Encounterlogs
Ashs Odd Encounter Sr Illyana 240828
The story unfolds in the ambiance of Rosie's Diner, a place out of time with its retro style and roller-skating waitresses, where Ash finds themselves dealing with more than just the daily grind. Amidst the hustle, an innocuous act escalates into an urgent situation when their golden dagger begins to glow ominously, signaling the start of a mystical ordeal. Ash, a seasoned practitioner of the arcane, quickly ushers out the patrons and staff, preparing the diner for a ritual to decurse the artifact. This routine task for Ash becomes a spectacle of light and magic, the diner transforming into a stage for their somatic and ritualistic prowess. As the procedure reaches its climax, the unintended presence of a young child and his deaf mother complicates the secrecy of the supernatural world Ash is desperately trying to maintain.
The conclusion of Ash's ritual is not just a triumph over the cursed dagger but a test of their ability to preserve the veil that separates the ordinary from the supernatural. Faced with the curious eyes of a child and the concern of a mother, Ash employs quick thinking and a touch of magic to alter memories, ensuring their secret remains safe. However, the encounter leaves Ash with lingering questions about the mother's knowledge of the supernatural and the child's potential ties to it. The story takes a darker turn as the news of the mother's death surfaces, implicating ties to a mysterious figure named James, and revealing a deeper narrative of family and the dangers of their world. Ash's day ends with a poignant reflection on the responsibilities that come with wielding magic and the shadows that lurk within their seemingly mundane existence.
(Ash's odd encounter(SRIllyana):SRIllyana)
[Mon Aug 26 2024]
In Rosie's Diner
Filled with nostalgia, this diner is a step into the past - to a time of swing and jive, and one would claim, simpler times. The walls are cream toned, letting the pink and turquoise neon striping along the ceiling give the space more vibrant coloring. Pieces of kitsch and memorabilia are posted here and there, providing character and retro style.
Behind the counter, cooks work the main line, allowing customers to watch as their meals are prepped. A soda fountain and a glass domed freezer is set away from the heat, where the soda jerk creates speciality floats, sundaes, malts and shakes.
Meanwhile, waitresses on roller skates gracefully take orders, their uniforms chock full of bling.
It is morning, about 79F(26C) degrees,
(Someone in Haven has found out about the supernatural and is freaking out about it. They're at risk of exposing the secret, hurting themselves, or hurting others. Your target and their allies are tasked with containing the situation.
)
Ash lounges standing up at the counter, occasionally checking on their Hello Kitty phone - especially their bank account app. The numbers do not move. In their hand is a golden dagger, which they hold between index and thumb, swinging it back and forth. They watch their linecooks work, their lenses shimmering in the artificial lighting. They seem oblivious to the anxiety they're giving by doing so, paying more attention to the meat and fixings than the one doing it. When, suddenly, their knife begins to glow. They curse, "Shit! Where- actually, you all take a break. I need to do something in here." They move swiftly over to the few customers, explaining that the shop needs to close for a bit, and telling anyone who's coming in that they're close. Until, finally, the employees are in the back room, and the front door has the closed sign on. Pulling closed the blinds, they can finally begin.
An arc of lightning blasts out of the artifact to strike SRIllyana, sending him flying.
Ash sighs in relief when the lightning misses them, hitting no one, even. Such a good thing that they got their customers out in time. They focus on their standard ritual procedure - forming layered circles of light. They summon will o' wisps, balls of faint fairy fire with a sense of being alive, and command them into a circle around the knife, which they've gingerly put down on the ground. Then, they start to tut - forming complex geometrical patterns with their fingers and arms, moving at sharp angles and smooth semicircular curves. As they do so, the will o' wisps begin to merge.
Growing air pressure makes your ear's pop uncomfortably and deadens all sound.
Ash starts to sway, bringing their shoulders, torso, waist and hips into play, making their somatic components broader, more powerful. Light trails from their movements, forming sigils that pulse, moving forward and infusing more magic into the circle. They hum slightly as they go, as much to keep rhythm as it is to enjoy the process. One gets the feeling that this is where they are most alive.
