trial

The tolling of the bells finds you mid-stride, the investigation a whirlwind of confusion and grief. There's no relief in it, this time - while the evidence has raised a number of unnerving questions, the prospect of discovering which of your remaining companions could be responsible for such a gruesome spectacle is almost too much to bear. But the Loft Moon demands its due.

"... Your investigation period has concluded. Please make your way to the entrance hall."

As always, Oblivionis and Doloris await you by the portrait in the entrance hall. Oblivionis looks like a porcelain doll about to crack, her composure a fragile shell. Doloris remains impassive, a silent, solid presence at her side. And the Mortots, unsurprisingly, seem especially subdued, a few of them still sniffling and hiccuping as they hurry on ahead to light the way.

The trial grounds feel even more suffocating than before. The number of shrouded podiums has swelled to a staggering fifteen - Signalis, Cyclis and Caedis now joined by Tenebris, Dimidis and Mendacis. The Loft Moon's glow, filtering down through the oculus, is stark and unforgiving. The air in the grand hall is thick with the ghosts of your fallen companions.

The usual voices from the gallery are absent. Oblivionis and Doloris have taken their places, but a quick glance will confirm what you may have already suspected - Amoris, too, is gone. The gallery is empty, save for them and the small cluster of trembling Mortots.

Oblivionis looks down at the diminished circle of you, her gaze sweeping over each remaining Doll. For a long moment, she doesn't speak. Her lips part, but no words come out. She seems to be searching for something - what, you're not sure. Finally, she lifts her eyes to Doloris and the two of them share a look that is palpably heavy with resignation and despair.

Oblivionis draws a deep, shaky breath.

"Doloris."

Her voice is brittle, a hair's breadth from cracking.

"By my authority, I.. appoint you to render the final verdict. Ensure order is maintained."

Doloris gives an almost imperceptible nod. For just a moment, as you watch her in the gallery, you could mistake the expression on her face for a fleeting, sorrowful smile.

The lights dim, plunging the hall into near-darkness. The silence is profound, broken only by the faint, anxious skittering of the Mortots. When they flare back to life, Doloris stands on the squat platform in the center. She doesn't bow or curtsy, nor does she grandstand. She simply surveys the few of you left, her posture as impeccable as ever.

"By the grace of the Loft Moon, I, Doloris, she who does not fear sorrow, shall preside."

A low, mournful melody begins to thunder up through the polished floor. The notes hang in the suffocating air like a dirge.

Iudicium Doloris
Procede

trial

Just as your investigations begin to wind down, you hear those same dissonant bells jangling. Oblivionis's voice rings out with them once more, just as cold and distant as before.

"Your allotted investigation period has concluded. Please make your way to the entrance hall, where you will be led to the trial grounds."

Perhaps as expected, Doloris and Oblivionis are waiting for you there, flanking the large portrait of Oblivionis between the staircases. Both are composed, though there's a certain chilliness in the air that goes beyond their usual dispositions. When everyone has gathered, they turn as one and the portrait swings open with little to no effort on their parts, revealing a passageway leading somewhere much deeper into the House...

...when you finally emerge from the hallway, you find yourself standing at the edge of a grand ceremonial hall, where a handful of Mortots are already running ahead to ensure the space is lit. A circle of podiums, each one identical to the last save for the portraits bearing your faces, has been arranged in the center of the space, all facing inwards - towards a strange squat platform, just a few feet high. High above your heads, a series of galleries with gold balustrades overlook the proceedings, though you can't see any way of accessing them from down here. Tall, fluted columns rise through both levels, supporting a massive, circular dome - at the apex of which, an opening reveals the ever-present glow of the Loft Moon hanging overhead.

As you're taking it all in, you hear a laugh ring out from somewhere in the gallery - and realize abruptly that not only have Oblivionis and Doloris somehow found their way up there, but that they've been joined by three familiar figures - though of course, for two of them, this is your first time seeing them in person.

Still laughing merrily to herself, Amoris, she who does not fear love, leans over the balustrade to peer down at the assembled group.

"So these are all the new faces? Just look at them, they're all already so gloomy! Don't you think they should be a little more excited, Timoris? You'd think they'd never been to a party before!"

From her side, Timoris, she who does not fear fear itself, clicks her tongue. "This is not a party. This is a trial. The Joyous is dead. The proper response is not excitement."

"Death walks among them." The quiet voice of Mortis, she who does not fear death, drifts down from the gallery, placid despite the circumstances. A Mortot busily clambers up onto her shoulder as she speaks. "It is a heavy thing. Heavy..."

"Ugh, you're such a buzzkill! It's a debut! Their big debut! They need to make a good impression, don't they? I mean, it's their very first outing!"

Before there can be any more chatter, Oblivionis' voice cuts across them. "Mortis. By my authority, I appoint you to oversee the proceedings and render the final verdict. Ensure order is maintained."

"Yes, dearest sister."

The lights suddenly dim, casting the grand hall into near-total darkness save for the ghostly light of the Loft Moon. When they return... Mortis is standing upon the squat platform in the center, the Mortot still perched on her shoulder. Her posture is as placid as ever as she takes her skirts between her fingertips and dips into an elegant, formal curtsy to the assembly.

"By the grace of the Loft Moon, I, Mortis, she who does not fear death, shall preside."

From her shoulder, the Mortot chimes in; "The Trial of Death shall now commence!"

From somewhere deep in the House's belly, you once again feel music stirring to life, a heavy rumble that underscores the proceedings. It seems you really will have no choice but to proceed with this - if nothing else, to discover exactly who could be capable of ending the life of Maledictis.

Iudicium Mortis
Procede