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Harriets Ghost Banishing 240722
In the thick of a sweltering afternoon at Arkwright Cemetery, Harriet finds herself encircled by three spectral pirates, each adorned in a haunting blend of ballroom and buccaneer attire, and armed with ghostly weapons. With a mix of determination and trepidation, Harriet, a woman of no magical prowess but abundant courage, prepares to confront these apparitions. She constructs a salt circle for protection and, relying on her knowledge of Latin, attempts to invoke an exorcism. Despite her efforts, the pirates persist, their ethereal forms a testament to restless souls long departed yet bound to the mortal realm. Harriet’s situation grows dire as one ghost attempts a spectral assassination, signaling the beginning of a confrontation that would test her resolve and wits.
As the standoff escalates, Harriet's initial strategy of commanding the ghosts with Latin chants proves futile against their spectral aggression. Transitioning from commands to placation, she endeavors to calm the marauding spirits with a tone of empathy and understanding, seeking peace over conflict. However, the situation takes a dangerous turn as the ghosts intensify their assault, phasing through her defenses and directly attacking her. In a moment of desperation and anger, Harriet abandons Latin for Abyssal, tapping into her demonborn heritage to unleash a resonating, commanding decree that the spirits have no dominion over her. Shocked by the power emanating from her words, the spectral pirates momentarily halt, giving Harrett a chance to reinforce her demand for their departure with a fierceness fueled by her lineage. The confrontation reaches a climax as Harriet stands her ground, amidst the echoes of her abyssal outcry, waiting to see if her audacious defiance would finally grant her reprieve from the relentless haunting.
(Harriet's ghost banishing)
[Sun Jul 21 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is afternoon, about 90F(32C) degrees,
A haunting piano melody suddenly creeps over the graveyard as one by one, three spectral forms raise up into sight. Each is somewhat decayed and dressed in a mix of ballroom gown and old pirate garb, one wields a pair of flintlock pistols, another a wicked cutlass and the third a pair of sharp looking knives.
Harriet takes in a slow, deep inhale through her nostrils as the haunting melody begins to play, and her head turns, then her body follows suit. She faces the three ghosts that are coming up from the graveyard's grassy hillside. Their deceased looking spectral forms cause her to frown some, and she reaches for her trusty bad of salt from her handbag, preparing herself for this ritual to send the long dead pirates back to their graves.
The double knife weilder appears suddenly behind Harriet, cackling right in her ear before rearing back to stab her in the back.
Harriet focuses intently on the approaching spectral forms of the three pirate ghosts. Her facial expression is quite set in a mixture of resolve and that of concentration. With the bag of Celtic sea salt clutched firmly in one hand, the tall brunette begins to sprinkle a generous line of the greyish, natural and unbleached granules in a protective circle around herself. The sharp, crisp lines of the grains are methodically laid out with precision, creating a barrier that she hopes will fend off the spectral assailants. Yet, she she is doing this, that one comes up, cackling in her ear, and tries to stab her in the back. Reflexively, she's trying to fend the spirit off.
As she completes the circle, Harriet then shifts her tactics towards a more active dismissal of these restless spirits. Pulling from her deep knowledge of Latin, whic is of course a language imbued with the power to influence the supernatural due to its ancient roots, the Warden begins to recite a powerful -- at least she thinks it is powerful -- exorcism chant. The words are each articulated with the clear, authoritative tone of her British upbringing, and resonate through the air as each syllable rings out with intent. "Ex spiritus malignis, libera nos, qui in hac terra inquieti adhuc morantur. Revertantur ad quietem aeternam, neque nos amplius vexent."
The three spirits surround Harriet, attacking and harrying her from all sides.
Harriet continues her incantation, and her voice is steady and commanding as the Latin phrases slice through the eerie stillness of the graveyard. The spectral pirates who are advancing with ethereal weapons drawn and ghostly expressions twisted in spectral rage, do not falter. The air around is nothing out of the ordinary. She is not a magical creatue at all, and with no knowledge of the arcane that can be put to use, she's relying simply on her memorized phrases and the salt barrier, as if the stuff can reinforce her protection as she channels her focus into the ritual chant. "Revertantur ad locum unde venerunt, ne nos laedant!" she commands, her voice rising to meet the crescendo of her words as the three ghosts come closer.
