March/April Event - By Order of the King

[pumpkinhollow]

─ A Proclamation ─

By order of His Infernal Majesty, Eligos Rex, Dominus Altum of the Regnum Infernalis, Lord of the Court of Treason, the Indomitable King of Hell

B

y order of King Eligos, let it be known throughout the Realm of Demonkind that all current denizens of the Isle of Marrow shall be detained and relocated to the Palace Infernal, where they shall be put to trial for their crimes against our people. His Majesty names these trespasses thus:

Deliberate Interference with the Unholy Rite of Succession
Conspiracy to Fraudulently Coronate a King of Their Choosing
Two Counts of Principicide, Murder of His Majesty's Sons
Conspiracy with the Dynasty of Holy Mothers
Conspiracy with the Dynasty of Red Butterflies
Conspiracy with the Dynasty of Elder Gods
Disruption of the Machinations of His Infernal Majesty

All parties residing on the Isle of Marrow have been preemptively found guilty of at least one of these charges, either directly or as an accessory. The guilty have been captured by His Majesty's Royal Guard, dragged from their beds by force, and brought to the Palace Infernal, beyond the safety of the Great Barrier that We graciously constructed to conceal them from the eyes of Death. Here, they will be given Trial, where they will either emerge absolved, or perish entirely in their guilt without our Barrier to restore them.

The Guilty Must Atone.

Details to follow.

The Dungeon

Those deemed to have the ability to supply His Majesty's Court with the desired resources have been placed in the palace's dungeons in groups, where they must decide amongst themselves whose blood will be used to pay the island's penance, and who will move on to a greater duty.

{Be aware that beyond lies inevitable pain, mutilation, and death. Proceed?}

The room is dark. Not too dark to see by, but dim. The appearance of a castle dungeon is visible, at least, by the low and menacing flicker of torch light, tall shadows catching on the surfaces of imposing stone block walls and the dirty and uneven slate floor.

You are not alone here. There is at least one other, if not more, and there is the strange sensation of being watched. Each room is laid out a bit differently, perhaps set up with some kind of bondage holding its residents in place or some strange, unbelievable apparatus that serves no other purpose than an elaborate and dangerous trap. However, each room does share one thing--- a parchment hung to the wall in reading distance, starting with the proclamation above, and followed by the details of your entrapment, along with the conditions of escape. And while those terms vary as well, the one thing they all have in common is that not everyone is meant to survive, even if the text itself doesn't make that immediately clear.

Designed to feed the Court of Betrayal, each trap is designed with a test of trust and loyalty involved. Whether it's testing how much you value a new friendship, which of your loved ones you are truly the most loyal to, or how selfish you really are when it comes down to it--- or if it's just meant to make you betray yourself and your own values. Some will end quietly, others gruesomely, but someone must die in order to move forward, with the understanding that the barrier isn't here to save you. You're in the realm of demons now. There is nothing to stop your soul from leaving you for good. Not even Mortanne can reach you here. And there is no option to take no action--- the consequences of this are that everyone dies, and the reward for proceeding is the opportunity to try and help everyone go home.

Those who survive will find that the way out opens for them, where they may encounter others in the same position. The halls outside your cell may hold any number of trials, whether they be demonic guards, traps, or winding corridors designed to make you lose your way. Or maybe your own way forward is suspiciously clear… There may even be creature comforts provided to reward you for the ill deed you did to get where you are. You may also discover along your journey a heavy stone door labeled "catacombs" that will not open for you. But will it open from the other side?

But no, that's preposterous. Only the dead can be found in catacombs. Right?

The Senate Room

Alongside those in conspiracy to delay or interrupt His Infernal Majesty's plans for today, those ignorant of the truth of their nature and how it guides their fate or who were deemed inadequate fodder for the Court of Betrayal's dungeons have been placed in His Majesty's Senate Room, where his Court and the heads of others meet to discuss matters of the realm. They must rely on each other for information if they wish to leave, testing their mettle at courtly shrewdness, their ability to trust one another, and their understanding of the self.

