You're not sure why you seem to have been separated from the rest of the pledges, but you have a feeling you don't want to know, either.
"Great," you think. "'Pledge Zeta Chi!' they said. 'Chicks dig the Tornadoes!' they said. Riiight. Probably fucking plants from the frat just trying to get another big freshman at their mercy."
You stumble as you are being shoved down a winding stone staircase. Regaining your balance is difficult with the sack over your head and all the formerly chuckling frat guys around you. You can't help but wonder, either, how the descent has made them abruptly stop said chuckling.
At first, you were thinking that any fraternity that met inside an old castle keep would be cool and exclusive, but now you're beginning to think it's because of some cruel, torturous initiation rituals that they'd never be able to get away with on-campus.
The pace slows mere seconds before you are kicked in the backs of your legs, dropping you to a kneeling position. When the stifling sack is rent from your head, your vision clears just in time to see a gleaming sword pointed directly at the midst of your neck. The man holding it is dressed in a black tuxedo, with an ornamental opera cape affixed to his epaulettes. He tosses his raven-black hair back from his eyes, and his too-refulgent-to-be-real shiny white teeth betrays his identity. This is Leonard Calamia, son of Dr. Calamia, one of the inventors of porcelain veneers. He's the douchebag Vice-President of Zeta Chi. His exploits of underhanded trickery and usurpatory actions against even the Zeta Chi President are all but legendary.
His triumphant sneer turns quickly to a snarl as he orders the head thug of the group to lift you onto the dais that he is currently standing on. "Yes, Meat. That will do... NOW, BROTHERS!" he yells as he takes a firm stance in front of you, the shining sword at your throat. You hear at least ten pistols cock from the shadows around the torch-lit pedestal, which also happens to have a blinding spotlight aimed at it.
Leonard pulls you close to his suprisingly rank breath and mutters, "Now, it's not just about pledging a silly frat house... this is a matter of life and death!" As he emphasizes the last word, he shoves a dusty tome into your left hand. The leather binding is dry and cracked, as if centuries old. Leonard reaches into the breast of his tux and removes a small, one-shot handgun which he presses stiffly into your chest before removing the sharp sword from against your neck and placing it firmly in your right hand.
His cold stare convinces you that whatever he is planning could definitely be very bad for you should you not comply, so you listen intently as he instructs you, "Open the tome to the red placemark, insert the sword into the stone sheath above your head, and then read the circled words."
You glance above your head. You hadn't even noticed the sheath there before. You part the book precisely where the red "placemark" happens to be. Lucky, perhaps. You slide the shimmering sword into the stone sheath above you, and then glance down at the words that are quite clearly circled in the book.
"LATIN?!?" you cry. "I don't know..." you begin to protest. Your whining is cut short by the pain coming from Leonard jabbing the barrel of his gun into your chest.
"DO IT!!" he growls.
You swallow hard and noticeably, beads of sweat beginning to form on your forehead. You look back at the words and squint (as if that will help)...
"Vita... Solvo... Veneficus... Nex!" you read out loud. The hilt of the sword feels warm in your hand. As you look upwards in surprise, a pulse-wave of energy streaks down your arm and blows everyone in the room backward from you. You watch, mouth agape, as everyone in the room rises slowly in the now fully-lit room. Every person there begins to be overshadowed by another wraithlike presence... as if two figures are present, one being superimposed over the other. As the shadowy figure envelopes Leonard's body, you see his tux disintegrate like particles of black ash. In its place are long, black robes, a ruby talisman hanging from a golden chain, a pointed black hat much like a Halloween witch, and but the merest gleam of a satisfied white fang from the shadows that hide his face.
It is then that you notice an ardent glow somewhat like fire emanating from his palms, giving off faint traces of crimson smoke.
Looking down at yourself, you are still wearing a black Metallica t-shirt and jeans. At that moment, the sword releases from the sheath above and lands heavily on the dais below, still clenched in your hand.
Looking quite nervously at Leonard (or whoever he is now), you see that the fires in his palms are growing.
"Great," you think. "'Pledge Zeta Chi!' they said. 'Chicks dig the Tornadoes!' they said. Riiight. Probably fucking plants from the frat just trying to get another big freshman at their mercy."
