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

QUICKNAV
comms	\|	network • logs • memes • ooc
pages	\|	rules • faq • taken • mod contact • player contact • calendar • setting • exploration • item requests • full nav

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( his lantern is hanging off his medical bag, its light is a soft, honey-amber white. he shifts the bag so it lights their path as they go, an' stays just slightly ahead of mel. he's still of a mind that he'll be the one doing the protection. )

We, uh, don't have magic in my world. But we've got plenty of stories an' the like, an' in those stories magic can do just about anythin' from... raise the dead to makin' flowers grow.

⟪ the thought of allowing him to walk before her is an unsettling one, but she reckons there'll be a sign of warning, before they encounter anything with less than grand intentions towards themselves. least of all, she fights at long ranges, and not with methods that would need to go through him. ⟫

To return life back to the dead is possible, in my world. I know the prayer myself, and I have seen it done, though not in a few years. ⟪ she tilts her head, though he can't see it, and keeps an eye out for some tell-tale signs in the dim light, signs of plants she might use. ⟫ A girl from there, Brienne is her name, she has had an encounter with one of the returned, recently. As it is, what she described is unlike all cases I have seen. More dead than alive that woman is.

( lord, he wants so badly to ask her how, an' do what five had suggested an' go back into his world an' put to work for him. he never had the chance to grieve for reggie, not really. he was just. there one day, an' then gone. an' for all that his ghost followed him around the rest of the war, for all that it helped love company survive the most perilous of situations with what gene can only tell himself are minimal casualties — how many ambushes were foiled because reg' told him, an' he told one of the el-tees? how many lives were saved because gene had an in with a spy for the soe workin' overtime on his side? ghosts don't get tired, they don't need sleep or sustenance. reg' could travel half the world over in a blink.

but he was still dead.

an' melisandre says it's possible. why not his world too?

he exhales, shaky. glad of the fact she can't see his face turned away as he is. )

I've, ah. I've met Brienne. Didn't know she was from your world, though.

⟪ she cannot see his face, but she can heal the exhale, the slightest of quivers in it. and she knows the question, appreciates that he does not ask, but knows the question all the same. how many starved children did they wipe off the streets of any of the big 'free' cities of essos, how many times had she prayed and asked and begged for an answer as to why it was possible sometimes, but rarely ever? by which means were the returned chosen? when did r'hllor decide to grant the power, and when did he turn a blind eye? ⟫

We were on opposite sites of the war. ⟪ she halts. ⟫ Eugene? Here is one.

⟪ she kneels down, and in the light of their lanterns, he can see her draw a shadow into a shape, weaving it knife-sharp, and then using it to cut the plant at the stem. it grows in thick bushels, so there's plenty to go around. ⟫ It can induce sleep. We'll likely need it.

( he puts that away to ask about later. opposite sides... doesn't mean either one is bad or wrong. wars are fought for all kinds of reason, an' served in just the same. he turns when she calls his name, and holds his lantern aloft so her light's better. the shadow-knife gets somethin' of a raise of his brows but he don't comment on it none.

he doesn't recognize the plant itself, but all that means is it ain't native to alabama or the vast swaths of europe he's seen. )

Do you, uh. Smoke it? Boil it in a tea?

⟪ his reaction to the knife is still comparatively relaxed, really, much more so than that of most in her world had been. he's truly an extraordinary young man. ⟫

A tea, yes, but it shan't be boiled, only heated. If too much of its gifts are consumed, one might find one's self struggling to wake up again, so it must be handled with great care.

⟪ well, she fetches a piece of string from her bag, cuts it with the same shadowy knife, and ties the bundle together for safekeeping. then, the knife vanishes. ⟫

I will need to test it, before we can administer it to anyone else. ⟪ a blink. ⟫ On myself, of course. Poisons cannot touch me.

( an' the vanishing's a queer thing too, one he watches with open curiosity. seein' ghosts ain't a thing he ascribes to any manner o'magic, but he's always been open to the concept of its existence. he ain't ever thought of it as bein' or existin' in opposition to god, because what sort of bein' would create a wondrous world with limitations on the wonder?

he nods along with what she's sayin' an' reaches to take the bundle from her so's he can stow it in his bag on her behalf. )

Is it on account'a the body temperature?

( she runs what feels like an almost-constant fever. fevers exist to burn sickness outta the body, it ain't a great leap of logic to assume that it would aid in the body's ability to process poisons. )

⟪ she hands it to him with thanks, and stands again – smiling as he catches on to something most westerosi who have encountered her, and witnessed the attempt at a poisoning, were still dumbfounded by. he has a right proper head on his shoulders, this one.

again, the small sense of loss that doesn't make it past her smile, but that she feels all the same: his world is all the poorer without him, so quickly. ⟫

Yes. The Temple says the night is dark and full of terrors, but the fire burns them all away. ⟪ an incline of her head. ⟫ I did not have to demonstrate it very often. ⟪ once was enough. ⟫ You are taking this quite well, better than some of the men who would have made the call to send you to battle in my lands. How come?

( he secures the strap of his shoulder bag slowly. his fingers ain't worked so well since st. vith. but it gives him time to consider her question in earnest as he works the strap back through the buckle.

soft, )

Well... I ain't about to disbelieve you. ( it's rare that he disbelieves anyone, truth be told. he don't see the point it serves, except to hurt good people with fantastic stories, an' open him up to hurt by liars. the latter he can stand easy enough, the former he can't abide. ) The rest follows naturally. Reckon skepticism or shock don't do much good when we're dead an' still drawin' breath, still bleedin' an' can somehow die again in some foreign place entombed by never-ending darkness.

