an admirable history

You begin to hear the sound of a bell tolling. It is quite insistent—quiet at first, then gradually getting louder. Depending on where you are, you'll notice that only those involved in the case are able to hear the bell: it seems to be within your head. You feel a draw back to the Embassy—a gentle tug at first, then a pull.

Your footsteps guide you to an open, cavernous hall in the middle of the Embassy, atop a large, fanned set of stairs. There are others beginning to gather here already.

The building is enormous and ornate, with high windows and strange, awful things carved into every available surface—tormented faces winding their way up giant pillars, for example.

Baal-Berith leads one group of people down a long hallway, towards, he claims, his office.

The rest are led by the slendercommittee down a long flight of stairs, through a winding labyrinth, then into a small common room, off of which there are several bedrooms.

From there, you are left to your own devices.

You come around to the sound of gently sloshing water lapping at the sides of a boat—? The shore? It's hard to place, but the rhythmic splash, clap is telling. Aside from that, the air is dreadfully, heavily silent, your own breaths barely audible, almost stifled. When you open your eyes, it's dark—at first (sorry, Itachi). If you let your vision adjust, you'll soon slowly be able to make out the shapes going on around you.

Dozens, hundreds of narrow boats, gliding forward through inky black waters, pointed at the prow, and manned by thin figures holding long oars and looking straight ahead. It's hard to make out the faces of those in boats opposite yours: hazy, obscure suggestions of companionship obscured by a fog that . . . isn't. You can see the procession of boats hundreds of feet in either direction, but seeing the faces of passengers in the other boats—? Impossible.

The sky up above is dark and starless, but not completely black; instead, it seems cloudy, and a dark grayish-red; dully lit by the reflection of lights from what may or may not be a city, far up ahead. That must be where you're headed. Otherwise, you get the feeling you might just drift on the water endlessly.

As for the water itself? . . . didn't you ever read any books? Watch any movies? Don't look. More importantly, don't touch.