Encounterlogs
Alexanders Odd Encounter Sr Nameless 240202
Alexander's serene moment at the L'Angelo nel Marmo cafe is unexpectedly interrupted when his date, Bianca, steps away. As she leaves for the bathroom, Alexander is left alone with his thoughts, contemplating the chaotic beauty of his life and the ever-present anticipation of unforeseen challenges. His reverie is disrupted by a creeping drowsiness, inexplicably overtaking his senses after sipping water. Struggling to maintain clarity, he ultimately cannot fight off the sedative effects that have been laced into his drink. Amid his haziness, unfamiliar figures approach and effortlessly maneuver his now limp body out of the cafe and into the wintry night. Resistance is futile, and the cold snap outside fails to jolt him back to full consciousness. In desperation, he claws into his own wrist, seeking pain's sharp clarity to stave off the enveloping darkness, but inevitably his attempts falter.
Elsewhere, Harriet, the adept warden of the Order, is drawn into her own demanding role amidst supernatural disturbances in the quiet town. After hanging up her coat and settling into the comfort of her home, she receives an alarming email detailing a series of bizarre and gruesome homicides, drained corpses serving as the macabre signature of a vampire's blood farm operation. With the police baffled, the situation calls for her intervention. Faced with the overwhelming obligations of her charge, Harriet still chooses to engage, feeling the weight of responsibility and recognizing the severity of the threat. Determinedly, she prepares for the daunting task ahead, equipping herself with armor, a rifle, and a warhammer that betokens her remarkable strength. With her mind set on the mission, Harriet departs, responding to the call to action in hope of thwarting the sinister scheme and saving the lives being callously harvested by the vampire.
(Alexander's odd encounter(SRNameless):SRNameless)
[Thu Feb 1 2024]
In the main lobby of L'Angelo nel Marmo
As you enter, your eyes are immediately drawn to a central fountain, its cascading waters creating a soothing symphony that mingles with the gentle hum of conversation. A meticulously sculpted marble angel, poised in mid-flight, stands at the heart of the fountain, an ethereal guardian watching over the bustling cafe.
The air is infused with the scent of freshly brewed coffee, intermingled with the irresistible aroma of fresh baked pastries emerging from the nearby kitchen. The melody of soft Roman music floats through the air, transporting guests on a journey through time and space.
It is dusk, about 20F(-6C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's snowing outside.
(Your target has been abducted by the syndicate for potential sale offworld, they must escape or stall their abductors long enough for their allies to be able to come rescue them before the transaction can take place.
)
Eventually, Alexander's date has to go to the bathroom, and excuses herself to go do that. "Don't eat it all if it comes while I'm gone," Bianca tells him, chiding him already for the hypothetical before she's off to the lavatory to do her business in the tinkletorium.
Thus, Alexander is left alone to wait for the food for now, at his comfy spot with a cold glass of water to keep him company in the meantime. Nothing particularly interesting appears to be happening in the venue right now. It's just one of those cold gray days that passes for normal, at least here and now.
Alexander shrugs towards Bianca, and informs her, "If you take -that- long you can't blame me," he insists. Then smiles towards her as she departs. He leans back against the chair once she disappears from sight and just...takes a moment to appreciate this. His life, as it is, as it has been. Chaotic and messy and strange and with her? Wonderful.
Not without trials, he knows. He grabs the glass of water and takes a long drink. And on his phone he fiddles, he pretends there's anything of value. His mind wanders to plans and thoughts, quiet concerns. His caution has, since he's arrived, taken up a large chunk of his focus even in quiet moments. Always wondering what's next.
Haven isn't known for its quality tap water, so perhaps it isn't surprising when the seemingly inviting H2O has a bit of that hard-water bite to it. It's not really noticeable until post-swallow, when that bitter aftertaste pinches at the throat. Not hard, but enough. But as Alexander looks at his phone, he finds it increasingly difficult to maintain mental focus. That's the first sign -- a wandering mind, tending towards fanciful dream logic. The kind of thoughts one has in that hypnic limbo when lying in the dark in bed.
The second sign is when he finds he has to strain to keep his vision sharp enough to actually read the display on his phone.
Alexander grimaces and sets the glass down, wrinkling his nose. He inspects it for a moment, a little concerned but it's a mundane thought, not a fanciful one. It escapes his mind even as it blurrs. He blinks a few times and sets the phone down. "Wait..." he mumbles, then concerned he tries to look around with concern, trying to spot it. He missed something. There was something here he didn't recognize. A sign?
The signs are all there: signs that Alexander is slowly drifting asleep. His eyelids grow weighty, drooping and hanging over his vision like darkly encroaching curtains. By the time he -does- see something, it's too late. Blurred figures approach his table, their faces indistinct in Alexander's groggy state. One of them hefts him up by the arms -- his legs stumble against a chair. He's a dead weight by now, but still clinging to consciousness by a thread. No one is helping him. This much is evident even amid the daze. No one is approaching, whether they're distracted or afraid or just...standing by and watching . . .
