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

Comments

Arya Stark | Game of Thrones & A Song of Ice and Fire

[facelessgirl]

⤞ RAGE AGAINST THE DYING OF THE LIGHT - [OTA!]
[ She'd thought for some time, lying there in the dark, that she'd just lost consciousness from hunger and dehydration and been taken down below decks to recover. It was a few minutes of lying there in the bunk, feeling stronger than she should have, before she realized that the rocking of the ship was not the same sort of deep rocking that her smaller galley Nymeria was prone to. That was not the little port window she remembered. When she made it up above decks, it was not the sky or the people she knew, either.

Looking back, Arya can't remember the last time she'd been in such a state of shock. Perhaps during the march to Harrenhal, or in the moments after her father's head was taken off in front of Baelor's statue. She'd stumbled to the railing of the ferry, watched the dock come into view, and followed with the rest when the crowds disembarked. Then she'd listened, wide-eyed and attentive, believing everything they were told and trusting none of it. She could tell that Winters believed what he was saying. At least, she was pretty sure. It was all just so strange, and Arya had no idea what to do with any of it.

It isn't any different now, with Arya standing in front of the store with a quizzical frown on her face. She recognizes... none of this stuff. She wants to go in and touch it all, turn all of the strange fabrics and trinkets over like she might have done while exploring a stall in Braavos, but she's still conscious of the fact that this place very well might not love her.

When she notices the approach of another, she considers that perhaps there is strength in numbers. ]

Do you think this merchant will sell me a skin? [ If she's going to explore the woods, Arya assumes she'll need supplies to take with her. She must start somewhere, and she'll need water to take with her. ]

⤞ TDM Continued! - [OPEN TO MELISANDRE]
[ Arya nods slowly, suspicious gaze rooted to the red priestess's face, and she feels the hairs on the back of her neck struggling to rise. Something is wrong here, and Arya doesn't like it. ]

That's what you said then, too.

[ They'd all discussed her afterwards, her mysterious appearance, her even more mysterious death out in the snow, and Davos had made it clear she'd intended to live no longer than she was needed. Arya's eyebrows shoot to her hairline when Melisandre turns and shows Arya her back though, and fear for Jon shoots through her, even though she must be talking about... ]

At castle black? That assassination? [ She bites her lip, pure confusion in her face now. ] But you... you were there to bring him back, then. You saved him. [ Another reason that even though Arya hates her, she cannot just kill her. She owes Melisandre too much. ]

⤞ TDM Continued! - [OPEN TO BOROMIR]
[ Other villages... Arya's heart nearly stops cold in her chest, and that alone makes her feel as alive as she possibly can here. Her father, her mother, Robb, Rickon... All the others. So, so many. Out there in the dark, just waiting for her to find them.

Something in Arya solidifies then, forms into a goal she'll carry with her for some time here. She has hope. ]

Do you think? [ She doesn't know why she asks him. Why she defers to him. She doesn't normally do that anymore, even to those of some rank, but... But he looks just like her father. She's still looking at him with nostalgia in her face because of it. ]

The northerners? [ But he couldn't possibly mean... No. She was being a silly girl. ] Would you... still recognize her, do you think? [ And then she adds, more quietly: ] I hope I recognize mine. My father, too. But I know I will. He looks just like you.

⤞ TDM Continued! - [OPEN TO ELDEN]
[ Arya blinks at him, shocked to hear what sounds something very like her own experiences with the dead. With Jon's experiences with them. With Bran's. They just are, raised by their lord, and only existed to kill them.

Until she'd solved all that. ]

We didn't call them ghosts. We called them wights. [ She looks at him again, takes in his dress, his face. He certainly does not look as though he comes from the north. ] Where do you come from? What realm?

[ She sits back when he turns to look at her straight-on, putting more space between them, as wary of those that are too friendly as she is of the outright threatening. ]

If we're dead, we're ghosts. Or wights. But I don't feel like either.

⤞ TDM Continued! - [OPEN TO BILLY]
[ She shrugs immediately, making it clear that she's not the authority on the dark art. Arya has some strange magic of her own, learned over a gruelling apprenticeship and sorely lacking without her materials now, but changing one's face is nothing like shadowbinding or blood magic. Not from what she's heard about them. ]

I don't know what exactly they could want us for. But there's always a reason. To them. [ She thinks of how her only friend in the world was once stolen from her for some such purpose. He'd only escaped with his life because someone else had been willing to sacrifice their own to save his. ] Some way to gain power through hurting others. They're always trying to find some new way to make blood serve them. [ Her voice gets low then though, defeated. ]

But until we know who they are... I suppose none of it really matters, does it? We're just... here.

