trialofheartsrpg

[trialofheartsrpg]

the polaroid prints slowly. there's a figure, reflected and reflected again in the shadows. looming, ominous. undefinable. it might be a friend. it very well might not be.

[trialofheartsrpg]

“This story happened a long time ago (..) It is already over. Nothing can be done to change it. It is a story of love and loss, brotherhood and betrayal, courage and sacrifice and the death of dreams. It is a story of the blurred line between our best and our worst. It is the story of the end of an age. A strange thing about stories— Though this all happened so long ago and so far away that words cannot describe the time or the distance, it is also happening right now. Right here. It is happening as you read these words. (..) The end starts now.”

vincent burghardt, anatomical study. + uquiz.

[trialofheartsrpg]

TASK 2.5 :: THE ITEM.

DURING THE INTERROGATION . . .

{ ✦ } Several items were found missing from THE TRAGEDY's quarters. Did you take anything that belonged to them? Did you see them in possession of anyone else?

Milo processes the list, foot tapping.

"I don't know anything about most of these."

A truth. He had never placed much interest into Vincent's private affects. His eyebrows furrow, trying to recall any of them.

"The last place I saw the watch was…on Vincent, I believe; so if it wasn't there at his death, that may be a good place to start."

A likely assumption. He didn't know it to be true, but he wouldn't be surprised if it was. A small hesitation elapses, the pause stretching for more than a few seconds.

"…the vial, I found. It was lying on a table in the museum—but I don't know who placed it there. I didn't even know it was Vince's."

All true, mostly. This early in the game, it was better to build up a rapport with honesty than it was to try and turn the tables on the masters' heads.

"And I took it, yes. I've been trying to decipher the symbol on the front. No luck as of right now, but…I could always let you know if I find anything."

The offer hangs from his lips, bouncing off a half-raised shoulder. When the other woman betrays her answer, eyes darting to his hands, his pockets—he has to resist the urge to smile.

"Ah…it's not on me, I'm afraid. Apologies." TRUTH.

AFTER THAT NIGHT . . .

torn from the pages of a journal entry of one Milo Foss.

– vial: found within the scales of Lady Justice. – depositor: unknown. – liquid: clear, green tinge, viscous. tends to "ooze" in drips and drops. – unable to test prior to interrogation; was moved away from equipment soon after. tests have not gotten far. – research: symbol on outside. appears to be alchemical in origin, though the exact definition remains elusive. clearly obscure. further research is required. – final results: inconclusive.

[trialofheartsrpg]

POST-EVENT :: the phone call.

The phone screen stared patiently up at his face, the blinking cursor waiting for him to input the numbers he hadn't touched in months. They were still present, burned into his mind with the ferocity of a thousand suns. He could still see the black ink on the white page in Vince's hand, passing it to him with an easy gesture, barely a thought. Now, his memorization skills had once again landed him with a job he didn't particularly want to complete.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly punched in the numbers on the small flip phone keypad; one by one by one. The phone beeped in elation after each digit, though whether cheering him on or mocking him mercilessly he couldn't tell. Doing this so soon after the game was perhaps a bit…obvious. Quite possibly the most obvious thing he'd done since the Trials had begun. But it didn't much matter. Vincent was dead, and nothing he could say or do was going to change that fact. The least he could do was leave a notice.

The phone beeped shrilly and began to dial. The metal was cold against his ear; despite having sat in his pocket for most of the night, it had been laying in his hand for much more than a little while, exposed to the elements. The earpiece felt loud next to his ear, and he did his best not to wince at every ring of the dial tone, ignoring the way his heart hammered in his chest.

After a few minutes of ringing, the familiar sound of the voicemail began to play. He let out a breath of loose relief, grateful that this wouldn't be quite as hard as he'd been afraid.

"Hello, this is Milo—I'm calling with an…update. Of sorts. It's about your son."

His voice couldn't fail him now.

"There was…an incident on campus."

An accident wasn't accurate enough. An incident at least implied something deeper.

"Vincent was caught up in it and…is no longer with us."

Dead air filled the majority of the remaining time on the recording.

"When you get a chance, feel free to call me back. Or don't. Your decision."

The line monotonously clicked dead without any further input. Silence fell over the dorm room once more. Milo stared at the flip phone in his hand, as if willing it to go off. Call back while I'm still prepared; if you catch me off-guard at a bad moment, this could end badly. But it didn't buzz, and he didn't budge.

[trialofheartsrpg]

𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆

you take the photo with trepid hands, wanting to document your presence in the manor before it is too late. you've been imagining joining the shadows alongside the tragedy, your essence taken and stashed away. so you angle the vintage camera towards yourself, you who is uncharacteristically tucked away in the morning light of your homeland. let them not forget you, you think, as you sign your name with a flourish.

[trialofheartsrpg]

THE PHOTO — “shall i compare thee to a summer’s day?”

the camera feels awkward and clunky in your hands as you stare out the window. what will you remember from your time in italy? you lift the camera up, press the button and the shutters close. before you know it, today’s sunset is immortalised in a picture, just beyond the rolling greens. it’s not as beautiful but at least it’s not as fleeting. this is what you choose to remember instead of the threat that’s looming over you.

[trialofheartsrpg]

He finds it in a cupboard just under the window overlooking the grounds. Heavy, old… it smelled like mold and rust.

Maz’ face contorts into a grimace as he wipes his hands on his shirt before wandering around the villa with the camera lazily going back and forth between his hands, far too recklessly handling something so old (and more importantly not his).

He watches people file through the house before pausing just by the French doors that open into the garden. The pool.