Blinking causes Alexander to lose time. Several seconds at a time pass in the space of an instant according to his perception as he slips in and out. The biting winter air outside almost wakes him when he's dragged out through the threshold, but it's not enough. It's not enough to banish the feeling.
Alexander tries to fight it, his eyelids are so heavy, his mind fogged, in a cloud and haze. His eyelids droop and time slips. The cold reminds him of his failure. He drives his nails into her wrist letting out a sharp hiss as he tries to tear at flesh to give his brain the fuel it needs for wakefulness.
Alexander into HIS wrist
(A local vampire has decided to start a blood farm and is kidnapping locals. Your target is tasked with taking them down and saving the people who've been kidnapped.)
Harriet is in her bedroom, having just returned home. She's standing before her closet and is hanging up her peacoat, and is then seating herself on the edge of her grandiose, mahogany bed that is draped in rich and luxurious burgundy bedding. It's a relatively quiet night at the moment, but it is quite cold outside. A glance is given to one of the three windows along the west wall that provide a view of White Oak in the distance. The campus grounds are laden with snow, but the flakes seemed to have stopped falling from the heavens for now.
There's been a case circling her interest. As warden of the Order it's rare for problems specific to the town itself to find itself before her, the demands on her time are great but it isn't unheard of. The supernatural world and where it meets the mundane fit perfect under her perview. It appears that local PD have found themselves unable to track down the culprits of a particularily strange set of homicides.
An email arrives. Information perhaps already on her radar, but now is a request for intervention. Drained corpses, in excess of the usual, a ramp up in the last month. A lot of blood, and that's just from the bodies found, careless mistakes maybe. It's not going to end, not unless someone takes action. Of course, Harriet is a busy woman, with no end to the demands on her time. Perhaps this is just one thing she can't bother herself with.
When Harriet's phone buzzes off a vibrating alert to inform the brunette that she's just received a new e-mail, she reaches over and retrieves the electronic device. A swipe of her forefinger reveals the request for an intervention. Her attention sharpens as she reads, and the gravity of the situation unfolds very quickly. It is painting a grim picture of the challenges that lie ahead, and these particularly strange homicides stirs a sense of duty within her. Drained corpses, a sudden increase in such incidents over the last month, and the apparent recklessness of the culprits definitely underscore the urgency of the matter. As she rises from the bed, the woman's mind is already racing through potential strategies and resources at her disposal. She swipes across the screen of her phone again, this time to initiate a response to accept this mission, thereby setting the wheels in motion for an intervention.
Harriet grabs gear, armoring herself and taking up her weaponry. A rifle gets slung over a shoulder, and a platinum plated warhammer is lifted up like it is nothing more than a can of soup. After that, she's on her way to her vehicle, searching the e-mail for the location she is expected to be visiting.
Elsewhere, Harriet, the adept warden of the Order, is drawn into her own demanding role amidst supernatural disturbances in the quiet town. After hanging up her coat and settling into the comfort of her home, she receives an alarming email detailing a series of bizarre and gruesome homicides, drained corpses serving as the macabre signature of a vampire's blood farm operation. With the police baffled, the situation calls for her intervention. Faced with the overwhelming obligations of her charge, Harriet still chooses to engage, feeling the weight of responsibility and recognizing the severity of the threat. Determinedly, she prepares for the daunting task ahead, equipping herself with armor, a rifle, and a warhammer that betokens her remarkable strength. With her mind set on the mission, Harriet departs, responding to the call to action in hope of thwarting the sinister scheme and saving the lives being callously harvested by the vampire.
(Alexander's odd encounter(SRNameless):SRNameless)
[Thu Feb 1 2024]
In the main lobby of L'Angelo nel Marmo
As you enter, your eyes are immediately drawn to a central fountain, its cascading waters creating a soothing symphony that mingles with the gentle hum of conversation. A meticulously sculpted marble angel, poised in mid-flight, stands at the heart of the fountain, an ethereal guardian watching over the bustling cafe.
The air is infused with the scent of freshly brewed coffee, intermingled with the irresistible aroma of fresh baked pastries emerging from the nearby kitchen. The melody of soft Roman music floats through the air, transporting guests on a journey through time and space.
It is dusk, about 20F(-6C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's snowing outside.
(Your target has been abducted by the syndicate for potential sale offworld, they must escape or stall their abductors long enough for their allies to be able to come rescue them before the transaction can take place.
)
Eventually, Alexander's date has to go to the bathroom, and excuses herself to go do that. "Don't eat it all if it comes while I'm gone," Bianca tells him, chiding him already for the hypothetical before she's off to the lavatory to do her business in the tinkletorium.
Thus, Alexander is left alone to wait for the food for now, at his comfy spot with a cold glass of water to keep him company in the meantime. Nothing particularly interesting appears to be happening in the venue right now. It's just one of those cold gray days that passes for normal, at least here and now.
