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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
Eh, I didn't miss you either, but at least I didn't go out over a beverage.
no subject
[ Wow, someone's unrepentant. Guess he has an idea how this one might have gone out. ]
Is this how you're making yourself feel better, I wonder? What did you manage to do to yourself, then?
no subject
What, no one's been keeping you in the loop? That's boring. What's that for, then? Cartoons?
[He waves at the TV.]
no subject
[ He waves a hand at the minibar he's at, the piano, basically everything in the room outside of the confessional and pews? ]
All of this is, actually. You're welcome.
no subject
[He nods in Chuuya's direction.]
no subject
I'm aware some of the others here-- [ and by here, he means currently still over on the living side to the best of his knowledge ] --do.
And I learned some, in my childhood. Not sure how rusty you'd call me now, so don't worry, I won't subject you to the that sort of torture.
[ Maybe. ]
no subject
[Maybe there's others who can play, but he hasn't come across them, so. He doesn't care.]
I killed Ruin and got caught, by the way. To answer your other question.
no subject
[ A mildly raised brow. ]
Just Ruin, though? So we've been two gods for two weeks, huh. What, are we going to make it three for three this one?
[ He's aware that they aren't, actually-- knowing what happened during the announcement when Newt was zapped, in any case-- but it's not like he really cares to tell Newt one way or the other. And he's not even really trying to imply that Newt had any hand in Fortune's death, just commenting on what a mess they all are. Wryly: ]
Any living collaborators still on that side we should be aware of?
no subject
Mm, no, not just Ruin.
[But he's not ponying up all his secrets that easily.]
I've been working alone through most of this, so no. It was all me.
[And Luna, but that's different, and anyway, he's the one that actually did the murdering.]
no subject
[ oh no, it's he of the fragile ego. spirits save him from having to deal with another one of these. ]
Shame you had to be brought up short, huh.
no subject
[He will forever be bitter about that.]
They didn't even bother to puzzle out what I'd done before sentencing me to death.
no subject
[ stay mad, newt. ]
Would that really have been important if they already knew you had killed?
no subject
[It was buckwild up there, dude.]
Uh, yes? If I'm going to get caught, I want to get caught, you know?
no subject
[ Which does it count as if you want your getting caught to be as caught as you can get. ]
You know, if there was a rule forcing power usage, then is it really worth the effort of being bitter that you were caught by one?
no subject
no subject
And I imagine a good amount of them probably have their hands full juggling their other secrets and obligations as well. After all, I doubt everyone is actually trying to solve these trials.
no subject
[He'd still find a reason to be bitter about it, but, look, you can't prove that!!!]
Anyone smart is just going through the motions during trials. You think I gave two shits about solving your murder? I just helped out because going against the grain would put a target on my head.
no subject
[ Prove what, Newt!!! ]
And, should there be any other deaths in the same week which you may or may not be responsible for, incidentally gives you a good reason to not be involved in the investigation process for them.
no subject
You ought to shimmy on down from that high horse of yours. You're not the smartest person in the room, buddy.
no subject
[ why don't you make more assumptions about him, buddy. ]
no subject