The Dead's Dance

[TeaPlease]

Alternate Title: Necrophilia Variations

 

Living amongst the silent whispers of the past had an effect on the young mind. His toddler stage was spent in darkness, fingers gently stroking the rock and rubble in the nighttime in wonder. Grass was beneath his stumbling feet and dragging knees as the ascension began into childhood. Amongst the stones he learned math, scriptures in tablets and dated pages his English Literature. German followed that, Spanish, Latin. Science came easy afterward. The progression of knowledge was fast-paced and enjoyable; life was a bit slower in regard to speed, but even fuller in the aspect of his entertainment.

 

His caretakers consisted of the whole community. From a gentleman from Spain, talking of quests and the sea, blowing the scent of the ocean into his dreaming eyes, to a young girl who actively played and adventured with him, the boy was never left unhappy. He didn’t need new people in his life, he didn’t need new places. This was home and so it would remain.

 

And it did, as years progressed. The boy, spotted from time to time beyond gates, is now a murmured mystery to the outside looking in.

 

“Why, certainly, that can’t be the same young man- he was but a child before! He had to have died; maybe that man is to blame. “

 

“Yes, yes, that has to be it. There is something drastically off about him, don’t you feel?”

 

The man heard these rumors and took them into account. Bitterly, he thought; he’d never needed the outside world, so judging, so crude. No beauty in them. No class. Tasteless creatures lurking about the iron glimmering faithfully as if to assure that its blocking power was still active. His duties beckoned to him and the young man drifted into his home again.

 

Amongst gravestones, he learned and lived. Spectres and wisps gave him knowledge, corpses and sewed lips actively chatting away. The warmth from a cold body was irreplaceable; comfort from dry, sand-papery skin was equivalent to “Abuelo’s” hot chocolate-drink. The young boy, now a man, couldn’t fathom the unbearable temperature that most people had. He’d felt it briefly as a teen when he went too close to the bars and they walked by, their voices high-pitched and wavering. His ears hurt from their squeals.

 

No. The life of the ever-chatty silence for him. His tomb was large and archaic, and though he’d explored every nook and cranny of it, there was more to be seen and discovered. The hints to a chamber leading deeper underground enticed him once he’d found it amongst the worn stones in his little bedroom. The warnings of his family came soon after he revealed his discovery, and very few people supported his idea of journeying deeper into the graves.

 

As he goes deeper and deeper into the fully deserted part of the graveyard (no ghosts or wisps or spirits for him to see or talk to) it disconnects from the flow of time that the real world has. What's an hour could be a day- I'm still tinkering with the time-exchange thing or if I should even do it.

 

Without his presence, upkeep and management, people are getting in and lingering more frequently.

 

Unfortunately, he manages to come across what seems to be a tomb that was actually built on and connects to other ones. On this discovery, he feels that he's gone a little too far and begins to leave. However, a group of people have gathered in the yard and their dancing in the more woodsy area and just so happens to be in the general location of the abandoned crypts. Now this wouldn't be such a problem if it weren't for the noise level and the Gravekeeper already having unlocked and messed up measures to seal whatever was inside inside nothing would have happened.

 

People warn against the foolhardy action of dancing on graves. Feet pounding against chipping stone, scuffing words with dirtied soles and loose minds. But the dead dance themselves, with twinkles in the empty sockets of their eyes, waiting for the opportunity for a misstep, a tumble, a lurch, to take over. And it is the flow of the Gravekeeper’s dance that ultimately throws him into the awaiting arms of a people long-since waltzing about.

 

Supernatural creatures are awoken from their slumber and decide to personally show the buried history that was unearthed by the Gravekeeper to him. On a large scale.

 

Now in such a group of diverse individuals and forcibly taken away from the home he's used to, shown to things he hasn't seen before or even heard of, he has to learn and grow. The choices he has to face have to do with escaping, dying, accepting his fate (whatever it may be) or going deeper into the pit he's already dug out for himself.

 

Living in this place for so long did not mean he knew every inch of it. What will happen when he stumbles upon things meant to be buried, people whose stories will now continue- be it for better or worse?

 

---

 

THE GRAVE-KEEPER

 

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Name: Grave-Keeper, as it has been since he was young

 

Age: He has resided in the cemetery for, as they've told him, 23 years.

 

Height and Weight: Fluctuates between "I've-been-grabbed-by-a-giant-and-stretched", gaunt, bony look to something more normal.

 

...

 

Oh, you expected more? No no no. You'll learn about his personality and history as time progresses, if you so decide to embark on this journey with me. ... I sound pretentious. But I rather like building my characters through playing them out.

 

As for your character, it would have to be someone apart of the awoken corpses/monsters/supernatural creatures. Perhaps a leader or just someone of great status amongst the group. We can talk everything out over PMs if you are interested in my idea or just want to talk about any other plot ideas you may have. Thank you!

[Drag]

@

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Intriguing. I think I might have to take you up on this one if you need someone to be a corpse/monster/supernatural creature. Need some time to develop my char though - it's been a long time since I've done any rp. Mind if we talk about it via email instead of pm? You already have mine, so shoot me a msg if you're good with that.

[TeaPlease]

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:

 

Does the dragon finally emerge from a long slumber? Has he stretched his wings to leave his lair for one as puny as me? Oh. I am so honored. But yeah, I'll e-mail you.

[Drag]

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- What wyrm would choose slumber over the chance to entertain himself with someone gifted with the Midas touch when it comes to story-telling? Greed over sloth is my philosophy, Grave-Keeper, and we both know your word craft is 24 carat. I'll look for that msg then.