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

talk to ray (tpn spoilers in link)

[selfimmolates]

[for the rest of the game—

amidst the pews, he can be heard humming what sounds like a lullaby, as he stares into space, flipping his original god token in his hand. on the bright side, it's probably the least frowny he's been yet in this dimension, although the trade-off is that he looks uncharacteristically melancholy.

that aside, he'll ask anyone who approaches:]

Did you trade in your token with Patience?

[hymned]

... I didn't. I do know what you get for it, though.

[selfimmolates]

A black stone?

[hymned]

Yeah. Chuuya's shown me.

Any particular reason for the sudden curiosity?

[ he's been eying the follower counts on the living side, himself, but... ]

[selfimmolates]

Zoe showed me. Guess that's the upside to less cautious people.

[they make for good guinea pigs? is he joking or serious, who knows.]

I've always been curious. But since it looks like we're not getting any new company and we're probably in the final week or so, might as well get a survey now.

[hymned]

It's been what, six weeks already? I'd hope we're in the final stretch by now. 'Think of it like a six week vacation...'

[ was that February, seriously. ]

Apparently, along with lacking a certain amount of foresight, our hosts also have a bit of difficulty counting.

[selfimmolates]

[a snort.]

No kidding. At least chances are, unless they pull a new god out of nowhere to host for next week, this should be it. I'm ready to say goodbye to this dimension and these goddamn bells.

[hymned]

Ah, that's right, isn't it. All of them have had their chance to host by now and make their cases save for the two finally up this week.

[ unless someone doublehosted during the week ruin was killed and therefore denied cunning a chance to host, but you know. ]

How ironic that Piety has had to wait so long for this when it was their idea to simply resolve everything via discussion in the first place. Then again, perhaps the impressions they make will be all the stronger for it.

[goatsongs]

Yeah, I did. -She promised me I'm still a follower of Sincerity if I consider myself that.

[And he believes her. Also he's out of his room willingly, so that's a good sign.]

[selfimmolates]

And you trust that she's telling the truth?

[goatsongs]

I didn't at first, but I do now.

[don't ask about the pcs]

[selfimmolates]

And the reason for the change of heart...?

[goatsongs]

I've gotten to know her better, and she's been vulnerable with me. Least I can do is trust her about this.

[selfimmolates]

Seems kind of odd that she'd give out supposedly useless rocks as a "welcoming gift", though.

[goatsongs]

It's not that far off in size and shape from our coins. [Not an exact match, but not far off.] And she can't grant any of your wishes while you're still holding your god coin, if you wanted to ask her for one.

[requiemed]

[She takes a seat next to him on the pew, glancing his way.]

Pretty song. Where'd you learn it?

[selfimmolates]

[...]

From the woman who gave birth to me.

[which is. the least loaded way he can put it.]

[requiemed]

Interesting phrasing to choose.

[But she'll let him choose whether to expand on that.]

Does it have words?

[selfimmolates]

Well, it depends on your definition of "mother".

[he shrugs.]

Not that I know of. I've only heard it hummed.

[requiemed]

What would your definition be?

[A pause, and then:]

Well, it's nice anyways. I like it.

[selfimmolates]

Dunno.

[his entire relationship with the notion of moms is a giant mess.]

I guess it's a nice tune, yeah.

[requiemed]

Well, what was your... Er, what was the woman who gave birth to you like?

[in_a_bottle]

I did, but I don't know what the rocks are for. I sent mine to Narukami-san. I figured he could let Ai-chan play with it.

[selfimmolates]

[a pause, before he assumes:]

Your penguin?

[in_a_bottle]

Yeah. I mean, that's what Narukami-san wanted to call it, and I didn't come up with a name before I died. Rin-chan's a cute name, so...