Lucky

Nightland

Bernard: "Aight, Imma head out. I hear the church is nice this time of year."

Slay the Spire

My friends to the north. I'm just in Washington so you're just a hop, jump, and skip away. I can see Victoria from where I am now, actually.

Slay the Spire

@Whoami I'm glad to have you serving the country I live, and I'm sure we were just joking about hurrying up.

@Dark Cloud

Agreed about the joking. I can wait for good things. Also, how dare you serve a country I don't live in!

Slay the Spire

Patient. So patient. Patience of a saint

Slay the Spire

Nightland

I'll be able to drop a Kea response after work if I'm not too exhausted. Eight hours to go!

Also, y'all are some great writers.

@Prosaic

Agreed! The intro posts were well written, and I'm excited to see what everyone comes up with next. Very thoughtful posts.

Nightland

Bernard White

Starring: Everyone

---

_{Location: Monument > Stanton's Building > Stanton's Office -- Time: ~8:00PM}

The good assistant answered him promptly, to which Bernard gives a grateful nod. "Nice to see you," the man only manages out so much before more members of the group arrive. The direction he was facing doesn't suit him well as the winds push against him awkwardly and aggressively, forcing him to pull his hood back up and turn away from the worst of the weather.

First that Bernard can see is Roux and he says something in his native tongue, and if memory serves correctly the man has a French upbringing. An expression to attempt to understand what he said is painted clearly on his face until he corrects himself and mentions the sea. _{Is this the first I've heard of it?} Russell. Fairly old-school in the way he dresses and acts sometimes, reminds him of those old noir films he was so fond of as a kid; even in the age of thrillers and the bizarre, there was something comfortably simple about those detective movies. _{All that to say, I think he's a fine man.} Next up was Alex. A talented young woman, pretty intuitive with technology in a way he could never personally comprehend. Well, perhaps that's every millenial now. _{Or is she Gen Z? Not that it matters, I suppose.}

There's the punk-clad Valerian. Years ago, Bernard would have been worse than skeptical of the young person, but they have their issues like anyone else, no more a saint or a sinner than he is. _{We actually may have something in common.} Impossible to forget Emily's name, as from time to time others may have to interrupt her if she goes on too much of a tangent. He goes out of his way to thank her, even if she retreated the treats before he could get his paws on them. _{She's very attentive to what's around her. Inquisitive. Reminds me of me.} And to Bernard's surprise is the one skulking around in the frigid shadows, Serena. _{Taken to the comforts of the world. Perhaps I can reach out to her...?}

Light chatter ensues for a few minutes between a few of them, though everyone seems more than ready to head inside and find some real warmth. Even with the knot in his stomach as tight as it is, he couldn't help but enthusiastically agree with finding refuge inside. Linda leads them along, Bernard carefully allowing the others, namely the women, to go ahead of him. At this point in his life he doesn't even think about it, it's what he was raised to do and has done his whole life. _{While God is first, everyone else comes before me.} Shortly they are inside and he takes the chance to remove his hood immediately, revealing the ponytail wrapped around the back of his neck. Linda allows everyone to board first, yet Bernard takes the rear so that he is closest to the doors beside the assistant. Once he is inside...

Clean metal doors before Bernard clearly reflect his image. A man in his fifties, though rather dignified even in his casual utilitarian wardrobe, is wracked by bouts of paranoia and hardship. While he has had noticeable improvement over the last year, and more so with the group therapy as he no longer felt like an outcast, he can feel the looming wave of familiar anxiety about to crash down on him; personified by an early onset of sweat in his pits. With a quick sniff, he does his best to hide his demeanor by straightening himself up and pulling the front of his jacket center and downward. As far as nobody else in the elevator can tell he is unwell just from the ride, then he will get over it. _{But why is this all so familiar? The feeling is intense... How long have I been in here? Seconds... Days... Years...} The doors slide open--

The silent dread was palpable. Even Linda, the spearhead of this mini venture, nearly seemed glued to the floor. Bernard could feel his own heart beat in his chest, thudding heavily enough to be all that he hears until Linda's foray into the vaguely familiar hallway snaps him out of it. The elevator ride was a precursor to _{something else oh God what is happening?} He does his best to slink around the doors first, ahead of anyone else in the group like a shepherd would navigate a new trail before their flock. The dim lights catch his attention first, one of the few that are functioning anyways. As he passes beneath them, he reaches out to one of the fixtures to take one of the broken bulbs. The fact some are working while others are broken is... irregular, to say the least. He is curious about their filaments, if they have burnt out or if they are simply broken in another way.

