logsinthenight | INTRO LOG: JULY

INTRO LOG: JULY

characters: everyone.
location: the harbor, as well as the rest of town.
date/time: july 1-3.
content: beacon's newest batch of residents arrives on the ferry. winters, will, and rastus introduce themselves and explain the situation.
warnings: n/a.

welcome to beacon.

It's dim, and the room won't stop swaying, gently rocking you back and forth. A loud sound startles you fully awake, a deep, moaning call: a foghorn. As your eyes adjust, you note faint red light streaking through the room from a tiny, round window.

You've found yourself in a private room, lying on a bed. The last things you remember are the events that led up to your death. Beside you is a folded tablet and a lantern that glows steadily with a healthy flame.

You're on a ship. And that ship is docking.

Making your way to the deck, and eventually the pier, you find only moonlight to greet you, and a dark forest beyond. There are other people here, each with their own unique lantern, and many of them look just as lost as you are. On the ferry you've just disembarked from, the speaker system begins to play a song.

In the distance, across the waters of the lake, you can see the tall silhouette of a lighthouse, its red light slowly turning.

•••
Winters and Will are waiting for you on the beach. Winters flags you down from where he's standing atop a large rock, surveying the gathering crowd. Will stands next to him, though he's monkeying with his tablet and looks rather bored. He barely looks up as Winters speaks:

"First thing's first: I'm sorry you're here. There's no easy way to break this news, so let's just get it over with, hm? You're dead. Or, ah, you've died. Call this the afterlife if you want, or don't if that ain't your thing, but point is, you're here 'cause you died. Those are the facts.

This world's dead, too. You've noticed by now it's pretty dark, yeah? That's 'cause there's no life here, not anymore. And that lantern you've got? That's your life, so to speak. The flame goes out, you die, and vice versa. Keep it close. Should be easy enough to remember on account of how the sun don't rise. You'll need something to see by.

This place is called Beacon, and that's Lake Red Jacket. Town's 'bout a mile down the road, and we've got a bonfire there, but that's the only other light you'll see in this place. Save for the moon and all, though the sky won't do you much good out in the woods. I'll let Rastus explain the bonfire to y'all.

Ah, right. I'm Ben Winters—Winters'll do—and this here's Will Ingr— What? For christ's sake, Dr. Will Ingram. Likes to think he's the brains of the operation, as you can see. If you've got questions about these tablets, he's your guy. Rastus tends to the fire, and you'll find him in town. He's married to his job in a way. And you may never've seen a person like him back wherever you came from, but don't make a big fuss over it. He's a nice fellow. Mind your manners.

The three of us are leftovers from past resets. We came here on that ferry just like you, but it's just us left now. 'Sides the Lighthouse Keeper, but it'll be a bit before you get to meet her. She's got control over the town, see, and if she ain't satisfied with a group's performance, they get the axe. Town gets reset. If she pulls a reset on you folks, a couple of you might end up like me and Will here, giving this speech to the next crop."

The red beam of the lighthouse pulses over the group, over the trees. Winters glances up to watch it swing out over the bay.

"But don't hold it against her. Ain't her fault we're in this mess, and we've all got a job to do, including you.

For now, concentrate on accepting your lot, yeah? We're here to answer your questions, but we ain't gonna tell you all there is to know just yet. Some things are best learned on your own, and some of it we just don't want to saddle you with yet. There's a limit to how long we can stay here safely, that's true, but thing is, we do got time. Time enough to play this smart. Do better than the folks before us did. Settle in, make peace, explore a bit if you're up for it. Use these first couple weeks to come to grips. You ain't gonna be any good to the town if you don't sort yourself out before worrying about what comes next.

So listen up: You're dead. You died. Whatever your old life was, it's done now. None of us can go back, so all we've got is forward. Welcome to Beacon. Could be worse, yeah?"

ooc.

Hey there, wonderful players, and welcome to In the Night! For this intro log, all three NPCs will be available for chatting with, whether your character wants to make casual conversation or ask questions about all this. The headers on each NPC toplevel are there for easy reference as to what each of them are responsible for, but you're welcome to go to any NPC for whatever reason. You're welcome to assume your character has overheard any NPC conversation to learn more about the game. After the NPC threads have died down, we'll compile the info learned ICly and add it to the game history page. If your character would contribute something specific to the game history records, let us know!

DELIVERIES

The following packages can be found in the cargo hold:

The monthly store restock

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

the safety of shoreline fading away; harbor & bonfire;

[It could be a great deal better, too, just saying. Like, on the scale of it could be, dying and then being forcibly revived in this Dante's allegory knockoff could have gone a whole lot better, but here they are, and there's no use in complaining.

Point in fact, the first thing Rosalind does when Winters' speech ends is look: look at the others there, rising on her toes to try and see through the sea of men that have gathered. Dark hair is fairly popular, and a great deal of them are of the stocky and tall variety, which is all well and good, but not what she's looking for. Even when people begin to disperse, she seems intent on finding someone-- and when she doesn't, she exhales slowly, her eyes narrowing.