Alexander shrugs towards Bianca, and informs her, "If you take -that- long you can't blame me," he insists. Then smiles towards her as she departs. He leans back against the chair once she disappears from sight and just...takes a moment to appreciate this. His life, as it is, as it has been. Chaotic and messy and strange and with her? Wonderful.
Not without trials, he knows. He grabs the glass of water and takes a long drink. And on his phone he fiddles, he pretends there's anything of value. His mind wanders to plans and thoughts, quiet concerns. His caution has, since he's arrived, taken up a large chunk of his focus even in quiet moments. Always wondering what's next.
Haven isn't known for its quality tap water, so perhaps it isn't surprising when the seemingly inviting H2O has a bit of that hard-water bite to it. It's not really noticeable until post-swallow, when that bitter aftertaste pinches at the throat. Not hard, but enough. But as Alexander looks at his phone, he finds it increasingly difficult to maintain mental focus. That's the first sign -- a wandering mind, tending towards fanciful dream logic. The kind of thoughts one has in that hypnic limbo when lying in the dark in bed.
The second sign is when he finds he has to strain to keep his vision sharp enough to actually read the display on his phone.
Alexander grimaces and sets the glass down, wrinkling his nose. He inspects it for a moment, a little concerned but it's a mundane thought, not a fanciful one. It escapes his mind even as it blurrs. He blinks a few times and sets the phone down. "Wait..." he mumbles, then concerned he tries to look around with concern, trying to spot it. He missed something. There was something here he didn't recognize. A sign?
The signs are all there: signs that Alexander is slowly drifting asleep. His eyelids grow weighty, drooping and hanging over his vision like darkly encroaching curtains. By the time he -does- see something, it's too late. Blurred figures approach his table, their faces indistinct in Alexander's groggy state. One of them hefts him up by the arms -- his legs stumble against a chair. He's a dead weight by now, but still clinging to consciousness by a thread. No one is helping him. This much is evident even amid the daze. No one is approaching, whether they're distracted or afraid or just...standing by and watching . . .
Blinking causes Alexander to lose time. Several seconds at a time pass in the space of an instant according to his perception as he slips in and out. The biting winter air outside almost wakes him when he's dragged out through the threshold, but it's not enough. It's not enough to banish the feeling.
Alexander tries to fight it, his eyelids are so heavy, his mind fogged, in a cloud and haze. His eyelids droop and time slips. The cold reminds him of his failure. He drives his nails into her wrist letting out a sharp hiss as he tries to tear at flesh to give his brain the fuel it needs for wakefulness.
Alexander into HIS wrist
(A local vampire has decided to start a blood farm and is kidnapping locals. Your target is tasked with taking them down and saving the people who've been kidnapped.)
Harriet is in her bedroom, having just returned home. She's standing before her closet and is hanging up her peacoat, and is then seating herself on the edge of her grandiose, mahogany bed that is draped in rich and luxurious burgundy bedding. It's a relatively quiet night at the moment, but it is quite cold outside. A glance is given to one of the three windows along the west wall that provide a view of White Oak in the distance. The campus grounds are laden with snow, but the flakes seemed to have stopped falling from the heavens for now.
There's been a case circling her interest. As warden of the Order it's rare for problems specific to the town itself to find itself before her, the demands on her time are great but it isn't unheard of. The supernatural world and where it meets the mundane fit perfect under her perview. It appears that local PD have found themselves unable to track down the culprits of a particularily strange set of homicides.
An email arrives. Information perhaps already on her radar, but now is a request for intervention. Drained corpses, in excess of the usual, a ramp up in the last month. A lot of blood, and that's just from the bodies found, careless mistakes maybe. It's not going to end, not unless someone takes action. Of course, Harriet is a busy woman, with no end to the demands on her time. Perhaps this is just one thing she can't bother herself with.
When Harriet's phone buzzes off a vibrating alert to inform the brunette that she's just received a new e-mail, she reaches over and retrieves the electronic device. A swipe of her forefinger reveals the request for an intervention. Her attention sharpens as she reads, and the gravity of the situation unfolds very quickly. It is painting a grim picture of the challenges that lie ahead, and these particularly strange homicides stirs a sense of duty within her. Drained corpses, a sudden increase in such incidents over the last month, and the apparent recklessness of the culprits definitely underscore the urgency of the matter. As she rises from the bed, the woman's mind is already racing through potential strategies and resources at her disposal. She swipes across the screen of her phone again, this time to initiate a response to accept this mission, thereby setting the wheels in motion for an intervention.
Harriet grabs gear, armoring herself and taking up her weaponry. A rifle gets slung over a shoulder, and a platinum plated warhammer is lifted up like it is nothing more than a can of soup. After that, she's on her way to her vehicle, searching the e-mail for the location she is expected to be visiting.