Encounterlogs
Viktorins Odd Encounter Sr Harriet 240201
In the heart of Union Plaza, under a dark and stormy night sky, Viktorin—a tall, stoic man—unexpectedly found himself the subject of a malicious transformation. As if by the will of the storm overhead, his robust form was twisted and reshaped into the diminutive, feathered body of a crow. Confusion took hold as he struggled to adapt, his once articulate voice reduced to the harsh caws of his new avian form. The cloaked figure, responsible for casting this powerful hex, stood eerily silent in the shadow of night, watching the chaos unfold—a silent witness to the crisis of identity that Viktorin was frantically trying to navigate with panicked flaps and ungainly hops.
The newly transformed crow, still possessing his human intellect, sought answers from the mysterious figure, cawing desperately with questions he hoped to convey. But alas, his pleas fell on uncomprehending ears. Dismay began to cloud Viktorin's feathery face as the cloaked figure, seemingly overcome with the consequence of their enchantment—or perhaps seeking to evade responsibility—turned abruptly and fled the scene. The ignoble retreat of the caster left Viktorin amidst the cold stones of the plaza, alone with his newfound plight, the moon weakly glowing as the only witness to his dire transformation and the abandonment that followed.
(Viktorin's odd encounter(SRHarriet):SRHarriet)
[Wed Jan 31 2024]
In the union plaza
Sprawling cobblestone pathways weave through meticulously landscaped gardens and inviting seating areas. Towering, centuries-old oak trees cast dappled shadows on the weathered stone benches and the bustling clusters of students engaged in animated discussions and academic pursuits, creating a serene yet lively ambiance. The distant echoes of laughter and the subtle aroma of freshly brewed coffee from the nearby cafe intermingle with the rustling of leaves.
It is night, about 20F(-6C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. There is a last quarter moon.
(Your target has been hexed and transformed into an animal against their will. Unable to turn back they need to try to find allies who can understand their problem and find a way to undo the curse.
)
Viktorin fumbles with his phone, typing a message before deleting it and retyping it. Sighing he lifts his eyes, glancing towards the far end of the plaza, leading towards the innards of the school. "Guess I'm missing Latin. And guess I've got no plans with anyone tonight anymore." Sighing, he mutters, "Guess I can go drink?"
Tonight, Haven lays under a blanket of dark grey storm clouds, and the air is a crisp and biting 20 degrees Fahrenheit. Usually bustling, the area is rather quiet with its cobblestone pathways glazed with frost. Amidst this wintry landscape, as it had been snowing for hours earlier, Viktorin is about to experience something, likely, entirely new to him. In the distance is a cloaked figure hiding in the shadows, but very much watching Viktorin. A hex of sorts, borne of perhaps envy and whispered in bitterness as the ritual is performed, sought him out. As the curse takes hold, a shocking transformation ensues, and Viktorin's form begins to contort. His 6'2" body is reshaping itself into a form so far from that of a human. In a matter of moments, the taller than average man finds himself engulfed in black feathers darker than the stormy sky above, and he's shrinking down considerably in size. Hands and arms are now the wings of a bird. His voice, once articulate and commanding, is quickly reduced to the coarse caw of a warm-blooded vertebrate. Now a crow, Viktorin has a heavy, straight bill and a thick neck, and his feet have strong, sharp claws, with three toes pointing forward, and one backward, perfect for roosting in a tree."
Viktorin barely notes the dark figure as he steps off, dejectedly. Each footstep that brings him closer to the figure is another step that lowers the man into his distracted thoughts. Upon being struck with the hex, however, he begins yelping, screaming in utter panic and confusion... and when he finally becomes a crow, he blinks his beady eyes, attempting to perceive his new world. Or, his new body. Stepping forward, he clumsily falls over, face-planting into the side-walk, clearly unused to his new feet and toes. His feathers puff outward as perhaps, the only sign of fear he can properly convey. And with deep trepidation, he flails his arms, which are now wings, all about, losing a feather or two in his awkward scuffle with the ground. "Caw! Caw! Caw!", he caws panickedly, before carefully wedging his feet beneath him, standing upright.