As the diner is emptied and the staff vanish into the back; This is nothing new for Rosie's and the eccentricities there in, Ash is left alone with the dagger. It glows in their hand, a growing lambent thing, the steady hum of building magic steadily working its way toward a climactic release. That is, until it fires a bolt of lightening. It fires out across the diner. It breaks the steady ambiance of calm. It punctuates the hiss of meat, the sizzle of the friers. It bursts, like a storm through the silence of the eatery, strobing across the interior. The flash blinds, but only for a moment, the chrome plating and the vibrant colors only enhancing what might otherwise have been something that is, if not mundane, then less hostile in the illumination it gives off. But flash it does, and the O-zone scent of discharging magic and thunderous force is what remains as it arcs around Ash. The store owner continues the ritual to decurse. Naturally, for such objects simply cant be left loose in Haven. This city is full of too many strange happenings. It is flooded with the abstract and the alien. It's heartbeat pulses with the bizarre and the peculiar. Its rhythm vibrates like the A-train through the tunnels- the arteries of civilisation, and so, every single chance to mediate the curious should be taken. This then is why arcanists are issential to the upkeep of the city, even those who hide in the open. Those like Ash, who steadily works to restore the mundanity from the chaos in this simple act.
The whole room shakes.
Ash begins to move their feet, to dance, bringing their whole body into it. The sigils form wider, larger, more potent, and travel with their movement around the circle. They become three dimensional, too, as they spin, leaping at times, bending their body at others, hands moving wide and narrow to maintain the complex geometric shapes required of the sigils. One by one, they push these symbols into place, and the will o' wisps start to merge into a single ring of light.
A blast of force sends SRIllyana flying into Ash.
Ash finishes their circle, slowing their movement, and the energy behind it, relaxing for the follow through - and then are knocked off of their feet as the dagger throws a petty tantrum, knocking them back. They grunt in pain, knocking into tables and chairs - but such things happen in their line of work, and bruises don't normally last long. They force their way back to their feet, half stumbling and scrambling until they can stand up properly, walking back to the circle. All that is left now, after all... is to activate it. They reach out, touching a sigil - and then flare with fairy fire, becoming almost like a will o' wisp themself, alight with a cool blue-purple flame that doesn't burn. The circle thrums, pulses, heart beating faster and faster, until in a burst of light...
It is done.
With a final burst of power the curse on a golden dagger is broken.
The question is then; will Ash be successful in this attempt? Decursing is something that Ash has familiarity with and it would appear that they are well on their way towards a successful abolition of another supernatural item left by one of the reckless and the acursed. The room shakes, the flashing lambent illumination flickers, and once more, Ash works. This is not unusual. This, for Ash is common. They have been trained well, and this education allows them to enforce their ritualism with the skill of a gifted caster. Surely... surely, there will be a success. But something-- It's not exactly notable at this point in time. The ridding of the antithetical arcane artifact is taking Ash's attention at this moment, but once the task is over, they may indeed have some other issue to deal with. One of nature rather than supernature. A problem, yes, but one that is easy to deal with... with any luck that is. For as Ash works, the sound of the toilet flushing can be heard. Evidently, someone was missed when the evacuation order was given. It couldn't be helped, of course. This is time sensitive. It may even be possible that Ash isn't as alone as they may have hoped. There are signs that invisible lingering spirits are in attendance, watching them work, and Ash is forced to shiver as a sensation of cold-- a chill-- a grim indicative of mortality tugging like the reaper of a child through the soul of the living. And that sound continues. Hopefully, Ash will conclude this before who ever is in the bathroom concludes their... well... business. But the flush resounds sinisterly, the sound hammering through the diner somehow... The resounding cacophonic melody the herald of a potential- nay, a sure inevitability. Ash is not alone here, and that becomes clear as the sound of a tap is turned, the water spilling over hands from the faucet, the dryer hums to life and then, with the slowness of a horror movie, the bathroom door rattles, rocks, then opens, revealing a small child, who sees Ash at work...
Ash picks up the golden dagger with a sigh, then turns and sees... the child. They stand still for a moment, not exactly shocked so much as unprepared. Their face doesn't reflect their whirring thoughts, but it quickly calms. They smile at the child, asking, "Oh, did you catch part of my practice? How did you like it?" As they do so, they slide the LED rings off of their fingers, turning off the mobile speaker in their hands, and slide them all into their backpack. They motion back over their shoulder at the damage, saying, "I already called the electrician to fix the wireage... figured I'd take advantage of the quiet. You, however... are not supposed to be here." They waggle a finger at the kid, looking amused, before pointing out the door. "You should probably get back to your parents, child. If you live in town, maybe you'll be able to see my performance come Fall, yeah? *Don't tell anyone about this, keep it a secret*, yeah?"
