THE GRAVEYARD

[divus]

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."

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!

full navigation.

locations ♦ taken ♦ profiles ♦ weekly curfew ♦ murder proposals
ic rulebook ♦ temple offerings ♦ private convos

Comments

[hymned]

Didn't she say she liked the mask theming? I might be wrong. It's been a little while since we all arrived here, after all.

[ wth it's week 5 already. can we go back in time to w1 please. ]

These bells are still a lot more unfortunate than any of the other things the gods here have done for the aesthetic, though. Can't say I ever really saw what might've been under all the pomp and circumstance, so hearing that... actually makes this all seem a little quaint, actually.

[goatsongs]

Apparently the reason for the masks is because some people might be more swayed to join a hotter god. So no using your looks to get followers.

[It makes sense but also it's stupidly annoying.]

[hymned]

That seems... incredibly shallow, but all right.

[ and mildly insulting, almost? picking a god on the basis of who would be most bangable, or something, sounds a little suspect on multiple levels. ]

It's not like that's really stopped some people anyway?

[ for example, newt. ]

[goatsongs]

[For example, they could talk about anyone other than that guy, so:]

Or maybe it's the reverse. Patience seems pretty into you.

[Not bad taste.]

[hymned]

The curse of good looks, I guess. Perhaps one of the few decent things I managed to inherit, though sometimes I think it might be a little more trouble than it's worth.

[ stalker fangirls. ]

[goatsongs]

And is now one of those times?

[ships it]

[hymned]

I think it's a little early to say. You know what they say about assuming.

[ how many people is julius being shipped with now ]

[goatsongs]

Fair.

[...chuuya swings his legs a little.]

Can't say I'm not curious about what happens if you fall.

[hymned]

I'm not going to push you.

[ but he's also not going to stop chuuya if he's really that curious? ]

[goatsongs]

Kay. I'll be back whenever.

[fucking yeets himself off the side of the void.]

[hymned]

[ i can't believe chuuya's fucking dead, again ]

[goatsongs]

[Soon enough Chuuya returns, swaying a little bit (but that's normal for him anyway).]

I was expecting something more.

[hymned]

I'm still here, aren't I?

What did you expect, really?

[goatsongs]

Horrifying visions of a swirling void, maybe? Just seems a little anticlimactic.

[hymned]

We already have that, don't we.

[goatsongs]

Not horrifying ones. Just regular void.

[hymned]

You know, at least a swirling void gives you visual contrast. Imagine a void with absolutely nothing at all.

You wouldn't know whether you were coming or going or falling or not.

[goatsongs]

...Sounds kind of peaceful, actually.

[especially if the fucking bells shut up for a minute]

[hymned]

... Really? I'd imagine it's the loneliest sort of death.

The only way to go is via starvation, and your only company is your thoughts and regrets.

[goatsongs]

Better than the way I went. -The first way.

[Not sure if it's better than drowning, but.]

At least you'd still have your thoughts.

[hymned]

All things considered, I'm not sure that I'd rather drag it out.

Besides, I make for terrible company if I'm allowed to think too long.

[goatsongs]

Still better than brain disease.

[hymned]

Yes, that would certainly be true.

[ ... ]

How morbid is it of us, exactly, to be discussing preferred methods of death?

[goatsongs]

We're dead people, I think we've got the right if anybody does.

[at least they aren't Dazai.]

[hymned]

Perhaps once we're out of here, I'll send a note making sure to specify my preferences.

[ wait. ]

... Actually, ah, no. I promised not to do that again.