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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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We don't need to eat, or sleep, or... anything else of the sort, here. I'm not sure whether we really count as still physically being embodied or not?
Perhaps your hearing will be fine when we're returned to our bodies in the end, with no true flesh to damage?
[ It's only conjecture, but he's trying. ]
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I don't know. If you asked me a week or so ago I would have said that I don't necessarily trust Patience to truly be as neutral as she claims.
[ He shrugs, though. ]
That said, she has as much or as little speaking for her honesty as any of the other gods here. I suppose it's just a matter of whether or not you care to take the gods at their word.
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[someone tell her it was actually luna]
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... I'm not sure it might have been Ruin, actually.
You see, she's dead too.
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[ and also her death was mentioned by Cunning in their morning news, though not by name.
... he suddenly gets the feeling he knows what 'more than his fair share' might have meant when Cunning said it, because wow. somebody's been busy, apparently. ]
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[ guess who doesn't know jack about what went down last week's trial and only knows about the dead in the other gy from asking patience ]
The last I knew, Ruin still had followers. Do you mean to say he was collaborating with them and convinced them to leave so that she would be left vulnerable?
--Also, before I let myself get too sidetracked, I'm sorry this happened to you.
[ they're all coming back, apparently, but still, it's obviously left her shaken. ]
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...Thank you.
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Ah. [ blackly, though he shakes his head a little: ] I wonder how Piety's been doing, then.
There's no need to thank me for saying what any decent person should. Are you all right, though? There isn't much to do here, but... you could probably find some corner to hole up in for a while if you didn't want to have to deal with [ certain ] people much just yet.
[ ... ]
Or, you could try your luck with sending things back to the other side, if there's anything you still want to say to them.
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[ time is hard when you don't sleep and there's no clear passage of day or night. ]
Honestly speaking, I don't really know whether or not things can actually make it back there, or in what condition they'll be in once they arrive. But it looks similar to the altar room back over there, and accepted the offering bowl we created to complete it.
It took some doing to make it available, though, so if your surprise is related to how we haven't sent anything back yet... well. There you go.
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[ ...ah, but oh, is that what he sounds like? ]
I've already left something there, so I'm really not trying to sound like I'm using you as an experiment, or anything like that.
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But no, you're right. I wonder if that's because it's not really an afterlife after all, just a holding zone. Perhaps it's not equipped for an extended stay simply because we aren't expected to be here that long.
[ he wonders, though. ]
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... Perhaps that's for the better, maybe? Though I suppose that's contingent on how much, exactly, you do or don't remember of the event.
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[She picks at the bandages covering almost her entire body. When you look hard enough, she doesn't seem entirely together, either.]
I remember dying, and then waking up.
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... If it's a bad memory, then forget I asked. I'm sorry to have brought it up.
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No offense meant, but you're hardly the scariest person I've seen.
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[ it's the jp name so shh i can take liberties if i want ]
There are also a great deal of Elympions who would consider people like... Jude, for example, a monster because in our world he was able to cast spirit artes.
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