logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: GRAVES

EVENT LOG: GRAVES

EVENT LOG:
GRAVES

characters: everyone.
location: Bonfire Square.
date/time: July 12-19.
content: mysterious shrines appear and bring visions of death.
warnings: likely violence and potentially gore.

time to pay your respects.

It happens when no one is looking, when most of the town is asleep and the rest are inside. A makeshift cemetery has come to Beacon, taking up residence in the middle of Bonfire Square. Each monument, shrine, and altar is dedicated to someone who now resides here, a memorial of their previous life.

Some may be drawn by curiosity, others by fear, and some may simply have to pass through this strange graveyard to get to the Bonfire itself. Whenever a person gets near, the altars beckon with a mysterious urge— an urge to approach, and an urge to leave something behind. They will feel compelled to make offerings at the various shrines, but doing so has a curious effect; it causes one to experience the death of the person whose grave they've honored.

Whether you resist the compulsion or give in willingly (or something in between), you'll also have to wrestle with the fact that a grave exists for you. Will you let your death be known, or try your best to keep it secret? Destroying it sure won't work, as it will return— with a duplicate somewhere else in town.

However you choose to deal with this, one thing is hard to ignore— this a tangible reminder of your death, and the fact that it's probably permanent.

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I. Cemetery - Death vision
_{(OOC: You can get all of the deets on M.K.'s grave here, complete with helpfully grim video clips for reference's sake! If you have any qs or need any other info, shoot me a line! Consider the second prompt free game for reactions all throughout the event, or just wild card that shit right on up, I'm easy. :3)}

_{[This is what it is to see through M.K.'s eyes:

They're tiring. Try as they might, they're tiring. Each of your kicks leaves bruises that will take weeks to heal. Each of your strikes rattles the fine bones of the arms. They're without equal, all three of them, the cream of the Badlands' crop, but their best stops at the limits of what it is be human. You're beyond that. Battle is a song and you sing it with devastating sweetness, the tune in your ears and power in your blood. It's the closest a person can come, you think, to divinity. Every part of your body in sync with every other part, black as tar on the outside, never more alive on the inside. A perfect, precise

(weapon, demon, killer, god)

There was a time you wouldn't have been able to land a hit on any of these fighters, too unsure and scared to reach into the darkness and grasp the power sleeping there. You've grown. Victoriously, you lived to see fear reflected in the Widow's eyes, genuine fear that you're too strong to stop. You relish it, that look. It makes up for the dozens of simpering, mocking, disparaging, disappointed looks that came before it when she had a blade to your skin trying to carve this moment out of you for her own profit.

How's that saying go? Be careful what you wish for.

She had this coming. It's a howl in you, an animal scream built up with time and scars. She had this coming. And when a window opens and it's finally time to turn the blade back on her, you're wishing a savage you're welcome at her unborn baby for not having to ever know her. Better dead than to be raised with her as a mother--

The rage is blinding. You're not paying attention. If you had, maybe you could have stopped in time. You should have stopped.

Tilda.

You would have stopped when she's the one person, the one person, you're forging this new world for.

Tilda.

But you didn't, and you don't, and not even your speed is enough to course correct. But that monstrous strength of yours, the monstrous ease of killing-- That carries your sword right into Tilda like butter. Through her.

You would've stopped, you're sure, because she deserves to live. More than you, more than anyone left. More than even Pilgrim, who you pretend not to see as clearly as you do. She won't love you the way you hoped for once but that's fine, because when the Badlands are gone, when the Widow and Sunny are gone, when they make this one last push, she'll have years and years to be with Odessa. Or someone, anyone of her choosing. Years Pilgrim won't have with the gift killing him, when he won't be around to question why you saved a girl who isn't like you, but who still believed in you.

These are the lies of a better world you've fed yourself, and Tilda's choking wetly on them in your place.

