Encounterlogs
Alexanders Odd Encounter Sr Savannah 240306
Alexander's encounter in the hospital unfolds with a mysterious chill accompanied by a rush of anger, frustration, and a thirst for vengeance, not entirely his own. These overwhelming emotions manifest physically as he uncontrollably smashes a mirror, revealing in the shards not just his reflection but an angry visage of another man entangled with his own. Alexander, recognizing the presence of an angry spirit, engages in a dialogue with it, attempting to understand its motives. The spirit reveals its desire for revenge, seeking a host to fulfill its vendetta. Despite his own initial indulgence in his rage, Alexander confronts the entity, questioning its unyielding anger and the pointlessness of its quest for retribution.
The exchange between Alexander and the spirit becomes a battle of wills, with the spirit assaulting Alexander physically and emotionally, trying to infuse him with its own vengeful desires. Yet, Alexander's resistance prompts a shift in the spirit. It begins to confront its own identity crisis, struggling to recall the names of its loved ones and the targets of its vengeance. Alexander points out the futility of the spirit's existence, arguing that it has lost all that made it human and is now just a vessel of anger. Despite the spirit's defiance, Alexander's stark realization of its condition leads to a deeper despair within the entity. In a final act of desperation, the spirit warns Alexander of future sufferings and the desire for revenge before fading away, its energy depleted. Alexander, left in the aftermath, prays for oblivion, banishing the lingering presence of the spirit and allowing it, and perhaps himself, a moment of peace.
(Alexander's odd encounter(SRSavannah):SRSavannah)
[Tue Mar 5 2024]
In hospital room 2
This room is sparsely furnished, the sanitary white walls a perfect match
to the linoleum floor and the thin hospital sheets on the gurney that serves
as a bed. A small television mounted in the upper corner of the room is set
at a low volume, and a thin curtain bisects the room in an effort to afford
privacy to the occupant on the other side.
It is night, about 37F(2C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. There is a waning crescent moon.
(Your target is possessed by an angry spirit that is forcing them to act out and putting themselves and/or others at risk. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
Alexander is cleaning himself up. The IV's removed, the casts are off. Stiffness and soreness aside, he feels pretty good. He stretches out, shrugs his shoulders. A good a time as any, he supposes. He starts to climb out of bed.
These corridors often have roaming people and perhaps the congregation of students and religion or ritual magics that are practiced here often bring roaming spirits as well. This is the case when Alexander begins to clean himself up and try to climb out of bed to stretch those legs that have been recovering stiffly in that hospital bed. There is a feeling of a chill in the room and then this tension as the cold hits the man in the body like a full slap across him as that cold shivers right along his entire form, passing soon afterwards.
Alexander shifts back uneasily, he closes his eyes, the sensation washing over him. He takes a moment to collect himself. Familiar in an amateurish way. He takes a moment and gazes around. "...Hello?" he asks, politely.
Cold diffuses, but the tension inside of Alexander does not. The emotional spillage from whatever has happened seems to flow into him and spread out through his stiff body. That uneasy feeling continues while frustration mounts. The inner turmoil of his own life mixing up with the inner turmoil of whatever is engaging him this evening during his recover. The frustration grows. The anger. The hatred. The want for vengeance. It might not all feel just like his own feelings, but there are always things bubbling up in Haven that one might want to be angry about or seek vengeance for and tonight it just feels extra. It feels like it is all coming to the front of Alexander's mental state, and while it might not project specific thoughts, those emotions begin to bubble up to the surface quickly.
Alexander staggers. The trick of these things is never knowing where it comes from. Because Alexander is angry. He's always been angry. Every bit of injustice, every unfair struggle. Every person who doubts him, wrongs him, toys with him. He lets out a growl, and grinding of his teeth as he grabs his things with force, muttering.