⤞ rage against the what now

[preseance]

( in war, you learn to take stock of a soul at a bare glance. glean what you can. you have to be ready to act in an instant, to take a life or do your best to save it, an' that means havin' somebody's measure.

she's standin' still. near a shadow in the dark, save the glow of her lantern, an' he might'a missed her if not for that alone. he comes up to stand beside her, thumbs hooked in his webbing. helmet on, boots shined up. you can take the soldier outta the war, an' all. )

Miss. I can't rightly say one way or another, but I reckon there's no harm in askin'.

( it's logic that supplies the context more'n anything, there. if she were cold she'd have said blanket, maybe, or specified a type of skin to her preference. no, he thinks she means a receptacle for water-holdin', an' so taps a hand down against his canteen that's part of his kit. )

If there ain't nothin' there to your likin', though, y'can always borrow mine a spell so long's you promise to return it.

[facelessgirl]

[ Arya takes stock of him in her peripheral vision so quickly and subtly that it doesn't seem as though she's looked at him at all. It's the first time anyone here has responded to her queries with anything but confusion, and Arya turns, slight shoulder first and then her chin, to face him more formally. Her hands are still clasped comfortably behind her back, as though she's used to holding them there when idle. ]

Do you suppose they'll know what I mean?

[ The calmly suspicious expression on her face suggests that she's asking Gene how he knew what she meant, since no one around here seems to call anything by the same words she does, and his style of dress and his accent don't suggest a man that's Westerosi born. Or even of the parts of the east that Arya is familiar with. ]

No. Thank you.

[ But her face softens a little, reading the honestly and kindness in the gesture. One thing that has helped her not to lose her wits in this eerie, ungodly place is her skill at the game of faces. She knows that this man here, at last for now, is being straight with her. Her eyes flick over his gear now that she's allowed to look openly, most of it a strange mystery to her, and she shrugs. ]

I can't return it if I don't come back.

[ And that's already happened to her once. It brought her here. ]

[preseance]

( it's ain't quite a soldier's stillness, the one that comes in the hush before the fury of a fight. but it's... somethin' very like it. no wasted motion to her. like one'a them big cats. if he had to guess, he'd say she was a dancer or very, very dangerous.

the question gets an easy shrug, one shoulder lifted up. he's itchin' for a cigarette, but on account'a rationing he ain't about to reach for one just yet. lord, it wasn't half so hard in the war. he barely touched tobacco. here, seems it's all he's doin'. )

Always that chance.

( he's an old-fashioned man, an', well. he talks to dead folk. you pick up a lot of odd, antiquated knowledge that way. he don't even see it as a queer thing, an' so misses the specific context of her query. )

You plannin' on headin' out alone?

[facelessgirl]

[ 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?

[voktys]

I –– This did not happen.

⟪ She knows she had to stay at Castle Black for a purpose, instead of riding to battle with Stannis, but then, that had made sense – it's where the prisoners were, it's where she was strongest, and Stannis would have little need for her at Deepwood Motte, save for comfort. Better stay, and sway Jon Snow into taking the King's offer. ⟫

I saw daggers in the flames, for Jon Snow. I was looking for his sister, as he bid me, and I saw her, too. I fully believe the attempt on his life is still to come, but ––

⟪ She tilts her head. No need to speak it out, all of them are dead. ⟫

[facelessgirl]

Jon... Jon was looking for me? Or was it Sansa that you saw?

[ Arya's eyes are narrowed. Suspicious. According to the tales her siblings had told her of that time before Arya had returned to the north, that would have been long before Sansa escaped from Ramsay and Winterfell and headed to the Wall to find Jon. Had Melisandre seen her then? Why had no one been sent out to help her and Theon?

What did all of this confusion between their stories mean? ]

Which of us did you see? My sister has auburn hair, like... like our mother's. [ But Arya's face sets, sure as stone, looking at this woman who had taken her only friend from her in the riverlands and nearly killed him. She is not afraid, and she knows what she knows. ]

It did. You saved my brother. That's why I didn't kill you the moment I saw you again at Winterfell.

[voktys]

Jon was looking for Arya Stark, the sister who was promised to Ramsey Bolton.

⟪ This must be that girl in front of her, by process of elimination. ⟫

Visions are not so clear at all times. I saw a grey girl on a dying horse, headed for the Wall. ⟪ Alys Karstark is whom she saw, but she does not know that. ⟫ I knew it would take Mance Rayder to save her, so I had him trade place with another to spare his life – it was this I meant to tell Jon Snow, before I died.

⟪ Still, this girl talks as if they met, and not on good terms. ⟫

Never in all my life have I seen you. Nor have I set foot on Winterfell, not yet.

[facelessgirl]

For me? But I wasn't...