There… he sees him. He presses his lips together into a thin line before lining up the shot and taking it. The Polaroid prints and he slips it into his pocket before carelessly propping the camera onto a forgettable shelf to be picked up by another.

[trialofheartsrpg]

# A HAUNTING, CAPTURED IN LOVING MEMORY.

italy is good for letting the time pass, but not much use for forgetting.

the camera found him. not the other way around.

cassiel had only meant to look for a clean towel. something dry and laundered the evening prior. but the linen closet gave way to rot and wood and a latch that stuck on the turn. and then the villa opened up to him and unveiled a camera. as if the walls themselves knew of his inclination for the analog. the labor in having to do the smaller things for yourself. and then— the shape. he doesn't remember lifting it. only the moment after: standing in the hallway, the afternoon light thin and watery, everything edged with last night's glamour. he raises the camera to the nearest window, just to see if the lens saw what he had.

blurred by the smoked glass, half-obscured, backlit by nothing but downlighting and memory. a figure leans in from the other side. one hand pressed to the pane. not knocking. not asking to be let in. waiting.

the shape is wrong in all the right ways.

he wants it to be vincent. he knows it isn’t.

[trialofheartsrpg]

[ WE DO NOT FOLLOW KARUNA AFTER SHE MOVES FROM THE DESK; INSTEAD, WE LINGER ON THE POLAROID --- AND ON THE ADDRESS WRITTEN UPON AN ENVELOPE. AN ADDRESS THAT APPEARED IN DOCUMENTS VINCENT GAVE HER ALL THOSE MONTHS AGO. ]

the photograph, taken in the dark, is focused on the staircase of the mansion. but in the bottom right corner, a slightly blurred figure descends the stairs. at first glance, the figure is unrecognizable. but those who would know the person well would spy the telltale fashion and the figure's movement, all captured in frame. and on the edge, in karuna's neat, tight scrawl: with love, from karuna tiwari.

the threat lingers. but it isn't a warning. it is an admission. the recipient will know that what's to come was committed by her hands.

[trialofheartsrpg]

DEAR [ YOU ], LET'S CONTINUE ACT II.

The oak doors swing open with deliberate slowness, revealing calculated opulence that awaits your arrival: your long-awaited dinner. Thirteen chairs stand in silent anticipation around the mahogany table. Thirteen, when tonight you number only twelve.

The empty seat pulses with absence. A void that draws the eye.

Is it for THE TRAGEDY you all pretend not to remember? Or perhaps for THE OBVIOUS that none dare name? Maybe it waits for the UNKNOWN GUEST whose very existence hangs over this gathering like incense smoke.

WILL YOU FIND WHAT'S MISSING?

══════════════════

Members, welcome to your second part of the second plot arc. Or, your characters' live mock trial. More details will be posted on Discord shortly.

[trialofheartsrpg]

A half-drunk wine glass on the terrace railing, catching the reflection of the moon—but the real subject is what’s just out of focus behind it: a set of muddy footprints leading back toward the villa’s east wing.

The terrace was quiet, dimly lit by moonlight and the memory of footsteps. Sarai noticed the wine glass first—resting on the stone railing like someone had stepped away mid-thought. Still half-full, still warm. Her eyes narrowed. The scent was familiar. Too familiar.

She leaned in. Red fruit, dark oak, that telltale note of violet. Her mother’s favorite vintage.

A bottle sat nearby unopen, propped neatly against the balustrade like a calling card. Same label. Same year. A small slip of paper hung from the neck on a pale silk ribbon, the handwriting so elegant it almost distracted from the words:

“For what is inherited cannot be hidden forever.”

Sarai’s stomach turned—not with fear, but with recognition. Her mother had said something like that once. Years ago. About bloodlines. About duty. About the things we carry whether we choose to or not.

And now, apparently, about footprints.

She didn’t touch the glass. Didn’t need to. The message had already been poured.

[trialofheartsrpg]

one day i’ll be a part of this group… one day… for now… i will watch longingly from afar in the least creepy way possible

Dear anon, should I let you in on a secret? I really should, shouldn't I.

You can look forward to 3 new skeletons after Arc II is complete.

[trialofheartsrpg]

WHAT YOUR FAMILY SAYS ABOUT YOU.

Where is it that you come from? Just how complex does your family tree get?

══════════════════

ARC II, TASK.

⟡ WITHOUT revealing anything about their SECRET/RUMORS, you are hereby invited to provide an overview of your character's family and/or strong connections that define their background, wealth, upbringing.

[trialofheartsrpg]

DEAR MIMIC,

Our Jack of Clubs, YASIEL NORIEGA (written by KON, portrayed by Lizeth Selene), we are thrilled to welcome you to the TRIAL OF HEARTS.

"THE MIMIC is… Well, the newest addition to a long list of names people call you by. A truly loathsome label. You hate it for everything it insinuates, prodding you where you’re still soft, taunting you almost. It’s disgusting. But you’ll be damned — it’s as apt as any name gets." The quiet power lies in how your version of THE MIMIC never begs for pity. Not even for forgiveness. They're a force of their own making, dangerous in their precision and tragic in their truth. I really enjoyed the slight hints to unreliable narration... how fitting. Let's stir up some long-awaited trouble.

⟡ Your checklist can be found here. The link the RPG's Discord will be sent in exchange for your account. You have 24 hours!

[trialofheartsrpg]

+ 01 application.

[trialofheartsrpg]

Dear all,

Our exclusive round of SUBMISSIONS is now closed. If you've submitted your application, but haven't seen the app count update, it's because I'm still... sleeping.

Nonetheless, a heartfelt thank you to all.

[trialofheartsrpg]

+ 02 applications.