[The doors at the other end of the city do not open for the Titled. However, whatever is going on in there still brings forth bright lights from within, and ultimately, it is to the steps of the entrance that everyone is drawn to. It's not the most formal setting for figuring out the truth of the matter before them.

Eric's brought the snacks, at least.

The Dragonborn sits at the top of the stairs, looking down as everyone congregates.]

...Having this key...I am certain I can open the door with little difficulty. But before I do we must make certain we know and understand exactly what we will be facing. What we are facing. These people...they are doing something and we must ensure we can somehow stop it.

[The end is near. The objectives of this quest are simple:

Who is the Mastermind? What is going on in this world? And...of course...why did the Mastermind want to kill 15 strangers?

Good luck, Titled.



[It is time.

The chill which had come from the now-open, unnumbered room has now begun to seep into the rest of the Depths. It seems to call to the Titled, beckoning them to come forward and to face whatever is now beyond that door.

Fie and Rubedo were right - that room was, indeed, the exit to the Depths. And at the end of the staircase is a door, which the Skeleton Key can very easily open. A few seconds later, the door at the top of the stairs opens.

And the city within the cave below is revealed to them, as they stand on a platform high above the ground.

The ruin still looks as new as it did the day it was built. The air here is cold mountain air, though the only light seems to come from one massive building carved into the very rock of the cave. There is nothing coming from the mouth of the cave save for snow.

On the door they just came through is a single parchment of paper which reads "LEINALZIND OUTER DISTRICT." Each building, they will find, is labelled similarly. Which means there is only one conclusion.

Welcome to the city of Leinalzind, Titled. And good luck, teams.

You will need it.]



[Once the final clues are found, the unsettling chimes sound three times again. However, the Debate Hall doors do not open for the Titled. At least, not for a moment or so.

When they do, though, and the Titled descend the stairs, they will find that the desks have been completely updated, up through the deaths of the previous night. It is...unsettling. Have they truly lost half their numbers in such a short time? But, what can they do about it?

The logs are on the desks, and the Intercessor finishes up the final touches of the evidence they made, placing it on the desks.

There is no chanting on the stage. The dragon, also, seems to be gone, leaving only traces of arms and legs and goo. So, the Intercessor simply goes and sits on the stairs, looking at the remaining survivors. They sound tired as they speak.]

All right. your best. Take your time, and...good luck.

[The trial of Raphtalia, the Dreamstrider, and Farkas, the Outcast, has begun.]



[A week has passed. Food supply is starting to get low, despite the group's best efforts. It's only a matter of time before the food runs out or becomes more difficult to procure. Not to mention the trash that has been accumulating since the beginning of the week, with no one changing or cleaning it up. Not exactly the healthiest environment.

And, as the day dawns, there is - unfortunately - that very worrisome feeling that something is very, very wrong. It's quiet. Too quiet. The feeling of being watched has increased tenfold.

And there is a smell in the air, even above the garbage, as people step into the second floor hallway.]
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[The chimes don't announce the opening of the doors this time. Instead, the loud creaking of the doors to the Debate Hall echoing through the Depths are the only signal that the Titled are given. There is still the sense that they do not dare refuse to go.

There is, after all, two death to deal with, as the Intercessor's voice beckons.]


[This time, upon entering and taking their seats, two of the desks have been draped in black. No picture to commemorate the dead, no memorial of any kind - in fact, nothing at all save the black draping. It's like those in charge simply had no care to remember those two. It's likely the same befalls those who die this week, as well.

The chanting in the darkness on the stage is still present, and as before, the logs are folded neatly on the desk. Of course, this time, there is also an extra paper which seems to give a brief description of the evidence found.

Kindness? Or perhaps cruelty to dangle those things in front of the Titled? As the remaining Titled take their seats and the chanting stops, there is only one way to figure things out.

So, get ready, Titled.

The trial of Harley Quinn, the Deceiver, and Ai Haibara, The Dawn and Dusk, has begun.]

The Second Victim


[It was getting unbearable. The illness, the stress, the threat of death, either by oneself or by another. The worry about finding a cure for a disease that, in this comparatively primitive world, might not even exist outside of the Depths.

However, on Friday morning - or what the Titled could at least conceive as Friday - all the Titled will wake up with the remnants of a very soothing sensation in their throats. Cool and at the same time almost burning, like someone had dropped liquid menthol down their throat while they were sleeping.

They will also find something else, especially if they had been infected: their perception of time is back to normal. Which means one of two things. One of the Titled actually managed to create the potion needed to cure the disease, or...the Titled might have an Inquisition looming on the horizon.

There is only one way to find out.

((OOC: Just a reminder that, due to the nature of the motive this week, there may be references to self-harm and suicide, along with other possible triggers, during this Inquisition, including during the Investigation, and that potentially triggering comments should (and comments by the mods will) be given a trigger heading on those comments.))]]
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[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.]


[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.

The Inquisition of Laslow, the Spinner, has begun.]



[Friday morning is quiet enough.

Everything seems to be normal, as before. Normal and boring, even with the strange things happening around the Depths. After all, no one's killed yet. Why would they? Surely something as ridiculous as a weird fruit and a fleeting promise wouldn't provoke anyone to kill to see if something like that was actually true, right?


Still, if anyone was worried, they would at least feel justified at being tense. People were told to kill another in return for the safety and life of a loved one, after all. And it included a way out for someone who succeeded in getting away with it. There may be someone more than willing to kill for that chance.

And that's when you don't consider the two empty rooms, one of which was opened and resulted in more strange things happening. And what happened last week? It hasn't been solved, has it? And no one expected that.

Perhaps it's a thought to look around to make sure there's nothing off this morning.

Certainly, it couldn't hurt.]