logsinthenight | 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

[ There are "classics" filling the shelves, or rather, the kinds of classics that most people who went to high school sometime in the latter half of the twentieth century would have read. Nate isn't familiar with many of them, but that's what he gets for leaving school at the tender age of twelve.

He pulls a face at the cover that's flashed in his general direction, some kind of squiggly carousel horse. ]

Can't say I ever read that one. Overrated?

No no, it's great if you're a pretentious asshole who likes to flaunt how philosophical and deep they are.

( please don't be that kind of person, nate. )

Otherwise, it's better used as fertilizer, really. Dreadful book.

...yeah, no, don't worry.

[ The description already has him wrinkling his nose. Of course, it should be noted that this is also a man who has never read the Bard, but most of the Elizabethan media that Nate consumed was a little more...esoteric. Occult. John Dee, and the like. ]

Doesn't really sound like my thing. [ He pulls a book called Sense and Sensibility off the shelf, glances at it, and puts it back. ] I'm Nate, by the way. Nathan Drake.

Ambrose Spellman. Pleased to make your acquaintance in this afterlife.

( he tosses catcher in the rye back, discarding it for the moment before offering a hand towards nate. )

It's not really my thing either. I've read it because it was, once upon a time, the fashionable thing to do but I hated myself for doing it and I hate the book too.

[ It's a firm, brusque handshake that doesn't linger, but it lets him know Ambrose is at least comfortable with friendly introductions. ]

Yeah?

[ The grin Nate quirks is crooked, but mostly because he can't imagine reading anything just to stay in fashion. Then again, his clothes should be evidence enough that fashion is not in his wheelhouse. ]

Never really got into much fiction. My life was crazy enough already.

Well, it sounds like there is a story behind a statement like that.

( and he's been house bound for nearly seventy five years. stories are all he's had. living vicariously through other people and trying not to get too jealous of their adventures. )

So, what would it take for me to get some of those stories out of you? A drink? Maybe two?

[ It's forward, but Nate tends to appreciate when people don't beat around the bush even if he laughs, somewhat self-critical. He's starting to get the uncanny feeling that the afterlife is built for alcoholics. ]

Yeah, a drink would do it. [ With feigned sincerity: ] I think I know a place, actually? Right around the corner.

Really, right around the corner? That bar?

( no, the other bar that...doesn't exist. probably. )

I think I know it. I think I've actually drained a few bottles there already. Come on. I'll buy. Or...I'll get the first round somehow.

[ The return on his sarcasm is too good to not crack a grin, even a sheepish one, and Nate does a sweeping gesture toward the door with one arm. ]

Well, if you're buying - after you.

I am always willing to buy a drink for a pretty face.

( hadn't been able to see enough of those in the last seventy five years or so. he could make up for it now even if he was dead. )

For you, I might even buy something close to top shelf. Come on.

Uh...thanks.

[ Nate has known a number of inherently flirtatious people in his time, and he can't actually tell if this is a feature of everyday interaction, or pointed. To avoid any awkwardness he summarily avoids asking for clarification, tipping his head to one side in tacit acknowledgment of the compliment.

He keeps pace, and the walk isn't far. ]

Not really sure how polite it is to ask how people died yet, so what's the year where you're from?

Don't mention it.

( and it probably wouldn't be the last instance of flirting you'd have aimed at you either, nate. you were a pretty face. )

2019 last I checked. What about yourself? Past, future or present?

2015.

[ It's genuinely refreshing to meet people from the same century, at least, who have a familiarity with a world similar enough to his own. ]

Boston, originally, but I live- lived in New Orleans. [ Neither of which are detectable in his very homogenous American accent. ] You from England?

I've lived here and there, England included. Most recently, I've been living in Greendale.

( most recently meaning the last seventy five years or so. )

Never made it down to New Orleans which is a shame. Bourbon Street. I don't think I'd ever leave.

INTRO LOG: JULY

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