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

[selfimmolates]

[he'll leave julius to explain his bit if he wants, but—]

Did you trade in your token with Patience, Newt?

[arockstar]

[He frowns.]

Uh, yeah. Why?

[selfimmolates]

And you got a rock in return, right?

A few of us are wondering if there's more significance to the trade than Patience is playing it off as.

[arockstar]

...Like what, exactly?

[selfimmolates]

Others might have different theories, but mine is essentially that Patience might be more involved in this competition than she's let everyone else believe, and that those rocks are a part of it.

[arockstar]

So you're thinking the rocks are, what, her version of tokens, or something? What would that matter? We're dead. We don't count anymore, and even if we did, I'm sure the other gods would have something to say about it.

[selfimmolates]

[he nods at the tv.]

Looks like it's coming up, since Julius and I told some of the living. Fortune's concerned about it now.

[goatsongs]

...Hey, Patience?

[paranoia and speculation is lovely and everything but Chuuya is more direct than that, so he's going to go lean into Patience now]

There a reason Fortune doesn't know about the token trading?

[divus]

Well, she's been dead for weeks, so it's not like she's actively involved.

[goatsongs]

When I got here, you promised to return my token to my patron god on my behalf.

[don't you hate people with a really good memory for exact words]

Seems like that's something said patron gods would know about.

[divus]

I am going to return your token to your patron god on your behalf. But I haven't exactly seen any of them, have I? I've been here, with all of you. Sorry, I didn't think the specifics mattered that much...

[goatsongs]

But you've seen Fortune and Ruin in the other part of the graveyard. Plenty of time to return tokens to them.

[divus]

They don't have any tokens. They had no followers, remember?

[goatsongs]

No living followers when they died, sure, but they should have some from their followers dying.

[divus]

Ummm...gosh, who were those, again? Sorry, I keep everyone's alignments charted in my ledger so I can remember, but someone stole it.

[arockstar]

[Newt glances at the TV and rolls his eyes.]

I don't love that all of this is being left up to the living.

[But, more importantly:]

What's your goal here, Ray? What constitutes a happy ending for you?

[selfimmolates]

Does it matter? At this point, it's not like I can influence the competition anymore, so far as I know.

[arockstar]

[He shrugs.]

I think it matters. Are you in the same camp as the guys who want to grant everyone's wishes?

[selfimmolates]

[he scoffs, vaguely amused.]

Not that, exactly. In fact, I'd be happy if a certain few got screwed out of theirs, though it doesn't look like that's going to happen.

But I do have a few friends over on the living side and, for better or for worse, they're more idealistic than I am.

[arockstar]

[Newt grins.]

Am I one of the certain few?

[selfimmolates]

Yeah, we clearly bonded over Truth or Dare and Find the Missing Dish and now you're my bestest friend ever.

[arockstar]

So you're saying that in your ideal ending, if you could grant everyone's wishes, you'd rather tell me and a few others to go fuck ourselves? Of course we're not besties, dude, but I figured you'd have more of a heart than that.

[goatsongs]

Having idealistic friends [/children] is the worst, right.

[selfimmolates]

[he sighs.]

It's a pain in the ass.

[goatsongs]

You're telling me. People wanting to be friends and end things peacefully with everyone happy, even when people are definitely willing to take advantage of that to kill them...

[why are people dumb]