Feeling the limitations of her non-arcanist background, Harriet opts for persistence with her Latin dialogue. She is aiming to communicate or at least soothe the restless spirits rather than banish them with powers she does not possess. As she continues to speak, her tone shifts to one that is less commanding and more placatory, seeking a connection rather than expulsion since they just keep coming closer and are trying to attack her. "Audite et intelligite me, o spiritus," she intones, her voice softer, yet clear. "Non veni ut vos perterrefaciam aut damnum inferam. Quaero tantum pacem et intellegentiam inter nos."
Harriet watches the spectral figures carefully, noting any changes in their demeanor. Her aim is to calm their agitation, and her words that are woven with an earnestness attempt to transcend the physical barrier between the living and the spectral. "Si quid vos vexat, dicite mihi -- fortasse adiuvare possum." As she speaks, her slender hands are steady, her lithe body language open and non-threatening, and her hazel eyes are meeting those of the ghosts with a sincerity that she hopes will bridge the gap between their worlds. She waits, hoping for a sign of understanding or at least a lessening of their haunting hostility.
The three spirits encircle the group, flicking in and out of reality as they coral them.
Harriet remains composed as the spectral figures advance, and their intentions are now unmistakably hostile. Despite the impending threat, she maintains her stance and her hands are slightly raised in a gesture of peace. Her voice remains calm and controlled, even as the air around her grows colder with the ghosts' approach. "Pacem peto, non bellum. Recedite ab hoc confligere, quaeso." She steps back cautiously, with those ever aware hazel eyes never leaving the ghosts, but backing up only leads her nearer to one of them. The salt circle around her is her only physical protection, and she positions herself to ensure it remains intact. Aware that her Latin pleas might not be enough to dissuade them, she prepares mentally for the possibility of needing to escape or defend herself more actively. "Come on, Harry," is said to herself aloud.
"Vestra ira vos vincere non debet. Est alius via," Harriet says to the long dead pirates in a voice that projects a blend of authority and empathy. She is clearly hoping to reach whatever remains of their humanity -- if they have any ounce of it at all. She seems very aware that her options are limited, and while she cannot banish them with magic, she can perhaps influence their spirits with her words and presence.
Harriet continues to hold her ground as the spectral pirates tighten their circle around her. Despite the intensifying threat, her expression remains calm, and she channels all her focus into maintaining a strong stance. The salt circle at her feet is quite a fragile barrier between her and the encroaching spirits. "Audite me, spiritus antiqui. Non veni ut vos destruerem, sed ut pacem vobiscum invenirem." She reaches into her handbag once more, slim digits brushing against the bag of salt. With deliberate movements, she sprinkles additional salt before her, reinforcing her protective circle.
The flintlock wielder unleashes a stream of spectral bullets, somehow not needing to reload as the group is forces to drop to the ground to avoid getting struck.
Harriet reacts swiftly as the spectral pirates open fire. Their ghostly bullets cut through the air where she stood moments before. Dropping quickly to the grass within her salt circle, she presses herself low against the heated, summer ground. The blades of half-dead grass brush against her cheeks as she minimizes her profile, and she remains still, her breathing controlled, waiting for the barrage to cease.
Despite the danger, Harriet's mind races for a solution that does not involve direct confrontation... but she prepares to continue her verbal appeals, hoping to reach them still. As the firing slows, she whispers another line of Latin steadily but loud enough to carry through the sounds of spectral gunfire. "Spiritus, quaeso, audite verba pacis. Non est via haec, revenire ad quietem vestram."
With her heart pounding, Harriet gauges the ghosts' reactions, ready to adjust her tactics based on any shift in their hostile demeanor. Things are definitely not going too well at the moment. She still has her face pressed to the earth beneath her as she stays in her salt cicle.
The three spirits surround Harriet, attacking and harrying her from all sides.
Harriet clears her throat and shifts back to Latin, hoping its ancient roots might resonate at some point with the spectral entities. Her voice carries a respectful firmness as she chants, "Pacem quaero cum vobis. Audite preces meas et requiem invenite." They close in on her, and she covers her head, blocking it with forearms and ands.
