The Early Grave || Group RP Recruitment

Just started and easy to in! The grave waits for no one, anyways.

The Early Grave Roleplay

How can you ? Just click the link above and you'll be taken to the main roleplay chatroom, which then has access to the OOC link. Send a form in the ooc and once you're accepted you're free to send a starter. Currently we're having a running start, but if you any later you can just follow along with the group to figure out what's going on. The character your controlling is usually as confused and desperate as you are!

Literacy is Semi-lit to lit, and wikis(or temporary masterlists) are required to . All face claims are welcomed.

thank you for the feature eohdhdkdmsmcmd :heart:

photo credit to the Hulton

inspired by the troubles of the working class, except we made it worse

☠✧🕯✧☠

𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐓

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

Welcome to The Early Grave, a roadside diner on a stretch of highway that doesn’t exist on any map. The lights hum low. The pie never spoils. The staff? Well... they never leave.

Trapped in a timeless loop, the employees work night and day—unable to escape, unable to rest. But the customers they serve aren’t just strange... they’re dead.

The living serve the departed—unknowingly. And if they try to leave? Something pulls them right back behind the counter.

As the truth begins to surface, the workers must question everything: Who are they really? How long have they been here? And what happens if they stop serving?

Someone has to keep the dead fed.

Why not you?

photo credit to Mark Gobel

☠✧🕯✧☠

𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

At first glance, The Early Grave looks like every other small-town diner you’ve ever ed on a long, empty road. A low, rectangular building with aluminum siding dulled by time and dust. The neon sign above the entrance hums quietly, casting a red-pink glow across the parking lot at night. A painted logo of a steaming coffee mug has long since chipped into something vaguely skull-shaped—but only if you're looking too hard.

There's a break room with the Manager(s) room connected to it, which you're only ever called into if you're caught slacking off for a little too long. The break room has a fridge, a worn-down sofa, and a small table.

The kitchen is compact but efficient—just like any roadside diner should be. Stainless steel counters gleam under fluorescent lights that hum softly, and every surface is dotted with familiar tools: spatulas, tongs, ladles hanging from hooks, a stack of well-used frying pans. A large flat-top grill dominates one side, where the cooks flip burgers and fry eggs with practiced ease. The deep fryer bubbles steadily, and the scent of sizzling bacon mingles with the ever-present aroma of coffee brewing from the corner machine. The walk-in freezer stands against the back wall, a heavy steel door that seals with a dull thud. It’s stocked with rows of pre-packaged ingredients, some slightly frostbitten, others looking unnervingly pristine—like they never quite age.

The small prep table in the middle bears the scars of years of chopping and slicing, its surface marred by countless cuts and stains that never seem to fully come out. The ticking of an old wall clock is the loudest sound, but sometimes, if you listen closely, there’s the faintest tap tap from behind the freezer door. A narrow hallway leads to the supply room and staff restroom, barely wide enough for one person. The fluorescent bulb flickers intermittently, but no one ever seems to get around to changing it.

The dining room is cozy and warmly lit by a series of hanging pendant lamps with dull yellow bulbs. Rows of red vinyl booths line the walls, each with a small table jukebox bolted in place—most broken, but one or two sometimes hum to life, playing soft tunes from the 50s and 60s.

A long counter runs along one side, lined with metal stools topped with cracked red cushions that have seen better decades. The counter gleams with polished chrome, reflecting the pale glow of the overhead lights. The walls are decorated with kitschy Americana: faded photos of classic cars, old ments for soda and cigarettes, and a large clock shaped like a diner waitress holding a tray, its hands frozen at 3:15. The windows show nothing but the empty, quiet highway outside. No cars. No movement. Sometimes the fog presses close to the glass, making the world beyond seem blurry and unreal.

photo credit to Jim Heimen

☠✧🕯✧☠

𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐒

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

The roles have infinite slots(other than Managers) because it's common for people to just randomly show up. So no, it doesn't matter when you appear in the roleplay, you'll always be on point with the plot and story line. Managers are the only exception because most of them have been working at The Early Grave for over fifty years, at least, if they've been keeping track.

Waitresses/Waiters - 3/∞

Just your average workers usually slacking off because nothing really happens if they don't work, and the worst that could happen is yelling from one of the managers.

Dishwashers - 2/∞

They're supposed to be cleaning dishes, but most of them goof off. If you've been here a while you stop trying to escape, and you stop feeding the dead, instead choosing to slide around on messes of bubbles or smoke one of the endless cigarettes.

Cooks - 3/∞

If they're not messing with endless strange gruel, then they're out by the dumpsters or slacking similarly to the waiters.

Managers - 1/5

They watch over the diner, including the workers and strange customers. They all seem to know something that the other workers don't, and for some reason they don't want to share.

credit to H. Armstrong Roberts

☠✧🕯✧☠

𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

About the Diner...

The name The Early Grave flickers on the sign. Sometimes it says “The Last Stop.” The big jukebox plays songs that were never released. Or that haven’t been written yet. One booth is always empty. Reserved. Covered in cobwebs. But every now and then… someone sits there.

About the workers...

All of them are alive… technically, at least, they can feel pain. Time doesn’t move right. Some getting hired. Others just “woke up” on shift. If they try to leave, they black out and wake up back in the diner. Workers who have been there for a while have either gone mad or just accepted it, fooling the new workers to do their work or spooking them with harsh rumors. They no longer bat an eye or beg a newcomer for a way out, just hand them a broom or ignore them.

About the customers...

They seem normal at first—old couples, bikers, drifters, families—but something is off. No one notices when their food just disappears. No one blinks when someone walks in soaked from a rain that isn’t falling. They leave cryptic notes, ask unsettling questions, tip in foreign coins and rusted jewelry.

The Basement...

It’s always locked. The manager says it’s for storage. But something knocks from the inside every time someone es by. Some people are still spooked by it, some people try to talk to someone they don't know is there, and others just choose to walk away.

About aging...

At best you'll age one or two years when you The Early Grave, and after that you just keep telling everyone the same age, since even though you may be forty, you still look twenty.

Good luck, hope you enjoy The Early Grave

Cover photo credit to Bettman

Template Creator

#featurereview

#sliceoflife