{Be aware that beyond lies a complex and tense game of information-gathering, with the potential for death upon failure, and the possibility of unexpected violence. Proceed?}

Dark cloth sacks removed from your faces all at once, you are seated in a polished, official-looking meeting space, gathered around an ornate table of oak and marble. Around you are others--- quite a few, in fact. And in front of you, an envelope, with something written in tight, looping font on the front.

We are nothing but our nature. We do only what we were made to do. In this way, we are no different. In this envelope lies your passage forward to duty and destiny, but to open it, you must be able to speak the name of your nature. Do so before you are able, and perish. You are in the infernal realm. The barrier is not here to protect you. Best of luck.

Looking around, you can see words floating over the heads of those around you. They are not particularly flattering words. A descriptor, assigned to that person, presumably intended to define their nature. Above your own head, you see nothing. The game becomes clear. Predictably, if you try to speak the words you can see, or anything too similar that might give it away too easily, your throat tightens and your words are stolen from you.

Game on.

The Catacombs

Those who die in the fiery embrace of the Infernal Realm will not be saved by the Barrier. Lady Winter cannot save them, so their souls will remain here and their bodies will rest in our crypts.

{Be aware that beyond lies dangerous traps, monsters, and the remains of the dead. Proceed?}

You died.

This wouldn't be the first time. After all, that's how you got into this situation to begin with. But this time, it was made very clear to you that it would be permanent. You're outside the barrier, and with nothing to catch your soul at the border of reality and sling it back at you the next morning, it should be lost to whatever afterlife might find you here.

Unless, of course, you're not outside the barrier.

Whatever the case may be, you can't stay here. You have no idea how long it's been, and there are people somewhere who think you're dead. Surrounded by the ancient, dusty corpses of long-dead demons, it's difficult to confirm you're not. Perhaps you're in just as much of a hurry to convince yourself.

Down here, you will need to conquer physical obstacles, solve puzzles, and get past monsters to escape the catacombs. There are a number of stone doors that only open from the crypt side out, leading back up to the dungeon halls where the living are trying to escape the castle. You can encounter other "dead," or reach the dungeon to find other survivors. Perhaps if you're particularly persistent, you can reach the end of the maze entirely…

The Ceremonial Hall

Marrow Isle residents who do not capture the interest of His Infernal Majesty what so ever or whose usefulness to the Court of Treason is expended will be granted to His Infernal Highness Prince Aster of the Dark Feast, to use as indentured servants for a time, that they might be given worth elsewhere. They are not the concern of His Majesty, and he will bear them no mind.

{Be aware that beyond lies the alteration of memory. Proceed?}

Welcome to your first day at your new job! As an employee of the Infernal Royal Family, you've been tasked with preparing the castle's ceremonial hall for a coronation. After a great deal of ado, the Rite of Succession is finally nearing its end, and King Eligos is finally preparing to turn over his kingdom to his heir--- his middle son, Prince Aster. Shame about Prince Mendel and Prince Efrain, dead as they are, but that's how succession goes in the infernal realm.

What do you mean, you don't remember taking this job? Of course you did! There's nowhere more illustrious to work, nor a better time to have this job. You're making history, after all! So what if you don't remember the details of the application or interview? You know that this is your job. You remember coming to work. You know that you are supposed to be here, and that you chose to be here, and that you aren't going to leave. That's what's important, isn't it?

The hall is constructed of black marble primarily, and covered in red decorations that haven't been taken down since Eligos was coronated several hundred years ago. They're quite dusty. You'll need to take them down and replace them with the blue and gold ones intended for Crown Prince Aster. You'll also need to polish the throne, scrub the floors, set up the dining tables, prepare the food, dust everything, prepare the place settings… there's so much to do, so you had better get to work!

