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

[ownperson]

South surges forward with a cacophonous jangle of her chains, reflex more than thought. "No—!"

He can't be doing this. He can't. Please, no, she can't watch this again, she can't live like that again, she can't— she can't, she just can't.

"B-But— but North—" Theta stammers, heart pounding so hard he can hear it in his ears, outpacing the rhythmic clicks of the clock's numbers turning over. He can barely get his eyes to focus for long enough to see the time. Less than two full minutes. "I don't want to! I-I don't want to, please, I—"

The timer keeps ticking. Salt stings his eyes.

"Ignore him," South pleas, more of her attention on him than there has been since he got here. "Please, kid, for— for once, please, ignore him. Pick me. Just fucking pick me!"

But even through the tears, he's looking at North. "...N-North I'm scared."

[gooddefense]

"I'm scared, too, buddy." Despite the admission, even now, he still tries so hard not to let his voice shake as fear wraps its fingers around his throat. "But--- it's gonna be okay. Alright? I trust South more than just about anybody. I know she's gonna take really good care of you. Okay?"

He turns to meet South's eye before he looks back to Theta. One more time.

"I promise."

[ownperson]

Salt hits her tongue before she even realises she's crying, bitter mix of rage and grief. "Ditri, please, please, please don't fucking do this—"

She is every bit a child as Theta, in that moment. Small despite her size, weak despite her strength, desperate for her brother's reassurance even as he all but kills himself. Throwing a pitiful tantrum, cruel words rising to the back of her throat only for her to swallow them down. (I will never forgive you I will hate you for the rest of my life I will make you regret leaving him with me none of it true, none of it true.)

Don't leave her. Don't leave her. She can't do this without him. She can't do this without him.

But even as Theta's body visibly shakes behind the bars—the colourful silhouette of his pyjamas and stupid floppy hair—she can see his hands moving closer to the levers.

He doesn't want to do it. He has to wipe his eyes to find the right levers, again, resetting North's 'release' to its original position and pulling South's in its place. Then he grips 'forsake'.

He's already started to hiccup sobs when he says: "I-I— I tru-trust you. I trust you. I-I trust you."

Like a mantra. The one thing that has always been true, since the moment he woke up in his head.

[gooddefense]

"I know." He reaches over as best as he can to take her hand. He can't take Theta's, and that kills him. He has to trust that she'll do it. And he does. Against all odds, in spite of everything, he does. He trusts her to step up and take care of Theta. His son. He leaves the most precious thing that has ever come into his life with his favorite person from birth, and he trusts her. "I'm sorry, Natasha. I'm so sorry. But it's gonna be okay, alright?"

The levers begin to click into place. Tears streak North's face, though he doesn't cry out. He's shaking, his throat is closing with terror, but he's still smiling. Even during all of this, his dumb idiot face is still smiling. He thinks of all the people he's met and grown close to since getting here. His group of ridiculous friends. Of Givingstide and darts with Radar, Leon, Artemy, Shen Qingqiu, Anzu, Teddy, and Curly. Chatting about music with Grace. He thinks of saving items from the monster house with Lev, and blowing the fucker to kingdom come with Carolina. He thinks of Edgar, Fever, and Jax--- the things he never got to say to the three of them. Of smashed windows and bunny ears, the taste of wine-drenched kisses in a Merrymeet tent and running through castle halls dressed like fairy-tale assholes, of the sound of Fever's laugh and a good bite of well-earned pizza in front of her fireplace.

He thinks of the people he used to know. He thinks of York.

This is it.

"I love you guys," he says. "Be good. до свидания."

He's still fucking smiling. If for no other reason than that being how he wants to be remembered.

[n0rthernlights]

It's not. It's not going to be okay. She knows too well how not okay she'll be, can almost taste the booze and vomit at the back of her throat from the inevitable relapse into drinking herself to death. (Over and over again, if they make it back inside the barrier. An endless parade of shame and failure.) Why would he trust her with Theta, after everything? Why?

They can barely reach across the room, but she's long since started ignoring the pain in her shoulder. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters more than clutching his fingers, white-knuckle, hard enough to hurt. She wasn't with him, last time (doesn't want to be here now, doesn't want to watch this), she can't look away now.

She should say something. She should say something, say anything worthwhile. But all she can do is sob like a child, even as the actual child chokes out:

"I-I love you dad. I-I'msorry!"

The timer clicks. His own sobs all but deafen him, more emotion in his body now than he thinks he's ever felt. You can't cry, when you're code. He couldn't cry when the shield dropped, when his failure let the Meta take its shot, when it threw North to the ground to finish the job and tear Theta out of his skull. He could only scream. Scream for South, scream for anyone to help.

There's still no help.

Theta pulls the lever.

cw: death by firearm

[gooddefense]

Forsake, the lever read. That's what Theta had said. A word to downplay the violence that would follow, swift and familiar.

Bullets.

Three shots ring out, and North is left with three clean holes piercing him through. Two in the chest, one in the forehead just barely above his right eye. And just like that, it's over. The chains on both twins fall away, clattering to the ground, and North falls with them, nothing but a vacant pale blue stare on his face, eyes looking at nothing and devoid of their light now.

He's not smiling anymore.

1/2 cw: emeto, verbal abuse of a child

[ownperson]

The shots ring through her ears, turn the image in front of her into a sick, silent movie. No sick sound of bullet through flesh, through bone. No thud of the body against the ground. The sharp clatter of the chains ricochets up her aching arm as it happens, but she doesn't hear it. Even her own distraught breathing feels distant, like it's coming from someone else.

