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GRAVEYARD
THE LAND OF THE DEAD
THE SUBURBS AND BEYOND
THE SUBURBS AND BEYOND
Arrival in the Land of the Dead is sluggish, as if there's a pressure in the air that you have to push through. It's strange, because all of the people—yes, there's hundreds of thousands of people around you, filtering in to the same location as you—seem to move with more ease. Fearful, fretting, confused, angry, peaceful. All manner of people from all manner of places have joined you in the march to your final resting place. It's... a little more anticlimactic than you were probably expecting, no matter your beliefs about the afterlife. Sorry about that.
Touching anyone around you will give the uncomfortable, chilled sensation that can be associated with ghosts. Most people, you'll just pass right through air. There are some that are a little more solid seeming, like you, but to them? You're the cold one, even if there's physical contact there. That's probably just as worrisome as the fact that color and vibrancy seems to bleed out of the world around you, as you follow a steady slop downwards to what looks like... a rubbish dump? It's more clear than your surroundings, at least, which have turned dull and formless—edges have lost their definition, and anything red is now a dim blood grey, a blue sky is almost steel, yellows have turned to muted sand.
Plumes of dirty smoke rise into an equally dim sky, lending more to the dreary atmosphere. The air is thick with it, and the acrid smell of chemicals, the rot of spoilt food and sewage, and the further in the more awful the smells and sights both are. Not a path of green grass or clean soil can be found as you explore the place you've come to rest. Just ratty weeds and yellowed, dead grass. Somewhere, somehow, there's some kind of electricity, considering the dingy lightbulbs that flicker occasionally, bare and casting everything in a sickly pallor.
The ghosts pass through the town, with a single-minded focus, while the more physical seeming remain in the holding area according to a bland attendant's instruction. You can fuss, you can throw a tantrum, you can try to fight them—but nothing changes, and they've seen this before. Might as well check things out.
Any injuries you're expecting from your death are gone, with no signs of what killed you visible. Count your blessings in this shithole. Because you're effectively on your own. There are no daemons in the Land of the Dead.
You are here, your home away from home. Aren't you so lucky? The town lay in shambles, with no city square, no streets, no real open space except for where one of the buildings has collapsed. Some businesses or establishments attempt to stand against time and decay, such as churches and other public buildings, but the roofs are full of holes and the walls are a breeze away from falling. Amidst the weathered, stone buildings are improvised shacks made out of repurposed garbage—old timber, hammered out tin cans, plastic sheets, whatever they can get their hands on. It's more and more apparent that the people here live in squalor, with these shanties and shacks and patched up shotgun houses, if they're lucky, and it's obvious that people are literally on top of each other. A single-room shack can house an entire family and then some.
The "and then some" comes in the form of people-shaped... things, purportedly men, quiet, with shadowed faces and shabby clothes. There's no real way to make out defining features, except for their ages at times. Some are unbelievably old, wrinkled, and weathered. They seem to be close to the more long-term residents of the suburbs, but are actively fearful of you, typically wary and shrinking away from any attempts to interact with them.
Get cozy somehow. Rooming is a free for all, and you'll be lucky to find a place you can all squeeze into.
Beyond the shanty town, there's a body of water encased in mist. The mist melds with the dreary sky, almost, so it's hard to see what lies beyond—but you can certainly hear the mournful, angry cries of some kind of birds from within. Let the mods know if you go exploring.
Touching anyone around you will give the uncomfortable, chilled sensation that can be associated with ghosts. Most people, you'll just pass right through air. There are some that are a little more solid seeming, like you, but to them? You're the cold one, even if there's physical contact there. That's probably just as worrisome as the fact that color and vibrancy seems to bleed out of the world around you, as you follow a steady slop downwards to what looks like... a rubbish dump? It's more clear than your surroundings, at least, which have turned dull and formless—edges have lost their definition, and anything red is now a dim blood grey, a blue sky is almost steel, yellows have turned to muted sand.
Plumes of dirty smoke rise into an equally dim sky, lending more to the dreary atmosphere. The air is thick with it, and the acrid smell of chemicals, the rot of spoilt food and sewage, and the further in the more awful the smells and sights both are. Not a path of green grass or clean soil can be found as you explore the place you've come to rest. Just ratty weeds and yellowed, dead grass. Somewhere, somehow, there's some kind of electricity, considering the dingy lightbulbs that flicker occasionally, bare and casting everything in a sickly pallor.
The ghosts pass through the town, with a single-minded focus, while the more physical seeming remain in the holding area according to a bland attendant's instruction. You can fuss, you can throw a tantrum, you can try to fight them—but nothing changes, and they've seen this before. Might as well check things out.
