[This is disappointing. He had hoped, really, he wouldn't have to go through the discomfort of confronting anyone alive. Truth be told, Wirt didn't want anyone dead. He just needed them that way.
When the survivors enter the courtroom, they'll find it has taken on a more natural look to it. 'Lush' might not be the term to describe the forest they've just entered; so many of the trees seem to be barren; not dead, perhaps, but warped and seemingly old. There are leaves, but they're brittle and sparse looking things except for the highest ones that make up the canopy, a ceiling which light barely pierces and filters through. It is a dim forest, almost constantly stuck near dusk, and it is cold. And grim.
And the survivors could swear that, somewhere inside it, they can hear a voice singing they haven't heard before.
It takes a bit to get through all the foliage, and resting in the roots of some of the trees are older Monobear bots, rusted and curled into the trees, the roots and branches clinging to the bear bots which are stuck in silence. Eventually, the survivors make their way to a clearing. It's a small area, but obviously set aside for this meeting, providing enough room for the pile of logs in the middle of it - more observant survivors might note that there's a log for each of those who had died in the previous weeks - as well as a small lantern, glowing brilliantly, on top of the logs.
And then there's Wirt.
His clothes aren't very different, although they might look like the color has been drained a bit. The small branches jutting from his hair, almost like weak little horns, however, are far more different. He stares at the ground for a moment before looking at the survivors, and his gaze doesn't have any of the nervous energy, or concern or compassion they boy had shown before.
Not empty. But tired beyond belief. And, deeper than that, spiteful.]
Well.
[His voice, when he speaks, actually manages to have a little authority in it. Not the usual nervous, unsure patter Wirt usually has. No. He's very certain of whatever he believes or comes next, though it's clear he doesn't enjoy what he thinks he knows.]
I kind of hoped it wouldn't come to this. There's way less unpleasant ways to do this.
no subject
When the survivors enter the courtroom, they'll find it has taken on a more natural look to it. 'Lush' might not be the term to describe the forest they've just entered; so many of the trees seem to be barren; not dead, perhaps, but warped and seemingly old. There are leaves, but they're brittle and sparse looking things except for the highest ones that make up the canopy, a ceiling which light barely pierces and filters through. It is a dim forest, almost constantly stuck near dusk, and it is cold. And grim.
And the survivors could swear that, somewhere inside it, they can hear a voice singing they haven't heard before.
It takes a bit to get through all the foliage, and resting in the roots of some of the trees are older Monobear bots, rusted and curled into the trees, the roots and branches clinging to the bear bots which are stuck in silence. Eventually, the survivors make their way to a clearing. It's a small area, but obviously set aside for this meeting, providing enough room for the pile of logs in the middle of it - more observant survivors might note that there's a log for each of those who had died in the previous weeks - as well as a small lantern, glowing brilliantly, on top of the logs.
And then there's Wirt.
His clothes aren't very different, although they might look like the color has been drained a bit. The small branches jutting from his hair, almost like weak little horns, however, are far more different. He stares at the ground for a moment before looking at the survivors, and his gaze doesn't have any of the nervous energy, or concern or compassion they boy had shown before.
Not empty. But tired beyond belief. And, deeper than that, spiteful.]
Well.
[His voice, when he speaks, actually manages to have a little authority in it. Not the usual nervous, unsure patter Wirt usually has. No. He's very certain of whatever he believes or comes next, though it's clear he doesn't enjoy what he thinks he knows.]
I kind of hoped it wouldn't come to this. There's way less unpleasant ways to do this.
[Final Trial Start.]