You stumble as you are being shoved down a winding stone staircase. Regaining your balance is difficult with the sack over your head and all the formerly chuckling frat guys around you. You can't help but wonder, either, how the descent has made them abruptly stop said chuckling.
At first, you were thinking that any fraternity that met inside an old castle keep would be cool and exclusive, but now you're beginning to think it's because of some cruel, torturous initiation rituals that they'd never be able to get away with on-campus.
The pace slows mere seconds before you are kicked in the backs of your legs, dropping you to a kneeling position. When the stifling sack is rent from your head, your vision clears just in time to see a gleaming sword pointed directly at the midst of your neck. The man holding it is dressed in a black tuxedo, with an ornamental opera cape affixed to his epaulettes. He tosses his raven-black hair back from his eyes, and his too-refulgent-to-be-real shiny white teeth betrays his identity. This is Leonard Calamia, son of Dr. Calamia, one of the inventors of porcelain veneers. He's the douchebag Vice-President of Zeta Chi. His exploits of underhanded trickery and usurpatory actions against even the Zeta Chi President are all but legendary.
His triumphant sneer turns quickly to a snarl as he orders the head thug of the group to lift you onto the dais that he is currently standing on. "Yes, Meat. That will do... NOW, BROTHERS!" he yells as he takes a firm stance in front of you, the shining sword at your throat. You hear at least ten pistols cock from the shadows around the torch-lit pedestal, which also happens to have a blinding spotlight aimed at it.
Leonard pulls you close to his suprisingly rank breath and mutters, "Now, it's not just about pledging a silly frat house... this is a matter of life and death!" As he emphasizes the last word, he shoves a dusty tome into your left hand. The leather binding is dry and cracked, as if centuries old. Leonard reaches into the breast of his tux and removes a small, one-shot handgun which he presses stiffly into your chest before removing the sharp sword from against your neck and placing it firmly in your right hand.
His cold stare convinces you that whatever he is planning could definitely be very bad for you should you not comply, so you listen intently as he instructs you, "Open the tome to the red placemark, insert the sword into the stone sheath above your head, and then read the circled words."
You glance above your head. You hadn't even noticed the sheath there before. You part the book precisely where the red "placemark" happens to be. Lucky, perhaps. You slide the shimmering sword into the stone sheath above you, and then glance down at the words that are quite clearly circled in the book.
"LATIN?!?" you cry. "I don't know..." you begin to protest. Your whining is cut short by the pain coming from Leonard jabbing the barrel of his gun into your chest.
"DO IT!!" he growls.
You swallow hard and noticeably, beads of sweat beginning to form on your forehead. You look back at the words and squint (as if that will help)...
"Vita... Solvo... Veneficus... Nex!" you read out loud. The hilt of the sword feels warm in your hand. As you look upwards in surprise, a pulse-wave of energy streaks down your arm and blows everyone in the room backward from you. You watch, mouth agape, as everyone in the room rises slowly in the now fully-lit room. Every person there begins to be overshadowed by another wraithlike presence... as if two figures are present, one being superimposed over the other. As the shadowy figure envelopes Leonard's body, you see his tux disintegrate like particles of black ash. In its place are long, black robes, a ruby talisman hanging from a golden chain, a pointed black hat much like a Halloween witch, and but the merest gleam of a satisfied white fang from the shadows that hide his face.
It is then that you notice an ardent glow somewhat like fire emanating from his palms, giving off faint traces of crimson smoke.
Looking down at yourself, you are still wearing a black Metallica t-shirt and jeans. At that moment, the sword releases from the sheath above and lands heavily on the dais below, still clenched in your hand.
Looking quite nervously at Leonard (or whoever he is now), you see that the fires in his palms are growing.
Choose:
- Leap from the dais and attempt to flee via the stone stairwell that you got here from.
- Lift the sword in defense. There appears to be a fight brewing.
- Cast the sword quickly at the ruby talisman (If movies have taught you anything, then there's a 90% chance the ruby is the source of Leonard's power.)!
- ID: 58623
- Hits: 215