Any injuries you're expecting from your death are gone, with no signs of what killed you visible. Count your blessings in this shithole. Because you're effectively on your own. There are no daemons in the Land of the Dead.
welcome to the suburbs
You are here, your home away from home. Aren't you so lucky? The town lay in shambles, with no city square, no streets, no real open space except for where one of the buildings has collapsed. Some businesses or establishments attempt to stand against time and decay, such as churches and other public buildings, but the roofs are full of holes and the walls are a breeze away from falling. Amidst the weathered, stone buildings are improvised shacks made out of repurposed garbage—old timber, hammered out tin cans, plastic sheets, whatever they can get their hands on. It's more and more apparent that the people here live in squalor, with these shanties and shacks and patched up shotgun houses, if they're lucky, and it's obvious that people are literally on top of each other. A single-room shack can house an entire family and then some.
The "and then some" comes in the form of people-shaped... things, purportedly men, quiet, with shadowed faces and shabby clothes. There's no real way to make out defining features, except for their ages at times. Some are unbelievably old, wrinkled, and weathered. They seem to be close to the more long-term residents of the suburbs, but are actively fearful of you, typically wary and shrinking away from any attempts to interact with them.
Get cozy somehow. Rooming is a free for all, and you'll be lucky to find a place you can all squeeze into.
Beyond the shanty town, there's a body of water encased in mist. The mist melds with the dreary sky, almost, so it's hard to see what lies beyond—but you can certainly hear the mournful, angry cries of some kind of birds from within. Let the mods know if you go exploring.
full navigation
private conversations ✨ murder proposals ✨ curfew ✨ daemons ✨
private conversations ✨ murder proposals ✨ curfew ✨ daemons ✨
no subject
What... What happened out there? Was it really that bad?
no subject
[ but anyway! business. lore. ]
The harpies had a few interesting things to say, but first: what do you make of this, exactly?
[ behold, the scroll upon which travs has deemed ikki's name exists. ]
no subject
[ can you believe that you can't eve escape it in death?? ]
Oh, that's... I wonder why that's down here. [ assuming that roxis is letting her take the book. ] The "Book of the Dead"? If this is anything like the one I know of then this must belong to the Authority.
no subject
[ there's another book? ]
The harpies had it. They also mentioned that their status as keepers was tasked to them by-- someone. Something. They didn't say.
I assume the book's important. How?
[ is it just a ledger, a list of names that's supposed to be here, what, exactly,,, ]
no subject
[ she'll flip through some of the pages and frown. nope. she does not need to read names. nope!!! ]
If the book is what I think it is, then inside of it contains the names of those that the Authority has judged as "wicked" and are to be subjected to the "inquisition". Or, well, people who deserve to die by the Authority's opinion.
no subject
[ ... but, then again, they're all involved, angels or no angels, so. ]
Would they simply just send angels across the entire cosmos to enact a purge?
no subject
If it is like I've said before—Metatron wants to eliminate free will—to have those only follow his and the Authority's word and think of nothing themselves. This book may be proof of that. The Authority has already decided who is "wicked" and who will be saved.
no subject
If that is the case, then what are we to do with it? The harpies left it for us before we left their island, but not before alluding to a previous failed attempt to end the angels' war and replace the gods.
[ were those happening at the same time, who knows, he only managed to follow the gist of what the harpies were saying to the others. and this scroll feels like it belongs in the key item section of their inventory, but what does it do... ]
no subject
A...previous attempt? Did they explain more than that? I don't think I've heard anything about that before.
no subject
[ the remains of what, though. those who tried it? the weapon? the world itself? he shifts his weight a little, catching something out of the corner of his eye- but like always it vanishes. ]
Presumably the explosion was the result of some weapon... but supposedly, there was a rebellion against the light before.
[ ... ]
Shamsiel, do you think the anti-Dust effects of this place are inherent to the realm?
no subject
I'm not sure but if there was an explosion here of some sort that resulted in the destruction of Dust here then I guess that could explain some things. ...h, however I'm still learning about this place as much as you are.
[ hmm. ]
Nine had mentioned something about using a targeting system with a bomb, but I'm not sure why either side would want to eliminate the Dust.
no subject
[ they just snickered to themselves about him being a brain cell instead as i age, but. does that mean this place wasn't always like this? why are harpies so cryptic. ]
That said, them being assigned as keepers also implies that there's a way out, somehow ... but that's getting ahead of ourselves, most likely.
[ hmm. ]
... Aren't angels creatures of Dust? Wouldn't it follow that a weapon meant to eliminate them would target Dust, then?
[ even though dust exists in everything. maybe it's the concentration? or are there even more layers to this ... ]
... Could I ask for a notebook, actually? I believe my previous one is-- still somewhere on the other side.
no subject
It is kind of interesting that they are here among all of the dead and the ghosts. If they were guarding something then it would be more obvious, wouldn't it? Since they gave you that book it couldn't be entirely that.
[ thinks. ]
So, you're thinking that there was a third party that was interested in destroying the Dust, but if they were then would it be because of the angels?
[ and then there's the whole part where they failed which is one big "hm". ]