The doorway to the bathroom is open and the light is on inside of it. When Alexander begins to gather his things there is a mirror and in that mirror is his own reflection. The anger surges now and there is guilt at play as well, pushing and causing him to growl even more than he was before while grinding those teeth. There is an urge inside of him now. He could break things. He could smash things and he could make that mirror not show him the reason he's so upset right now, and perhaps that is his own emotion bubbling up, or the thing that might be inside of him seeing themselves in that reflection. There is a moment when it seems like there might be another visage there staring back. Pissed. Upset. Angry. A face of another man.
Alexander slams a fist into the mirror, an outlet of fury and anger followed by a shout. The outlet, perhaps giving a moment for him to steady himself, gazing into the reflection with wide eyes. Perhaps a moment where his will can reassert itself. But he can't deny the simple joy of breaking something simply because he can. The joy of inflicting his strength on the world.
What satisfaction can come from breaking things? Plenty. It might be temporary though as Alexander does try to steady himself in those moments afterwards, feeling that joy of inflicting his strength upon the world. The cracks running along the mirror show a reflection of wide eyes staring back and it is himself. Is he normally like this? Does he question inflicting his strength on the world or does he just do it now? Those emotions might conflict with the ones rising in him, pressing into him and trying to push him into action. That visage is there again, staring back, but it isn't all the pieces at once. There is a snarled mouth replacing Alexander's mouth, and then eyes glaring with prejudice and anger.
Alexander takes a moment. There is a part of him that adores this violence, that craves to feel powerful and strong and just, but it's a smaller piece than needed to ignore the monster staring back at him. Even he knows better than to believe such a thing. He lets out a gentle hiss and shifts back. "Easy there," he tells...whatever it is he is staring into. Then, he flicks a hand and traverses into the nightmare to face it.
The confrontation does happen if Alexander can see spirits. They would see that angry spirit weaving in and out of his own form now, pressing forward and backwards before it leaves Alexander's body and begins to look towards him now, staring with that venom in their eyes.
Alexander tilts his head slowly. "Can you speak...?" He asks the spirit, he pivots slowly around it, to study it, gazing upon it studious.
It seems like when Alexander is willing to speak with the spirit that it stares back at him with a voice that echoes out and haunts the room with the eerie, echoing of it, "I can speak, but you are not who I seek. I want someone more wanting... someone who needs to seek vengeance, so I can help them, help me..."
Alexander scoffs. "You're dead, dumbass. Nothing left for you to do but burn out your little echo and move on. Who would you seek vengeance on?" he demands to know.
Death might just be on stage into the everlasting, but these ghosts do often stick around only for so long. It seems that comment causes this one to lash out at Alexander now and bluster him with cold and charge back towards the man to shove him harshly against the sink and that mirror he just broke before the room seems still, back to normal temperature and there is no more vision of the spirit for now.
Alexander winces and absorbs the force. He slides across the tile atop glass and it crunches underneath. Thank god for shoes? Ah, fuck. He rubs his arm and frowns, gazing around. The temperature eased he shakes it off. Tries to call the things visage. "I suspect you got more juice than that," he murmurs.
"I might, but you might not," says the spirit from somewhere in the room before it sweeps down in front of Alexander now. It stands there before him, a tall man, distorted features snarled with rage as if every few seconds the visage of the thing screams in outrage at being stuck like this, "I need a killer."
Alexander shifts back, warding the spirit back with his hand as if it could possibly matter. "Why!" he demands in return, snarling in fury. "You're dead, what could it matter now, just REST!" he bellows.
"Would you rest!?" asks the spirit now, anger flashing as the room darkens and the cold returns in full force. It rushes Alexander once again, passing through him and allowing him to feel even more fury welling within, "If you had a chance to make things right would you just... rest!?"
"Yes! Because you DIED!" He screams. "When you die you get to, you selfish bastard! It isn't up to you! You don't have to care! You don't have to keep fighting you get to be DEAD!" Alexander seethes, fury, rolling over his body. "Who do you fucking need to kill! What right is there that's so important you'd hold on to this fucking place!?"
"Now you feel it. What I feel every single day and night," says the spirit in frustration and anger. It seems to be battling against trying to infuse into Alexander and remaining its own self, but the battle to find someone willing to help him instead of yelling seems to do some of the trick to keep it at bay, "I need to kill them. Them. All of them. They did this, not just to me, but all of them..." The spirit seems to be fading slowly, the rage boiling over previously and now there is a simmering of depression, apathy.