The dual-knife wielder disappears before her arms suddenly emerge from the ground, stabing into the feet of Harriet to keep her in place as the cutlass wielder swoops forward.
Harriet moves to rise back up after she has protected her head, and then stands firm in her supposedly trusty salt circle. As she looks about, her eyes are scanning the encircling ghosts, watching for any sign of their response to her words. So far, they do not seem to care. Maybe Latin was only scary when she was learning it all of those years ago? Her voice, however, remains clear and steady as she seeks to reach the ghosts not through force, but through an appeal. The atmosphere is tense and now the air is thick with the weight of centuries and the ghosts' unresolved anguish and/or anger. She wants to remains resolute and be a calming presence, but the they are freaking stabbing at her again! A blade goes right into her foot, and spectral or not, it still causes a reaction, and that reaction is anger and a scream.
In desperation, Harriet drops the Latin and taps into her own innate nature. She speaks Abyssal, the language of her distant forefathers, and it resonates with an unsettling complexity. Something akin to a swarm of bees intertwined with the deep, resonant tones of traditional Mongal-Tuvan throat singing. Each word buzzes with a multitude of tones and vibrations, creating a dense sonic texture that feels almost tangible in the air, deep and heavy. The languages cadence mimics the relentless hum of those flying, stinging insects, filling the space with a persistent, droning buzz mixed with guttural undercurrents where multiple pitches are produced simultaneously by a single voice. It sounds demonic, and she hisses out in that unnatural to most way of speaking, "YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TOUCH ME!" Rage is flowing through her now, and a rush of adrenaline is spiking her through the roof -- or she would be going through the roof if she was actually outdoors. Alas, she is on a grassy hillside of a cemetery of all places. "YOU WILL LEAVE ME BE! You will go back to where you have come from and you will rest there. Go!" Her anger is palpable, and she is not holding a single ounce of it back.
Harriet's words are laced with the power of her demonborn heritage and echo ominously through the graveyard, reverberating off the tombstones and hanging heavily in the air. The spectral pirates, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone and the demonic resonance of Abyssal, momentarily cease their aggressive movements. Determined to end this confrontation, the tall brunette raises her arms, her posture commanding and defiant. "Go!"
Harriet holds her ground, ready to reinforce her boundary with more salt or further screams if necessary. She watches the ghosts intently, prepared for any sign of resistance or relenting, her every sense alert to the unfolding dynamics of this supernatural standoff.
As the standoff escalates, Harriet's initial strategy of commanding the ghosts with Latin chants proves futile against their spectral aggression. Transitioning from commands to placation, she endeavors to calm the marauding spirits with a tone of empathy and understanding, seeking peace over conflict. However, the situation takes a dangerous turn as the ghosts intensify their assault, phasing through her defenses and directly attacking her. In a moment of desperation and anger, Harriet abandons Latin for Abyssal, tapping into her demonborn heritage to unleash a resonating, commanding decree that the spirits have no dominion over her. Shocked by the power emanating from her words, the spectral pirates momentarily halt, giving Harrett a chance to reinforce her demand for their departure with a fierceness fueled by her lineage. The confrontation reaches a climax as Harriet stands her ground, amidst the echoes of her abyssal outcry, waiting to see if her audacious defiance would finally grant her reprieve from the relentless haunting.
(Harriet's ghost banishing)
[Sun Jul 21 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is afternoon, about 90F(32C) degrees,
A haunting piano melody suddenly creeps over the graveyard as one by one, three spectral forms raise up into sight. Each is somewhat decayed and dressed in a mix of ballroom gown and old pirate garb, one wields a pair of flintlock pistols, another a wicked cutlass and the third a pair of sharp looking knives.
Harriet takes in a slow, deep inhale through her nostrils as the haunting melody begins to play, and her head turns, then her body follows suit. She faces the three ghosts that are coming up from the graveyard's grassy hillside. Their deceased looking spectral forms cause her to frown some, and she reaches for her trusty bad of salt from her handbag, preparing herself for this ritual to send the long dead pirates back to their graves.
The double knife weilder appears suddenly behind Harriet, cackling right in her ear before rearing back to stab her in the back.