Ash spoke the words 'Don't tell anyone about this, keep it a secret' with an extra touch, and a finger to their lips. They wink at the child, conspiratorially, to help the child's mind accept the persuasion... persuasively. Humans are so very easy to handle, aren't they? At least, Ash thinks so... disregarding completely the fact that they themself are rather susceptible to the same tactics. Ash picks up the dagger, wraps it in a counter rag, then slides it into their bag, nonchalantly.
Ash's unspoken question is answered soon after they think it. For indeed, what could have caused a parent to leave a child behind? Is it negligence? Is it escapism of the youth? Is it independents? Or is it something more sinister? But no, there is a parent there, too and the young mother; At best early twenties stands with the child, who must be four or five. Her eyes are wide, the same as the mother, and as Ash turns, still holding that dagger in hand, the reason for their attendance becomes obvious. The panic in their eyes is perfectly natural. The mother, you see is deaf, something indicated as the child, dutiful even in their shock signs with ASL as he tells his mother at the same time. "Look Mom, that mister's doing Doctor Strange." The small child's face lights up when Ash addresses them and though the mother, who was hidden by the wall until that point sees that, she may have missed the initial conversation. It's likely, for she holds the child closely, arms around the boy like a bear protecting their young. That though is likely because of the strange scene, and not at what Ash was doing before with the ritual. Still, this is an issue. Two normals having stepped in. The child seems pliant enough to Ash's suggestion though. He smiles and nods, but looks to his mother for approval or denial before agreeing to anything. The mother signs, mouthing the words, if not saying them, and the child translates. "My Mommy is asking what you're planning on doing with that knife, Mister." And the question is as innocent as one might expect. No one is reaching for a phone yet, but the mother does take the child's hand, and they are skirting the ritual area, heading for the door as Ash wraps the artifact. The persuasion is likely going to work, of course. These are just humans. Though this is a child, and children are curious, and the mother seems to want to drag their spawn away before anything -odder- can happen, or before the potential mass murderer (@ash) can harm either of them.
Ash had the dagger on the ground until they picked it up, immediately wrapping it up and putting it away, so seems a bit confused at the lady's reaction. Perhaps she came in right after they picked it up, and signed faster than it took for them to start putting it away. At least she can see now that it was not meant to be a weapon. They tell the child, "You can tell her that I was practicing while waiting for the electrician to fix the power issue. That's why there's damage. Next time you both come in, though, you can have a burger and shake for free for the inconvenience. I should have checked the bathroom." They seem unconcerned as the woman and child leave, giving a distracted wave as they start moving tables and chairs back into place.
The mother seems completely molified by Ash's answer. Perhapse she's a Havenite and has experienced a lot of strangeness through the years. Perhapse she's just cowed by the experiences of Haven's general aesthetic of outlandish abstractity. It is even likely that she's been subject to mental tamperings and influences from supernaturals before. This city seems to be full of them- and more and more by the day. The child is unbothered though, and that's what matters. He looks to Ash with big, wide eyes and though it's clear by now that the persuasion landed, they ask Ash, "Is it going to be a chocolate shake?" That though is the flood gates opening; As there's a torrent of additional inquiries, all related to food, drinks, desserts and protests as his mother seeks to draw him out of the diner. And that's when Ash notices it. The mother is obviously aware of the supernatural. The child however is not, and so there is avid interest in what Ash was doing. With eyes that track to where Ash put the dagger, there's an unusual acuity for the arcane. But as is exceptionally, irrevocably evident, the mother sees far more, as her gaze slips from that decursed item, and around the room. She mouths something, though Ash is unable to see quite what it is- And the child is more interested in the food and the magic that was performed. Those questions continue, and the child tells Ash loudly and clearly that he is going to -not- tell all of his friends. But his voice raises and the mother notices how animated he's being. It's likely of course. The mother stares at Ash with a look that begs for them to fix this. She's terrified. It's a natural fear. It's the fear of a parent who desires nothing less than safety for their child. She begins to sign to the boy, though he's not paying attention. He's too fixated on Ash and the mysteries of magical might that Ash seems to hold. It may take another tact. So how can Ash be sure to fully preserve the secret of the supernatural? They have the support of the mother. But is that enough to stop a child from blathering even the least-- Or worse, implicating their family and the diner in a potential scandal? Persuading is one thing, but it's not the amnesia of full hypnotism. It's a short term instruction and as Ash knows, such things are fleeting. Though if magic was the cause, could it be the solution? Ash has dealt with vampire's thralls with rituals. Are they willing to expend resources to handle this in the same way, or will they find a more down to earth or simple way of keeping this child from visiting danger upon themself and potentially others by information they should not know.
