Patrollogs
(An arcane battle)
[Fri Feb 2 2024]
In The Bleachers overlooking White Oak Athletic Field
The Bleachers overlooking White Oak Athletic Field, tucked within the heart of the White Oak Institute, are meticulously arranged in neat rows, their polished wooden surface exuding an austere, almost pristine quality. The faded sunlight filtering through the leaden clouds casts an eerie, shadowy hue over the meticulously maintained emerald expanse below, where students partake in fervent sports activities, their fervor contrasting sharply with the hushed, stifling atmosphere of the spectator area. Muffled echoes of distant cheers and hushed conversations barely manage to permeate the stifling silence, leaving an unsettling sense of detachment and voyeurism lingering in the air.
It is night, about 32F(0C) degrees, and the sky is partly covered by dark grey stormclouds. There is a waning crescent moon.
"Goodness, I hope not," Harriet expresses to Alexander, smoothing her hands down the sides of her peacoat. "We could go hunting, though," she supposes. "Have you a headlamp, by chance? If not, I have... five or so in my closet. At night, the forest gets incredibly dark, and you cannot see anything in the distance." As Carter makes an accurate guess, the brunette nods her head solemnly. "I am afraid so. She's been breaking into Alison's apartment, and I've been regularly removing her. Last time, I informed her if it happens again I am placing her in the clinic and she will receive treatment. Her name is Quinn." Then she nods about the upcoming operation. "Yes, we do have that."
Alexander says "...huhn? "
Some dark, red-eyed figure appears in the vision of the night: his smile is evil, dark-bearded, and he begins to chant in Latin as his mind reaches out.
Carter squints, drawing his arms close as he seems suddenly alert. "...Did you feel that?", he murmurs vaguely.
Harriet nods to Carter. "I did," she replies, nostrils flaring.
Alexander groans and clutches at his head.
Harriet moves over to Alexander, worry crossing her facial features. "Are you all right?" she asks, giving a glance over at Carter as well.
Carter squints, his eyes flitting about as if looking for something, a cautious expression apparent, though he doesn't seem to notice anything at the moment. He looks back to Alexander, his brows knitting as he gives a dip of his chin to Harriet's question.
A brief flash, of faith and intercession, not in a divine sense but in his own capabilities. Will made manifest. Words flick from his tongue, lower and quiet, a litany and hard to make sense of.
Alexander chants quietly and staggers to his feet. He hops off the bleacher.
Alexander says "I found him."
The dark-haired man's lips move -- it's hazy, behind him, but there are bookshelves -- as he reaches up to slash his hand with a knife. Red fire bleeds from his hand, the blood igniting as it hits the air, and then he begins to scribe a rune in living fire that his target can see in their mind. The assault is relentless. "Faith is lie," he whispers. "You think God wants to help you -- he wants to destroy you. You are a misshapen toy, to him. We all are."
Solomon stands by the fire, in a low chant. His knife is in his hand, now, as he looks down at a silver bowl with some shimmering black ink in it.
"Yeah...?", Carter begins, though he's squinting at Alexander, some concern on his expression.
Solomon says "I see you, Alexander. I told you I'd return."
Harriet narrows her eyes, concerned even more now that Alexander is chanting, and then the words spoken of finding him. "Can we do anything to assist?"
"Make no mistake" @me responds. He flicks a knife from his pocket and, trying to avoid the eyes of the crowd as he lashes into his hand. The blood rolls from, the wound, vanishing into the air. "I have no desire for help from Heaven OR Hell!" He bellows. It's not inscribed, no woven or well trodden cantrip, but desperate acts of human will.
Solomon's lips curve into a smile. "They can do nothing," he says into the air. "You should desire to survive," he says. "The path you walk -- you are leading to a victory, Alexander. You are leading to a time when God or the Devil win, and when they do?" he says. "We all perish. Do you know what day that happens on?" He spits some note of power.
There is a vision of fear: some terrifying golden divinity, raising a beam of light that almost resembles a hand. Screams, and then the whole world goes dark.
"I desire to survive, and I know that won't ever happen if I'm under the thumb of creatures like you!" Alexander declares. "You wouldn't ever make an offer that you would make that would help a single other person!"
Alexander lets out a cry, bearing a vision of some kind. "Then I'll stand against both!" he bellows, will sharpened not broken.
Solomon laughs -- it's a low, rich sound. "If only that were true, Alexander. But the world is not so simple. I can desire terrible things -- and I do -- and still desire that all of us who dwell in reality survive. Does that not help you?"
"I am -not- food! I am not your lesser and I'll prove it!" Alexander declares. "There are things worse than oblivion, and they all come in shapes like yours!"
