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avante en garde
[ You spill out of the elevator onto a balcony—the elevator is gone when you look back.
The balcony is expansive. A pool drained dry suffocates in the night air; an engine that's meant to be circulating the water instead heaves and sputters but refuses to die. Dim lights meant for an ambient glow outline the crags of an artificial waterfall, now just jagged rocks. Lounge chairs and patio furniture circle the pool, cushioned to extend an invitation—stay.
The stone morphs to rougher terrain, cragged with moss and splattered with old blood, and then wavers back to normal when you look again. Dread builds in your gut—what was that? A premonition? A memory? Your hand is curled loosely as if holding something thin, narrow, and you are vaguely surprised to notice you are outside, not looking through a window, not seated at a desk, not writing your own fate and sealing your betrayal with your own hand. Your hand convulses momentarily, clenching like it might around a sword—a challenge on grounds you know you can win, and take your blade to their throat and slash it so the blood this time won't be yours— But no, the night air clears your head. Now it's a dull feeling, vague; like something you crammed for on a test and aren't positive of it, it's tentative—you need to reach for it. In other words, easy to ignore while you have your wits about you, but an almost-uncomfortable presence that threatens to overwhelm you if you lose your sanity, or if you acquire enough damage.
Besides the empty pool sits a spear, pulsing with power.
A readout on your phone tells you the rules and displays the sanity goal (explore rooms) and your traitor goal (kill those who fail a test of your own devising) as well as the item that you've been given (spear). It looks like nothing is stopping you from committing the traitor goal even while you're sane, if you wish to.
There is one exit: North. ]
The balcony is expansive. A pool drained dry suffocates in the night air; an engine that's meant to be circulating the water instead heaves and sputters but refuses to die. Dim lights meant for an ambient glow outline the crags of an artificial waterfall, now just jagged rocks. Lounge chairs and patio furniture circle the pool, cushioned to extend an invitation—stay.
The stone morphs to rougher terrain, cragged with moss and splattered with old blood, and then wavers back to normal when you look again. Dread builds in your gut—what was that? A premonition? A memory? Your hand is curled loosely as if holding something thin, narrow, and you are vaguely surprised to notice you are outside, not looking through a window, not seated at a desk, not writing your own fate and sealing your betrayal with your own hand. Your hand convulses momentarily, clenching like it might around a sword—a challenge on grounds you know you can win, and take your blade to their throat and slash it so the blood this time won't be yours— But no, the night air clears your head. Now it's a dull feeling, vague; like something you crammed for on a test and aren't positive of it, it's tentative—you need to reach for it. In other words, easy to ignore while you have your wits about you, but an almost-uncomfortable presence that threatens to overwhelm you if you lose your sanity, or if you acquire enough damage.
Besides the empty pool sits a spear, pulsing with power.
A readout on your phone tells you the rules and displays the sanity goal (explore rooms) and your traitor goal (kill those who fail a test of your own devising) as well as the item that you've been given (spear). It looks like nothing is stopping you from committing the traitor goal even while you're sane, if you wish to.
There is one exit: North. ]
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