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THE GRAVEYARD
THE LANDING
You’re having an out of body experience. That’s how it starts, dying. There isn’t any pain anymore, and for a moment, not much of anything else. Your thoughts are a dim hum in the back of your brain, the tips of your fingers seem miles away. Despite that, you find yourself moving, moving, moving from the last place you were in your own body and forward, until you reach a door that you haven’t seen since the beginning of the game. A door that wouldn’t open. A door cold to the touch and seeping with mist. It opens before you, and as if of someone else’s design you walk through it. As it closes behind you, you get the distinct feeling that if you turned around, you’d find it vanished.
What takes up most of your attention, however, is the tolling of church bells. They clang in rhythmic, almost maddening persistence--seems you’re just going to have to try and ignore them, as they show no signs of slowing or stopping, wherever they are.
Once the cacophony becomes easier to manage, the bong, bong, bonging evening out to a pulse inside your ears, you realize that where you are seems to be a world that's incomplete. The floor is nothing but a landing of invisible matter, a spooled red carpet leading you to a few rows of pews and a lone confessional.
You will notice, immediately ahead of you, a cute little mailbox fit for a suburban home. It bids you welcome, though the cheery paint job is a bit muted in this dark place.
Simple and neat furnishings dot the edges of where the landing seems to be: railings mark the unseen edges and draperies and sconces float in the void, giving an illusion of walls. Be careful, however, because they can easily be fallen through if leaned against. Fortunately, someone seems to have kept that in consideration, as a helpful sign warns just this.
On one side of the confessional, a room with bookshelves, a writing table, and pens and paper has been provided: a minimalist study for when you need a bit of privacy to think. On the other side, a wing of dorm-sized, lockable bedrooms provide another bit of space to oneself. There may not be enough for everyone, but nobody really has to sleep--so just take turns!
To the left of the pews, it looks like a miniature bar has been crafted with a small but decent selection of drinks. There's a small television seated on the counter, but it only seems to ever work two times a week: the week's opening announcement on Monday mornings, and Saturdays, tuning in at the beginning of the trial and tuning back out again at its conclusion. There's also a piano to one side of the bar, allowing anyone to provide musical accompaniment to their drinking.
Perhaps most interestingly, an ornate black doorway at the far end of the room leads to a curving hallway that ultimately leads to what appears to be a temple. It's similar to the altar room they'll remember from the living side, but there are no power inscriptions, and the only furnishings are wavering, grayscale candles on the walls that never seem to burn low and great sculptures of leaping rams. The two black-marble statues meet in the center, curved horns joined above a platform, decorated with nothing but a lone offering bowl. The dark marble of the item is cracked, but it seems like it'll still get the job done. Try sending something, if you wish!
Maybe this place is meant to be more. But for now, Patience is the only notable figure you have to place your attention on, and she comes forward to welcome you immediately.
"Welcome to my dominion," she greets in her usual, cheerful candor, and points at your hand, where you hold your godly token. "Now that you've been eliminated, I'll take that back and return it on your behalf. Don't worry, though, I'm not leaving you empty handed."
What takes up most of your attention, however, is the tolling of church bells. They clang in rhythmic, almost maddening persistence--seems you’re just going to have to try and ignore them, as they show no signs of slowing or stopping, wherever they are.
Once the cacophony becomes easier to manage, the bong, bong, bonging evening out to a pulse inside your ears, you realize that where you are seems to be a world that's incomplete. The floor is nothing but a landing of invisible matter, a spooled red carpet leading you to a few rows of pews and a lone confessional.
You will notice, immediately ahead of you, a cute little mailbox fit for a suburban home. It bids you welcome, though the cheery paint job is a bit muted in this dark place.
Simple and neat furnishings dot the edges of where the landing seems to be: railings mark the unseen edges and draperies and sconces float in the void, giving an illusion of walls. Be careful, however, because they can easily be fallen through if leaned against. Fortunately, someone seems to have kept that in consideration, as a helpful sign warns just this.
On one side of the confessional, a room with bookshelves, a writing table, and pens and paper has been provided: a minimalist study for when you need a bit of privacy to think. On the other side, a wing of dorm-sized, lockable bedrooms provide another bit of space to oneself. There may not be enough for everyone, but nobody really has to sleep--so just take turns!
To the left of the pews, it looks like a miniature bar has been crafted with a small but decent selection of drinks. There's a small television seated on the counter, but it only seems to ever work two times a week: the week's opening announcement on Monday mornings, and Saturdays, tuning in at the beginning of the trial and tuning back out again at its conclusion. There's also a piano to one side of the bar, allowing anyone to provide musical accompaniment to their drinking.
Perhaps most interestingly, an ornate black doorway at the far end of the room leads to a curving hallway that ultimately leads to what appears to be a temple. It's similar to the altar room they'll remember from the living side, but there are no power inscriptions, and the only furnishings are wavering, grayscale candles on the walls that never seem to burn low and great sculptures of leaping rams. The two black-marble statues meet in the center, curved horns joined above a platform, decorated with nothing but a lone offering bowl. The dark marble of the item is cracked, but it seems like it'll still get the job done. Try sending something, if you wish!
Maybe this place is meant to be more. But for now, Patience is the only notable figure you have to place your attention on, and she comes forward to welcome you immediately.
