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 general store

It's a relatively small crowd milling around the pier, angling for answers out of the apparent welcome wagon, but Rafe isn't having any of it. Standing around and waiting for answers? What a waste of his time. (Except there's apparently plenty of that now, given he's— Nope. Not thinking about that yet.)

Instead he focuses on the basics. First things first. Assess the environment, identify and collect assets, secure a base camp in as favorable a position as possible. So Rafe makes a beeline for the general store, lantern held up to allow a critical eye as he browses. As opposed to what many people think (thought) of him, he doesn't need much. An axe goes in a leather holster clipped at his hip, the ice hook next to it, a few solid coils of rope, a few blankets for a rudimentary bedroll, bare essentials, a few spare shirts when he realizes the permeating stench of gunpowder and smoke is coming from him. Things that'll come in useful in a pinch.

...When he sees a simple silver chain, though. He squints in the dimness, chewing on the inside of his cheek before setting the lantern aside and picking it up. The metal is sound, no rust he can see, though hell if he can appraise anything about age or origin or influence. Rubbing a thumb along the links, he finally sighs and says:

He checks around, as if someone were to see and judge him for it, then loops it round his neck and lets it slide under his shirt. He hates a cliche but. Gift horses. Mouths. Whatever.

the church

The math wasn't difficult to figure. Scanning the crowd, stacking that headcount against the apparent dimensions of the inn available to them? Yeah. No way is everybody going to fit unless stacked like sardines, or at least piled together way closer than Rafe is comfortable with. So he stalks off, leaving the others to squabble as they will, and goes to find his own options. It isn't long before he hears it and he stands a moment in silence, ears straining to make sure he isn't imagining it. The church looms up, a darker shadow against the starry night sky, and Rafe doesn't hesitate letting himself in. It's smaller than St. Dismas's, just one building opposed to a compound sprawling across Hebridean hillsides, but the scent of the forest just beyond and the flying buttresses soaring into the shadows above are close enough that if he closed his eyes he could feel the snow. Taste the salt spraying up from the basalt cliffs.

(Were he anyone else, he could admit it's a homesickness. But he's not so shut the hell up. It's quiet and away from most people — what else would he be looking for?)

A quick tour of the interior shows: the candles, actually burning beyond that bonfire the bird had been so intense about; the small rooms off nave, perfect for his needs; and of course, the trap door. Kneeling and rapping his knuckles lightly against the wood, he gives ring a firm pull and— Nothing.

That's something to investigate and he notes it in the back of his mind before straightening up and heading to a room. Best to set up before someone else gets any bright ideas.

the town hall

Rafe is an old hand at research, at sifting through forgotten corners of history and tracking down the clues to something worthwhile, and before now he might've even said it was almost relaxing. Like rebuilding a Rubix cube out of a hundred scattered pieces just to twist round for the ultimate answer.

Then there's the flip side. Dead ends and dangling trails that disappear three steps in and Christ, Rafe hadn't missed this. He's scouring the shelves in the town hall, all but growling under his breath as he peers for something. Anything. A torn out page, a note shoved in the joint of a bookcase, a journal slid under one of these statues that do nothing but stare morosely back at him. Cold cases were one thing, where the trail slid off into the unknown, but there was always something to start with. You couldn't have a town with absolutely no trace of anything that came before, could you?

got

He came out here to do some research and all he got was this now-dusty tee-shirt.

the bonfire

In spite of everything else, he still ends up in front of the bonfire. Back propped up against a log, he sits on the ground with a small cloth from the general store laid out in front of him. On it are his twin Colts, the firelight gleaming in the mother-of-pearl grips. One is in a state of disassembly as Rafe methodically takes it apart. Cleans the components. Inspects them, cleans them, puts them back together again.

At least it's something to do. Something involving enough focus to do correctly in the piss poor lighting that he doesn't have to think about anything else. Like the mountains of Libertalia. The mansions he'd told himself he could fully appreciate later. The sensation of crushing heat and force when he— Shit. But there's still a number of folks wandering around and if you should step between him and the bonfire—

Because Rafe clearly does.

wild card

Hit me with anything and I'll roll with it!

Edited 2019-07-03 01:19 (UTC)

Hm?

[There's a figure at the door that has to stoop to make it in through said doorway. Rosinante hasn't gotten inside here just yet, and it's no surprise someone beat him to it. Maybe he's found something interesting, based on the exclamation he'd just barely overheard. He steps inside and looks around, but there really isn't much to see here, is there? Other than himself, still a mess of dried blood and smudged makeup, and the fellow ahead of him.]

Sure looks cleaned out, doesn't it?

[ Rafe isn't ashamed to admit he does a double take. It's not every day you see Bigfoot just after his expulsion from Clown College. He keeps the thought to himself, though— The guy's huge and covered in blood and even if it ended with him here instead of winning, Rafe can't imagine he went easily. Restraining himself to an eyebrow arching toward his hairline, he takes a step back from the shelves and inhales sharply. ]

Not just looks like. Is.

[ With company here, he composes himself. Stows the simmering anger away for later behind an empty expression that's almost bored. ]

Haven't found so much as an index card.

That's a shame. Everywhere I look for answers, I get nothing. Whatever that reset they were talking about was, they were damn thorough.

[As if to confirm, he paces along a length of shelving, but even the dust looks undisturbed. What little is here is almost alien - the busts are like someone's idea of what should be in here, rather than actual busts of actual people.]

Any idea what to make of these?

Doesn't help much that the locals seem dead set on the "mysterious cryptic bullshit" shtick.

[ Honestly, what kind of game were they playing? "We've got actual knowledge about why you're here and what you're doing but we're also not going to tell you yet so just relax while being blind as a bat in a cave full of barbed wire." Downright hospitable of them when you got right down to it. ]

Town founders? The people who were here before but have since "underperformed"? Throw a dart at the wall, you'll find some theory or another that sticks. Just no actual evidence to back any of it up.

[Mysterious cryptic bullshit is right. He's spoken to all three, and they're helpful in their ways but some questions just don't seem to have answers. The lighthouse minder, she probably knows more, so as he scouts around, he's been keeping an eye out for people who look like they might be able to make it there and back without panicking too much about wandering a forest in the dark.]

Yeah. You know, I actually ran into someone earlier who said she was into art history. Though I doubt there's much to say about nondescript faces. Have you had a chance to look through any of the other buildings?

rafe adler / uncharted / ota

town hall

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The Bonfire

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the church

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town hall

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the church

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the general store (slight wildcard!)

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