She can't tear her eyes away from his face.

The helmet never came off, the first time. He died with his face hidden behind an impersonal golden sheen and she does not know if that was kinder, or if this is just it's own kind of sickening that simply can't be compared. His hollow, lifeless eyes burn into her memory and it's only heaving her guts up onto the ground that finally breaks the hold it has, over her.

Not again. Not again. They were meant to be safe, they were meant to be—

Across the room, a sob.

Her head whips around. In her momentary deafness, she's missed the bars sinking into the ground, leaving the space wide open. Leaving Theta in the room with her. Crying.

She couldn't describe the feeling that wells up in that moment if she tried.

South tears to her feet and across the room without thought, so sudden and relentless that Theta retreats on reflex until his back hits the wall of the tight space. Terrified, terrified of her and yet she can't stop, running on hate and hurt and heartbreak, looming over him and snapping:

"What the fuck were you thinking?! Why would you— how could you— how can you be so fucking stupid?! How?! He's the one that fucking takes care of us and you killed him?! God you're not just stupid you're fucking nuts you're—"

"I'msorry!" Theta squeaks, covering his ears with his hands, shrinking in on himself. "I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry!"

A memory strikes her like a blow to the skull. Standing in the tight kitchen of their childhood apartment, sobbing with her hands over her ears and screaming back at their mother who was berating her about... something, god, she can't even remember, the memories blurred together into one big kaleidoscopic vision of different rooms, different flaws, same feeling. Shame and terror and hurt and rage, wondering if parents were supposed to hate you so fucking much they could watch you cry and only yell harder.

Her voice dies in her throat.

What the fuck is she doing?

She drops to her knees, vision distorted by tears. "S-Shit. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't— I shouldn't yell, I'm sorry, come here, I'm sorry—"

Even as she opens her arms, she doesn't expect him to trust her—not after this, not after everything else. And yet, barely a second passes before a small body collides with hers and small fists clutch in the back of her shirt, shaking like he's going to fall to pieces if she doesn't hold him tight enough. So, she does. Hand on the back of his head, arm around his back, she pulls him in tight and makes soothing sounds that do not come naturally.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, kid, I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean that shit. You're not stupid. We're not stupid."

"I-I didn't want to—"

"I know, I know. G-God, you shoulda... you shoulda chosen me, it shoulda been me... I-I don't know how I'm gonna..." She breathes hard, cuts the spiral down where it stands. "I got you. I-I got you. S'just us now, so— s-so I got you. Promise."

Why? Why trust her to care for a kid she's barely even spoke to in over a fucking month? Why save her when she's the one that got them all into this fucking mess in the first place by being so selfish she got them all killed? (Why make her go through this again, try to live without him when she knows she can't?)

2/2

[n0rthernlights]

"I-I'm sorry," Theta mumbles again, even as he nods and tries to believe her. North said she'd look after him. North told him to do this. North— North—

He bursts into a fresh wave of tears and South gathers him up into her arms, sitting him down in her lap and burying her face in his hair as he keeps sobbing into her shirt. If she cares that he's getting her wet, she doesn't show it any more than he does, curling into her and trusting her for perhaps the first time in his short life even through the fear. North said she'd take care of him. (Dad said she'd take care of him.) And she is. She is, even if she yelled, even if she's angry.

They sit like that for... he doesn't know how long, a feeling he's not used to.

"...h-he helps me think," he murmurs, finally, throat still tight. "Wh-When I'm scared. I— I-I'm not good at thinking when I'm s-scared. M'sorry."

"I know. I-I know. He— he was good at that," South hushes, running her fingers through his hair with a subtle hiss of pain. He sits back, looking up at her with a worried frown she almost flinches away from. "I-I'm fine, kid. Shoulder hurts, that's all. I'm— I'm still gonna get us out of here. Promise."

"You're n-not fine."

"Okay, fine, obviously I'm not fucking fine, my brother just died in front of me for the second fucking time in less than a fucking year and I couldn't—" even stop it. Wasn't even her fault. Somehow that makes it worse. She bites her tongue, breathes out through her nose, and awkwardly presses a kiss to his hair. Feels weird. "...let's just get out of here."

They missed the door opening, too. No idea what's on the other side. They could still die. But it's that, or stay in a room with North's body, and...

Theta risks a glance at him and immediately feels a fresh rush of tears come. South covers his eyes and he doesn't stop her, not at first, but after a second—

"...I-I want to say goodbye."

She's hesitant. But she doesn't stop him, either, when he clambers from her lap to cross the room. He still feels sick. He's still crying. But he kneels down. Lies down. And curls his head against North's shoulder, just for a few moments. Lets his tears soak the fabric of his pyjamas. Whispers, over and over again, sorry.

And then he sits up. Closes North's eyes. And stands.

"O-Okay. I'm ready."

South folds her lips together. Then, without a word, steps past him to kneel down and press a kiss to North's cold forehead and mutters something he can't hear. A clear of her throat, a wipe of her eyes, and she's back with him, crouching down.

"Get up. I'll carry you."

"O-Okay."

And so he clambers up onto her back, like he remembers her doing in all those memories of North's when they were children. And he locks his legs around her body, and his arms around her neck. And he presses his face into the space between her shoulder blades, and he tells himself that his dad would not lie to him. That things will be okay.

He's not sure he believes himself. But South doesn't abandon him. And for now, that has to be enough.