You are now TEREZI PYROPE.
Your nose is flooded with the scent of sweat and plastic. You can hear the faint creakings of rope, the silent hum of wind as it grazes the damp edges of the pit beneath you, like a thumb drawn along the rim of a wine glass. The breeze sways the scales beneath your feet, the gilded plate scraping against your rubber soles.
You know this place like the back of your frond. You've been here in movies, TV shows, comics, and in roleplays - most of all in roleplays.
You've always dreamed of making it here... on the side of the legislacerator, not that of the pariahhesiastes.