Harriet focuses intently on the approaching spectral forms of the three pirate ghosts. Her facial expression is quite set in a mixture of resolve and that of concentration. With the bag of Celtic sea salt clutched firmly in one hand, the tall brunette begins to sprinkle a generous line of the greyish, natural and unbleached granules in a protective circle around herself. The sharp, crisp lines of the grains are methodically laid out with precision, creating a barrier that she hopes will fend off the spectral assailants. Yet, she she is doing this, that one comes up, cackling in her ear, and tries to stab her in the back. Reflexively, she's trying to fend the spirit off.
As she completes the circle, Harriet then shifts her tactics towards a more active dismissal of these restless spirits. Pulling from her deep knowledge of Latin, whic is of course a language imbued with the power to influence the supernatural due to its ancient roots, the Warden begins to recite a powerful -- at least she thinks it is powerful -- exorcism chant. The words are each articulated with the clear, authoritative tone of her British upbringing, and resonate through the air as each syllable rings out with intent. "Ex spiritus malignis, libera nos, qui in hac terra inquieti adhuc morantur. Revertantur ad quietem aeternam, neque nos amplius vexent."
The three spirits surround Harriet, attacking and harrying her from all sides.
Harriet continues her incantation, and her voice is steady and commanding as the Latin phrases slice through the eerie stillness of the graveyard. The spectral pirates who are advancing with ethereal weapons drawn and ghostly expressions twisted in spectral rage, do not falter. The air around is nothing out of the ordinary. She is not a magical creatue at all, and with no knowledge of the arcane that can be put to use, she's relying simply on her memorized phrases and the salt barrier, as if the stuff can reinforce her protection as she channels her focus into the ritual chant. "Revertantur ad locum unde venerunt, ne nos laedant!" she commands, her voice rising to meet the crescendo of her words as the three ghosts come closer.
Feeling the limitations of her non-arcanist background, Harriet opts for persistence with her Latin dialogue. She is aiming to communicate or at least soothe the restless spirits rather than banish them with powers she does not possess. As she continues to speak, her tone shifts to one that is less commanding and more placatory, seeking a connection rather than expulsion since they just keep coming closer and are trying to attack her. "Audite et intelligite me, o spiritus," she intones, her voice softer, yet clear. "Non veni ut vos perterrefaciam aut damnum inferam. Quaero tantum pacem et intellegentiam inter nos."
Harriet watches the spectral figures carefully, noting any changes in their demeanor. Her aim is to calm their agitation, and her words that are woven with an earnestness attempt to transcend the physical barrier between the living and the spectral. "Si quid vos vexat, dicite mihi -- fortasse adiuvare possum." As she speaks, her slender hands are steady, her lithe body language open and non-threatening, and her hazel eyes are meeting those of the ghosts with a sincerity that she hopes will bridge the gap between their worlds. She waits, hoping for a sign of understanding or at least a lessening of their haunting hostility.
The three spirits encircle the group, flicking in and out of reality as they coral them.
Harriet remains composed as the spectral figures advance, and their intentions are now unmistakably hostile. Despite the impending threat, she maintains her stance and her hands are slightly raised in a gesture of peace. Her voice remains calm and controlled, even as the air around her grows colder with the ghosts' approach. "Pacem peto, non bellum. Recedite ab hoc confligere, quaeso." She steps back cautiously, with those ever aware hazel eyes never leaving the ghosts, but backing up only leads her nearer to one of them. The salt circle around her is her only physical protection, and she positions herself to ensure it remains intact. Aware that her Latin pleas might not be enough to dissuade them, she prepares mentally for the possibility of needing to escape or defend herself more actively. "Come on, Harry," is said to herself aloud.
"Vestra ira vos vincere non debet. Est alius via," Harriet says to the long dead pirates in a voice that projects a blend of authority and empathy. She is clearly hoping to reach whatever remains of their humanity -- if they have any ounce of it at all. She seems very aware that her options are limited, and while she cannot banish them with magic, she can perhaps influence their spirits with her words and presence.
