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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!
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People like to think they're special.
[Chuuya's finished up with bookshelves and is now adding a writing desk.]
Even if there's only one of you, nobody likes to be told they're replaceable. Forgettable. Not important in the flow of history.
[In that sense, Chuuya is one of the lucky ones.]
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How convenient for so many that they'll never have to confront such a thought, huh.
[ this is very much a meandering, winding path; it almost feels like he's doubled back on his route at least once or twice, but no, there's the twin trail of white chalk to suggest otherwise. still, hm...
do you think we're at a good point to yell at danielle for deets or. ]
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also I forgot danielle was going to give us deets ever]
Won't they? Doesn't everybody ask sooner or later, in different words, what the meaning of their life is?
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For most people that sort of thing stays a doubt in the back of their head at most, doesn't it?
[ well do you want to ping her or should i-- ]
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Maybe. I can't understand what it's like to be anything but a poet, anyway.
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Another cliff? Don't tell him he went all this way for nothing, come on Patience.
Does the hallway open up a little, at least? Either way: ]
Well, I think I've found whatever little bit it was she was telling us to go look for?
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[Chuuya will finally leave his library to go follow after Julius and peer over the cliff's edge.
Don't push him off or anything.]
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[ The best he's got is something about rams, sheep, eternal sleep as a metaphor for death or something.
If it's like the altar room, though... Still, no offering bowl. A platform instead? ]
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[buuut his ego isn't that big.]
Rams are symbolic for strength, leadership, determination... It's been associated with a bunch of gods, often heads of the pantheon.
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[ He's not going to respond to the Goat Songs thing, but if Chuuya wants to pretend he's not going to burst his bubble. ]
Funny, how it looks like there's only one thing missing here. I suppose it could just be incidental, but.
Do you want to do the honors, or should I?
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Chuuya pulls out his chalk again and draws a nice offering bowl right where one should be.]
I was going to draw a mailbox before, but this is a little more on brand.
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[ It probably messes with your color vision, having grey fires as your lighting in a monochrome setting. Hm. He's not going to deny that the sensation of that hollowness lifting is a little odd, though. ]
If we're going to try to send things back to that side... It'll probably help if we actually have things to send back, huh. Do you think there's anything we'll need besides all the writing implements you've no doubt set us up with by now?
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[careless whisper starts playing]
You could draw a kitchen, food's always a classic.
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[ get that careless whisper out of here this is already bad enough with how much of a thot Patience is
A sheepish, chagrined sort of laugh. ]
I've never been terribly useful in the kitchen, and Ludger's barred me from messing with ours too much. If you have me drawing up the plans for one just watch, I'll end up with a bunch of useless extra details and forget something important like actually having any utensils instead.
I wonder if there might be an easier way to keep track of what's happening over there, though. Instead of relying on offerings they might not even know can reach us, I mean.
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[we'll get back to actually important things in a minute, probably]
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[ or maybe as long as they're quieter than the bells everything will be fine ]
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[react when he's hitting on you]
For observing the others, maybe a TV? I'd say a telescope but I don't know where you'd point it.
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[ yeah he probably knows exactly what he's doing. but now is he intentionally playing hard to get, or just dashing chuuya's hopes and dreams, period... ]
I asked about a TV earlier. She played coy about it, but I suppose anything's worth a shot. Unless they really want to stick to a theme, in which case... what, mirrors? Scrying pools?
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The hard part is sketching something that'll do what we want it to instead of just being a regular mirror or a pool of water.
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Mmmm. Well, if nothing else we could still probably do with some of those around here, though I'm not sure that the landing is the best place for it.
If we drew windows, it'd probably just give us more of the same, huh?
[ the unending swirling VOID... ]
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[As a normal window, pool of water, TV, etc.]
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thread end