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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[ 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)

[ You are naked, and you are hanging from an impossibly massive tree. There are intricately knotted ropes suspending you several feet off the ground. They hold you tightly about your chest, between your legs, under your arms, and around your wrists and ankles. One encircles your neck, loose enough to breathe but tight enough to choke you if your head sags too far forward. You cannot break free on your own. You do not want to break free.

In front of you, laying on the ground, is a corpse wrapped in a sheet. You are doing this for him. You are holding his vigil.

The ropes cut into your flesh. You are in pain. Sometimes, you are afraid. Sometimes, you are apathetic and bored, and those are familiar emotions. You shift enough to press your bare back against the trunk of the tree, lessening the pain by degrees. You repeat a mantra to yourself again and again, first in your head and then aloud: ]

It's easy, there's a trick to it, you do it or you die. It's easy, there's a trick to it, you do it or you die. It's easy, there's a trick to it, you do it or you die.

[ Your lungs burn for air. You shift enough to lessen the pressure on your neck, take in a few glorious breaths, and then you sag again. You hang from the tree, and you do not fight it. When you hear chattering laughter, you close your mouth; it continues, and you see that a squirrel has joined your vigil. You hope that it doesn't attack you. You know that you cannot defend yourself.

You sleep. You dream of dead children with peeling eyes that need your help. You dream of a mammoth skull. You dream of an elephant-headed man riding on a giant mouse, and you know he is a god. The elephant-headed god passes the mouse between his four hands, then opens them to show that all are empty. You tell him that the mouse is hidden in his trunk. He nods, and he tells you not to forget.

The rain wakes you. You shake and shiver violently in the cold. You open your mouth and catch the water, and you watch lightning flash across the sky. Wind and rain lash at your bare skin, and you stop feeling the cold. You know that somewhere, the real storm has begun — and you laugh and laugh and laugh.

You feel alive. For the first time in longer than you can remember, you are alive. You shout at the storm, ]

Hey! Hey! It's me! I'm here!

[ You may die doing this, but here and now, you are alive.

You sleep again. Hunger and pain awaken you. You watch a hawk circle the tree; you watch the corpse below and notice that seems to have shrunk; you watch the storm slowly roll back in; you watch the squirrel land on your shoulder and touch its nose to your lips. Your body burns and freezes. Your life unfolds before you, laid out neatly on the sheet wrapping the corpse. You see your mother staring at you with a puzzled expression; you see what passed for your childhood home; you see the eyes of your wife on your wedding day…

And she is here. Laura is with you. ]

"What's so funny, puppy?"

Our wedding day. You bribed the organist to change from playing the 'Wedding March' to the theme-song from Scooby-Doo as you walked toward me down the aisle. Do you remember?

"Of course I remember, darling. I would have made it too, if it wasn't for those meddling kids."

[ Your dry lips crack as you smile, and your voice cracks as you tell her, ]

I loved you so much.

[ She kisses you. Laura's lips are warm and wet; she is alive, and you know that means she is not really here. Your wife is dead.

You sleep again. When you wake, the squirrel feeds you water from a walnut-shell. You struggle, trying to break free. You fail.

Another god visits you, then. Or rather, the son of a god. His fingers are covered in chisel scars, and the wine he creates is sour. He tells you that suffering is sometimes cleansing, and he asks if you know what it means to be a god.

The squirrel chatters in your ear. You wake, but you are no longer you; instead, you are the tree. Your roots drink from the springs of time; your hundreds of arms reach into the sky; your hands palm and switch and vanish the stars. The pain is no longer your own, for you are not the naked man tied to the tree. You are the tree, and the wind, and the sky, and the clouds…

And then you are yourself again, and a naked madman is sitting on a branch and staring at you. He tells you that he is Horus: the falcon of the morning; the hawk of the afternoon; the sun. You tell him that you are called Shadow. He says that the fighting — the war — will begin soon, and he asks if you are dying. You do not reply.