"Welcome to my dominion," she greets in her usual, cheerful candor, and points at your hand, where you hold your godly token. "Now that you've been eliminated, I'll take that back and return it on your behalf. Don't worry, though, I'm not leaving you empty handed."
OOC NOTES
Hello, eliminated competitors, and welcome to the graveyard. Although it isn't much to look at, now, this area will be growing and expanding in time with the help of your characters' actions and participation in weekly events. What they unlock will have an impact on the living side, overarching plot elements, and ways to communicate between both planes!
When it seems like there isn't much to do, there's always one option left: gathering information. So sit back, enjoy the afterlife, and put on your thinking cap!
When it seems like there isn't much to do, there's always one option left: gathering information. So sit back, enjoy the afterlife, and put on your thinking cap!
no subject
... I'd hoped for us to not have to meet again like this, but I suppose it can't be helped. Hello again, Patience. I hope you've been doing well, but unfortunately this isn't just a social visit.
Are you able to give me a tally of everyone who's- wherever the others are? Wherever it is Shiki and Itachi are, I mean, considering they're not here with us.
[ Is Rachel over there, because while I, the player, know, Julius on the other hand uh. ]
no subject
[She runs off the names for him: Ava, Saint-Germain, Itachi, Rachel, Shiki, Hector...and Fortune.]
no subject
Fortune-? Ah. Of course. Her statue was in the courtyard, after all...
[ He doesn't quite react to the Rachel thing beyond closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. So that, too, was in vain. Story of his life, honestly. ]
... Say, Patience. The other gods are generally aware of most of what goes on, even if they're not necessarily always present. Has it been the same for you, given that you're meant to be the mediator?
[ A tiebreak vote. Catra said maybe she just wanted the entertainment, but somehow that seems incredibly shallow even for gods of this sort. ]
And if so, has this competition turned out to be exactly what you wanted it to be?
no subject
[As for his second question, her stance and tone become confusing.]
Exactly...what I wanted? I don't know if I'd say there's anything I really wanted out of it. I'm just doing what everyone asked me to do. Why?
no subject
[ He shrugs, a little mildly, but the corner of his mouth quirks faintly. ]
You must have had your reasons for choosing one way or the other even if you're not involved. Care to share, or are you not the sort to kiss and tell?
no subject
[She wanders over to the closest pew and sits down, curling her legs underneath her.]
Okay, so...here's how it happened.
[Patience puts her hands together.]
At this point, the contest had already been decided on--it was going to happen, one way or another, because they wanted a leader. Everyone was allowed to throw their name into the running, if they wanted, but I'd already said I wasn't interested because I don't have a vision for the world unlike the rest of them...so I'm okay with helping out however anyone wants me to once a winner is decided on. After that point, I didn't participate in any of the discussion because I wasn't involved, but somehow I guess they had a 6/6 tie on whether they wanted competitors to be able to allow eliminations: both of each other and of their own gods that dropped down to zero followers.
[She pauses, to let him absorb that first part before getting to the crux of his question.]
I didn't hear anyone else's reasons either way, because the whole point was, like, for me to remain impartial, right? So they asked me to just make a decision based on my own feelings on that one issue at hand. So I thought...well...if everyone's clear when they're given the invitation that it's a competition where anything goes, up to and including death--which is reversible, of course--wouldn't that make them all the more motivated to play as seriously as possible? That way we know we get the most deserving winner, and everyone playing feels that they've earned their granted wishes.
[...]
That's not to say I expected people would actually jump straight to that option just because it was on the table. If anything I expected people would, like, try to avoid it...
no subject
Was there no real need to elect a leader outside of what all the gods decided they wanted?
[ Is this entire competition, in fact, all completely pointless, and could have been avoided if the gods had opted for trustfalls and teambuilding events instead of deciding one had to be the head? It still doesn't change the fact that he agreed to it, and would still do so again if offered in the same circumstances, but really. ]
Your logic makes sense, though. It's simply another test of the traits inherent to all of us, some of which your pantheon is apparently supposed to embody, if everyone involved knew what they were getting into from the start.
[ Though it either seems some people were in denial or forgot, but. ]
... That said, I'm not sure that playing for keeps really emphasizes whether or not any given competitor here really supports their patron, given that I assume at least a good portion of us are here simply for the promise of a wish.
[ Like himself! He'd certainly been more wary of the gods than some at first, and by the time it became more apparent that networking with the gods would be valuable, well... ]
As for how eager some of us apparently are to get our hands dirty... If nothing else, to some, the promise that all harm will be undone absolves them of responsibility. [ a shrug, and mildly posited hypothetical: ] Why would they avoid it if, in their eyes, they'd done nothing wrong?
no subject
[She makes a contemplative sound.]
It could have been simple enough to just socialize for six weeks and then ask, who's your favorite, but everyone would already be bribing and lying and coercing one another as it were. There never would be a fair game, bloodless or not. At least, not with these players, I don't think.
no subject
[ A social experiment... Some things never change with beings like these, huh.
He sighs a small breath before tilting his head, shifting his weight, and loosely crossing his arms. Overall his air simply remains neutral, or mildly curious at most. ]
What do you think of it all? How we've been handling things so far. Not in a sense of the game that you're not talking part in, of course, but just what you think of us overall as. I don't know. People? Representatives? A sample population?