You'll be supervised by a Noble of Aster's Court, Duchess Claunthe. She can't be everywhere at once, of course, but she can be very, very strict when she wants to be. Take care not to get caught slacking off, even if it's tempting. This is a lot of work, after all, and there's demons coming and going who have no qualms about swapping courtly secrets and gossip in front of the help. Whenever you can catch a moment away, your coworkers would love to hear this.

Yes, this is definitely your job. (It's not.) You absolutely, definitely signed up for this. (You didn't.) It'd be absolutely preposterous to think otherwise. (You know you don't belong here. Run.) After all, this job pays so well, which you really need right now, don't you? (It doesn't. Even if it did, you have universal basic income, for the Mothers' sake. Please listen to me. Get out, now!) Besides, even if you didn't take this job, and this was all some grand trick---- where would you even go?

Get back to work.

The Waiting Room

A room is to be prepared for our Most Esteemed Guest, Father Francis Mulcahy. She is not a prisoner, but an ally to the Court of Woman Scorned led by Prince Dahlia, bringer of deliverance to a new era of Demonkind. Ensure that she is comfortable, and make room for any who might attend her, and prepare a line of communication. The King wishes for an audience.

{Be aware that beyond lies a terrible duty, and one inevitable death. Proceed?}

A round room, at the end of everything. It's strange, that particular detail is so clear despite the fact that it's impossible to see beyond it. Black walls bedecked neon red curtains, despite the lack of windows. Not blood red like Nyarlathotep prefers, but the red of malice. It's unclear how you can tell the difference, but you can. Plush curved sofas encircle the room, with gaps for tables at regular intervals that have lamps, statues, and the like sitting on them. The one in the center has a candlestick phone that rings when the first guest arrives.

If you manage to make your way through the catacombs or the dungeon, whatever route you take, you can end up here as well. But at first, it's just the one. Once the door closes on the final guest, and Eligos is ready for his audience, it opens back up, now leading somewhere else.

It's time. We all know what happens now.

Comments

[n0rthernlights]

South bites her tongue hard enough it hurts to stop herself from snapping back. Not helping. Knows she's not helping. But any hard won control over her emotions is a lot harder to reach, right now.

Outside the barrier. If he doesn't tell the kid exactly what that means, she swears—

"Uh—" Theta takes a step back to look at the levers properly. "Th-There's— there's two sets of levers? There's a l-line, down the middle. With two on each side. They're— they're labelled, uh—"

He squints, a little. And then his face goes white.

"...N-North, why do two of them say forsake? What does that mean?"

[gooddefense]

"I, uh. 'Forsake' means 'leave behind or abandon,' but---" He casts his eyes around, looking for more clues as to what those levers are going to do. Drop someone through a trap door? Hang them? Release them? How does this thing work?

"Okay. I don't really understand how this contraption works, but it's probably dangerous. And given where we are, that could have---- more permanent consequences than usual, if you catch my drift. But I don't want us to panic, okay? That'll just make it harder to figure this out, which is what whoever did this wants. Let's figure out everything we can about what this thing does. What else do you see in there, Theta?"

[ownperson]

Theta's voice gets increasingly shaky, even as it's clear he's trying his best to keep it steady, keep his fear under control. More permanent consequences? What does—

"U-Uh. The— the other half of the levers say— say release? And uh. I-I don't..." He looks around, but the space he's contained in his pretty bare. The levers, the bars, what might be the outline of a closed door? "There's— there isn't anything else, j-just the outline of a door and— I- don't see anything else I'm sorry!"

South tugs at her restraint again, like if she just keeps trying it'll somehow get more possible to break free, but as she slumps once more she actually takes a look around. Scrapes her eyes over the floor, the walls, for anything out of place.

Finally spots something. A little ways above North's head, a hole in the wall, subtle but there. "...Di, look above me, you uh— you see an opening? Small, kinda— hard to see."

But the rest of the room is mirrored. So she has to assume this is, too.