When you wake again, Laura is with you. She is dead, deader than the corpse over which you hold your vigil. The stench of rot and decay wafts off of her, and when she coughs, she hacks up a mass of something white and wriggling. But she is here, staring up at you with her dead eyes, smiling that crooked smile that always pulls at your heart, and you ask her, ]

How did you find me?

"You are the nearest thing I have to life. You are the only thing I have left, the only thing that isn't bleak and flat and gray. I could be blindfolded and dropped into the deepest ocean and I would know where to find you. I could be buried a hundred miles underground and I would know where you are."

[ Your eyes fill with tears. You say nothing. ]

"I'll cut you down. I spend too much time rescuing you, don't I?"

No, leave me. I have to do this.

"You're crazy. You're dying up there. Or you'll be crippled, if you aren't already."

Maybe. But I'm alive.

"… Yes. I guess you are."

[ She tells you that she's thirsty, then. You tell her to get water from the women in the house. The water is important. The water is special. You know this; you insist she needs to drink it. But when she says that she should go… ]

Stay. Please don't go. [ Your voice is little more than a whisper. It's all you can manage. ] Stay the night.

[ She looks up at you, dead and still so beautiful, and she tells you, ]

"I'll stop a while. Nothing's gonna hurt you while I'm here. You know that?"

[ You want to reply. You close your eyes — and when you open them hours later, you are alone.

The pain pounds in your head. It is all you are. It is all there ever was. It pounds and pounds in time with your breath, and when it wanes, there is nothing to keep you breathing. Your heart stops, and the darkness takes you.

Perhaps the vision ends there. Perhaps you are alone, or someone is watching. Or perhaps the vision continues… ]

Edited 2019-07-19 22:59 (UTC)

[ You are dead, and you are standing on the shore watching as a boat made of reeds slowly approaches. The boat's pilot is a tall, inhumanly thin creature with a bird-like head atop a long neck. You know him. He holds out a hand; you wade through the shallows, take it, and are pulled aboard. ]

I know you.

"You do indeed. You worked for me. I'm afraid we had to inter Lila Goodchild without you."

[ You recognize that fussy, precise voice. You look at the creature and, for just a moment, you see a man in a suit with gold-rimmed glasses. ]

Mister Ibis?

"Good to see you, Shadow."

[ As you sail across the water, Mister Ibis — Thoth — begins to lecture you, as is his way. He tells you that he is a psychopomp, and one of his roles is to escort the living to the world of the dead. You are confused, as you thought this was the world of the dead. He tells you that this is more of a "preliminary." Life and death are not so different, he says. They are not mutually exclusive categories. They are like two sides of the same coin.

You look away from him, briefly. In the water, you see the faces of children. They have been down there for a long time, and they stare up at you accusingly. You turn back to the long-beaked god. ]

So I'm dead. [ You are not bothered by this. ] Or I'm going to be dead.

"We are on our way to the Hall of the Dead. I requested that I be the one to come for you."

Why?

"I'm a psychopomp. I like you. You were a hard worker. Why not?"

Because… [ You fumble for words. ] Because I never believed in you. Because I don't know much about Egyptian mythology. Because I didn't expect this. What happened to Saint Peter and the Pearly Gates?

[ Thoth shakes his head. ]

"It doesn't matter that you didn't believe in us. We believed in you."

[ The boat touches the shore. Thoth hands you a lantern shaped like a crescent moon to hold as he secures the boat. Then he takes the light back and leads the way. He asks you if you're scared; you tell him that you are not, and you mean it.

Thoth leads you before a massive dog-headed creature the size of a grain silo. You stare up at it, and you feel the hair on the back of your neck prickle as it growls. ]

"Shadow. Now is the time for judgment."

[ You know this god. Mister Jacquel. Anubis.

Anubis does not answer your greeting. He picks you up in his massive hands, and he gazes down at you. His eyes are dispassionate, but they flay you open. They pull forth all your faults, failings, and weaknesses. They drag out every lie you've told; every object you've stolen; every injury you're caused; every bit of pain brought on by all the things you have and have not done. You feel it all, and the guilt and shame consume you. ]

Please. [ You are begging. You are broken. ] Please stop.

