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Betrayal - Taisho Roman Revolution
[ You spill out of the elevator into a Pentagram Chamber— the elevator is gone when you look back.
It's a Pentagram Chamber. As in, it is a chamber with the markings of a pentagram - or several pentagrams, rather. One takes up the whole wall, unrecognizable runes drawn upon it in what looks like blood, with an accompanying circle. The second, matching circle sits on the ground, where a rock slab sits in the middle. Put two and two together: clearly, the ground's circle is where you put the sacrifice in, and the wall circle's where whatever you summoned comes. . . out. Probably.
There's a shovel in this room, sitting in the corner; dirt tracks from the chamber to the singular entrance and exit.
There's a fuzzy impression of something off here in the back of your mind. Like this place should look different, or maybe it even did once. Something happened here - not in this room, but in the very earth it's built on. A person was kept still there once, amidst the low hum of funeral rites. Or so you think, anyway - it's hard to be sure of even that much. You probably don't want to dwell on it any further than that; you're already feeling a little drawn to the shovel, as if it might help alleviate the ugly, helpless feelings permeating the air. If you lose your sanity, or are damaged too far, the sensation will overwhelm you.
A mask sits on the rock slab, and Exael's leans against the wall, standing apart from both pentagrams. If you have questions and she's not busy with hosting or another unit, she'll appear here to answer them.
A readout on your phone tells you the rules and displays the sanity goal (explore rooms) and your traitor goal (bury someone alive) as well as the item that you've been given (mask). 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: East. ]
It's a Pentagram Chamber. As in, it is a chamber with the markings of a pentagram - or several pentagrams, rather. One takes up the whole wall, unrecognizable runes drawn upon it in what looks like blood, with an accompanying circle. The second, matching circle sits on the ground, where a rock slab sits in the middle. Put two and two together: clearly, the ground's circle is where you put the sacrifice in, and the wall circle's where whatever you summoned comes. . . out. Probably.
There's a shovel in this room, sitting in the corner; dirt tracks from the chamber to the singular entrance and exit.
There's a fuzzy impression of something off here in the back of your mind. Like this place should look different, or maybe it even did once. Something happened here - not in this room, but in the very earth it's built on. A person was kept still there once, amidst the low hum of funeral rites. Or so you think, anyway - it's hard to be sure of even that much. You probably don't want to dwell on it any further than that; you're already feeling a little drawn to the shovel, as if it might help alleviate the ugly, helpless feelings permeating the air. If you lose your sanity, or are damaged too far, the sensation will overwhelm you.
A mask sits on the rock slab, and Exael's leans against the wall, standing apart from both pentagrams. If you have questions and she's not busy with hosting or another unit, she'll appear here to answer them.
A readout on your phone tells you the rules and displays the sanity goal (explore rooms) and your traitor goal (bury someone alive) as well as the item that you've been given (mask). 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: East. ]
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then a moment later, a voice from nearby ]
Maybe you should not, ah, rest now?
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He fell apart. He was the one who lured Bad End into that situation, he had his own unit there to support him, and yet he had been unable to move. It had been outside his plans for the Heart Soldier Senshi interlopers, and he had not been able to convince anyone onto his side.
He had been stared down, surrounded without an ally in the world.
And fear had welled up deep from within him, irrational and overwhelming. His connection to the outside world had snapped taut, and slammed down a wall. He has fallen, he has failed, he is too pathetic and broken to lift it. ]
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Whatever they wished to see of him be damned! Those rubbish people could keep their kindly outstretched hands to themselves! For if he showed himself as Sovereign, they would certainly his and recoil and turn to strike him, to have him buried as he was before!
He refused to meet such a fate, not a single time more. ]
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Non! If they wished to see him pathetic, to feel safe and secure he was the person they wanted him to be; if they wished to see he had become wholly the person they had attempted to make him he would not give them the satisfaction! He was not so easily unmade and unraveled.
The Tower of Babel had only fallen once, but humanity never gave up speech and progress. Each time a tower fell, they built one anew. They were not such meek cowardly creatures as to simply resign themselves to a silent life at the mercy of a miserly god! New languages and words sprouted at the base of the tower, and humanity voraciously took the soil that had been meant to bury them and used it to grow. Each culture that sprouted unfurled splendid works of art, fashions and rarities that would not have come about in a barren landscape of conformity, growing only one fruit.
If he was to be hated, so be it. ]
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The curses they buried in his garden, he would show the world how he had nurtured them, thorns and all! He would open the gates and unleash the strangling vines, that those who lived coddled within the rules and lines and society's wishes would have no hope of struggling free of! He would take their hands and lead them down the rock-strewn path, straight to the edge of the cliff and show them what his labors had wrought!
He would become their fear for all eternity, a memory they could not blot out no matter how deep they shoveled the dirt! ]
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It had come time to raise the curtain on his grand guignol. ]
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He climbs to his feet, far more steady than he's been since entering the House of Mirth. Spite is both his anchor and fuel, burning bright in his eyes as he answers with his voice deep and clear ]
There is no need to use that title anymore. The only one I will take is Sovereign, when I rightfully reclaim that which was taken from me. Until that time comes . . .
DONE