[ Her head is spinning a little, the utter confusion fully evident on Arya's face. She looks Melisandre over again, the suspicion and dislike she harbours for her giving way to a resigned state of mystery. She is certainly the woman that she'd met. Who had known both her and her brother Jon. And yet it is not. ]

You speak truly.

[ She says it with a little wonder because her training has helped her to be sure. Or as reasonably sure as she can be when dealing with this priestess. ]

What can that mean? For our world, or.. or for us? The people we knew?

[ For Jon? her heart sings nervously. He'd come back from death once before. But it had been Melisandre who'd brought him back. ]

[spitefullight]

[ When she mentions the word wight Elden cocks a brow towards her. A wight...he knew that type of undead at least he might've fought one before, but he's definitely heard of it. So, when the girl asks him that question he's already curious about her too. ]

The city of Fellengar. Mostly we refer to things like wights and ghosts as undead. [ But, maybe they were from the same place? There's only so much he can guess until she says that. Could there be the possiblity of them being undead? Well there was a quick way to figure that out. ]

I can prove that pretty quick if you give me your hand. [ But he already hears how suspicious that might be then he notices her knife and looks back to her. ]

Or uh... You can cut me with that. I'll be able to prove if we're undead or not super quick.

[facelessgirl]

I've never seen a ghost. Not a real one, anyway. Never heard of your city, either.

[ She'd seen some strange things, mostly in Braavos among the many temples and in the House of Black and White. Strange magics or things meant to look like magic, sorcerers and red priests. She'd seen a man brought back to life before her eyes and fought with him only to see him die again a final time. She'd killed the King of death itself.

Growing up, ghosts were only stories to scare Sansa with. But the dead were the only real threat she'd ever seen of that sort.

He does sound suspicious to her, and while Arya's hand doesn't move to the hilt of her dagger yet, she sits very still, showing her distrust in her face. Giving him a warning. ]

...How? How would you prove it?

[spitefullight]

Where are you from than? Maybe I've heard of it.

[ There's always a chance. He didn't know many cities but he knew a few...though the world was definitely big he might not.

Regardless, he takes not of her suspicion and raises his hands just a bit to at least try and placate her. It'd be poor form to stab someone who was offering not to fight back if it came to it...at least he hopes she'll take it that way. ]

Healing. Undead are harmed by healing magic. So, if I use that on either of us it should prove things pretty quick, shouldn't it?

[facelessgirl]

Winterfell. [ It feels good to say it, but bittersweet and painful all at the same time. She keeps too much of that from showing through to her face, but there is still a melancholy in her voice. ] I'm Arya of House Stark. Of the north.

[ She's not sure why she's decided to tell him. Maybe because she refuses to forget, even here.

She squints at him though, suspicious of that explanation. She's seen some magic, even knows a little of it herself, but she doesn't know of any magic that can heal, other than that which brought her brother back from the dead. And that certainly hadn't hurt him. ]

Some sort of healing magic from my brother Jon back from the dead. [ But, even if she doesn't trust him, she supposes it won't hurt if he does whatever he means to do on himself. She draws her dagger, liquid-smooth and fluid as she flips it around in her hand to grip it properly, unable to resist the urge to show off a little. She gestures to him with it. ] If you're sure.

r a g e

[originallutece]

No.

[It's a crisp, clear answer as Rosalind emerges from the store. She carries a few oddities, survival things that seemingly have no connection, mostly to do with glass bottles and the like. She pauses, though, staring down at Arya.]

They won't sell you anything at all. There's no payments. They shan't even talk. Take what you like, but the selection is poor.

[. . .]

And the clothes they sell are . . . somewhat lacking.

[Skin, clothes, that's probably what she means.]

[facelessgirl]

[ Thankfully the items that Rosalind is holding are somewhat like the additional sorts of things that Arya will be looking to fill her supplies out with, but she receives a surprised look from Arya at the revelation of the nature of payment. Or the lack thereof. Arya has only a little silver on her anyway, but... ]

None at all? And there is a merchant about?

[ Arya could not be less concerned about clothes. She'd died of thirst in the furs and leathers she fully intends to wear until they fall apart. She's simply tended to, in that way. It doesn't seem cold enough hear to need anything more than she's wearing, but she will need the materials for a tent. ]

What about food? Provisions? Wine? Did you get none yourself?

[originallutece]

We're dead.

[She says it bluntly.]

How much of our bodily needs are psychosomatic? Are you truly hungry, or does your body simply assume it must be, and therefore makes your stomach growl? I intend to find out, but I very much doubt we need the things we think we do.

[A beat, and she glances behind her. Carelessly:]

The shopkeep is a spirit. He'll stare at you, but he won't do anything.

[facelessgirl]

[ Arya blinks. While she had by no means trusted all that they were told, she hadn't considered pushing herself to the limits that this woman intends to. She can't deny that it will be an interesting experiment though. ]

If we're dead but we can still die, I don't know what that makes us. [ She shrugs, eyeing this woman's market choices again. ] I suppose if I see you again I'll know if it worked.