[ The god does not stop. He weighs and measures all your sins, and you begin to sob. You are as helpless and powerless as a child. You are nothing but your regrets.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, it stops. You pant for breath in the palm of Anubis' hands. He sets you down almost tenderly, and he asks who has your heart. ]

"I do."

[ The voice is a purr. You turn to see Bast. Her eyes are the color of honey, her pupils are vertical slits, and she holds your heart in her hand. At the other god's request, she hands it over to Thoth. ]

So is this where we find out what I get? [ You direct your question to Bast. ] Heaven? Hell? Purgatory?

"If the feather balances, you get to choose your own destination."

And if not?

[ She shrugs. ]

"Then we feed your heart and your soul to Ammet, the Eater of Souls…"

Maybe… [ You start to speak, then have to start over: ] Maybe I can get some kind of happy ending.

"Not only are there no happy endings. There aren't even any endings."

[ She falls silent then, and you turn to watch as Anubis places a feather upon one side of a pair of golden scales. On the other side, Thoth places your heart. Something moves in the shadows beneath the scales, but after a moment spent swinging worryingly, the scales balance, and the thing skulks away.

Bast sighs. She says it's a pity. She'd hoped you could help; instead, you're just another skull for the pile.

After a long moment of silence, you ask, ]

So now I get to choose where I go next?

"Choose." [ It's Thoth who replies. ] "Or we can choose for you."

No. It's okay. It's my choice.

[ Anubis is impatient. He roars out, ]

"Well?"

[ You don't hesitate. You know exactly where you want to go. ]

I want to rest now. That's what I want. I want nothing. No heaven, no hell, no anything. Just let it end.

[ Thoth stares at you and asks, ]

"You're certain?"

Yes.

[ You've never been more certain of anything in your life.

Anubis opens the last door for you. Behind it, there is nothing. You walk into it, and you are filled with joy.

When the vision ends, you may be alone. Or there may be someone watching… ]

Edited 2019-07-19 22:59 (UTC)

[ A tall, muscular man stands with his hands in his pockets, gray eyes watching whoever just left an offering at his grave. His typically solemn expression has shifted slightly. He doesn't appear angry, wary, surprised, or even relieved. Instead, he looks faintly disappointed. ]

I'm too late to stop you.

[ It's not a question. ]

[ He didn't get this man's name when they met the first time, over the canned peaches that Vanitas had walked away from. So convinced of his own understanding of things, of the reality of his own situation, shrugging off the help he'd been offered. If he'd known, he might not have stopped at this grave at all. The embarrassment of figuratively throwing it in his face, when the doctor had proven to him that the solution had been as simple as food and drink was more than Vanitas was willing to deal with.

He can still feel the bite of the rope and the pounding of pain, the distended ache of loneliness. It feeds into him, pools in his darkness, adding fuel to the fire Vanitas has been tending with each memorial he visits, a high he can't stop chasing. When he turns his eyes on the man, luminous and too-bright, he doesn't look troubled or scared, the way someone else his age probably should.

Instead, his gaze carves the man like he's seeing him for the first time. ]

What are you?

[ It's not a normal stare. But then, this isn't a normal teenager.

What had tugged at the edge of Shadow's senses when they first met solidifies now. He looks at the young man, gray eyes meeting bright gold, and it's like staring into a black hole. There's no sign of light. No sign of joy, or hope, or serenity, or love. There's pain, and there's rage, and there's sorrow. And there's something else, too. Another figure with no form at all that both is and isn't the stranger; a figure made of curling darkness and red eyes.

Something inside Shadow cries out for him to step back, as though he's about to tip over the edge into an abyss. Shadow doesn't move. Perhaps it's foolish of him. But then, he hasn't felt real fear since he died on the tree. ]

I don't know. [ It's quiet, and it's honest. ] I know what my parents were. I don't know about me.