Ash watches the child, then the mother who's stopped. They nod to her, before saying, "It can be chocolate, yes. Hey, before you go, want to see a magic trick?" They hold up a deck of oracle cards from their pockets, crouching down so that they're at the boy's height - though they do not approach. They want to be sure that the mother understands and allows the boy to come to them. If he approaches, they start to set out the cards, drawing sigils on the back. They speak some mumbo jumbo, being dramatic and silly with it - after all, this isn't *real* magic, this is for the child's entertainment. Between their fast reflexes and skill with games, they perform card tricks, humming words of prophecy that are easily interpreted as making new friends, or making a mess at home - nothing scary, but good things with just a hint of failure to sell it. Things that a child might prioritize. All the while, they're performing a ritual with the cards and sigils. The sigils won't be seen by the child, as they're not written in ink but the faintest shift in reflected colors. The magic words ARE magic, but why not make them sound almost silly, with a hint of dramaticism? After all, their teacher has always taught them that the words and language don't matter - it's the belief. And they believe that they know exactly what they're doing as they slowly manipulate the child's memories until it's just a nice visit to the diner, where some guy showed some cool card tricks and promised a free drink and meal for the boy being *such* a good audience.
Ash's ritual works its well... magic. The tendrals of arcana weave their way through the child's thoughts as he sits, enraptured before Ash. The mother, who has evidently allowed all of this to take place watches on; She is protective, but has no skill to deal with this on her own- And why should she? She may be gifted in some manner, but there is a concerted effort to insure nothing is even vaguely hinted at. Her gaze keeps flickering past Ash and once more, Ash feels the ghost touch of some phantom on the back of their neck. Is it literal? Is it figurative? Is it a trick of the rigma that brings the ritual to life? Truly, it doesn't matter in this moment. Ash is successful. That's what matters. And once the child has enjoyed the card trick the magic mister has performed for him, the mother offers a sheepish smile, hurrying her child from the diner. There is nothing else that inconveniences Ash for the rest of the day. Rosie's makes a good take. The day is successful, the coffers are filled and each and every patron seems to be content, filled and happy with the service. The wait staff are tipped well, and Ash is praised for being a great boss repeatedly. Business booms, though the question yet remains; Why was the mother, who knew more than she could express so adamant about ascenting to an amnesiotic arcane ritual to abolish the actualisation of supernatural activity? -- The answer as it turns out over the next day is slightly more sinister than it might have seemed, and it isn't reports, supernatural rumors, or even the township that answers this quandry. It's the news, of all things. A report flashes up that Asha Arkwright was found dead in her apartment, leaving her emediate family stunned and aghast. It's the most curious thing though... The picture shows the mother as the report goes on, but not the child... And the news reporter delivers, with great solemnity that the boy, Nathan Arkwright is still missing. It is then, and only then that the dawning horror of the situation comes to pass. There are reports that suggest that James had been spotted about Haven township. And from there, it's not hard for Ash to piece together the full story. Asha, related to James had a child. Unknown to the powerful figure, she had attempted to keep the child safe from the machinations of her malevolent ancestors malicious machinations. She was spotted though, and James does not visit miracles upon his relatives... So as it began with a curious coincidence that culminated in a potential catastrophic outcome, the resolution there in was only forestalled by Ash. For the nights within Haven are dark. They are grim and they secret within their umbra the shadows of what was lost. The nightmares that scratch against the mind. The reapers that collect the souls of the wronged. The hideous horrific hazards of the world of darkness. So as the day creeps, inevitably towards the fall of night, where all good people retire, safe and unconcerned with the minutia of the mundanity of other people's life. The sun descends- The shadows grow long- The night lights protect from the monsters under the bed. But not so for all monsters.... For some monsters lurk in sight of others. Some hide themselves, mingled with the population. Some stand beside you even now, and all in aims of satiating their dreadful desires of carnage...
THE END! Or is it...
(Your target is approached by a seemingly harmless individual who shares an intriguing story about The Black Flame. The individual invites the target to a meeting at a secluded location, claiming it's a gathering of people who share similar interests in the supernatural. As the meeting progresses, it becomes apparent that this is a recruitment drive for The Black Flame. The target must then navigate the situation carefully - whether that's escaping, gathering information, or attempting to sabotage their plans from the inside. The danger escalates when a ritual begins to summon an eldritch horror, and the target must act quickly to prevent a disaster.)
