EVENT LOG: GRAVES

[inthenightmods]

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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Comments

[darkeyed]

If you did, you wouldn't need the praying.

<sub>[There are no gods in the Badlands. Beacon has everything--magic, whimsy, purgatory and punishment--but still no gods. The building they sit in is an elaborate bandaid for a state of unhappiness that's as deeply woven into humanity's fabric as religion.

Inclining his chin, he indicates the open spot beside him. An offer, if the other likes.]</sub>

I wasn't afraid to die then, and I'm not now. _{[One shoulder lifts in an offhanded shrug. Better than some, that shrug says. He knows pain; he keeps it close to him, warms himself by it, fuels his darkness with it. He's felt the gut-punch of a hidden memory that crumbled the ground under his feet--that had been painful. These don't compare.]} Whatever spell is at work, the only thing it's doing is telling the truth. There are worse things.