Now ensnared in the body of a crow, Viktorin stood amidst those frost-glazed cobblestones, with his mind a whirlwind of panic and disbelief. The once-tall man, undoubtedly known for his commanding height, was now a small, feathered creature, and his majestic, albeit dejected at the time, form has been reduced to that of a common bird. In the shadows, the cloaked figure who had cast the spell to turn the man into a flying creature watched silently, intentions unknown. Had they expected such a complete transformation? Did they harbor any remorse for the fate they had inflicted upon this poor man? That cloaked figure watches with an inscrutable gaze in quiet observation that belies the tumultuous magic he had just unleashed, and taking in the struggle that Viktorin has to adapt to his new form, the caster remains motionless with intentions just as obscure as the shadows he hides in.
With hesitation, Viktorin turns his face, to properly gaze at the figure, flicking his head rapidly as he began to learn just how light his body was, and just how twitchy his body's muscles could be. He takes, one, two, three hops forward, fluttering his wings for balance, before raising his beak, peering at the man. "Caw, caw, caw," he asks, referencing his own transformation with his squawking tongue. "Why did you do this to me? -How- did you do this to me?" were the words meant in his caws, incomprehensible, perhaps. His cawing never ceased, as if he had to get it through to someone, and with a smidge of bravery and annoyance, he fluttered over to stand about five feet away from the figure, watching them and repeating his cawed, incomprehensible queries.
Upon noticing Viktorin's attention squarely directed at him, the cloaked figure stands there under the crow's inquisitive gaze. Those rapid head flicks and the lightness of hops in such a stark contrast to the man's normal movements, now being, of course, a freaking bird, has got the caster's attention. Those desperate caws that attempt to convey Viktorin's pleas for understanding are lost on this arcanist. Unable to comprehend the avian language, and suddenly overwhelmed by the situation -- he makes a split second decision. With a swift turn to his right, he begins to flee like a sissy! His cloak billows behind him as he quickens his pace. The realisation that the curse had not only simply transformed Viktorin physically, but allowed him to retain his human consciousness was a bit too much to confront. Or he simply never intended to face the consequences of his actions directly. Off he goes, trying to run away.
The newly transformed crow, still possessing his human intellect, sought answers from the mysterious figure, cawing desperately with questions he hoped to convey. But alas, his pleas fell on uncomprehending ears. Dismay began to cloud Viktorin's feathery face as the cloaked figure, seemingly overcome with the consequence of their enchantment—or perhaps seeking to evade responsibility—turned abruptly and fled the scene. The ignoble retreat of the caster left Viktorin amidst the cold stones of the plaza, alone with his newfound plight, the moon weakly glowing as the only witness to his dire transformation and the abandonment that followed.
(Viktorin's odd encounter(SRHarriet):SRHarriet)
[Wed Jan 31 2024]
In the union plaza
Sprawling cobblestone pathways weave through meticulously landscaped gardens and inviting seating areas. Towering, centuries-old oak trees cast dappled shadows on the weathered stone benches and the bustling clusters of students engaged in animated discussions and academic pursuits, creating a serene yet lively ambiance. The distant echoes of laughter and the subtle aroma of freshly brewed coffee from the nearby cafe intermingle with the rustling of leaves.
It is night, about 20F(-6C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. There is a last quarter moon.
(Your target has been hexed and transformed into an animal against their will. Unable to turn back they need to try to find allies who can understand their problem and find a way to undo the curse.
)
Viktorin fumbles with his phone, typing a message before deleting it and retyping it. Sighing he lifts his eyes, glancing towards the far end of the plaza, leading towards the innards of the school. "Guess I'm missing Latin. And guess I've got no plans with anyone tonight anymore." Sighing, he mutters, "Guess I can go drink?"