The howl is quiet, the tune dead. In place of the fight, snuffed out like a light, you have room to wonder how did we get here, Tilda, I'm sorry, it wasn't supposed to be you but your words are as numb as your fingers, relinquishing your swords to the sand. I'm ready to die, she'd said, but you weren't ready to be the one to kill her. Not this way. Not this.

Oh, and that look-- The look the Widow gives you, the same look you used to give to her. It's that look you back away from, that sinks in more keenly than the dagger that comes after.

This is what it is to see through M.K.'s eyes:

To see the blackest parts of you reflected back in the Widow's black eyes. To see yourself.]}

II. Beach - Open

_{[He feels a sense of aloof acceptance when the graves appear. He can't explain them; no point in trying. Neither can he deny them; no point in that, either. Maybe making peace with dying the moment he decided to stick a needle in his arm better prepared him to have death on display than some. Maybe he's just too tired to care.

You can find a young man on the beach on some days. Shirtless and barefoot, he stretches in some manner of yoga that limbers up muscles that aren't pinched tight with burn scarring anymore. He splits torchlight into smaller flames and arranges them around him to practice forms, making patterns in the sand from his methodical movements. The ultimate irony of not being much able to stand working through his forms when younger--always too restless, always too eager for the fight itself--is now finding something soothing in the repetition.

Other times he lets himself sink into more improvised, increasingly complex acrobatics, tumbles and flips and flying kicks down the beach and back up again, trading oppressive thoughts for sweat. It's not a fight to the death with swords cutting the air, but the dancing nature of it bears a familiarity--as does the scar.

When he comes out of a tuck with chest glistening in the light, you might see it: the knotted scar where a dagger went in at just the right angle to end a life, among its smaller cousins climbing his arms.

He supposes it'd be too much to ask to be rid of all the marks the Widow left.]}

Edited 2019-07-13 10:55 (UTC)

The grave of a Grandmaster is shockingly plain. Simple. Traditional. The way he would have wanted. A stone front that bows out to create a small recess where someone could conceivably kneel and meditate with the back portion covered in grass.

The central plaque reads:
快涼
大师林鬼

I. THIS WILL NEVER END

[ So close. It's at your fingertips— all you need to do is this one thing, and it'll all be over. All the agony, after such a wretched existence. But he won't give in, he won't give up even after losing his friends. He won't give in even though you've defeated him once, had him on his knees, stepped into his body to take what is yours.

You are opposite one another, a reflection of the image at your feet, almost a whole being. ]

Our union was not finished. The χ-blade shouldn't stay broken like this. Join me now and we can complete the χ-blade!

I've got a better idea. How 'bout I destroy you both?

The χ-blade is made of your heart too, idiot. If you destroy it, your heart will vanish forever.

Whatever it takes. Anything to save Terra and Aqua.

Huh. It's always about your friends, isn't it?

At least I have some. I've become a part of their heart, just as they've become a part of mine. My friends are my power and I'm theirs!

[ You fight.
You lose.

You were never supposed to lose. This is what your Master promised you. You trained for this, for years, in that barren desert. You broke bones and skin and bled for it under your Master's boot, at the end of his keyblade. You unspooled the hurt, rage, jealousy, loneliness— poured it all into the shape of your Unversed, destroyed them to swallow them back up and start the cycle all over again. More pain, more darkness, all of it to lead you to this moment of salvation.

He was supposed to be your salvation. The χ-blade was supposed to make you whole again and stop the hurt.

It slips from your grasp, just passed your fingertips. In the empty darkness it lingers there, shining like a beacon, like a star, like a lighthouse, but you're caught in the undertow of darkness. Your heart unspools. The strength goes out of you and you fall and fall and fall until there's nothing but the dark.

It isn't peace you find in the dark— but it's warm. Everything stops. You don't hurt. You don't feel anything but that warmth, and when you open your eyes to the graveyard again it lingers— like a second heartbeat, thumping in your chest. ]

II. SEE? MY HEART IS BLACK

[ You fight.
You lose.

