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

[ It isn't unusual for him to get a little zealously in the zone when working. Nate has a tendency to shut things out, and barely registers what's in the periphery despite his lazy greeting from his crouch until the presence doesn't go away, and he finally lifts his head only to double-take.

He looks at her for a long moment, slightly less pale than he remembers, but the arched brows and shock of red hair are unmistakable. The woman from the jungle on that other planet, making crisp observations in an equally crisp accent, which also matches the memory he has of her when she addresses him.

Nate stands, brow wrinkling. ]

Uh- yeah, a map. Rosalind, right?

[--hm.

He isn't from her world. Not dressed like that, not standing like that. He approaches her too casually, too boldly, for him to be from her time. Besides: if he was some random Columbian, he'd use her title.

So. What else? Had he overheard her name? Unlikely, she hasn't introduced herself to anyone. Another version of her? Perhaps, but the odds of that are astronomical.]

Madam Lutece.

[A careful correction as she takes a step towards him.]

How do you know my name?

Yeah! Yeah, sorry, forgot the whole title, it's been a while- um.

[ Wow, okay, so not at all, huh? No bells in this belfry worth ringing. Nate seems to understand his error and falters a little, just for a moment, mostly because he feels bad being that guy. It's invasive to have someone say they know you when you don't know them, and Nate has a lot of experience with that. For a while, his reputation ran into plenty of seedy circles.

He recovers with more formality, clearing his throat. ]

Hi, I'm Nate- Nathan Drake. I met you - or a version of you, probably - in the last world where I got dimensionally kidnapped.

[There's another pause, but she steps in closer, until she's standing before him.]

I see.

[Is that possible? Of course it is. There's so many universes there isn't a word for it, a number so unfathomably large that almost anything can be true. So yes, it's possible another version of her either lived in a world in which Nathan Drake was kidnapped, or they were both kidnapped, or . . . something. So yes, he's likely telling the truth.

Now. What to do with that information?]

And what was our relationship, Mr. Drake?

[were they friends? Enemies? Unlikely, given the way he regards her. Or mere acquaintances?]

[ She's close now, assessing, and Nate would be both a fool and an asshole to not think she isn't perfectly capable of dealing with men of all varieties, because she gave off that air when he first met her and he doubts that's changed much - if at all. The scrutiny makes him a little uncomfortable but he sure as Hell isn't going to be so rude as to step back, and besides, he's sort of earned it addressing her with familiarity. ]

Friendly?

[ Nate had thought it was, and the walk back to the city through the jungle then had been nice enough. Questions and answers, a well-meaning escort. ]

You weren't there for very long.

[Rosalind, in her life, had a total of one relationship that she might describe as friendly. Anyone else was either coldly regarded or loathed.]

How long? And what did you learn of me?

Honestly, I don't know the exact time. Couple months, maybe?

[ He met her not long before the end. Things got a little hard to keep track of in those last few weeks. ]

You were into science, uh...you'd come from this other world I think you called...Duplicity? You said it was an island. But that you were originally in some kind of floating city in 1910.

[One of those things is correct. The other sounds . . . strange, and foreign, and a little wrong. It also opens an unpleasant possibility: that there are not only other R. Luteces out there who did the same thing she did, with Comstock and Elizabeth and Booker, but that they'd gone and done what she couldn't: survived past Fink's assassination.

Or--]

What was she? Was she human?

[There's a sudden urgency to her tone.]

...I don't know.

[ That's true enough, though he doesn't blink at the question. Oddly enough, he's heard weirder. ]

Seemed kind of rude to ask.

But you had reasonable doubt. You don't know, not an emphatic denial.

Was she or was she not human, Mr. Drake?

Rosalind.

[ Maybe it's presumptuous to use first names, but he's reserving Madam Lutece for ironic purposes, and ironic purposes alone. The patience in his tone is clearly stretching thing. ]

I was in a world with demons, synthetic humans, elves, and emotion-eating gods. Anyone could have been anything.

[Her mouth tightens, and it's anyone's guess if that's because of his answer or the use of her first name.]

Don't call me that.

[This matters. It matters far more than it seems. She stares at him for a long few seconds, her face pale, weighing the pros and cons of continuing to speak. But then:]

. . . if she wasn't-- if she was something other than human-- it means that there was a chance I could have survived what killed me. Do you understand? The explosion that killed me was caused by a machine that was built to tear universes apart. It wasn't simply a petty engine; the effects of its explosion must have been extraordinary. And given that, it isn't utterly inconceivable that someone might survive that.

Some other version of myself and Robert lived, even if it was in a fractured fashion, when I myself could not. Why? What was the decisive factor? The infinitesimal choice that contributed to my death and her life?

[Her voice is so terribly even, but there's something raging and full of grief in her gaze nonetheless.]

I suspect I'll never know.

INTRO LOG: JULY

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