Carter crosses his arms, seeming chilled, as he watches Alexander deal with the unseen assailant; a look of mute concern, before his eyes flit out towards the woods, as if searching still, squinting. He breathes out a soft sigh, seeming to find himself unable to help in the moment.
Solomon says, with humor, "Such a challenge."
Solomon stares into the void, his red eyes unfocused. "If it is truly oblivion you desire, that can be arranged: but I am not the purveyor of emptiness. I want a world filled with people who have hopes and dreams."
Alexander pants wearily, color draining from his features even as he sneers. "Yeah, so you can feed on them...!" he defies.
Low, pleased humor. "Like I will feed on you, Alexander?" Solomon asks. "I know where you live. I know your friends -- your hopes, your dreams. Shall I destroy them, one by one?"
"You know what you can tell about a dog who barks?" Alexander says, hunched, taking long deep breaths. "They don't know when they're about to bite off more than they can chew." He peers in the direction of the south east.
Lashes fluttering, Harriet is glancing around the area. Her nostrils are flaring again. She admits to Carter, "I cannot see a thing," as she is not attuned to spirits or the arcane whatsoever. Although, she does look wherever Alexander's eyes are pointed.
There's a hint of... potential recognition on Carter's features as he listens to Alexander's denial of the assailant's unheard statements, his brows creasing slightly, before he notices Alexander glancing off to the southeast. "I... I sensed something as it happened.. A guy with red eyes.. Latin chanting. But.. Nothing beyond that.", he murmurs in response to Harriet's statement.
There is low, crushing hopeless across the psychic link, and then through it some red line of cruel joy -- like fire, to make the heart dance and quail.
Solomon says, staring at the bowl, scribing those lines of fire in the air. "You have already given us your blood, Alexander. You're ours. now: your soul is ours. And in its virtue, it is so sweet."
Alexander clutches at his heart and staggers back, struggling to remain upright. "Ugh...fuck...you..." he manages, blurry eyed.
Alexander suddenly siezes up, his back going completly rigid and arching painfully as a stream of faintly glowing red energy flows out of his mouth and disappears into the air.
All the nearby lights flicker and die for a second before a stream of faintly glowing red energy coalesces out of the air and flows into a small gem in Solomon's hand.
An Arcane Battle 240203
(An arcane battle)
[Fri Feb 2 2024]
In The Bleachers overlooking White Oak Athletic Field
The Bleachers overlooking White Oak Athletic Field, tucked within the heart of the White Oak Institute, are meticulously arranged in neat rows, their polished wooden surface exuding an austere, almost pristine quality. The faded sunlight filtering through the leaden clouds casts an eerie, shadowy hue over the meticulously maintained emerald expanse below, where students partake in fervent sports activities, their fervor contrasting sharply with the hushed, stifling atmosphere of the spectator area. Muffled echoes of distant cheers and hushed conversations barely manage to permeate the stifling silence, leaving an unsettling sense of detachment and voyeurism lingering in the air.
It is night, about 32F(0C) degrees, and the sky is partly covered by dark grey stormclouds. There is a waning crescent moon.
"Goodness, I hope not," Harriet expresses to Alexander, smoothing her hands down the sides of her peacoat. "We could go hunting, though," she supposes. "Have you a headlamp, by chance? If not, I have... five or so in my closet. At night, the forest gets incredibly dark, and you cannot see anything in the distance." As Carter makes an accurate guess, the brunette nods her head solemnly. "I am afraid so. She's been breaking into Alison's apartment, and I've been regularly removing her. Last time, I informed her if it happens again I am placing her in the clinic and she will receive treatment. Her name is Quinn." Then she nods about the upcoming operation. "Yes, we do have that."
Alexander says "...huhn? "
Some dark, red-eyed figure appears in the vision of the night: his smile is evil, dark-bearded, and he begins to chant in Latin as his mind reaches out.
Carter squints, drawing his arms close as he seems suddenly alert. "...Did you feel that?", he murmurs vaguely.
Harriet nods to Carter. "I did," she replies, nostrils flaring.
Alexander groans and clutches at his head.
Harriet moves over to Alexander, worry crossing her facial features. "Are you all right?" she asks, giving a glance over at Carter as well.
Carter squints, his eyes flitting about as if looking for something, a cautious expression apparent, though he doesn't seem to notice anything at the moment. He looks back to Alexander, his brows knitting as he gives a dip of his chin to Harriet's question.
A brief flash, of faith and intercession, not in a divine sense but in his own capabilities. Will made manifest. Words flick from his tongue, lower and quiet, a litany and hard to make sense of.