Right.

A quick trip to the general store, and then Rosalind settles by the bonfire, a few materials laid out before her. Bits of fabric, a needle and thread, a new set of clothes that she changes into almost immediately . . . and some water she seems intent on getting to boil over the bonfire.]

What do you imagine they meant by reset? She can't precisely kill us, can she? So, [she says, because when is her talking to someone ever anything but an excuse for her to speak her own thoughts out loud,] it has to be a fate worse than that, yes? Something that Winters et all's cohorts suffered. Some final dismissal of spirit? Dying again, Rastus said . . . and for that matter--

[Hm. She slides a few fingers idly against her stomach, then glances up at whatever poor soul is sitting near her.]

Give me your hand.

you need to calm down; general store

[A day is a long time. By the end of it, she's gone in and out of the general store at least four times (if anyone is observant enough to notice). Maybe you're on her tail the next time she goes in. Maybe you really wanted to interact with those cute forest spirits, because you watched a lot of Miyazaki in your youth and this is what you've been waiting for.

If so: sorry.

Because the second Rosalind walks in, there's this great bit chittering noise, not so much panicked as quietly frantic, urgent little chirps and clicks-- and those shadowy figures behind the counter bolt, hustling towards the back, avoiding their latest customers' eyes in favor of getting the hell out of there. Only once they're away (which really isn't that far, you can still see them, they're still right there) do they turn around, staring warily at Rosalind.

She does not look amused.]

They were questions. Don't be overdramatic.

[She takes a deliberate step forward, and oh, no, they're moving again, hauling ass to get away from her, Ros what did you do--]

fantasy and microchips shooting from the hip; bar

[Is it still unhealthy to drink to excess if you're dead?

Let's find out!

No, she isn't drunk, not hideously so. But she is drinking, glass after glass of a dark red wine, sipping at them at a speed which suggests her survival depends on it. This is at least her fourth glass, and yet her hands are steady as she works.

You can catch her doing a few things: first, prying at her tablet. She works with the screen first, fingers flying over it before she decides manuel repair might be best. Is it a good idea to just pop open that thing and tinker with it? Maybe! Probably not!

Or maybe you catch her later, where it looks less like futzing and more like building: tools applied to bastardized survival equipment, a glass jug emptied out and a few white powders in it. That looks fun and safe!

Or perhaps you just see her doing the bottle trick. Or starting it, anyway: she fills a bottle halfway up with water, grips it tightly, and then glances up sharply. Does she catch your eye? Sorry, buddy, but you're getting beckoned over with the sort of expression that demands, not asks.

Whatever she's doing, she seems very fixated on it. Almost to the point of obsession, in fact: there's a frantic quality to the way her hands move, enough that she inevitably catches the eye of a few people. It's not that she's useless-- no, whatever she's doing is clearly working. But this isn't just idle futzing about.]

wildcard;

[Have something else in mind? Want to do another location? Hit me up at

kitnkat

( Javert should probably have his French card revoked. When he goes up to the bar, he doesn't order any wine. He just asks for a large mug of coffee and a piece of bread, and sits himself down in the seat next to Rosalind, watching as she takes apart her tablet.

He's perfectly happy not talking, as Rosalind has probably figured out. But his curiosity eventually gets the best of him, and he leans forward into the bar, arms crossed on the countertop and asks, )

Is it broken?

( He honestly has no idea what she's doing. )

[Her eyes flick up for just a few seconds. The man across her-- her roommate now, she supposes-- is . . . interesting. A police officer, and she doesn't necessarily distrust the police, but nor does she trust them, either. It's not personal; she actively distrusts politicians, so it could be worse.

But he's tolerable so far. Not openly lecherous, though she'll see how well that holds. Intelligent enough. Certainly not trying to establish dominance over her, which is good, because it wouldn't end well for him.

All in all: a curiosity, but a tentative positive for the moment.]

No.

[She sets the screwdriver down, reaching for her wine.]

But things are rarely well made, and I can usually improve them vastly. I've never seen technology like this before, hence the learning period.

You're looking for something to do. ( He says mostly to himself, his gaze trailing back down to the tablet. He nods once, then grunts. ) I understand.

( He's been doing the very same thing, skulking around town hoping to find suspicious activity. Then sitting in the tavern hoping to hear something interesting. It's been a wash on both accounts, and Javert can't help but be disappointed. )

Maybe we really are in hell, and we're just being tortured by boredom.

[She scoffs out a laugh.]

It may be more effective than the fire and brimstone others advertise.

[She leans back, settling in fully for the conversation. She may not pay attention for long, but at least she can have a break for the moment.]

And yourself? What ways have you found to occupy yourself?

rosalind lutece; bioshock; ota

the bar, after they move in

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bonfire

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[ this looks fun and safe ]

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@fogey

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bonfire!

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bonfire

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general store

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