lesmodsalouette | Graveyard

Graveyard

The garden is still sprawling and green – despite having entirely lost all its riotous flowers and colors, along with any sign of wildlife or birdsong – though one thing stands out more than anything else: from Monday to Thursday, you can’t see the castle anymore. All that remains where it once stood (or perhaps, usually stands) is an incongruously large tree that towers over everything else and somehow looks larger and more imposing than the castle ever did. The tree’s branches are bare, without any hint of life nor leaf – however, on the weekends (that is to say, Friday through Sunday) a faint projection of the castle appears around it, cradling the only things that the denizens of this alternate garden can see in detail from the other side: the flurry of activity around the investigation, the circus-like dimension that holds the trial, and the mirrors and the grassy dimension that display the execution.

For those curious what the land of the living are up to, a mirage-like and upside-down reflection of the castle garden in its original arrangement can be spotted occasionally overlaying the sky. This strange illusion may sometimes show those in the garden on the other side, flitting in and out of view like stray clouds; but much like the weather, their appearance is mercurial – they cannot be reached and cannot be heard.

Water, Flower, Everywhere

The fountains remain active somehow, though their features seem to have eroded, obscuring the identities of the deities and the wings of the birds, cracking pottery down into nothing but worn shards and handles. At night, only maybe half the lights work (and here they are real candlelight, rather than magical), plunging most of the garden into crepuscular darkness. The trellis walkway looks quite overgrown (mysteriously, bamboo is taking over), entirely covering some statues and other features along its length, and it’s no longer walkable – a miniature canal runs the whole length underneath the arches, feeding into other new waterways around the garden that cut off footpaths seemingly at random. There are small footbridges here and there, but the lack of logic to the whole arrangement makes falling into one of the streams or canals a real hazard.

The waterways do all manage to converge at the pond by the pavilion – neither of which are all that soothing or classical anymore. The pond is only half-full, and entirely lacks water lilies or any dragonflies; its banks sit jagged above the dark waters, and perhaps that’s why the pavilion, too, is half collapsed down into it all. Gone are the curtains and ivies; only dead curling vines and half-collapsed columns are left, but there’s still someplace to sit if you put your mind to it.

Most of the flowerbeds sit fallow or overtaken by weeds – there’s signs here and there that someone might have tried to clear them out, but the bulk of the effort seems to have gone to the orchard by the gardener’s cottage. It might be more accurate to say cottages, given that there are a few of them dotted around that area for some reason. None of them are locked, but all of them have only minimal furnishings apart from the original; they’re also all provided with the full complement of gardener’s tools. Next to them, there are new saplings and half-grown flowering trees: some pear and apple, but also some not. There are new shoots in the kitchen orchard that have just barely taken root, the dirt recently turned.

Hedge Maze(?)

The other most eye-catching feature is what once was an ornamental hedge maze: instead of being a tame height here, it has seemingly grown wild and completely unchecked, towering above the rest of the garden almost like its own overgrown mountain. The hedge walls go up and up and up, making it entirely impossible to see the center or even how far it goes despite the fact that sections of the hedges have also died, reduced to the branches underneath, bristling with interlocked thorns.

Part of it had even spilled over into the garden itself, huge gnarled branches spreading out like burnt-blackened fingers all the way to the edge of the pond – wherever the branches touch, even the greenery is withered, and any statues look more ruined than those in the rest of the area. As of the end of Week 3, however, the branches have retracted entirely and the way into the hedge maze has opened even more. However, there is now a storm brewing over what might be the center or the general area of it. Getting close to the hedge maze or any of the hedge(?) branches is... unpleasant, though it doesn’t usually go beyond a buzz of wrongness and a slight headache.

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[Chu Wenshan truly has no luck; the endless harassment of all senses and non-senses, plus getting rained on through the entire weekend, plus probably a statue with like half a head nearby staring at him judgingly.

But hey, he's bouncing back and up! He's moseying along, and his moseying brings him close enough to the bushes to see something long and shiny with a bright strap curling around it.

Ta-dahhh. You've found one (1) sword for some reason. Perhaps even the graveyard wants him to fulfill his sword destiny.]

[ wow everybody be obsessed with swords, even the bushes. all y'all are weird :/

he takes the sword anyway! because apparently this is a thing, and good luck prying it from him later if the npc turns out to be a wuxia or danmei. you guys don't get to fly, he gets to fly!

anyway, 1 sword acquired, he keeps rummaging around but promptly gives up and just yells out: ]

Did anybody lose a sword?

[Maybe it’s just that Ish and his castle are obsessed with swordsmen?? We should all blame them, clearly.

Chu Wenshan please, there are other genres out there!! He’s sort of valid, even if the sword immediately lets out a quiet grumble(???) and seemingly shifts around in his grip. Because swords are definitely supposed to do that!]

Do you have to be so loud about it? I’m not lost.

