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

[ Peter's not ordinarily one for feeling self-conscious in his suit, but there's a moment, a very long moment, where it hits him that despite Central Park, despite being surrounded by a whole host of other costumed individuals, here he's pretty much alone in wearing questionable spandex. It's fine though — in all the ways that matter, he supposes, he'd rather be here in the capacity of Spider-Man than as Peter Parker, at least until he has the measure of where they are, how and why with a side of: thanks to who?

(Yes, okay, the "Keeper", whoever that is.)

(The latter is totally his favourite question, and there had been a part of him that had wanted to take a moment to yell KRAAAAAVEN a la Shatner-and-Khan once he'd heard the proclamation that they're dead, but he'd refrained himself.)

He'd been prepared to leave the beach, to scout the area and explore where they are — he's never been much for the countryside, and this isn't doing anything to change that: there are no skyscrapers or tall buildings to scale and climb and sit on and watch from — when he hears the that comment. His attention shifts from the town up ahead (quote unquote; Peter's fairly certain there's, like, a minimum number of buildings required for a town—) to Antimony.

A sidelong glance, then, and beneath the mask — torn and tattered in places, so his features are more visible than he'd ordinarily like — there's a quirk of his lips. ] Hey, I know I'm cute, Dorothy, but I didn't think I'd hit Toto levels of adorable.

( ooc: unless you're married to matching tag formats, I'm totally not fussed btw — I'm just super used to brackets and I know I'm going to end up forgetting halfway through a tag, but if you prefer writing in prose, that's totally cool with me if you continue with that! )

It's possible that she comes up with a witty reply. It's possible it's on the tip of her tongue when she turns to look at Peter. And then stops. And blinks. Once, twice, an air of utter bemusement settling over her.

Because yeah, sure, she's familiar with the concept of superheroes. A lot more familiar than the majority of her peer group. But her immediate association with themed spandex with mask isn't 'ah, yes, you must clearly be some sort of crime fighting vigilante in your own dimension, props on choosing the most unnerving animal motif possible'. It's, well.

Hadn't there been a book about a zombie attack at a convention?

"Well, you can actually pull off the skintight look, so bonus points for that. It's a bold choice."

[ occasionally, peter's thought that leo might have had a point with the reversible jacket idea — something about a less deep and desperate need to change on rooftops or down alleys that smell of things peter would really rather not think about, but there's something to be said about the aerodynamics and freedom of movement afforded by spandex.

still, there's a light shrug at the comment, and: ]

—But it does clash with the ruby red slippers, so those got left somewhere between 59th and exit right of Earth.

"The things we risk for fashion," Annie sighs, and the corners of her mouth twitch slightly, as though it's only the dire circumstances they currently find themselves in that keeps her from snickering out loud at the mental image conjured.

"Maybe we'll get really lucky, and there'll be a magic wardrobe at the other end of the interdimensional convention from hell."

[ annie's comment earns a quirk of a smile from peter and a huff of breath that's almost a laugh, before-- ]

—Wait, are you trying to say we're in Narnia? Because I had a whole host of jokes about going to see the Wizard and [ he spreads his hands out, ] now they're irrelevant. [ it's followed by a breath of a pause and peter's attention shifts from annie back to the beach for a moment: there had been that time when he'd ended up under new york, but this is definitely not that, and he's pretty sure there isn't going to be a talking lion waiting for them once they—

—well, do whatever it is they're supposed to do here.

(although a talking lion would be really cool.) ] —Narnia's probably more thematically appropriate, [ he concedes, before adding (or, not adding so much as segueing terribly): ] Spider-Man, by the way. Not from Kansas, Narnia, or uh, England?

"Annie. Really feeling the lack of any nicknames I'd be willing to share with, oh. Anyone."

It does cross her mind, just briefly, to offer the name she skates under, trade obvious pseudonym for obvious pseudonym. But that exists in the real world. It can be traced back. There are enough Annies in the world that giving a piece of her own name is actually more anonymous.

"I don't suppose you remember the portal that brought you here? Tornado, furniture, or otherwise."

No. The last thing I remember, I was in Central Park with a variety of uh animal-themed villains, a handful of robotic hunters, all courtesy of a psychotic Russian and his Chucky-lookalike new best friend. [ a pause, then: ] Interdimensional kidnapping actually isn't really their thing, so as much as I'd love to point fingers and angrily yell you! or 'them!', I guess, I don't think I'm going to get that satisfaction.

[ and for as much as he would love to blame this on kraven and-or arcade? he's pretty sure that doing as much would only succeed in spiting himself; it's more likely to be a mysterio thing (ugh) or an inadvertent doc strange thing (eh), but even then—

—there's really nothing to indicate as much. ] Why, do you?

INTRO LOG: JULY

the beach.

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