Official Road to Purgatory-Beta Video Archive of Morgana

Welcome, Traveller, to the Frozen Spire.

You have come here in search of something, for what? Maybe even you, yourself, do not know. But now, that you have climbed the spire, braved freezing wind and treacherous ice, you find yourself in my domain. Step carefully or you mind find that you will stay, stay for an eternity, frozen in body, mind and soul.

FrozenSpire.avi

For a moment, the video is filled with mist and soft, string music starts in the background. The deep, vibrating tones are causing the mist to billow, until the soft noises are suddenly shattered by the beat of a drum, causing the mist to part and allowing for clear vision. On one side is a silvery-blue wall of ice, jagged icicles pointing outwards and with small cracks radiating a strange, black-purple glow. On the other side is nothing. Nothing but empty air, clouds stretching out below, obscuring whatever might be beneath.

Between the two is a narrow path, a staircase cut directly into the ice of the spire, allowing one to climb it, if one is brave enough. And now, at the top of the staircase, a maw-like entrance awaits, into the spire itself. Icicles jut downwards, giving the impression of teeth, the sharp teeth of a predator, ready to snap shut and rend the flesh of whatever prey was foolish enough to end up between them.

After a moment of pause, the jagged maw seems to come closer as the viewpoint moves towards it. Absolute blackness makes it impossible to see further than the first few meters into the maw-like cave-opening, at least until the person filming takes the first step inside.

In that moment, strange symbols start to glow all around them, some on the teeth, others further back, carved into the wall. Their silver glow is enough to see, barely, but the myriad of shifting symbols causes a strange interplay of shadows, making it seem as if there are hundreds of beings in the cave, with indistinct, strange movement everywhere. At the same time, as the runes start to glow, the music changes again, the strings and drums are joined by a guitar and keyboard, beating out a low, steady rhythm. With the change in rhythm, a quiet narrative starts in the background, giving context.

“So, you’ve made it this far. Know that you are entering the domain of an old one, old and powerful.”

As the viewpoint moves through the cave, more and more symbols remain alight, the shadows seemingly receding into the walls.

“Did you know that she was once known as Titania, strongest of the Lightbringers, hailed as the Harbinger of Light.”

Deeper within the cave, now visible thanks to the better light, a set of stairs leads spirals upwards. When the viewpoint reaches the stairs, runes set in the wall start lighting the climbing stairs while the narration continues.

“But one day, something happened. What exactly caused the event nobody knows but many claim to know. Some of them say that it was betrayal, that Titania was stabbed in the back, driven from the light and into the dark. Others tell a different story, speaking of a lust for power that caused her to fall from grace. That the darkness corrupted her, dimming her light and as the light faded, only a cruel, frozen darkness remained.”

It goes up the stairs, with small clouds of mist floating into view, until a circular room is reached, with four branches leading away. The walls seem to be lit from the other side, as shadowy figures move on their other side. Walking through the room, the narration continues.

“But the circumstances are, at the end of the day, irrelevant. Why the event happened isn’t important, only its results. Titania vanished from the world, only to return shortly after on a different one. Just that she was no longer Titania, no, she had left the light, taking on a new name to signify that change. Her new form was called Morgana, even if many called her something else.”

Bravely, the visitor steps through one of the dark doorways, the image turning black for a moment, only for light to return in the new room. All around the room are shelves, all from the same gleaming ice, and carefully filed into them are records. Most of them are bound in tomes but others are recorded on rolled-up scrolls and some on stone- or clay-tablets.

“Some say that she was obsessed with magic, trying to understand its foundations, the fundamental truths of the world. Some say she failed and the Gods cursed her for her Hubris. Others say she succeeded and the Gods struck her down, afraid she would come to rival them.”

However the most eye-catching feature of the room is a set of three pillars, each of them carved with distinct sets of symbols that radiate an awe-inspiring light.

One is carved out of ice, just like the rest of the palace, but this pillar seems to be different. The Ice is perfectly smooth, not a single crack visible, and clouds of fog seem to be condensing once they get too close to it, flowing down the pillar and waft out into the room where they evaporate again. Sharp, angular runes are carved into the pillar, every single one of them glowing silver.

“Winter seemed to follow her call, but no normal winter, no, what she brought was an eternity of Ice and Snow. And not only that.”

The second pillar comes into view, just not into focus. It is so dark, so indistinct, that it seems to be merely a shadow, without any light to distinguish its features, other than the strange, hard to read runes carved into it. They seem to be flowing, as if they are changing every time you look away and the only reason they can be seen at all is their dim, purple glow.

“Darkness settled over the land, like a blanket of night. Which came first, the cold or the darkness? Nobody knows. Nobody who is telling at least.”

Turning, again, the final pillar becomes visible. It is just as strange as the others, it seems to be made from liquid, constantly flowing as it slowly pulses. The runes appear to be stationary, pulsing in tune with the liquid, their light a dark red.

“Much blood was shed, and the shed blood seemed to empower Morgana. And the more power she had, the more blood was shed.”

The vision quickly moves side to side, before moving back towards the exit and quickly moving towards it. After stepping through the dark doorway, the viewpoint quickly moves through the circular room and the dark door on the other side of the room. There a wide, open room waits, with strange weapons in stands at the wall and various creatures standing in front of them, looking like frozen statues. Some of them are humanoid, others not so much. They all look like they had been alive when they were frozen, frozen and turned into decorations.

“Many tried to oppose her. Many tried and many more died, their frozen corpses left behind in her shadow.”

A gasp is heard after a second and the image quickly spins around, moving back through the dark door. There, the viewpoint stops moving forward for a moment, panning from one door to the other. The moment passes and the viewpoint moves forward again, towards the left door.

Behind it is a strangely different room. Instead of the previous light, shed by silver-blue runes, this room is alight with flickering, blue light, coming from torches set all around the room. Four statues, elaborately carved from clear ice, are placed opposite of each other, each of them depicting different women.

“Not all did oppose her. Some were watching with interest, others even lent her aid, either directly or indirectly.”

One of them is sitting on a throne apparently carved from green crystal, with a dragon and tiger prostrating before her.

The one across the room is standing defiantly, a cruel-looking, barbed spear raised above her head, with a raven sitting on her shoulder.

The third statue is barely recognisable as female, the hood of her cloak hiding most of her figure but a pair of torches held in her hand lights up her face just enough to make out sharp, yet beautiful, features, a strong nose with high cheekbones.

Last but certainly not least, the statue across the hooded figure is taller than any of the others and physically imposing, without the need for a weapon. Next to her, fangs bared, stands a large canine, ready to tear into his mistress’ enemies.

“Respect is earned, never demanded.” the narrator adds, as the viewpoint turns around again, moving back into the first room and to the room across.

Suddenly, just as the viewpoint goes dark in the door, the music stops, only the whistling wind remaining. On the other side of the darkness, a strange scene awaits, a throne-room held aloft by pillars, all of them looking strange and eerie, but the figure on the throne draws the eye, more than the strange room and the image focuses on her. She is clad in grey-white tunic and pants, a black cloak adorned with black feathers pooling around her. Above her head sits an emblem, a moon-sickle with a raven sitting atop of it.

Looking at the camera the figure speaks.

“Greetings, Seeker. Let me show you the truth. It is not a nice tale or a pretty image but the truth seldom is.” the figure exclaims, her voice impossibly echoing through the open room as darkness seems to coalesce into distinct clouds, before showing different images, of other places.