[It’s a low male voice, a bit flat with annoyance, but mostly muffled because it’s coming from the sword. That he’s swinging around.]

Mmf. At least I’m out of there...

[ oh. it's talking, we're in legend of zelda not a wuxia! that explains ~~nothing~~ so much.

chu wenshan does what any respectable person would do when a supposedly inanimate object starts shifting like a wriggly bug in their hand, he shakes it up and down like a salt shaker. ]

You seem lost. [ no, he should be asking where "there" is ]

[I can’t believe CWS is a gamer on the wooden Switch.

Anyway, all he gets for his trouble is the colorful strap whipping around and hitting things, and after a bewildered moment (who knows how a sword can be bewildered but it’s in the vibes), a sharp:]

Hey.

[After that, a sort of irritated sigh that seems to be trying to resettle itself even if he’s still shaking it around.]

... I know you’ve forgotten how to treat a sword, but people wouldn’t even treat a rock this way...

[They have to address one thing at a time here, probably.]

[ help, wooden switch fits right in with the wooden mech and gatling gun

well, that at least confirms it really is the sword—but considering he easily accepted something like a talking cockatiel, this was never a stretch for him (it was just a guy practicing ventriloquism). in fact, he loves it.

he at least stops shaking the thing, instead holding it up straight and looking at its hilt like that's the part that's speaking. ]

Rocks don't talk. [ therefore, of course they wouldn't? but they would if they talked. maybe throw them, too. ] Do you know any jokes? You should tell a joke.

[Definitely a gamer--

Small blessings that this CWS guy is either very credulous or terribly uninquisitive, but maybe it helps that there are absolutely no other signs of animate life(??) anywhere nearby. Just a dude, his new sword, and a lack of ventriloquism (probably).

The sword sounds slightly mollified by being held still, at least. The voice seems to emanate from pretty much all parts of it, like a bizarre long handheld speaker.]

Maybe not. [please don't throw him] You--

[...]

Knock, knock...

Edited 2025-03-17 08:24 (UTC)

[ this is happening now, just a boy and his swordspeaker ]

Knock, knock? [ wait, he knows this one— ] Who's there?

Hmm.

[This is a joke told in the flattest voice known to mankind (or swordskind).

The sword shifts to point vaguely.]

Someone who thinks you should knock on the door to that cottage, and find out.

Edited 2025-03-17 08:29 (UTC)

That wasn't very funny.

[ no stars, none at all. sword might have all the brain cells but it has no sense for comedy.

but okay, he'll take the hint and go up to the cottage, but instead of knocking on the door with his fist he uses the hilt. this is how he chooses to use a sword, apparently. ]

I haven't had very good role models.

[It is dryer than both of them and the entire outdoors, though really more of an aside.

The sword makes another grumble as it's knocked into the wood -- on the bright side, the door isn't closed all the way, so they don't have to stand there making knock knock or other jokes until they can figure out how to incorporate the doorknob into their new comedy routine.

Small mercies, really.

As the door creaks open, the cottage's cozy but oddly roomy interior comes into view. There's an unnecessary foyer with nothing in it, much like the vestibule at the villas. It has a nice rug for shaking off moisture, though. Beyond that, there's a glimpse of a living and dining area.]

... Thanks for getting me out of the rain. And, uh, welcome, I guess.

[Apparently the sword lives here?????]

[ welcome... he's thinking this over—and of course focuses on the most important parts, and of course doesn't make the association of "that means the sword lives in this place."

so the punchline was "nobody"?? that really is a terrible joke, it gets negative stars instead of zero stars. ]

You're welcome. [ though, the sword kind of tricked him into it. now that he's focusing on relevant things instead of demanding a comedy routine, he circles to a more important question. sort of. ]

What were you doing outside?

[ just sort of padding around as he talks, nosing around in half-curiosity and debating attaching the sword to his harness so he doesn't have to carry it anymore... ]

[CWS walks into a stranger's home for some reason bringing a strange sword who is a stranger to comedy. This is fine.

There is, in fact, nobody home -- since he hasn't registered how this place is a home yet, and all. It does seem lived in, though: a cheerfully bright-colored and strangely elaborately carved dining set sits next to several sofas gathered around an even larger rug and another of those marble fireplaces. Who puts a marble fireplace in a cottage?? There's even plinths with non-broken busts on them.

It all looks a bit ridiculous. That said, tucked away more inconspicuously, there's a set of whetstone, basin and other tools leaning by the fire, and a semi-stocked bookshelf, much simpler than anything else in the place. Also, there are no clocks.]

I was-- taking care of the garden. Or, exploring it. [those aren't the same thing, however any of this is supposed to work in the first place] I didn't expect to get stuck.

["Did anybody lose a sword?"

Tia stirs at the faint shout of a familiar voice, then snaps her eyes open and bolts upright with a gasp. Her eyes dart side to side, taking in the environs while the memories come flooding back. She glances down at herself, puzzled yet understanding at once. Did she . . . ?

