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

[voktys]

⟪ All good things must come to an end, as does the show of force that had been Rafe's attempts at destroying his headstone. Not that she'd watched (she absolutely has). That said, she knows when to steer clear and let a man work his own troubles out. For herself, she is plenty busy with other people's graves, and it's a bit of a surprise to see him, at a distance, camp out to a stone that looks much like the first one ––

Camp is putting it generously, though.

Perhaps it's the priestess in her – or more likely, it's a bit of regular mortal enjoyment in him and his ways. At any rate, she'll bring him a plane she found at the invincible, and some... other bits and pieces that can be used to improvise a tent. She'll leave the offering at his feet, a save distance from the stone. ⟫

You might be out here for a long time.

[chardismastic]

[ Sitting with his back against the stone, Rafe takes care to appear totally careless. Tablet in hand as he taps a pointless game of sudoku and tries to find something that'll occupy his mind outside the cold mix of anger and dread and more anger at not knowing who exactly has already gotten a first row seat inside his head.

It's impossible not to see Melisandre approach, red on red without any help from the bonfire, and he watches her warily out of the corner of his eye. She's smart enough (he thinks she's smart enough) to read the room and not actually leave any offerings— Or at least not where he can clearly see. Only when she deposits the supplies, apparently far enough off to avoid triggering whatever the hell is giving these little shows, does Rafe ease the glare directed at her. ]

God, I hope not. Going to go straight to shit if it starts raining.

[ He doesn't ask why she's brought any of this. Just leans forward to sort through it: canvas and ropes and some kind of dinner out of the inn. Would be just like this town, he thinks, to drag a man out to stand next to his own grave and catch a chill from some freak storm. ]

just assuming he mentioned the axe/she's seen it, but if he'd kept it secret i can edit!

[voktys]

⟪ Better not to ask for the why of it, really. If she was forced to give an answer, she would waver between a benign impulse and being purely pragmatic –– one, he has done her no wrong, and there's no need for him to catch something that might spread through their small colony. Two, he'd been cutthroat proper in Nathan's vision, and so she rather intends to err on the helpful, useful side. It's a dichotomy she understands well enough, and that makes it comfortable in its way.

Three, she enjoys his temper. It's fire so close to the surface, and she finds it relaxing to be around. It's not self-evident, but then, she doesn't flinch from his glare. ⟫

None of this would dry in an age, without daylight. ⟪ She kneels down across from where he works, as comfortably as she ever seats herself, and the scarf she'd tied into an improvised bag falls to her side. ⟫ I got you a knife. I know of your boomerang, and I know you have an axe, but it's better to have something to hide on your person.

⟪ The flash of a smile as she wraps shadows into a knife of her own, just long enough for him to see before it vanishes. ⟫ Can't all do that, can we?

are you kidding he's been practically wearing that axe to bed along with his guns

[chardismastic]

The mildew would have a field day with it too, that kind of damp with this heat.

[ Said temper has been flickering all week since the graves appeared, flaring brighter upon the realization of what they do before Rafe forcibly tamped it back down to coals. It's easier to deal with, forcing himself to focus on here and now, the practicalities at hand rather than have his mind run in circles over who's seen what and what they'll do with that knowledge.

No. Not thinking about that. Better to start the knots so he can put up this tent. Or he was about to when Mel says... That. What. ]

I'm sorry, what did y- [ He blinks. ] You know of my what now?

so what you're saying is that the medics hear both mel *AND* the rattle of rafe's portable armoury

[voktys]

⟪ Alright, this is much how she would react, too, if somewhere were to bring up her most favoured weapon in casual conversation, especially since she did see him point it at Nate in the vision of his death. Don't even dare to make that joke. Granted, she rather thinks Rafe could do better than a boomerang, much less more than one of them –– but some things just are what they are. ⟫

Your boomerang. ⟪ She gestures towards his gun. ⟫ Or whatever term you prefer to use for it. The strange shape makes it return to you when you throw it?

⟪ Oh, there's a boomerang gesture to go with it. ⟫ I am sure you can do plenty of damage with it –– ⟪ she's seen him without a shirt on, she's fairly confident here ⟫ it just doesn't seem an ideal choice of weapon in the dark. Or against anything that takes more than a hit to the head to kill.

they don't RATTLE they are holstered away. there's only audio evidence of one weapon here

[chardismastic]

Oh. Wow.

[ He can't help the quiet, disbelieving huff of laughter, head ducking down to the ropes under his hands. It's a few seconds before he can actually look at Melisandre again. ]

Okay, it's not... Hm. We have boomerangs where I'm from and this? [ Depositing the tent-makings at his feet, his hands are free to pull his Colt out from the holster at the small of his back. ] Is not a boomerang. It's called a gun and it's a hell of a lot more effective than that.

[ The mother-of-pearl grips glint in the firelight, shadows dancing in the engraving as he balances the gun in his palm. ]

[voktys]

⟪ For a moment, she almost seems a bit hurt by the laughter –– it's really just in her eyes for a split second –– except he contains himself quickly enough, and instead of calling her out on her lack of education on the subject, shows it to her, even abandoning the more relevant task of setting up the tent.

Interested, she leans forward, examining the strange weapon. For a moment, she thinks it might be tied to him as her ruby is to her, but then she realises it's the mother-of-pearl reflecting the firelight. ⟫

For a weapon, it's quite beautiful. ⟪ The careful engravings –– and then, she notices the hole, and the hold for the finger. ⟫ It spits something? What manner of thing is filled with?

[chardismastic]

Most aren't, [ he admits, and he would be almost sheepish if he had any natural inclination to be. ] I went ahead and had these done up custom. The engraving, the grips, all of it.

[ It had seemed like such a statement. Something to be remembered for, an extra flash on top of the accuracy and practiced ease Rafe had worked for through countless hours of practice. But of course all anyone could say was how stupid and fragile mother-of-pearl was. A rich kid's toy.

Rafe shakes his head and shifts, the better to kneel comfortably for the impromptu lesson. He looses the magazine, catching it in the palm of his hand. ]

"Spit" is one way to describe it. This [ the magazine, shown with a flourish before Rafe pops a bullet out ] is the mag. Holds a number of bullets, metal capsules loaded with a black powder. [ He reassembles it in a trice as he continues talking. ] Pull the trigger there, a mecahnism strikes the bullet hard enough to ignite the powder and that propels the bullet down the barrel to whatever you're aiming at.

[voktys]

'tis the same with swords and daggers and armour and such, in my world. It's a way to tell a fool from a master who takes pride in his craft. ⦑ he brushes the tip of her finger against the engraving, cocks her head to watch the mother-of-pearl shine in the light.⦒ The master has a beautiful weapon to match the artfulness of his skill. A fool has a weapon lamed in its function.

⦑ As far as she is concerned, he is the former – she can't see the downside to mother-of-pearl on a weapon meant for long-range battling. ⦒

Oh –– ⦑ talk forgotten at the explanation. ⦒ How fascinating. Perhaps one day, I shall have one –– you must teach me to use it. So ingenious! ⦑ Like a kid at Christmas. If she knew what Christmas was. ⦒ It has a long range, yes? How far?