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

( an' that's the crux, ain't it. raylan ain't a man who wears his concern in any clandestine a fashion, an' it's all gene can do to duck his head in acknowledgement of it. he's seen replacements come an' go, youngest of which was sixteen if he was a day an' swearin' up down and sideways he'd turned twenty just last week. war is boys dyin' for men, an' he ain't never lived in ignorance of it.

see.

thing is.

he grew up in the shadow of a hard war and the plain ruin of a generation. his pa was too young — though lord knows he'd tried to enlist an' been turned away, a fact that didn't even come out of the family history until gene showed up in uniform on his pa's own porch — but his ma was there in the dirt an' muck of france as a nurse. she saw the worst of it first-hand, boys drownin' in their own lungs on account of all those awful gasses they used. an' agathine had its share of veterans. lord, but the war turned those men mean. not all of 'em, but. enough. that when this fella speaks like that, he can see the why of it all, an' hurt for it besides. )

I'm sorry for that.

( an' he is. no sentiment has ever passed his lips without bein' meant honest an' firm. but he ain't gonna dwell on it, and doubts raylan does either. so. )

Anyway. You take any longer to try my pie, I reckon it's my constitutional right as a southerner to challenge you to pistols at dawn, fella.

[ raylan finds himself liking gene, intuitively. he has an honesty to him, the type that's not blunt but just earnest. it must get him into some places, and it's always the honest folks that get hit hardest by dishonest people's lies. he's always felt a little guilty for that, despite not being the type to take advantage – it just happens sometimes, by virtue of life being what it is. that gene's a medic, well, that makes it all a thousand times worse.

it takes minimal effort for raylan's brow to even out with the change in conversation topic, and then a second later he's smiling. ] Thought it'd be impolite to just start grabbin' at it like some sorta hapless ingrate, [ he says, by way of excuse, and crosses the room to the kitchenette to rifle through the lone drawer for a fork, finally taking the plate and its piece of pie. with the cool confidence of someone who knows he's right but isn't trying to threaten: ] Hate to say I'd beat you in that scenario, but I would. [ he spears off a section right at the tip of the slice and gives it a heartfelt taste test. he really does think it'd go down easier with some ice cream, but his aunt helen always told him never to question someone else's cooking unless it's burnt to a crisp when it shouldn't be, so he's keeping his mouth shut on that count. ] 'S good. Family recipe, you said?

( funny, he don't even question it. gene's no fast hand with a pistol. hell, even at fort benning his rifleman skills were square to middlin', an' he's only used his sidearm a handful of times in the war. a lawman of any coat would fair dust him, an' that don't bother none. he has his doubts raylan would ever draw without reason.

in the spirit of the jest — )

Doubt I'd put up much of a fight, all things considered. My Colt ain't cleared leather in a spell.

( but he don't mind folk knowing he's used it. he ain't proud of killin', but war's war. he'll answer to god for the takin' of lives. )

An' yeah. My Ma's. Pa was the cook of the house, but Ma had a talent for the confectionaries.

[ that's something. raylan wonders what kind of world he'd have to live in where he could say something like that, that his glock hadn't seen the light outside his holster in a spell. a day or two, maybe. vacation days don't even count, since he has an unfortunate proclivity for walking himself into messes even when he's not at work. ]

Both of 'em cooks? [ he asks around a mouthful of pie. for some reason it stymies him a second; the idea of arlo in the kitchen doing anything other than griping at the table is utterly foreign to him. ] You fudge with the recipe any, or is this pure Mrs Hicks?

'Mrs Hicks'. Lord, she'd've laughed if you called her that.

( his ma was many things, but one to stand on ceremony nearly never. but then, she'd been in prison for her protests so many times over that she hadn't one whit of care left to give about what folks thought of her, anyhow. agathine never suited her much. )

An', well. It's as close as I could make it. No vanilla to speak of here, though, which mars the flavour some.

INTRO LOG: JULY

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