The Fifteen Strangers Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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15strangers2017-04-22 12:31 pm
strangerpeople) wrote in 15strangers2017-04-22 12:31 pm
Entry tags:
THE MOCK INQUISITION
[Soon after the final clue is found, there are three more loud, unsettling tonal clangs. Those in the first floor vestibule will hear another, loud creak afterwards, coming from the set of doors.
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. The Titled must go up the stairs at the end of the hall. They feel like they take forever, but when the stars are finally traversed, there is a single door at the top, already open to them.
Welcome to the Debate Hall, Titled. Its perhaps 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.
So, Titled, don't mind the 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, or 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. Maybe its in your mind. You've been paranoid the past week, after all.
Maybe this is just all insane to begin with.
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.
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.
The Inquisition of Kanna Hijiri has begun.]
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. The Titled must go up the stairs at the end of the hall. They feel like they take forever, but when the stars are finally traversed, there is a single door at the top, already open to them.
Welcome to the Debate Hall, Titled. Its perhaps 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.
So, Titled, don't mind the 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, or 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. Maybe its in your mind. You've been paranoid the past week, after all.
Maybe this is just all insane to begin with.
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.
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.
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