“Tick tock, miss Delar,” the cold tenor of Law’s voice cuts through the void, jolting you out of your not-trance. “We really don’t have all day. As they say, justice waits for no one”. A quick shake of your still spinning head clears your vision enough for you to take stock of your new reality: void - endless white as far out as the eye can see, empty save an indeterminable space somewhere before you, 10 feet or thousands, which is occupied by a spinning mass of cogs all pushed up against each other bordering on chaotic in their perfect order, a gold band stretching around the circumference. Law is as silent as the endless void around him, save for his dagger-like voice. Law… you’ve never met anything even remotely like this creature before, yet it's name floats to you as easily as your own. Easier, even.
Despite the voice’s insistence it seems content enough to wait for you as your mind clears. Memory of your life before the moment is slow in coming, like drawing a thick drink through a too-thin straw. Your name comes first - Tessandra Delar, of that you are certain. You’re a… lawkeeper? Yes, that feels right - sheriff, you think, of a backwater town in northern Darthas, the name Cinderwood finding it's way onto your lips. “Your town, yes,” comes the sharp voice of Law once again. “It is fine, for the moment - time moves slower here in the Courtroom” Suddenly your perspective shifts, and you find yourself standing at Cinderwood’s city limit, a revolver in your hand and a curse on your lips. The place you were, are, and will be. Opposite you are the large centaur like creatures Harbin took to calling runners, and the sludge like substance at their feet. Around you are the bodies of the ragtag militia you formed to defend the town, lying dead and broken. Harbin is one of them. He meant something to you, though you aren’t quite sure what.
Again, a shift, and you’re back in the Courtroom. You never left. Law floats silently above you. He - despite the androgenous voice you’re certain it is a he - you realise, is waiting. You go to speak, but your voice fails you, rasping like sandpaper. You try again: “Who are you?”. Law is silent - clearly it has no intention to answer a question to which you already have the answer. Some small part of your mind is screaming out at you at the impossibility of your situation and that you should be back in Cinderwood (where of course, you already are), protecting, doing something, anything to keep those who have taken refuge in the town hall alive. Yet in the endless white expanse of the Courtroom, that part of you is distant, somehow. Easy to shove aside and ignore. A question comes to you, at last.
“Can you help us?” your voice cracks again, but Law understands - you watch as his spinning gears shift thoughtfully. “No,” he says, not unkindly. “Though I can certainly help you help yourself, Tessandra”. You say nothing, so Law continues: “I have been indisposed for some time now, and contacts which I once had upon your plane have long since withered. I seek new Arbiters.” You open your mouth in question, but Law speaks before you have the chance. “You’re a sheriff where you come from, I understand. A respectable profession indeed, and I commend you on a job well done thus far. Yet you simply serve Law, interpreting my will as best you can, with all the unfortunate imprecision that comes with the mortal condition. I am offering you a chance to become law, and maintain order through my infallible judgement”.
The silence rings loud in your ears after Law falls silent once again, yet even now you struggle to think of what to say. His words impart more meaning than just what he speaks: you understand implicitly somehow that becoming Law - an Arbiter, you think was the word - will let you defend Cinderwood with ease. The little voice in the back of your head screams at you, it recognises what you would lose in becoming someone else - a life full of feeling, a town filled with people you care for, and some that you love. A town full of people who will be nothing more than memories of a dead woman if you take Law up on his offer. Again however this voice is easy to ignore - not just because of the Courtrooms influence, but because the choice to the rational part of your brain is clear: Be consumed by the growing number of Runners and Sludge with the people of Cinderwood soon to follow, or become someone else, and protect them. You didn’t become a lawkeeper for a life of easy choices. You look to Law, and without a word spoken between you, an exchange is made.
Arbiter Torus finds herself stood on the city limit of Cinderwood, a revolver held up by her head, a curse now dying on her lips as tension and stress melt away. Around five feet away to her right lies the body of Harbin, and the Arbiter can hear only faintly Tess’ muffled cries from somewhere deep in the Courtroom. Torus on the other hand turns away impassively from the body - a death to her no sadder than any other of the countless this day has caused - and towards the rushing tide of Morgarr and Qulvo. A flick of her hand and it’s done - the Arbiter sheets the horizon in flame and turns the small army to ash. After pausing for a moment Torus turns, regarding the faces pressed against the glass of the town hall, watching on in awe. A child waves to her. She remembers the child of course, yet these memories hold no feeling. While Torus holds the memories, the feelings lie with you, in the Courtroom. Better that way the Arbiter thinks to herself, The Law should be objective.