The mask, what was once your face before he gave you one, shatters— already you can feel the strength bleeding out of you. Somewhere, the power of their combined Light has cut through all your shadow. Maybe you never really had a chance, when part of you was still in that boy— the one you look up and see. The one who is your mirror.

He says:]

Your face—

[ You don't know what will happen to you now. Your presence here was at the will of your Master, collected together from fragments of pain and fear and misery to build this body for you. But then again, maybe you never could have been that far away. After all:]

I'm the piece of Ventus that was taken away, and you're the piece Ventus needed to be whole again. So... why shouldn't you and I look exactly the same? You define me Sora. The same way that Ventus does. We are brothers, who together, make a greater whole.

Then why won't you stand by our side, instead of with Darkness?

Because I am Darkness. And I do stand by your side. I'm the shadow that you cast— how much closer could I be?

But I didn't-
But I didn't ask for this: [ Your other half says. You feel like you've been here before. ] to be sifted apart, nice and neat. We should be free to choose. Not just Light, not just Darkness. We decide what we are.

[ And it's funny, isn't it? They don't seem to understand what you understand. This is why you were created, this is why you exist. Those two boys shine like twin suns, and as the life bleeds out of you, you can almost see it. A halo that surrounds them both, utterly unlike the black hole that eats you alive.]

But Ventus— I did decide who I am. You see?

And what you are is Darkness?!

What I am, is Darkness.

...Okay.

[ You don't have much left in you. At your feet, the shattered remnants of your mask glitter like obsidian in the desert sand. This is where Ventus defeated you before. Or will defeat you again? The timeline is so difficult to keep track of. Xehanort had seen to that, pulling the strings on it to get them all here, together. Everything hurts, but it's always been that way. Their light shines so brightly under the desert sun. So warm. Everything will stop, soon. ]

How is that okay!? Vanitas!

[ You laugh, an exhale of a thing. That doesn't matter, after all. This is how it is, and how it will always be. You are Darkness.

You fall apart. ]

III. IN A GADDA DA VIDA

[ A day or two after Vanitas learns what the graveyard is, and what people might see, one Unversed will appear. One can be easily defeated, but as the days go on and he sees and feels more— they multiply until a small garden of sharp, dangerous little shadows watch any approachers with shining red eyes. Get too close, and their vines snap out like miniature whips that will draw blood on contact. They aren't impossible to defeat, but you definitely won't get close or away unscathed. Unless you're a magic user, probably. Destroy even one and it'll summon Vanitas, who will appear from a dark portal, ready to start shit.

ETA: Midway through the week, every Unversed will disappear and not return before the graves are gone. ]

[ ooc: feel free to combine the two death visions to your liking!! KH literally has a time loop in it and so it's unclear which death would technically happen first for Vanitas. If you have questions just PM me or find me at

scrubdaddy. Or if you just wanna do something else entirely just hit me up I'll roll with it 👀 if you want to see the actual cutscene footage of these two events and what his tombstone looks like you can find them in my ooc plotting post ]

Edited 2019-07-14 21:20 (UTC)

[ ooc; I'll be pretty much MIA from tomorrow through to the following Monday. I'll backtag into infinity once I'm back, but if you'd prefer to work out handwaved details, shoot me a message over at

lisaneedsbraces. ]

[ prompts below. ota, but if we haven't already talked about seeing his death i'd like to touch base to keep track. hmu here or via pm. thanks! ]

A The Tomb of Emperor Wen

[The tombs of Han emperors are mostly underground, but what exists to be seen is a mound of earth with a great stone gate at its head, marking what would be the entrance if anyone was allowed to enter the tomb. A huge stone lintel carved with imperial dragons and fenghuangs - or phoenixes, to you mortals - marks it as a gateway to heaven, and the gold and jade inlays form the characters 曹丕 along the doorposts. It's entirely ostentatious, but it's also something the remnants of his army would never have been able to construct to honor him. It's more like something out of his real timeline death...