Alexander throws his hand to the side. "No, you don't...." he murmurs. "Because none of it really matters, you're not even you anymore." He bitterly twists a hand against his chest. "You died and all that's left is your worst pieces in your darkest moment. And moment nothing else got anywhere else and this is all there is." He exhales weakly, eyes cast down. "But if this is all you get to have, is it worth it...? Just...let it go..."
"Let go?" asks the Spirit as if that was never a consideration before. The weak exhale from Alexander causes it to do the same. It even makes a puff of cold air in front of itself and it breezes over the man, "I feel like me, but just angry. The part of me that needs to have them be still alive, and the other ones dead. Who was I asking about? Do you know?"
"I don't," Alexander confesses. "But I'm sure it won't matter. You can say it, if you even recall." He shrugs helplessly.
The spirit looks towards Alexander now less with anger and more with guilt. The visage turns into something screaming out and molds into something terrible, lost, "Tommy... Elizabeth... and my wife... what was her name?" It might not even know. The frustration can be felt now, rising up in the room and permeating into Alexander's being.
Alexander scoffs, disgustedly. "Yeah, you're still you man," he spits. "You don't remember anything. All you are is a shell of hollow fucking emotion. No context, no meaning..." A shudder runs through him.
That spirit rebels against Alexander's truth and then crashes around the room, thrashing, spreading cold and broken mirror shards in a swirl across the floor, "I will remember her name and the fucking people who did this to her! You don't know anything! You don't know what it was like!"
Alexander feels an inky black hopelessness spread through him and he shakes his head. "Neither do you. Whatever you were, is gone, and what you are now...is nothing. A mass of psychic misery, trapped in your own suffering."
The spirit still seems to fight back against this concept, and while Alexander might have that truth in him and explained, the spirit does not seem to care now. It rages. It boils over. It feels that hopelessness and then with a parting gift it says, "You'll know suffering and one day you'll want to get revenge..." It fades, slowly, the energy it might have for a night of carnage gone.
"I pray that I will one day know oblivion," Alexander murmurs. And, with a cast of his will, he banishes what little remains of the spirit. Perhaps, finally allowing it that rest he seems to think he craves.
The exchange between Alexander and the spirit becomes a battle of wills, with the spirit assaulting Alexander physically and emotionally, trying to infuse him with its own vengeful desires. Yet, Alexander's resistance prompts a shift in the spirit. It begins to confront its own identity crisis, struggling to recall the names of its loved ones and the targets of its vengeance. Alexander points out the futility of the spirit's existence, arguing that it has lost all that made it human and is now just a vessel of anger. Despite the spirit's defiance, Alexander's stark realization of its condition leads to a deeper despair within the entity. In a final act of desperation, the spirit warns Alexander of future sufferings and the desire for revenge before fading away, its energy depleted. Alexander, left in the aftermath, prays for oblivion, banishing the lingering presence of the spirit and allowing it, and perhaps himself, a moment of peace.
(Alexander's odd encounter(SRSavannah):SRSavannah)
[Tue Mar 5 2024]
In hospital room 2
This room is sparsely furnished, the sanitary white walls a perfect match
to the linoleum floor and the thin hospital sheets on the gurney that serves
as a bed. A small television mounted in the upper corner of the room is set
at a low volume, and a thin curtain bisects the room in an effort to afford
privacy to the occupant on the other side.
It is night, about 37F(2C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. There is a waning crescent moon.
(Your target is possessed by an angry spirit that is forcing them to act out and putting themselves and/or others at risk. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
Alexander is cleaning himself up. The IV's removed, the casts are off. Stiffness and soreness aside, he feels pretty good. He stretches out, shrugs his shoulders. A good a time as any, he supposes. He starts to climb out of bed.