[ But these spirits are taking some getting used to. Her brother Bran had told her all about the children of the forest he'd spent time with, but the strange, mute little presences of these ones are not what Arya had imagined. ]

Odd how none of them speak, isn't it? Why can't they, when other things don't seem to matter here?

[jigsawn]

It sounds like we're the latest players in a game if you ask me. ( at least from what he has gathered so far after speaking to winters at the bar. ) Conveniently dead souls used to achieve an unclear objective, except they really suck at laying out all the ground rules and they can just replace us with a new batch if we fail to meet her expectations.

( he is looking forward to meeting the lighthouse keeper because he has one or two questions for her. )

We're expendable. Maybe even some sick experiment the powers that be are testing out just for the heck of it.

[facelessgirl]

Well. And did you volunteer to sit down to play?

[ She doesn't punch her point home with a twist of her mouth or eyebrows, but the evidence of kidnapping of some kind is mounting. Where are all the other dead souls if that's not the case? Why is it just them that have been chosen? What makes her angry is she has no way of getting these answers and talking with anyone here is just the blind stumbling around with their like. ]

She must be some Queen, I suppose. I've known the like.

[ She never achieved her revenge on the last queen that crossed her. Perhaps this one might end up meriting a finished job. ]

What do you mean, experiment?

[jigsawn]

I never said we had a choice here, but I don't have any interest in becoming the old batch.

( he is a little sick of being scrap, so since this is where death has chosen to put him, he is going to make sure they're the final batch, for better or for worse. )

Call her a Queen or an overseer, it doesn't matter. She's the one with all the power as far as any of us know right now. She wants to see how well we perform. Doesn't that sound like a test to you? If this was only about... about...

[ shit. get your thoughts in order, bill. ]

...about achieving something for her with no regards to how it gets done, then she wouldn't have had a reason to reset the progress of the previous group. No, no. It's specific. She needs the objective to be met, but it also has to be met by the right group of people.

[facelessgirl]

How do we know there even is someone in charge of all this? Until we see her?

[ Arya has been trained to read falsehood in people and she'd read none that she could detect from the only people (people being a loose term since Arya had startled at seeing the giant human-like bird creature skulking around the fire) that had been here before their group arrived, but so much of their story and the situation was a complete mystery that Arya trusted none of it. Least of all the other strangers wandering around this dark place.

She doesn't hate the way this man gets right to the point, though. Her mouth sets and she comes inside, sitting on a low stool just inside the door. She kicks it shut with a boot. ]

Then that means finding out what was wrong about the last group. [ Her eyes flick over the mask, bothered that it blocks some of the signs that would otherwise help give away truths of the man she's speaking to ] There aren't many left to ask. But perhaps we should ask why they're the ones that are still here.

[steadfastjewel]

[Boromir smiles, weary and sad and faintly apologetic, though there is not much he can do about whatever resemblance he has. A strange thing, that.]

I think I would. And I'm sure you would, as well. Even if it is hard to remember in their absence - [And it is, though he's sure he sees traces of her in Faramir's face] - I do not believe such things are entirely forgotten. It would only be like returning from a long journey.

[well fuckity doo now this is sad again]

...what is your father's name?

[facelessgirl]

[ It's true, he looks much younger than Arya ever remembers seeing her father, but that sad smile looks so much like the one she knew so well that she can't help the tears that well up behind her eyes, sudden and stinging. She swallows instead of turning away. ]

He was Lord Eddard Stark. Of Winterfell. [ She shivers to say it, it's been that long. When she spoke of him with Sansa or Jon or even Bran, they all simply referred to him as 'father'. But he had been such a lord. The greatest there ever was. ] He was a great man. A good man. [ And then her voice and her face turn to stone. The stone that she became after her father's head was taken. ] And they killed him for it.

[steadfastjewel]

...I'm sorry.

[What else is there to say? He wonders - bitterly, only for a moment - if it will end up being a disappointment that he so resembles this good man.]

I will see if I can find him as well, out there. [Seems like he'd be a fairly familiar face, after all.] I plan to do some scouting, once I have a weapon.

[He does still seem to have a sword sheathed at his hip, but in reality it is super broken. Not in a mythic way like Narsil either.]

[facelessgirl]

Will you?

[ Arya doesn't know if she's amused or grateful. She's swallowed back her tears by now and she levels this man with a stare, considering how honest with him she wishes to be. ]

So do I. [ She already has two weapons, but they are as much a part of Arya as her arms. ] But I appreciate knowing someone else will be looking, too. Tell him Arya and Jon Snow are here, and are seeking him, mother and Robb. And little Rickon. Him too.