Tonight, Haven lays under a blanket of dark grey storm clouds, and the air is a crisp and biting 20 degrees Fahrenheit. Usually bustling, the area is rather quiet with its cobblestone pathways glazed with frost. Amidst this wintry landscape, as it had been snowing for hours earlier, Viktorin is about to experience something, likely, entirely new to him. In the distance is a cloaked figure hiding in the shadows, but very much watching Viktorin. A hex of sorts, borne of perhaps envy and whispered in bitterness as the ritual is performed, sought him out. As the curse takes hold, a shocking transformation ensues, and Viktorin's form begins to contort. His 6'2" body is reshaping itself into a form so far from that of a human. In a matter of moments, the taller than average man finds himself engulfed in black feathers darker than the stormy sky above, and he's shrinking down considerably in size. Hands and arms are now the wings of a bird. His voice, once articulate and commanding, is quickly reduced to the coarse caw of a warm-blooded vertebrate. Now a crow, Viktorin has a heavy, straight bill and a thick neck, and his feet have strong, sharp claws, with three toes pointing forward, and one backward, perfect for roosting in a tree."
Viktorin barely notes the dark figure as he steps off, dejectedly. Each footstep that brings him closer to the figure is another step that lowers the man into his distracted thoughts. Upon being struck with the hex, however, he begins yelping, screaming in utter panic and confusion... and when he finally becomes a crow, he blinks his beady eyes, attempting to perceive his new world. Or, his new body. Stepping forward, he clumsily falls over, face-planting into the side-walk, clearly unused to his new feet and toes. His feathers puff outward as perhaps, the only sign of fear he can properly convey. And with deep trepidation, he flails his arms, which are now wings, all about, losing a feather or two in his awkward scuffle with the ground. "Caw! Caw! Caw!", he caws panickedly, before carefully wedging his feet beneath him, standing upright.
Now ensnared in the body of a crow, Viktorin stood amidst those frost-glazed cobblestones, with his mind a whirlwind of panic and disbelief. The once-tall man, undoubtedly known for his commanding height, was now a small, feathered creature, and his majestic, albeit dejected at the time, form has been reduced to that of a common bird. In the shadows, the cloaked figure who had cast the spell to turn the man into a flying creature watched silently, intentions unknown. Had they expected such a complete transformation? Did they harbor any remorse for the fate they had inflicted upon this poor man? That cloaked figure watches with an inscrutable gaze in quiet observation that belies the tumultuous magic he had just unleashed, and taking in the struggle that Viktorin has to adapt to his new form, the caster remains motionless with intentions just as obscure as the shadows he hides in.
With hesitation, Viktorin turns his face, to properly gaze at the figure, flicking his head rapidly as he began to learn just how light his body was, and just how twitchy his body's muscles could be. He takes, one, two, three hops forward, fluttering his wings for balance, before raising his beak, peering at the man. "Caw, caw, caw," he asks, referencing his own transformation with his squawking tongue. "Why did you do this to me? -How- did you do this to me?" were the words meant in his caws, incomprehensible, perhaps. His cawing never ceased, as if he had to get it through to someone, and with a smidge of bravery and annoyance, he fluttered over to stand about five feet away from the figure, watching them and repeating his cawed, incomprehensible queries.
Upon noticing Viktorin's attention squarely directed at him, the cloaked figure stands there under the crow's inquisitive gaze. Those rapid head flicks and the lightness of hops in such a stark contrast to the man's normal movements, now being, of course, a freaking bird, has got the caster's attention. Those desperate caws that attempt to convey Viktorin's pleas for understanding are lost on this arcanist. Unable to comprehend the avian language, and suddenly overwhelmed by the situation -- he makes a split second decision. With a swift turn to his right, he begins to flee like a sissy! His cloak billows behind him as he quickens his pace. The realisation that the curse had not only simply transformed Viktorin physically, but allowed him to retain his human consciousness was a bit too much to confront. Or he simply never intended to face the consequences of his actions directly. Off he goes, trying to run away.