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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
[Keyword: try. She uses a finger as a bookmark and taps the volume gently against a knee. She's curled with both feet up on the pew, not that it makes it all that much more comfortable, but.]
Of course, even if they win this week, I doubt they'll stop the deaths.
no subject
Anyone who honestly though they could prevent killing in this game doesn't deserve to be here.
no subject
[It's not exactly rocket science, given what's happened so far.
And of course there's enough of them who know what the trials are really for, despite both the gods' and individuals' ways of attempting to circumvent it.]
Either way, it's the least efficient way to run this game.
no subject
Unfortunately that was shot down by several persons, I believe, during that group meeting we all had a few weeks ago.
[ which begs the question: if the gods really need people to agree with them, why bring in a bunch of skeptics. ]
no subject
[She gives a little shrug.]
Their solution, of course, was to talk to all the gods again. As though we had endless time and luxury.
[Is it a little grouchy? Just a little bit. Her expression smooths out after that, though; she's said most of her piece already, and there's no real point in rehashing it.]
no subject
no subject
[Be careful what you wish for, and all that.]
no subject
[ He settles his head onto one hand, letting his elbow rest upon the counter. ]
I wonder how much of their humanity these young gods retain.
no subject
[And some are worse at acting godly than others. "Some". There's the faintest spark of amusement in her eye, maybe.]
Of course, not all of them are human to begin with.
[But she knows what you mean, probably.]
no subject
[ ... But maybe the fact that it's all impermanent in the end is why some of them can give themselves so easily to the fantasy of the bonds here. ]
Which ones weren't, anyway? I heard the general talk about Justice, but if some of the others weren't then I'm afraid I missed out on that information.
no subject
[Granted, she didn't delve quite as deeply into the divine soap opera as she perhaps should have. She just didn't care quite enough, in some aspects, and in others she was tired of their bickering, and in still others she simply had better things to do.
Like stabbing them, I guess.]
Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference between the players and the hosts, when it came to favors, and biases.
no subject
[ The gods also being players in this game seems a lot more apt that way, somehow. ]
I suppose the truth of things will likely come out at the end of all this, when there are no more secrets to be kept.
[ or at least masks for the sole sake of preventing people from siding with the god they think is hottest. ]
no subject
[He shrugs.]
It'd be a boring resolution, anyway.
no subject
[ he takes a sip from whatever drink he's nursing- probably some sort of blended whisky, though it's not quite ex machina. ]
Call me boring, maybe. After seeing over a hundred worlds destroyed, I think I've had plenty enough exciting for a lifetime.
no subject
This competition was never meant to end that peacefully. People like me wouldn't have been invited if it was intended to be a nice little discussion to end things via democracy.
no subject
After all, if this really all was just a social experiment, one wonders what the gods might have been testing for. Did they find it, I wonder? I doubt our methods are going to change much with only one week left to go.
no subject
[Though, Newt wouldn't be surprised if most of the game would side with Julius here. It would explain a lot.]
On the contrary, there's just as much information to be gained from when a group staunchly refuses to change course despite all evidence suggesting they should. People are stubborn.
no subject
[ a huffed out, short sigh. ]
They're barely removed from the situation at all, but I suppose it's still easy for them to judge us regardless.
no subject
Choose to believe what you want.
no subject
Pray tell, how have you been occupying your time?
no subject
no subject
[ keep up, newt. ]
Therefore: what have you been doing with yourself that's apparently less of a waste of time?
no subject
Sorting out my next moves at home. I've got some planning to do now that I'm out a wish.