if to her dog or another loved one or truly just to calm herself down, but once she starts she finds she can't stop. Words fall from her lips without pause; her mouth goes dry and her throat sore with overuse. Nothing is thought without being said.
It's in the third leg that things truly begin to deteriorate. The wall, floor, ceiling remains glass, but streaked through with veins of black spotted with color, the shine of opal. This should make it easier to determine what is real and what is not, but it doesn't, because sometimes the veins don't stay on the walls and floor and ceiling. Sometimes they stretch across the center of the passage, leading Mira to turn to avoid running into a wall only to find it was never a wall in the first place when she runs into the real one. If she passes her hand through the veins, they disappear like smoke, only to reform a few seconds later.
(DC 13; +1 WIS -2 loss penalty = 9 - 1 = 8) The last dead end Mira hits before she has to stop and rest for a few minutes brings with it some kind of revelation. When her palms touch glass, she becomes convinced, she is certain that she is Chosen for something. She doesn't know what, or how she knows, but her knowledge is certain and unshakable. Some greater being wants her for some greater purpose. She has to get out of here in order to fulfill that purpose, whatever it is. (No matter how grand or petty that purpose might be.)
In her fervor, she turns back the way she came.
At the end of the passage, just before an abrupt right turn, is the figure of someone who looks a little bit like her, but not exactly the same. The hair is different, the eyes . . . close enough to be family, but not twins. A sibling, perhaps. It stares at her with wide eyes and then beckons before turning down the adjoining passage. In Mira's ear, a familiar voice whispers, You're almost there.