The Fifteen Strangers Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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15strangers2017-05-27 12:15 pm
strangerpeople) wrote in 15strangers2017-05-27 12:15 pm
Entry tags:
THE FIRST TRIAL
[Soon after the final clue is found, there are three more loud, unsettling tonal clangs, all which go right to the bone. No matter where they are, the Titled will hear another, loud creak.
The set of doors on the left are slowly opening, revealing a long, long corridor, with a very long flight of stairs going upwards, just barely visible at the end of it.
The Intercessor's voice booms through the air and shakes the ground, sounding loud and clear no matter where the Titled might be standing at that moment.]
ENTER!
[The voice brooks no argument. As soon as everyone goes through the set of double doors, they close behind them. There is no choice, and no turning back. The Titled must go up the stairs at the end of the hall. They feel like they take forever, but when the stairs are finally traversed, there is a single door at the top, already open to them.
Welcome to the Debate Hall, Titled. Its the best-lit place you've seen, with gas lamps on the wall bright as possible. Its also the emptiest place they've ever seen so far - its massive and yet the Titled and the Intercessor are the only individuals to be seen in the entire area.
Seems, because there is faint chanting coming from the darkness behind that stage at the other end. There's no real way to hear what's being said, no matter how close you try to get. No way to check if there's even anyone on or behind the stage to make such chanting possible. The only person remotely close to the stage, standing on the stone steps, is the Intercessor.
There is also a faint rumble in the air, as if the world itself mourns the crime committed.
So. Take your seats at your stone desks to face one another as you debate. And yes, they are stone. Yes, they have stone chairs with which to sit in. And yes, your Title is on your assigned chair, etched in with chisel and hammer. Every desk also has a copy of the Writs with Orders 7 and 8 circled, and a copy of the autopsy file of the deceased on top of it; that is all the aid you will get from whoever brought you here. The rest, it seems, is up to the Titled, with what they have found.
Seats 7 and 8 are empty. Their copies of the rules and evidence lay untouched.
Once everyone has taken their seats, the strange, ominous chanting stops. Its time. Bound in blood, the death warrant has already been signed. The contract is complete. Its now just a question of finding the guilty party to fulfill the call for justice.
So, get ready, Titled.
no subject
Because it wasn't.
She doesn't know what to say, and she doesn't know what else to do, so there's only one thing she thinks of asking:
"What's your favorite flower?"
no subject
"I love them all, but... in my culture, sakura symbolizes the brevity of life. It would... be appropriate."
no subject
"Mm. I'll try and find some. And I'll start a garden, too."
What else can she say? Farewell doesn't seem right, but she knows this is her last chance to say anything so it doesn't feel like she should just leave it as is, either.
...
She'll keep silent as she walks over to his slumped form and pats him on the head. It's honestly awkward, and her uncertainty shows in her face, but it's gentle, at least.
no subject
He reaches up, gently clasping her hand for a moment before he sits up, pulling away. "Thank you. Live well, Fie."
no subject
"I will."
Because there's nothing to do but to push on, right?