So, you were elsewhere and now you're here. Here is the lobby of Castle Ghrian, not that you know that immediately. There are tables, as well as couches and chairs for people to recline on, and some feet away a receptionist desk. And -- luck of all lucks -- there's even a person behind the counter. You head over, demanding answers because you don't know where the hell this is, but --
"Welcome to Castle Ghrian. We hope you enjoy your stay."
The person behind the counter hands you a welcome package -- keys to a room, a guide to the castle, the rules of residing on the grounds, something that looks like a tablet (or, if you're from a time before that exists, some weird rectangular-shaped thing), and -- of all things -- a robe and a pair of slippers, both with the name of the castle and an image of the sun embroidered on them.
When you try to ask for more information from the receptionist, he or she only tells you to refer to the guide you were given and then goes on to pretend as if you don't exist.
Unable to do much else, you take the package.
When you arrive at Castle Ghrian, it is in the lobby. It is always in the lobby.
The welcome package includes the following and never deviates from this list:
♕ Keys to your assigned suite ♕ A fancy brochure giving you all the information on the castle, including rules for residing on these grounds and all the various ways to entertain yourself while you're here. ♕ A tablet that is connected to the Castle Network. ♕ A robe ♕ Slippers
The moment that you arrive on the grounds, anything electronic on your person will immediately stop functioning and there is no way -- no matter how knowledgeable you might be -- to make them work again. The very components are dead.
What you decide to do after you take the package is completely up to you.
If you arrive injured/on the verge of death, you'll be taken to the infirmary and given immediate medical care. When you're awake and in good health, or able to ask questions, the doctor or nurse treating you will only point to the welcome package on the nightstand.