( when someone raises up that call for a medic, you have to put things away. fear, panic, pain. you have to believe you'll get there, an' you'll save them, an' you'll go onto the next call an' do it all again. things get buried. he still ain't grieved for reg' in any real way, an' it's been years since he died. havin' his ghost around had eased the need some, but. now that he can't turn an' find him in the dark, it's closin' in on him fit to choke. )

There were people you wished to see again.

⟪ there it is, the thing she had not asked before, but had, by now, begun to guess. she hadn't asked what others thought their afterlife could be like, melisandre had lived a long life believing in a specific one – hoping for it, really, if she was honest – and denouncing everyone else as heathens and unbelievers.

but empiric proof is nothing to be frowned upon, and of that, she now has enough.

there'd not been anyone she wants to see. the girl who calls herself arya stark had... told her of something, but she doesn't wish to pay it any thought. ⟫

( he exhales. he ain't quite followin' the leap of her line of questioning, but. ain't nothin' for it but to be honest. he nods, reachin' up to adjust his helmet. after, his hand drops down against his shirt an' there's a soft crinkle of paper beneath the pads of his fingers, like he's touchin' a totem. )

Ain't been home in years. My Pa an' two brothers are back in Alabama, my other brother's in the war same as me, but halfway across the world. Ain't seen a one'a them since I was eighteen.

( it ain't a complaint. he knew what he was about, signin' up for the paratroopers. an' his pa writes him often enough to ease the ache. but now he knows that the last time he saw 'em, watchin' them stand on the train station platform wavin' him off was the last time he'll ever see 'em it hits harder. al hadn't even shown up, though gene'd been lookin' for him. the last memory his brother'll have of him is them fightin' over the fact he could'a qualified for deferment on account'a his carpentry, an' chose to go instead to war. )

Edited 2019-07-11 16:54 (UTC)

⟪ it has taken her a long while to realise whom he reminded her of, really, the thought might have been there all along, between her lines. the sadness is in her eyes as she watches him, red eyes emptier than usual, and resists the urge to touch his hand, to ask about the crinkle that she suspects may be a letter of sorts, something kind and private and ever-lasting now, in death. ⟫

I know separation and farewells, but not like this.

⟪ but she has asked a deeply intimate question, as is her wont, though she would feel ill at ease, with him, to not offer at least an answer of her own, of sorts. ⟫

Since we met, I have wondered whom it is you remind me of. It is not a memory, per se, but a hope, rather. There is a boy, just four-and-ten, I held back from the most recent war his Majesty has embarked on. I thought he may grow up, this way, and if he had the chance, he would be much like you, I'd dream.

( she ain't never lacked in havin' a kind word for him. some compliment or concern. an' she's free with 'em in a way he ain't used to. verbal affirmation ain't never been a thing in his life. he ain't never lacked for love an' the showin' of it. his pa was soft an' gentle with him so long as he can remember, an' his ma showed him how to be strong without bein' hard. but. they were both folks of action an' intent, not words.

it's a new thing, an' a stark difference besides. he ducks his head a little, the helmet thumping down to shadow his eyes. )

Well, I hope he gets that chance, ma'am.

( he can infer that she was this boy's protector, an' that she's worried that without her protection he may not live long enough to see much past fourteen. but. he'll hope with her that her fears won't come to pass. )

For his sake, and his father's. The man holds no love for me, but he is as loyal a man as the King could ever wish for, and he lost four of his sons to this war already.

⟪ she notices her questioning has slowed them down, and sets back into motion. it isn't easy for her to tell when she is crowding people, in part because it is so integral to maintaining her standing in westeros, in part because asshai has robbed some abilities from her and she only notices their absence now. ⟫

I hope I am not making you uncomfortable. Easy company is not a great strength of mine.

( it's a story he's familiar with. the boys dyin' for the war ain't the only sacrifice bein' made. gene picks up the pace again to match her, an' shakes his head when she poses that question to him. )

No, I ain't. But it's kind of you to check in an' see. My line of work, talkin' about death is. You get used to it.

( men come in on the boats, they die under his hands. the same story now, near on three years. gene's learned not to make friends. the whole damn division mourned angel reyes. )

I used to be closer to it.

⟪ as a priestess, death was her business, as were the rites –– but then there had been asshai, where death was rare. then there had been westeros, where the few times she killed in defence over all her years in the shadowlands turned into something regular. ⟫

But these last instances of my war were fought by the King's side. Mind, he values those who fight for him, and still, it is a war dealt in numbers.

⟪ these we sent, these will be sure to die, these shall live –– and the same for the enemy. r'hllor be thanked, stannis sees sense in her magic, and uses it. between the usurper of a brother he had and the siege of storm's end over the castellan, so many of their knights and soldiers, their men, could be spared.

spared, she knows, until the great other comes. ⟫

( ain't no war the world over that's been kindly fought. death's the point of it, an' most often the ultimate goal. kill your enemy better'n'they're killin' you. every man dispensable. )

How'd you get tangled up in it?

( priests have a place in war, to be sure, but he ain't used to women bein' near the front at least in that capacity. nuns, maybe, but. she ain't that. )

Do you recall the visions I spoke of when we first met?

⟪ oh, it's unusual, even in her own world. women are not for fighting, nor are they for war tents – a point made by lord manderly, point made so well stannis sent her back to dragonstone, only to suffer a grave defeat at the blackwater. ⟫

They can be most useful, as can some of my other ways.

( they collected plants, chatted a bit more, were very soft and went back to church marginally better equipped than they went into the woods! )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

INTRO LOG: JULY

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

>handwaved