[gooddefense]

"Don't panic, Theta! That's good intel, just stay calm, alright?" North calls, then lowers his voice to talk to South, his eyes following her instructions. "Yyyyep. Sure do. That's probably a problem. Any thoughts yet?"

[ownperson]

"I-I'm trying!" Theta calls back, still clearly panicked but trying to breathe. He doesn't like this. He wants North in here with him, safe. He doesn't feel safe.

South talks through her teeth: "None that I fucking like. Two points of ingress. Two sets of levers. Two of us. Whatever the fuck comes out of there, it's gonna go across the room to whoever's on the opposite side. And it's probably triggered by those 'forsake' levers. Add in the warning about the barrier and yeah, it's a problem."

Tactical brain on, it's the only way to push down the raw emotion far enough to think. And still, she hates where the train of thought leads.

"...if you don't fuckin' spell it out for him, I will. I'm the mean one. I'll take the fucking fall. But he needs to know the fucking stakes."

[gooddefense]

"I think he's put the pieces together already, he's a sharp kid," North mutters darkly, sighing. "If he panics any more than he already is then we're all in trouble, alright? He's in the hot seat here. We need him with his head on straight."

[ownperson]

"We're already in trouble! You think we're gonna get out of this? You think f we just fuckin' talk to him enough and keep looking around the same barren room we'll find some magic fucking solution that doesn't mean killing someone?"

She's not as convinced as him that Theta's gotten there, yet. Panic does funny thing to a brain and he's so young, him refusing to consider the idea wouldn't exactly surprise her.

But she keeps her voice low, anyway.

[gooddefense]

"I don't know! But there's no sense freaking him out!" he hisses back, seeing if he can fiddle with his own restraints somehow. "Look, there's no time limit or anything, we're just at an impasse. If we all just stay calm and think----"

[n0rthernlights]

"You're not even calm! Don't fucking pretend with me right now, Dmitri, I swear to god—" Her voice cracks, at the end, undermining her own front. Defensive rage that crumbles under the slightest pressure to reveal the panic of her own underneath.

Uselessly, she yanks at the chain again, brute force a distorted funhouse mirror to his fiddling. It still just hurts.

"W-We don't even know there isn't a fucking time limit! What if— what if something else triggers, if we wait too long, huh? There's no fucking way—"

Suddenly, from behind the bars: "Stop it! Stop fighting!"

[gooddefense]

"Shhhhit," North hisses, then speaks up. "I'm sorry, bud, we're just trying to figure this out in a way no one gets hurt, alright?"

[n0rthernlights]

"I'm telling you, that's not—" South starts, then bites her tongue to stop herself, barely resisting the urge to knock her head against the stone wall. Control yourself. Control yourself.

Theta stands behind the bars, hugging himself, what they can see of his face through the obstruction younger than ever for how wide-eyed he is. "...I-I don't like when you fight. But I don't wanna hurt anyone. I— I-I don't know what to do. I-I don't know what to do."

[gooddefense]

"Listen, for now, we're not doing anything," North insists, the tension straining his voice. He's tired, he's anxious, and as much as he loves them, these two aren't helping. "We don't even have any guarantee that doing something would get us anywhere. What would be the point?"

cw: intrusive thoughts about harm to a child

[ownperson]

"Doing nothing isn't helping either," South says, tense with the effort it takes not to start raising her voice. "We can't just— just sit here forever hoping something changes. I'm already kinda— kinda losing some feeling in this arm, I-I mighta jerked the joint too hard. And then we're gonna get hungry. And even more tired. And—"

And then what? How long will it let them just sit here, doing nothing to play into whatever sick game this is?

(Some sick, horrible part of her thinks maybe if we wait, it'll punish the one at the controls, a thought she beats down so violently her head does thunk, subtly, against the stonework. Stop it. Stop it. You're not meant to think like that, you're not meant to want the kid hurt, you don't want the kid hurt—)

Theta swallows hard. "I-I'm sorry, I-I want to help figure something out but I-I'm finding it hard to think."