Anyone who leaves something in the bronze bowl before the gate will be treated to a vision of a cold, snowy field high in a mountain pass, edged with stoneworks running along the pathways, and a cluster of horned serpent heads bigger than the mountains themselves rearing up over the ridge. The roar is deafening, drowning out even the noise of an army thousands strong clamoring to grab their weapons and horses and flee. Through Cao Pi's eyes you see heavily-armored and armed men attempting to place themselves between you and the Great Serpent, and your mouth forms the words to order them to leave, go, round up the army and flee, return to Lord Cao Cao to protect him. A glance to one side finds only two refusing to leave: an auburn-haired young man with fierce eyes, his coat and war fan both emblazoned with the slogan of the Ishida clan of medieval Japan, and a beautiful woman with purple plumes erupting from her gold hat. Both look terrified, but at the same time determined not to leave Zihuan's side. The feelings he feels are similar, mingled terror and fatalistic determination. He has no idea how to defeat this monster crawling up and over the mountains toward them, but there's no choice. No reinforcements will reach them in time. Anyone else who runs to their aid will just get slaughtered alongside him. He will stand here to distract the creature's attention while the rest of the Wei army gets away and whisks Cao Cao away to safety. Is this the true meaning of filial duty? Or is he just being peculiarly sentimental in the face of certain death? Either way, it's mercifully quick. One of the snake heads opens its jaws wide, and a fireball wells up between the fangs. It blasts the people still holding ground on the snow-covered slope, the agony of the fire only lasts seconds before the blackness of death takes them all. Ishida Mitsunari, Lady Zhenji, and Cao Zihuan.

Cao Pi will not be lurking near his tomb; even as irreligious as he is, there's a sense that it might be bad luck or inauspicious or something. But he's also making the rounds of the other gravesites, so if he sees someone near the tomb gate, he'll have to drift over to see what the fuss is about. Have you seen something unpleasant, fellow traveler?]

...let me guess. You've had a terrible experience and want to complain about it.

[always greet terrible tragedy with sarcasm, it's the Cao way]

B Aftermath

[consider this a wildcard prompt. Elbow up to him at the bar where he's drinking wine - again - or around the Invincible. Ask him whether he's dealing with this, I dare you. Better yet, come and talk about anything but graves. He's ready with the sass and the wit, it cures all cases of grief and horror. Eventually.]

[Prompts Below]

i. grave & death

[Boromir's tomb is easily identifiable even from a distance. It's an ornate thing of white stone, with a carving of his body lying in state atop it. Here, his sword is not broken; here, the Horn of Gondor is whole. The plaque is along the side, as if the entire thing is meant to be set in an alcove somewhere. It lists his name, that of his father, and several titles that were once his.

He'd take comfort from it, if he could believe it were entirely real. Such a thing could not have been made until long after his death. With Mordor practically on their doorstep, it would have meant that Gondor survived it all.

Should you make an offering -

- running towards the hobbits. Frodo isn't here (what have you done), but Merry and Pippin still are, and you will not see anything befall them.

You attack the orc menacing them, tackle it to the ground and drive your blade through its neck. But there's more coming. You tell the little ones to run and turn to cover their retreat. If you can reach the camp, you may find some of the others, or else be able to get the hobbits into a boat and away from this.

(All this separation is your fault.)

It's slow going. You're attacked every few paces. The hobbits kill one or two orcs (you feel a fierce pride, for a second before you must turn away again) but this is only their second battle and they were not brought up in war like you. So mostly it's just you, fending off what seems to be an army two or three at a time.

The company of orcs is spread out, doubtless looking for the others, but there are still too many of them. You blow several short blasts on the Horn of Gondor. But nobody comes.

You do not see the archer before the arrow slams into your shoulder. It's one of those large black orcish ones, and the force of it sends you to your knees. As if from a distance, you hear Pippin gasp. You have to protect them. Turning, you slash at the nearest orc before rising to your feet.

