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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[ Arya's mouth sets at the question, eyeing the man in his oddly pressed clothing. Almost like a canvas instead of leather, she thinks. She's reminded once again that unless she's speaking to her men, she's going to be met with skepticism or concern that would otherwise make sense. She tries not to take it personally or count it against this one. She shrugs one shoulder. ]

Maybe. I can't imagine that I'll be the only one here exploring.

[ That doesn't mean she was planning on seeking out the assistance of others. She intends to tell Jon because she can't imagine he won't want to be a shadow by her side as she sets out to find their family, but she hadn't considered speaking to others. Recruiting. She cocks her head slightly, looking at him anew. At least he reads as trustworthy, if maybe a little too friendly. ]

Was that a vague offer to help? Or do you plan on staying here and sitting by the fire for your whole afterlife?

( she's blunt about it. a touch... not hostile, he thinks, but. the specificity of her pushback makes him think she's come up against resistance in the past. he ain't about that life — even if he'd never known aveline, he's met too many women doin' men's work in the war to think anythin' less of the gender on account of age-old biases. gene tips his helmet back some on his head. )

Weren't meant to be vague, Miss. Just hadn't got on to the offerin' yet. I would surely like to help if you've a need, though I ain't one for fightin'.

( oh, he has his rifleman's badge an' all, but with only his service pistol an' it's seven rounds at his side an' the knowledge he'd have to rely more on his trench knife — no, he's aware his usefulness lies more to his speciality than his admittedly average marksmanship. )

[ She watches for all the signs of honesty - easy, relaxed eye contact, no hesitance or tension in the voice, open and undefensive communication with his body - and is struck to find them all there. She doesn't trust anyone outside her family easily. Her experiences have only proved her right.

But she's tired. And dead. And it's very dark here, and an offer to help is more than nothing. ]

If you don't fight, what do you do?

[ She doesn't recognize his specific official dress for what it is, nor does she know what to make of his weaponry. She's not even sure it is weaponry, but she makes a point of looking at it, hoping that he'll explain it to her. ]

Do you know how to defend yourself, at least? [ She'd thought he'd had the look of someone who does, and she's surprised to learn he's not a fighter. ] Or do you just not like doing it?

( he taps his hand down against his bag. )

Well, I'm a medic. ( but given as how she's usin' old words an' is dressed like someone from centuries prior, that word may not be a thing she'd understand. he amends: ) Somethin' like a healer, if'n you ain't got a notion of what that means.

( it ain't meant to be condescendin' or patronizing. lord knows he's needed his share explained to him on account'a his time an' place. an' then she asks him if he can defend himself, an' he sort of runs his tongue thoughtfully over his teeth. the way she's inspectin' his gear makes it plain she ain't never seen it before. he undoes the snap on his holster and pulls his colt out. he never loads the chamber, so ejectin' the magazine an' rackin' the slide is about all he needs to do to ensure it's safe for someone else to handle. he offers it to her to inspect. besides that, it's only his trench knife an' the pocket knife melisandre gave him, an' he can only thank the lord that he came into this place with more bandages than bullets. )

That there's a firearm, y'can call it a 'gun' just the same. These ( a little wag to the magazine ) are bullets. They're a high-speed projectile launched by a combustion reaction. Reckon it's kinda like... the future of the bow'n'arrow.

( he's only got the one mag. if you can't kill somethin' with seven rounds, all's you're gonna do is piss it off. he ain't even sure he'd draw it in that case. he thumbs a bullet outta the mag and tosses it to her across the short distance between 'em. )

I can fight some. Enough to account for myself. But it ain't a strength o'mine.

[ She nods, appreciating that he's making an obvious effort to help her understand by using different words when one doesn't do the trick. It's not something that everyone here has thought to do, and Arya's brows furrow in a little frown of curiosity and focus as Gene takes out his weapon and begins fiddling with it. Her eyes are glued to it, her hand poised and yet relaxed against her dagger. She takes the weapon when it's offered, no hesitating in her at all. ]

They're a... what?

[ Her grey Stark eyes flick from the 'gun' to Gene, marvelling at what she does understand - the last thing he said. They have nothing like gunpower in Arya's time time - nothing other than the danger of wildfire - so she's having difficulting imagining what Gene is talking about. ]

But it's so small.

[ She catches the bullet with an easy immediacy and grace that probably seems eerily inhuman and turns it over in her gloved hand. She opens the gun as she'd just seen him do and fits the bullet inside, fascinated by the strange fit. To what purpose? She doesn't make any suspicious moves and just takes the bullet out again, snapping the gun closed with the same learned movement Gene had used. ]

Good to hear. I'll look out for you, anyway. Don't worry. [ She tosses the bullet back to him almost playfully, then hands him the gun. ] Doesn't sound like a bad idea to have a healer along. What medicines do you work with? Leeches? Fire and knife?

( she takes to the holdin' so easily an' well it's a marvel. she has sure hands an' a keen mind, replicatin' his motions like that with no other demonstration. there's an artistry replete in her motions, miles beyond grace. he doesn't doubt she ain't never held one before, but he'd be hard-pressed to think she couldn't manage it if she had to. there's a part'a him that wishes he had more ammunition to warrant teachin' her proper.

he catches that bullet easily enough, thumbs it back into the magazine and fits the whole mess of it back together before puttin' it in his holster. the way she says she'll look out for him... there's a certainty to it that ain't born of arrogance. she knows how to fight. even if he hadn't seen the casual ease of her handlin' a weapon new to her, he'd know it plain. some folk are just born to war. )

Neither. Reckon medicine's a bit different where I'm from. We use drugs — an' they are mostly from plants an' nature but distilled to a higher potency — an' dressings. Combat medicine's about intervenin' in injury that might otherwise be fatal. Ain't always a success, but we do what we can.

[ Arya hadn't been born to it, but she certainly had adapted. If she hadn't there would be no more Westeros to speak of after the dead had seen their way unchecked into the south, but Arya doesn't wear that pride like a mantle. She doesn't think of it much, except to remember to trust herself again in all this dark.

She nods, ever frowning in that little thoughtful way. ]

The maesters do some of that, with potions and the like. They tend our castles and our sick. Send ravens and such. But I've never seen one on a battlefield.

[ It's true, Arya has mostly experienced the edges of true battle, but she has lived a life in the field of war like few others. Still, she smiles a little, regarding him. ]

You're a soldiermaester, then. How interesting. I can't imagine someone better to have along, even if we're supposed to be... dead.

( he huffs a laugh. )

Well, I ain't never been dead before, so I can't say what it's meant to feel like. But this feels like livin' to me.

( he's still standin'. breathin'. an' he ain't got reggie's trick of walking through walls. bein' here's the only difference. he hesitates, tips his head to one side an' then holds out a hand. )

Name's Eugene, Miss. Eugene Hicks.

I suppose you're right.

[ Arya has certainly felt her heartbeat leap in her chest since arriving here, most notably when she found that her brother Jon was here too, so she can't deny that they certainly aren't living the emotionless lives of ghosts. What is death if you still feel like you're among the living? ]

I'm Arya. [ She returns, nodding, but hesitates at the offered hand. When she reaches for it, she clasps Gene's forearm instead in a startlingly strong grip, iron little fingers clamping him in a squeeze instead of a shake. ] Arya Stark. [ And she leaves her introduction as simple as that. No use going into anything else. Here she is simply Arya. ]

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INTRO LOG: JULY

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