Enough is enough, you reason. You’ve been wandering around this surreal landscape of silver structures and indiscernible mass for far too long. You decide to circumvent the intended play design of this dungeon (?) and cheat.
You bustle around inside your crudely made leather satchel and take out an item you crafted just now– a hook attached to a rope. Ingenius!
Twirling it above your head to gain momentum just like you see in the movies, you let it fly in hope that it snags something on the other side. Luckily, it does snag something; you climb up like an action hero and manage to mount the top of the wall. Despite being soaked in sweat from the hard ordeal, it is a triumph. If you had any water on you, you would take a deep drink in victory before dousing it on your sticky form.
Staring afar from your vantage point, you see precious little. And worse, a myriad of voices– some male, some feminine– begin to assail you. It is like the light itself had grown a tongue.
“You are not a king or a knight– climb down from the wall!” One voice shouts.
“Such a simpleton, traversing Satan’s will is impossible. Climb down before irreparable harm is done to your soul!” Another voice says.
You doggedly move along, trying your best to ignore the numerous, angry, voices as you crawl along the top of the wall. Somewhere up here, you reckon, there must be a clue as to what you are supposed to do in this part of Vingaard.
Up here on the wall, you can barely make out an odd illusion: words– Latin?– coalesce in and out of existence within the shimmering air. Inexact phrases waft before your pupils vanishing too quickly to read even if you knew the language. Is that what this vast shimmering spectacle is, you reason, the mother language?
Cursing just slightly never having learned Latin, you continue to crawl as a voice curses out your disdain for the poor.
Disdain. What a word. Disdain and considering your childhood. Absurd.
Hours go by and though you manage to successfully block out the many irrationally grumpy voices, you are no closer to solving the riddle of “why the hell you are here.” You reason that the professor for this class is just having some fun at your expense. Perhaps it is not too late to drop the course?
Who knows. You sign angrily in frustration. And then, you slip and fall from the lofty height.