These corridors often have roaming people and perhaps the congregation of students and religion or ritual magics that are practiced here often bring roaming spirits as well. This is the case when Alexander begins to clean himself up and try to climb out of bed to stretch those legs that have been recovering stiffly in that hospital bed. There is a feeling of a chill in the room and then this tension as the cold hits the man in the body like a full slap across him as that cold shivers right along his entire form, passing soon afterwards.
Alexander shifts back uneasily, he closes his eyes, the sensation washing over him. He takes a moment to collect himself. Familiar in an amateurish way. He takes a moment and gazes around. "...Hello?" he asks, politely.
Cold diffuses, but the tension inside of Alexander does not. The emotional spillage from whatever has happened seems to flow into him and spread out through his stiff body. That uneasy feeling continues while frustration mounts. The inner turmoil of his own life mixing up with the inner turmoil of whatever is engaging him this evening during his recover. The frustration grows. The anger. The hatred. The want for vengeance. It might not all feel just like his own feelings, but there are always things bubbling up in Haven that one might want to be angry about or seek vengeance for and tonight it just feels extra. It feels like it is all coming to the front of Alexander's mental state, and while it might not project specific thoughts, those emotions begin to bubble up to the surface quickly.
Alexander staggers. The trick of these things is never knowing where it comes from. Because Alexander is angry. He's always been angry. Every bit of injustice, every unfair struggle. Every person who doubts him, wrongs him, toys with him. He lets out a growl, and grinding of his teeth as he grabs his things with force, muttering.
The doorway to the bathroom is open and the light is on inside of it. When Alexander begins to gather his things there is a mirror and in that mirror is his own reflection. The anger surges now and there is guilt at play as well, pushing and causing him to growl even more than he was before while grinding those teeth. There is an urge inside of him now. He could break things. He could smash things and he could make that mirror not show him the reason he's so upset right now, and perhaps that is his own emotion bubbling up, or the thing that might be inside of him seeing themselves in that reflection. There is a moment when it seems like there might be another visage there staring back. Pissed. Upset. Angry. A face of another man.
Alexander slams a fist into the mirror, an outlet of fury and anger followed by a shout. The outlet, perhaps giving a moment for him to steady himself, gazing into the reflection with wide eyes. Perhaps a moment where his will can reassert itself. But he can't deny the simple joy of breaking something simply because he can. The joy of inflicting his strength on the world.
What satisfaction can come from breaking things? Plenty. It might be temporary though as Alexander does try to steady himself in those moments afterwards, feeling that joy of inflicting his strength upon the world. The cracks running along the mirror show a reflection of wide eyes staring back and it is himself. Is he normally like this? Does he question inflicting his strength on the world or does he just do it now? Those emotions might conflict with the ones rising in him, pressing into him and trying to push him into action. That visage is there again, staring back, but it isn't all the pieces at once. There is a snarled mouth replacing Alexander's mouth, and then eyes glaring with prejudice and anger.
Alexander takes a moment. There is a part of him that adores this violence, that craves to feel powerful and strong and just, but it's a smaller piece than needed to ignore the monster staring back at him. Even he knows better than to believe such a thing. He lets out a gentle hiss and shifts back. "Easy there," he tells...whatever it is he is staring into. Then, he flicks a hand and traverses into the nightmare to face it.
The confrontation does happen if Alexander can see spirits. They would see that angry spirit weaving in and out of his own form now, pressing forward and backwards before it leaves Alexander's body and begins to look towards him now, staring with that venom in their eyes.
Alexander tilts his head slowly. "Can you speak...?" He asks the spirit, he pivots slowly around it, to study it, gazing upon it studious.
It seems like when Alexander is willing to speak with the spirit that it stares back at him with a voice that echoes out and haunts the room with the eerie, echoing of it, "I can speak, but you are not who I seek. I want someone more wanting... someone who needs to seek vengeance, so I can help them, help me..."
Alexander scoffs. "You're dead, dumbass. Nothing left for you to do but burn out your little echo and move on. Who would you seek vengeance on?" he demands to know.