[ Then, as he continues to look into both gold and red eyes: ]

You're not human.

[ There's no judgment in his tone, nor does Shadow sound accusatory. But again, it's not a question. ]

[ It gives Vanitas a fierce stab of self satisfaction to hear that. He remembers how lost and confused he'd felt in the beginning, not know who or what he was, or why he existed. But these days, he knows— and this man, older than him in ways that Vanitas gets the impression he can't understand, doesn't. But even so, disappointment swiftly follow. It isn't compassion, or camaraderie, but more the sense of a lost opportunity.

Regardless, he's easily distracted by the observation, by the attention being redirected to Vanitas himself. Instead of getting defensive, something in his expression lights up, wicked and gleeful. ]

Very good. You're smarter than you look.

[ Other people might take that as an insult. It's certainly aimed to be one. But it's something that Shadow has heard many, many times before. It's something that he even encouraged once upon a time. It was easier to let people think of him as big and stupid; that way, they never expected anything more than an ability to move heavy objects.

Laura was the first to expect more from him. And instead of getting angry, Shadow's lips quirk up slightly in the ghost of a smile. ]

I've heard that before.

[ The smile fades quickly. Shadow takes a moment to look again at the darkness within the young man. Maybe he's a god. Maybe he's not. Either way, Shadow does something that might be very, very stupid: he takes a step forward, and he holds out his hand for the teenager to shake. ]

I'm Shadow.

[ There are others from his world that are able to suss out, at first glance, where someone falls on the spectrum of light and darkness. Vanitas doesn't have that gift. The void of his own existence demands that he fill it with anything he can get his hands on, and his teachings dictate that chief among them are the most negative of feelings. Grief, and anger, and jealousy— all of them are emotions Vanitas spills out into the universe in order to eat back up in an endless cycle of anguish.

But by his very nature, he craves that other half of him. He wants the Light to ease his pain. Even if by now, he's decided it's something he'll never have, it doesn't stamp out the wanting.

Nobody has ever offered him their hand before, just like nobody has taken that first step toward him, knowing full well what he is. A little thrill of excitement goes through him, and while Vanitas can only equate it to the anticipation of a fight, in actuality it's as simple as genuine surprise. Without an ounce of hesitancy, he reaches out to take Shadow's hand.

Everyone, in some form another, has Light in them. They are by their very nature, opposite to Vanitas. The pure of heart shine the brightest: people like Ventus, or Kairi. Vanitas has been so close to them that he's felt the way they can throw all the shadows back. Then there are people like Sora, or Riku, who choose it so steadfastly that it doesn't matter how insidious the darkness is, they only soak it up and make it their own, like a sunrise or a sunset.

Vanitas doesn't know how he could have possibly missed it before.

Maybe it's because it isn't the same as the light Vanitas is familiar with. Maybe it's that somehow, that great well of despair festers inside of Shadow, the one Vanitas had cleaved to so hungrily in the vision.

Their palms meet and Vanitas' expression changes immediately. The darkness in him surges, turning covetously toward Shadow. Vanitas' pupils blow and his grip tightens, reflexive and crushing, on Shadow's hand. The desire to put his unoccupied fist right into Shadow's sternum and take that light-filled heart for his own is almost overwhelming. ]

[ Shadow sits on one of the stones making up his memorial and stares into space. He's been sitting for a long time, and his body is beginning to protest the uncomfortable position. He ignores it. It's far from the worst pain he's endured.

Although he didn't wish to relieve his death, Shadow did it anyway. He left an offering at his own grave — a gold coin plucked from nowhere — and saw what others could witness. He lived it all again, and he knew that he didn't want anyone else to experience it.

So he sits at his grave, keeping vigil over his own death. If someone approaches, he speaks up: ]

I don't want any offerings. But I'll tell you how I died if that's what you want.

You don't wish anyone to see.

[It was more of a statement than a question. He found it interesting those who choose to stand guard over their own grave -- just because they didn't want anyone to witness their deaths.