Alexander chants quietly and staggers to his feet. He hops off the bleacher.
Alexander says "I found him."
The dark-haired man's lips move -- it's hazy, behind him, but there are bookshelves -- as he reaches up to slash his hand with a knife. Red fire bleeds from his hand, the blood igniting as it hits the air, and then he begins to scribe a rune in living fire that his target can see in their mind. The assault is relentless. "Faith is lie," he whispers. "You think God wants to help you -- he wants to destroy you. You are a misshapen toy, to him. We all are."
Solomon stands by the fire, in a low chant. His knife is in his hand, now, as he looks down at a silver bowl with some shimmering black ink in it.
"Yeah...?", Carter begins, though he's squinting at Alexander, some concern on his expression.
Solomon says "I see you, Alexander. I told you I'd return."
Harriet narrows her eyes, concerned even more now that Alexander is chanting, and then the words spoken of finding him. "Can we do anything to assist?"
"Make no mistake" @me responds. He flicks a knife from his pocket and, trying to avoid the eyes of the crowd as he lashes into his hand. The blood rolls from, the wound, vanishing into the air. "I have no desire for help from Heaven OR Hell!" He bellows. It's not inscribed, no woven or well trodden cantrip, but desperate acts of human will.
Solomon's lips curve into a smile. "They can do nothing," he says into the air. "You should desire to survive," he says. "The path you walk -- you are leading to a victory, Alexander. You are leading to a time when God or the Devil win, and when they do?" he says. "We all perish. Do you know what day that happens on?" He spits some note of power.
There is a vision of fear: some terrifying golden divinity, raising a beam of light that almost resembles a hand. Screams, and then the whole world goes dark.
"I desire to survive, and I know that won't ever happen if I'm under the thumb of creatures like you!" Alexander declares. "You wouldn't ever make an offer that you would make that would help a single other person!"
Alexander lets out a cry, bearing a vision of some kind. "Then I'll stand against both!" he bellows, will sharpened not broken.
Solomon laughs -- it's a low, rich sound. "If only that were true, Alexander. But the world is not so simple. I can desire terrible things -- and I do -- and still desire that all of us who dwell in reality survive. Does that not help you?"
"I am -not- food! I am not your lesser and I'll prove it!" Alexander declares. "There are things worse than oblivion, and they all come in shapes like yours!"
Carter crosses his arms, seeming chilled, as he watches Alexander deal with the unseen assailant; a look of mute concern, before his eyes flit out towards the woods, as if searching still, squinting. He breathes out a soft sigh, seeming to find himself unable to help in the moment.
Solomon says, with humor, "Such a challenge."
Solomon stares into the void, his red eyes unfocused. "If it is truly oblivion you desire, that can be arranged: but I am not the purveyor of emptiness. I want a world filled with people who have hopes and dreams."
Alexander pants wearily, color draining from his features even as he sneers. "Yeah, so you can feed on them...!" he defies.
Low, pleased humor. "Like I will feed on you, Alexander?" Solomon asks. "I know where you live. I know your friends -- your hopes, your dreams. Shall I destroy them, one by one?"
"You know what you can tell about a dog who barks?" Alexander says, hunched, taking long deep breaths. "They don't know when they're about to bite off more than they can chew." He peers in the direction of the south east.
Lashes fluttering, Harriet is glancing around the area. Her nostrils are flaring again. She admits to Carter, "I cannot see a thing," as she is not attuned to spirits or the arcane whatsoever. Although, she does look wherever Alexander's eyes are pointed.
There's a hint of... potential recognition on Carter's features as he listens to Alexander's denial of the assailant's unheard statements, his brows creasing slightly, before he notices Alexander glancing off to the southeast. "I... I sensed something as it happened.. A guy with red eyes.. Latin chanting. But.. Nothing beyond that.", he murmurs in response to Harriet's statement.
There is low, crushing hopeless across the psychic link, and then through it some red line of cruel joy -- like fire, to make the heart dance and quail.
Solomon says, staring at the bowl, scribing those lines of fire in the air. "You have already given us your blood, Alexander. You're ours. now: your soul is ours. And in its virtue, it is so sweet."
Alexander clutches at his heart and staggers back, struggling to remain upright. "Ugh...fuck...you..." he manages, blurry eyed.
Alexander suddenly siezes up, his back going completly rigid and arching painfully as a stream of faintly glowing red energy flows out of his mouth and disappears into the air.
All the nearby lights flicker and die for a second before a stream of faintly glowing red energy coalesces out of the air and flows into a small gem in Solomon's hand.