What breaks him from this focus is once again Linda, this time when she called out for the good doctor. The way she stumbled and tried to keep herself together worried him, and he intends to rush to her side. The scene is grisly, _{demonic even}. But this isn't a task he is immediately equipped to handle, even as his eyes are transfixed to what he sees before him. Nonetheless, he reaches out to Linda's shoulders to console her. His first thought is to keep everyone together. He almost misses the commotion of someone leaving the office from another exit. At this moment he instinctually turns to look at Russell and Serena, almost willing either one of them to give chase with his eyes alone, but chooses to say nothing. His expression is serious, yet at the same time horrified.

"Come, come Linda. Come. Look at me," Bernard will, if she is able and willing, turn her to look at his face. "We need to let someone else take care of this." He spends the coming moments simply trying to keep him and anyone around him safe, keeping an eye on the structure around them if others decide to explore.

Nightland

Bernard White

Starring: @Kino End & Everyone else that arrives on scene

---

_{Location: Inland Empire -- Time: ???}

Clean metal doors before Bernard clearly reflect his image. A man in his fifties, though rather dignified even in his casual utilitarian wardrobe, is wracked by bouts of paranoia and hardship. While he has had noticeable improvement over the last year, and more so with the group therapy as he no longer felt like an outcast, he can feel the looming wave of familiar anxiety about to crash down on him; personified by an early onset of sweat in his pits. With a quick sniff, he does his best to hide his demeanor by straightening himself up and pulling the front of his jacket center and downward. As far as nobody else in the elevator can tell he is unwell just from the ride, then he will get over it. _{But why is this all so familiar? The feeling is intense... How long have I been in here? Seconds... Days... Years...} The doors slide open--

_{Location: Bethel Baptist Church, Brooklyn, NY -- Time: 7:43AM}

Even before his eyes could open, the man recognized his bed instantly. Early traffic honking on the street outside; the old linens that, while clean, have been around far past their wear date; lingering musty smells from the small, wooden room. He opens his eyes wearily, a blurry nightstand greeting him first. A moment lulls as he considers getting up, and the damp sheets along his arms, back, and legs encourage him to try out the brisk air and allow himself to dry out. With a wide motion, the blankets are thrown aside and he pushes himself up, after which he reaches for the nearby spectacles.

A few blinks later, he raises a hand to his jaw. _{Tight. Was I clenching it all night?} He massages his cheeks with the same hand, focused on nothing else in particular for the time being. During the pause, however, he is visited by intrusive thoughts. _{The dream. What happened? Where was I?} Once his jaw is no longer tense, he stands and brushes a hand through his unkempt hair. It's long, and while it may not be a part of his religion, for some reason it feels as much a part of his faith as the symbolic cross. He steps heavily over to the small dresser with a mirror affixed to it, and he is hit with a flash of his dream. Staring back at himself. The mirror itself resonates, as if it's in motion. And the flash is gone. No more vibrating.

No use dwelling on the thoughts. Dr. Stanton has made some very cogent points with their brief times together, including how he should attempt to focus on immediate tasks at hand. But first, his book. Set neatly side-by-side are two books, one of which is his heavily worn leather-bound Bible and the other is a much newer notebook. The latter he uses for a little bit of everything. He isn't organized enough to have tabs or binders, not yet anyways. For now, everything will be written as they come. A dog-eared page brings him to the present and his careful handwriting. Thursday, Nov. 28: Clean up -- Wed night Youth Group. Weekend groceries (pasta?). 8PM Stanton Group Therapy. A rather uneventful day, but he can fill in the time with walks and some other exercise. He turns the page to detail as much as he can about his dream, as little as he can remember really. Feelings, if anything.

A prescription bottle sits in its usual place and he promptly takes care of himself with the morning routine, starting with a dry swallow and ending with his gray-brown attire. Eyeglasses have been replaced by prescription contacts, something he's done for the past two decades. Then he exits his bedroom for his first simple errand.

---

_{Location: Upper West Side, NYC -- Time: 7:45PM}

A small crowd of people ever dwindling in number fill out the area around the Soldiers' and Sailors' monument. Most are locals on their regular walks, some are visiting with friends, one or two that Bernard could identify easily as not being from around here like he was. Nonetheless, the sidewalks are quiet and void of foot traffic as he approaches the statues and structures from the rear. He really discovered the river walk just two weeks ago when he decided to explore the area before one of the meetings. Now he intends to make it a part of his ritual, to take in the open air before stuffing himself into a more populated room.

Hood pulled up to brace against the turning winds, his eyes keep to the steps before him until he sees the figure waiting ahead. Although his pace doesn't slow, he does his best to not look up and make it obvious that he's looking at this person until finally noticing it's Stanton's assistant. Her name escapes him, but she's been friendly to him. _{I should write it down next time...} Not wanting to look like an intimidating sort by approaching her from the shadows, he offers a hand up in a wave and calls out.

