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

[jaxinthebox]

It's hard to sit with this one. There had already been fractures in the way he'd seen the world for years, everyone and their archetypes, but this...

...It feels awfully human, doesn't it? Even with the strange physics of it all.

Enough pins finally set the whole thing in place, and it's a slow process, but it starts to feel less like a shroud and more like an actual part of him. Points of connection slowly start to make it move right. Certain parts of the ripped seam start to rumple, slowly, while other parts re-adhere to the soft yellow insides. Teeth are shown only long enough to feel like his mouth moves correctly, before his expression falls back into a thin, thoughtful line.

It takes a long few moments, but eventually, he speaks up.

"It's fine." No part of that was fine. "It's over. That's what matters." As if they're ever going to get the image out of their minds. "Just gotta keep moving on." It's easier said than done.

He could leave it at that. That's likely what they expect of him, at this point. But after a beat, he glances once to Pomni, once to Ragatha, then back at at his own lap.

"...Neither of you had to do all of that, y'know. Dragging me out of there and putting me back together."

[raggedydamn]

Ragatha squeezes Pomni's hand in return, tighter than she really means to, the stuffing in her fingers compressing with the force. Some part of her wants to reach out her other hand to Jax, but— hyperaware, suddenly, of how unusual this has all been, she settles for sitting close and watching closely as he comes back into himself. Physically, at least.

Her brows nestle, low and worried. "...we weren't going to just— leave you there, Jax. Or... leave you like that."

[jeveuxpartir]

"You did something brave to help all of us, and you got hurt because of it. We're not going to just ditch you. Especially when what happened was so---" Pomni searches for a word for it, but everything falls short. "...You didn't deserve it. It was wrong. It-- Seeing you torn up like that, I---" Deep breath. Just tell him. "...It was painful, to see you hurting. I don't... I don't want you to suffer. Neither does Ragatha."

At last, she lifts her head, making eye contact with Ragatha before looking up at him. "We won't leave you behind. Not ever."

[jaxinthebox]

His attention flits between them, and when he finds only pain and genuine concern where he's always been braced for laughter and mockery— it turns his stomach. His nerves set on edge. His knee-jerk impulse is to push them away, to stop letting them be so close, to stop letting them touch him, but...

His carefully crafted worldview, where everything was so simple and nothing could ever really hurt because it was never real, cracks sharply. His mind runs circles around the idea, but once the illusion's broken, you never can really see it the same again, can you?

Fuck.

Fuck.

No amount of wishing he could just lash out and put the safety of distance back changes the fact that he needed this. Needed them. And they might not have been there to catch him every time he's needed to be pulled back to his feet, being there for the worst of it has to count for something, right?

(They didn't laugh. They didn't laugh at him. He would've laughed at them, were this back in the circus. But they didn't.)

He's been quiet for too long.

Slowly, unsteadily, he rises to his feet, pulling short purple fur in places where it bunched up strangely. It's hard to look at either of them, but for even just a second, he tries. There's no animosity anywhere on his face. At worst, he's shaken, nervous... tinges of guilt that he can't hide, try as he might. (It's hard not to miss when these things were all second-nature, perfectly guilt-free. Missing them makes him feel worse, though.)

"We better get moving, then." A simple fact, no jokes to be made about it. "...Try not to lose track of anybody."

An unspoken promise, in his failing to lead the charge, or move before they've gotten up. I'm not leaving you two behind, either.

[raggedydamn]

The silence worries her, at first. Long, empty space easy for her mind to stretch itself thin within, to run in circles about what Jax might be thinking, to imagine the wall building back up around him.

But it's not there between them when he stands and looks back.

"R-Right, of course. We should be careful," she says with a firm nod, squeezing Pomni's hand again as she pulls herself to her feet and helps Pomni up with her. "Stick close."