He wasn't about to make an offering anyway, this isn't someone he knows so it's of little interest to him. He was mostly just stalking around like a ghost.]

[ Shadow shrugs. He's not going to deny it. Certainly not when his intentions are so apparent, guarding the grave as he is. ]

It was a kind of personal way to die.

[ The visions could be even more personal, he knows. He supposes he should be grateful that the revelations about his parentage were omitted. ]

All death is personal. Either to yourself or the even the one that caused it.

[He didn't really care if someone watched his own death, but he had difficulty comprehending a lot of human emotions anymore. If he were still human he might actually feel the same as Shadow.]

I guess so.

[ Shadow wonders if anyone else could be considered the cause of his death. It was ultimately his choice to hold the vigil. He has plenty of opportunities to avoid it. ]

It sounds like you're speaking from experience.

[ His tone isn't accusatory, nor is his expression. For all he knows, this stranger has just been going around peeking at other people's deaths. ]

The clan I'm originally from were assassins. We played a role in many deaths.

[He actually wouldn't care if he was accused or not. He couldn't really feel anything close to compassion or empathy anymore so regret over anything he's done is out of the picture. He just stated a fact. The Lin Kuei were assassins though he's sure that his brother's new version was nothing of the sort.]

That is the question of the hour. [A moment's pause, and the line of Annie's mouth twists in a small, wry smile.] You don't have to tell me if you want to keep it private.

[Never mind that she would have left an offering at his grave to see how he died, if for no other reason than she's still looking for common threads (travel? death in some liminal space? there must be something), and the shape of his shrine piqued her curiousity.

Discussing the matter out loud seems, if not more intimate, at least more awkward.]

[ While Shadow doesn't return the smile, that's not unusual for him. He has the sort of face that looks like he was born serious. There are certainly no laugh lines to speak of.

He gives a slight shrug. ]

I don't mind. I prefer it to the alternative. [ Said as he taps his hand on the stone, indicating the "alternative" he means. ] And I get the feeling that it'll eventually come out anyway, one way or another.

[ He can't guard his grave all the time. ]

_{[If the overriding theme of these grave visions are any indication, many of them had met a pitiable, untimely end one way or another. And many of them are dealing with that one way or another.

M.K.-- M.K.'s been working his way down the path of acceptance one of two ways: either by getting so numbingly drunk he's barely been able to climb the stairs of the inn some nights, or else pushing any possible dollop of feeling about it as far down as he can. The latter has ensured his curiosity toward the cemetery hasn't been hobbled by shame for choosing to take advantage of it and watch the visions. (Nor, apparently, has it dulled his appetite for pain in willingly choosing to experience tragedies that would knock any sane person's breath out of them...)]}

You're sitting here so you can tell people what this magic could just show for you?

_{[Intrigued by the stone boat, he turns a quizzical look on its captain.]}

You have something against collecting trinkets?

_{[That's a joke, perhaps, if you squint.]}

[ Judging by the slight upward quirk at the corner of Shadow's lips, it's a joke that hits its mark. He shrugs. ]

I've never been big on souvenirs.

[ He arrived in Beacon with no more than the clothes on his back. Given the way that he died, Shadow was grateful to have even that.

The ghost of amusement fades as Shadow addresses the stranger's first question. ]

And I'd rather tell people than let them experience it. It wasn't quick or painless, and it was pretty personal.

_{[Although there's very little humorous about their present circumstances except in the most cynical of ironies, today it doesn't feel like he's digging bloody gouges in his soul to make a jest and have it answered. It'd be a different story if they were talking about his memorial for a fallen warrior, which he hasn't bothered to go near, but he can't deny a certain curiosity toward how others have chosen to respond to mortality rubbed in their faces.

He quirks a brow.]}

Is that for them or for you?

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EVENT LOG: GRAVES

Shadow Moon | OTA

death #1: the tree

death #2: the world between

after death

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keeping vigil

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Re: keeping vigil

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