"Evenin', ma'am! It's Bernard," at the same time, he pulls down his hood to show his face more clearly. When he pulls it aside and watches her silhouette against the nearby lights, his stomach tightens. For a moment his smile fades, though he gathers the strength to be polite. "I, uh, excuse me. Best be forward, I've forgotten your name."

Slay the Spire

@Whoami@DracoLunaris Has this character been approved? I only ask because I'm pretty excited to get this started lol

Nightland

The Priest

”Good evenin’, everyone. My name is...”
Bernard White.

”I’ve been around a while…”
55 years.

”I’m surely past my prime…”
185lbs / 6’1” when standing straight.

”And I’ve definitely seen better days…”

Older Gentleman

Often seen in a brown jacket certainly picked for its utility over fashion, Bernard clearly values functionality in his wardrobe. The cooler climate of New York forces him to pick out a hood to cover his graying brown hair, often pulled back into a loose ponytail. His complexion is rough and leathery, offering up the story of having worked many years under the southern sun.

While not a stranger to good times and good company, his resting expression is focused, blue eyes duller than they might have once been. The times he stretches his arms out and rolls his shoulders reveal his true height, as he often stands or sits with a worse posture. During the summer months Bernard will be dressed in plain tees, showing off the sleeve of tattoos along his left arm.

”A little about myself…”
Born in Savannah, Georgia, Bernard was raised in a conservative southern baptist home. Although a religiously strict household, he could not fault his parents for their beliefs and grew to respect their faith as it presented some kind of peace and content in their lives. A rather uneventful life until he came of age, when he left home to attend Toccoa Falls College for his Bachelor’s in Ministry, much to the elation of his parents.

From his mid-teens to the beginning of his college years, there have been insignificant moments in time that seem to have been snapshot from his dreams and appear in his waking days. During his freshman year, these minor events would expand into longer and greater details to the point he began to proclaim that angels have granted him foresight and it was up to him to curate this privilege into holier things.

As a young man fresh out of college, he joined outreach ministries and missionary organizations. There was little to be done with these random divinations, so he chose to dismiss them as déjà vu illusions. From time to time, they would demonstrate the occasional inconveniences along with the random small things, including when a bus he was riding in Mexico broke down and there were no cars on the highway for miles. Even then, it’s chalked up to His Will.

The years turn into chapters in his book of life; the two years in Mexico, the twelve years as a pastor in South Carolina, ten more years back home in when his both his parents fell ill and slowly passed away. The latter time involved taking up a new role in his hometown church as well as inheriting his old home.

”So y’all must be wonderin’ how a priest’d end up here…”
The gap between his time back in Savannah and living now in New York City is a blur. Staying in that old Sears build-it-yourself catalog house wracked his dreams with newly intense night terrors. Tragedies as clear as day would jolt him awake, a precursor to the newfound paranoia as they eventually unfold. His childhood home goes up in flames before his eyes, that phone call of his congregation spreading a serious bout of influenza and many ending up with pneumonia.

Eleven years of troubles have driven him to the brink of insanity, worried that falling asleep will conjure a new plague on his mental health, while the lack of sleep is likely adding to his delusions. As a member of his church approached him, they advised of seeking help, somewhere away from them. A pang of betrayal, but understanding as he can be, as he promptly packed up and drove north.

Finding somewhere to live in New York wasn’t particularly difficult, as he was welcomed into another church to be a resident pastor -- but only if he accepted professional care. Thus a religious therapist was assigned to him, and could just as easily as he provide scripture and reassurance.

It’s been a few months since any major incidents, and the therapist recommended a nearby therapy group to find others outside his usual circle. Three weeks pass before the latest tragedy.

Talents:
+Carpentry. “I know, it’s a bit on the nose, but you build a lot of homes and structures on those mission trips.”
+Leadership. “The community is my flock, and I am its shepherd.” Please, please, please God, don’t hurt them. Please, please, please…
+Guitar. “I’m not as good as those youth group leaders these days, but I can carry a tune.”
+World Religion. “I don’t consider other faiths my enemy, but it’s good to know you can stand toe-to-toe in a debate.”
+Any Manual Labor. “Idle hands are the Devil’s workshop.”

Actions:
Avoid Harm +1
Endure Injury +3
Keep It Together -2
Act Under Pressure 0 (+1 when dealing with repairs, building, handiwork)
Engage In Combat -1
Influence Other +1 (+1 when dealing with NPCs)
Sixth Sense +2