Death might just be on stage into the everlasting, but these ghosts do often stick around only for so long. It seems that comment causes this one to lash out at Alexander now and bluster him with cold and charge back towards the man to shove him harshly against the sink and that mirror he just broke before the room seems still, back to normal temperature and there is no more vision of the spirit for now.
Alexander winces and absorbs the force. He slides across the tile atop glass and it crunches underneath. Thank god for shoes? Ah, fuck. He rubs his arm and frowns, gazing around. The temperature eased he shakes it off. Tries to call the things visage. "I suspect you got more juice than that," he murmurs.
"I might, but you might not," says the spirit from somewhere in the room before it sweeps down in front of Alexander now. It stands there before him, a tall man, distorted features snarled with rage as if every few seconds the visage of the thing screams in outrage at being stuck like this, "I need a killer."
Alexander shifts back, warding the spirit back with his hand as if it could possibly matter. "Why!" he demands in return, snarling in fury. "You're dead, what could it matter now, just REST!" he bellows.
"Would you rest!?" asks the spirit now, anger flashing as the room darkens and the cold returns in full force. It rushes Alexander once again, passing through him and allowing him to feel even more fury welling within, "If you had a chance to make things right would you just... rest!?"
"Yes! Because you DIED!" He screams. "When you die you get to, you selfish bastard! It isn't up to you! You don't have to care! You don't have to keep fighting you get to be DEAD!" Alexander seethes, fury, rolling over his body. "Who do you fucking need to kill! What right is there that's so important you'd hold on to this fucking place!?"
"Now you feel it. What I feel every single day and night," says the spirit in frustration and anger. It seems to be battling against trying to infuse into Alexander and remaining its own self, but the battle to find someone willing to help him instead of yelling seems to do some of the trick to keep it at bay, "I need to kill them. Them. All of them. They did this, not just to me, but all of them..." The spirit seems to be fading slowly, the rage boiling over previously and now there is a simmering of depression, apathy.
Alexander throws his hand to the side. "No, you don't...." he murmurs. "Because none of it really matters, you're not even you anymore." He bitterly twists a hand against his chest. "You died and all that's left is your worst pieces in your darkest moment. And moment nothing else got anywhere else and this is all there is." He exhales weakly, eyes cast down. "But if this is all you get to have, is it worth it...? Just...let it go..."
"Let go?" asks the Spirit as if that was never a consideration before. The weak exhale from Alexander causes it to do the same. It even makes a puff of cold air in front of itself and it breezes over the man, "I feel like me, but just angry. The part of me that needs to have them be still alive, and the other ones dead. Who was I asking about? Do you know?"
"I don't," Alexander confesses. "But I'm sure it won't matter. You can say it, if you even recall." He shrugs helplessly.
The spirit looks towards Alexander now less with anger and more with guilt. The visage turns into something screaming out and molds into something terrible, lost, "Tommy... Elizabeth... and my wife... what was her name?" It might not even know. The frustration can be felt now, rising up in the room and permeating into Alexander's being.
Alexander scoffs, disgustedly. "Yeah, you're still you man," he spits. "You don't remember anything. All you are is a shell of hollow fucking emotion. No context, no meaning..." A shudder runs through him.
That spirit rebels against Alexander's truth and then crashes around the room, thrashing, spreading cold and broken mirror shards in a swirl across the floor, "I will remember her name and the fucking people who did this to her! You don't know anything! You don't know what it was like!"
Alexander feels an inky black hopelessness spread through him and he shakes his head. "Neither do you. Whatever you were, is gone, and what you are now...is nothing. A mass of psychic misery, trapped in your own suffering."
The spirit still seems to fight back against this concept, and while Alexander might have that truth in him and explained, the spirit does not seem to care now. It rages. It boils over. It feels that hopelessness and then with a parting gift it says, "You'll know suffering and one day you'll want to get revenge..." It fades, slowly, the energy it might have for a night of carnage gone.
"I pray that I will one day know oblivion," Alexander murmurs. And, with a cast of his will, he banishes what little remains of the spirit. Perhaps, finally allowing it that rest he seems to think he craves.