Before long, she finds herself on her feet and navigating the overcast garden until she catches a glimpse of someone entering one of the cottages in the area. She hastens over and, upon bursting into the foyer, freezes at the sight of Chu Wenshan not far ahead.]

You . . . !

[ how does a sword take care of a garden? he's about to open his mouth, or maybe even outright drop the sword to see if it suddenly starts levitating or has telekinesis or something, but suddenly—

a familiar voice comes from behind him. he turns, lips skewing up as he sees an equally familiar face.

her. she caused him a lot of trouble, and also he died or something. ]

Are you going to fight me again? [ man with sword in one hand immediately starts reaching for a chair with the other. ]

Edited 2025-03-17 09:15 (UTC)

If you're going to fight, take it outside.

[There's a snap to the sword's voice, to the immediate declaration -- it's almost rote, like maybe there's a fight club happening in this particular cottage every other week. But hey, probably not. Maybe it's just because it's a sword.

Who's rather attached to his cottage and possibly his silly chairs, thank you.

Chu Wenshan will find that the sword does a quick maneuver that, while it really doesn't have much range of movement while being a sword, does plant it against the floor and aim to slow him down.]

Edited 2025-03-17 09:15 (UTC)

[Her eyes narrow and shine in rage at the near confirmation those words bring, only for her attention to be scattered by the third voice and the bizarre spectacle of Chu Wenshan's delay to a chair (of all things) by a stubborn sword. She steps past the foyer, closing the gap between them enough to ignore the former and address the blade in his grasp.]

Are you with the Witch?

[ hey?? he isn't expecting it, so when the sword suddenly plants down it slips right out of his grasp. whoops!

he bends back down and tries to pick it back up, if it'll let him. if it's going to do that, it should warn him first anyway—which he doesn't actually say. ]

Sorry. [ to the sword, not her. though, it was the sword's fault so he doesn't sound very apologetic. since he doesn't have an answer and doesn't have anything to contribute between, "probably not?" he just waits. maybe points the sword at her if it allows him to pick it up again.

he's helping? ]

[There's a clack of sheath hitting floorboard, but for once there's no protestation from the sword -- perhaps he's already used to the way Chu Wenshan treats blades by now, or perhaps he was just prepared for everything to go off the rails. It's not like this is his first rodeo.

Whatever kind of rodeo this is turning out to be.

The sword allows itself to be pointed, anyway, quiet for a moment as though thinking.]

... I'm not the Witch's ally.

[Tia shoots Chu Wenshan a glower over the point of the sword. Try it.]

Then what are you? [Her icy eyes back flit up to Chu Wenshan, finally lingering on his visage.] And why are you here?

[The way she sees it, there are two explanations. One would be better than the other, but neither is preferable at the end of the day.]

[ he glares right back. she still wants to fight, even after the sword said not to (he pointed the sword at her???).

as for him... hm. well, the obvious answer is— ]

I died. Probably.

[ frankly, he isn't sure how much he believes he did? he was swallowed by the sea and saw the shining form of a dragon, but after that the world went dark. he has the distinct feeling that someone had bad breath, but that's about it. ]

You died. Both of you.

[The sword confirms it in an almost business-like tone.

Sometimes you have to break the news in a straightforward way -- especially in a situation like this, with people like this. Ceremonies are for overly decorated castles and overdramatic sorcerers.

Anyway, the sword seems on alert, as much as a sword can be. It's hard to dispel the tension in the room when you're a weapon and also don't have hands.]

I don't know what I am, exactly. I should-- [there's a pause; perhaps there is some occasion for ceremony, even if it's out of left field] I should introduce myself. I'm Yamanbagiri Kunihiro, a duplicate forged at the request of the Lord Nagao Akinaga, of Ashikaga Castle.

Like you, I'm not from here.

Edited 2025-03-17 10:11 (UTC)

[Leave Hwylryn alone—

Tiamat's eyes flash again. She gives Chu Wenshan another protracted look before frowning down at the sword's introduction. A sentient blade is hardly surprising—it just means he was crafted by hands of a certain caliber—and so is the news of her death. The sword might have broken to wind up here. It's odder that Chu Wenshan is present.]

That witch . . . ! Is this another dimension of his? He's even disrupting the flow of souls by trapping the dead.

[ somehow during the course of this conversation, if either one of them is paying attention, the face of a boy kind of flickers into faded existence in the fireplace.

not in the fireplace though. on the marble.

he's just watching for now. ]

Not exactly. The dead are--

[Truly it's a blessing (probably) that those who arrived here first or at all are so familiar with unusual blades. It both saves Yamanbagiri some explaining and gives him more explaining to do, considering who it is.

He's about to go on, but the flash on the marble mantelpiece makes him fall silent.

The sword doesn't exactly turn towards it, considering he doesn't really have eyes in this form, but there's a slight, reflexive shift. Like a cat tilting its head.]

Ah. Well, they've always been here.

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