Harriet continues to hold her ground as the spectral pirates tighten their circle around her. Despite the intensifying threat, her expression remains calm, and she channels all her focus into maintaining a strong stance. The salt circle at her feet is quite a fragile barrier between her and the encroaching spirits. "Audite me, spiritus antiqui. Non veni ut vos destruerem, sed ut pacem vobiscum invenirem." She reaches into her handbag once more, slim digits brushing against the bag of salt. With deliberate movements, she sprinkles additional salt before her, reinforcing her protective circle.
The flintlock wielder unleashes a stream of spectral bullets, somehow not needing to reload as the group is forces to drop to the ground to avoid getting struck.
Harriet reacts swiftly as the spectral pirates open fire. Their ghostly bullets cut through the air where she stood moments before. Dropping quickly to the grass within her salt circle, she presses herself low against the heated, summer ground. The blades of half-dead grass brush against her cheeks as she minimizes her profile, and she remains still, her breathing controlled, waiting for the barrage to cease.
Despite the danger, Harriet's mind races for a solution that does not involve direct confrontation... but she prepares to continue her verbal appeals, hoping to reach them still. As the firing slows, she whispers another line of Latin steadily but loud enough to carry through the sounds of spectral gunfire. "Spiritus, quaeso, audite verba pacis. Non est via haec, revenire ad quietem vestram."
With her heart pounding, Harriet gauges the ghosts' reactions, ready to adjust her tactics based on any shift in their hostile demeanor. Things are definitely not going too well at the moment. She still has her face pressed to the earth beneath her as she stays in her salt cicle.
The three spirits surround Harriet, attacking and harrying her from all sides.
Harriet clears her throat and shifts back to Latin, hoping its ancient roots might resonate at some point with the spectral entities. Her voice carries a respectful firmness as she chants, "Pacem quaero cum vobis. Audite preces meas et requiem invenite." They close in on her, and she covers her head, blocking it with forearms and ands.
The dual-knife wielder disappears before her arms suddenly emerge from the ground, stabing into the feet of Harriet to keep her in place as the cutlass wielder swoops forward.
Harriet moves to rise back up after she has protected her head, and then stands firm in her supposedly trusty salt circle. As she looks about, her eyes are scanning the encircling ghosts, watching for any sign of their response to her words. So far, they do not seem to care. Maybe Latin was only scary when she was learning it all of those years ago? Her voice, however, remains clear and steady as she seeks to reach the ghosts not through force, but through an appeal. The atmosphere is tense and now the air is thick with the weight of centuries and the ghosts' unresolved anguish and/or anger. She wants to remains resolute and be a calming presence, but the they are freaking stabbing at her again! A blade goes right into her foot, and spectral or not, it still causes a reaction, and that reaction is anger and a scream.
In desperation, Harriet drops the Latin and taps into her own innate nature. She speaks Abyssal, the language of her distant forefathers, and it resonates with an unsettling complexity. Something akin to a swarm of bees intertwined with the deep, resonant tones of traditional Mongal-Tuvan throat singing. Each word buzzes with a multitude of tones and vibrations, creating a dense sonic texture that feels almost tangible in the air, deep and heavy. The languages cadence mimics the relentless hum of those flying, stinging insects, filling the space with a persistent, droning buzz mixed with guttural undercurrents where multiple pitches are produced simultaneously by a single voice. It sounds demonic, and she hisses out in that unnatural to most way of speaking, "YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TOUCH ME!" Rage is flowing through her now, and a rush of adrenaline is spiking her through the roof -- or she would be going through the roof if she was actually outdoors. Alas, she is on a grassy hillside of a cemetery of all places. "YOU WILL LEAVE ME BE! You will go back to where you have come from and you will rest there. Go!" Her anger is palpable, and she is not holding a single ounce of it back.
Harriet's words are laced with the power of her demonborn heritage and echo ominously through the graveyard, reverberating off the tombstones and hanging heavily in the air. The spectral pirates, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone and the demonic resonance of Abyssal, momentarily cease their aggressive movements. Determined to end this confrontation, the tall brunette raises her arms, her posture commanding and defiant. "Go!"
Harriet holds her ground, ready to reinforce her boundary with more salt or further screams if necessary. She watches the ghosts intently, prepared for any sign of resistance or relenting, her every sense alert to the unfolding dynamics of this supernatural standoff.