INTRO LOG: JULY

[inthenightmods]

INTRO LOG: JULY
IT'S HAPPENING AGAIN

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
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pages	|	rules • faq • taken • mod contact • player contact • calendar • setting • exploration • item requests • full nav

Comments

[policier]

Yet, the two do not always coincide.

( As Javert well knows. He stares down at her proffered hand like he's not sure what to make of it, before looking up at her and shaking his head as gracefully as he can. )

You do not need to give me pity. I have no need of it, nor do I deserve it. I only came here so that I may receive insight on what God requires of me.

( Javert doesn't usually talk about personal matters like this, not to a stranger. But Melisandre is a priestess, and this, in some strange way, could almost be considered a confessional. )

[voktys]

⟪ No law in her land that she hasn't broken with one way or another, because God's Will trumps them all, and because His miracles won't come for free, no matter how much she prays. She withdraws her head and cocks her head to the side, eyes calm, voice steady. ⟫

'tis not pity I offer you. ⟪ And it is absolution of a sort, then, he seeks, but he himself says he is not yet ready to receive it. ⟫ You are weighted down by guilt.

[policier]

Not guilt, no. I do not feel remorse over what I've done.

( He seems incredibly humble all of a sudden, though, looking down and away as he runs a hand through his whiskers. He's disappointed in himself for not doing his duty, but it the uncertainty of his actions that are bothering him more than anything. )

For the first time in my life, I chose to be kind to a criminal rather. I let him walk free rather than uphold the law.

( That's what he's broken up about. Heaven forbid he grow and change into a better person. )

[voktys]

What was his crime?

⟪ Stannis is quick with the hangings, and now that he has her, just as quick with the burnings. Most crimes earn one or the other, in his vicinity, some with a gelding first.

So she can... understand a man who would be broken up about letting some crime slide. ⟫

[policier]

( Javert looks back up at her, then, though the humility in his demeanor doesn't seem to abate. )

He is a thief, Madame. But his offenses were many years ago, and since then, he has changed. He's become a kind and honest man. I could not bear to send someone like him back to prison.

( It might be just in the eyes of the law, but it simply would not be right. )

[voktys]

If he has stayed in prison before, perhaps his debt was paid.

⟪ She can't pretend to understand all of law –– by law, she was once an object bought and sold, by law, her master could have slain her and it would not be a crime anymore than if he'd broken a pot in his own kitchens. She's seen it done.

But she's seen justice, too, has seen Stannis wield it.

[policier]

Perhaps.

( Nineteen years is a long time, after all, and Javert has tormented the old man for long enough. Valjean deserves to live the rest of his life out in peace. Javert can only hope that his death was able to give him that. He shakes his head a little and stands up straighter. )

I suppose it hardly matters. No one else will go looking for him now that I am gone. There are not many left who would recognize him as a convict.

( And even fewer still that would even know he's alive. )

[voktys]

It matters to you.

⟪ This much she considers self-evident, at least. R'hllor is not a god for self-abnegation, not when it comes to anyone not immediately tied into a priesthood. ⟫

And we might need justice here. Or do you wish to lay this part of your life to rest?

[policier]

Truthfully? I do not know.

( He's been patrolling the streets and hauling rowdy drunkards out of the bar, but that's just out of habit. What will he do when someone commits a crime, but does so for good reason? He's not sure. )

It's not as if I much standing here as a police officer. The only thing I can do is try to keep the people safe.

[voktys]

⟪ He tells the truth, so much is obvious –– he wants to be just, but he seems unsure of his own idea of it, of the ways of the law. This is different from what she is used to, but then, ⟫

I must rather agree. I... don't truly know what a police offer is. ⟪ She has puzzled something together from context, of course, but if he is honest with her, she is obliged to be honest with him. ⟫ But to keep the people safe is a noble cause. Priesthood ought to mean much the same.

⟪ Her eyes search the stained glass window. ⟫ Where I was born, the law is not just. Some of it is meant for the people, of course, but not all people are weighted equal.

[policier]

You speak of something beyond prejudice.

( Javert is familiar with both, with prejudice and inequality. He's been a victim of it himself, and it's one of the reasons why he went into the law, to better himself in the eyes of society. He regards her for a moment before asking, curiously, )

What laws do you think are unjust?

( He never would have asked this question before. Not before Valjean came and made him see that the law isn't always infallible. )

[voktys]

I was born a slave. It is law that saw me branded, sold, and bought.

⟪ She speaks casual of it, it was a long time ago, in its way. She does not feel casual of it, not even after all this time. It is still in her blood, in the faded mark on her ankle, the only scar that won't vanish, as if the God who rose her from it wishes to remind her all the same. ⟫

What of you? Which laws are unjust in your eyes?

[policier]

And yet, here you are, a priestess.

( She doesn't have to talk about it if she doesn't want to. Javert does think it's pretty impressive, though, that she made something out of herself even though she was born in disgrace. Maybe that's one of the reasons Javert feels compelled to admit, with just as much nonchalance, )

I, myself, was born in a prison. It was where I grew up, and where I served as a guard when I was old enough to do so. I've seen first hand how convicts are treated, and much of it is unnecessary and deplorable. If I had the power to change the law, that is where I would begin.

[voktys]

This is a dark place to be reared.

⟪ She thinks of the darkness of the dungeons, the stench, the cold chill, the way diseases catch among prisoners trapped like rats –– it is no place for a boyhood, for anyone. More than once, she thought the sacrifices were a blessing for those forced to live out their days like this. At least in the Hall of Light ––

But there is, perhaps, no Hall of Light at all, and then, what has she done?

No matter, not right now. ⟫

And you, too, rose above. Is your law kingmade, too?

[policier]

Not anymore.

( It's a long story, and Javert isn't sure whether this is the proper time to tell it. Nevertheless, he takes a seat in one of the church's pews, and sets his lantern down on the bench beside himself. )

My country has a king, yes, but he does not have the power to enact laws all on his own. There's been a lot of political unrest, you see, in France ever since I was a boy.