The second arrow hits you a moment later, in the chest. The pain is different, colder. You aren't fully aware of falling to your knees until a moment after it's happened, when you find yourself unable to fully catch your breath. And you know - your vision is hard to focus, and you know. But when you can focus, you're looking at the hobbits, and so again you stand and turn to face the enemy.

The third arrow in your chest drops you. The orcs take the little ones, and though your heart cries out to stop them, you can't even lift your sword arm. You will not rise again. When the archer stays behind to end you, you just look him in the eyes and wait.

He doesn't shoot. Aragorn attacks out of nowhere, and though you don't quite see what happens, he appears again above you after you've collapsed back into the leaves. You confess what you've done (there's no context for anyone watching, but the guilt and horror of it is plain). He forgives you. He promises that your city and your people - both of yours - will not fall.

Just for a moment, you can believe it.]

(( tl;dr: death here and last words here ))

ii. around beacon

[After the function of these tombs becomes clear, Boromir steers clear of them for the most part. He has no desire to see other peoples' deaths, and his feelings about his own are a little complicated. At any rate, he doesn't see any reason to post a guard over the damned thing. Who would that be for?

Being scattered around as they are, he can't really avoid the things. But for the most part, he'll just be trying to go about usual business in Beacon. Things being what they are, he'll check in on anybody who seems upset.]

Are you all right? [His manner's still a little gruff, but that seems to just be how he is.]

[prompts below]

death;

[video link here, ending when she falls unconcious on the ground.

She feels it, the moment that the spell splinters, slamming into her chest with power equal to what she's pouring into the dragon that divebombs at her from high in the sky. It seizes up inside her, her heart shuddering a few painful times in her chest, as it feels like she's burning from the inside out.

The pain of the spell that she was going to use on Landon tears her insides apart instead.

At least Alaric will get to go home to his daughters. She wonders briefly if this will make them hate her less, forcing him to hide and dying instead of letting him try to protect her.

It's only then that she realizes she's already on her back, the hard ground beneath her. She care barely feel it as her heart stutters and trips over itself, agonizing in its slowness, her vision going fuzzy at the edges. She tries to suck in a breath, hears someone shouting in the distance, but its not going to do any good. She knows what happens next as her eyes slip shut.

Well, mostly. Will she find peace with her mother? Her father? Or will she be stuck somehwere, unable to move on? Either way, she'll find out soon enough.]

at her altar

[She finds her 'resting place,' an ornate urn filled with ashes, but it doesn't survive long. She stares at it for a long moment before she lifts a hand, her fingers curled into a white-knuckle fist, and she angrily mutters a word in Latin.

The air seems to pulse before it collapses in on the urn on the ground, the object suddenly shattering into dozens of pieces. They fly through the hair haphazardly, but Hope doesn't even try to shield herself from them.

She simply stares at the mess she's created, her expression unreadable.]

elsewhere;

[Once she realizes the altars only reappear after being destroyed, she simply heads inside and hides away in her room. It's easy enough to find her there or in one of the hallways nearby, but she doesn't venture outside much until this whole mess is over.]

[ A stone ship marks the grave of Shadow Moon. It's not immediately apparent who the grave is for: the only indication is the word "MOON" (with a conspicuous blank space before it) carved onto one of the rocks. But leave an offering or approach while Shadow himself is present, and it'll quickly become clear. ]

(( ooc: as mentioned in my plotting comment, there are several options here!

- if you'd like your character to witness one or both of shadow's deaths without interacting with him, tag the appropriate death comment.
- if you'd like them to witness death(s) and interact with shadow, tag "after death."
- if you don't want any deaths but would like to thread with shadow, hop down to "keeping vigil."

hit me up if you have any questions! also side note that both deaths are pretty much summarizing parts of American Gods, and y'all should the book bc it's amazing. ))

Edited 2019-07-19 22:49 (UTC)

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