As Novel hangs out in the library, he notices that a large group of cowled individuals go and sit down at the tables outside. From Novel's position in the librarian's desk, with a great view of the White Oak library itself, he notices that these guys are the most stereotypical occult nerds it is possible to be. All bearing necklaces of a globe engulfed in dark flames, they sit down at the table generally reserved for board games, such as Dungeons and Dragons, Lancer, or Warhammer. Fantasy, of course. White Oak has taste and standards, occasionally. They mutter amongst themselves surreptitiously as they bring out a map of the world and begin placing miniatures upon many of the countries, the one seated at the head of the desk evidently directing their actions.
Novel continues to leaf through the pages and papers as he works through the Institute's history, floor plans, architecture, and anything else he can find about this fucked-up place before his acute hearing keys him off to hear the muttering. He's pretty high-keyed to begin with. A lack of cathartic violence - beyond burning some child toucher ex-staff's stuff, the rest of it mailed elsewhere that he stumbled across - and being repeatedly shocked and dragged around by orderlies and other students who are interested in experimenting with him, the fuckers that drew his blood in order to gain 'powers', and a lot of other things have left him on rather high alert.
This is fortunate. When he is bored or in a good mood, he's even more murderous. This all is giving him something to focus on.
Eventually, though, he sets aside his current book to wander over towards the window, peering down either into the cafeteria, or the exterior doors - wherever the fucking goths and nerds are hanging out - to press his ear up to it.
The demonborn Novel approaches the window with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, the old, creaky wood of the library floor protests under his weight. His breath forms small foggy clouds against the cold glass as he peers down at the courtyard below full of students. The sun casts a pale, waning light over the scene, adding an almost eerie ambiance to the unfolding spectacle. The group of cowled figures continues their clandestine activities, completely absorbed in their map and miniatures. Each individual seems to be meticulously following the directions of their apparent leader, who is seated at the head of the table. This leader is distinguished by a more elaborate cowl and a slightly ornate pendant that dangles conspicuously from their necka large, intricately carved amulet featuring a fiery globe that flickers ominously in the dim light. It is straining to hear over the ambient noise of the library and the occasional shuffling of papers, but Novel's supernatural hearing is potent. The muttering of the group grows clearer. They speak in low, conspiratorial tones, their words weaving together a web of arcane jargon and obscure references. Phrases like "ritual alignment" and "celestial convergence" punctuate their conversation, hinting at some grandiose plan or dark ceremony in the making. "Are the ley lines converging correctly?" the leader asks, their voice laced with a tone of impatient authority. "Yes," replies a subordinate, their tone hesitant. "But the markers are slightly off from the original coordinates." The leader's cowl shifts as they nod thoughtfully, the flickering candlelight casting eerie shadows across their face. "Adjust them. We need the precise alignment to ensure the convergence is optimal. We can't afford any discrepancies." The intense focus and methodical precision of the group suggest theyre working on something of significant importance, perhaps even something dangerous. They do not seem to notice @Novel, peering through the library window and carefully analyzing their every movement. As he observes, someone tumultuous experiences within the Institutean institution that seems to harbor more secrets and hidden agendas than he could ever have imagined - may come to mind. The strange practices of these individuals align unsettlingly well with the obscure, clandestine activities hes encountered before. Could their ritualistic behavior be connected to the sinister undertones hes experienced throughout the Institute?
The demonborn Novel approaches the window with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, the old, creaky wood of the library floor protests under his weight. His breath forms small foggy clouds against the cold glass as he peers down at the courtyard below full of students. The sun casts a pale, waning light over the scene, adding an almost eerie ambiance to the unfolding spectacle. The group of cowled figures continues their clandestine activities, completely absorbed in their map and miniatures. Each individual seems to be meticulously following the directions of their apparent leader, who is seated at the head of the table. This leader is distinguished by a more elaborate cowl and a slightly ornate pendant that dangles conspicuously from their necka large, intricately carved amulet featuring a fiery globe that flickers ominously in the dim light. It is straining to hear over the ambient noise of the library and the occasional shuffling of papers, but Novel's supernatural hearing is potent. The muttering of the group grows clearer. They speak in low, conspiratorial tones, their words weaving together a web of arcane jargon and obscure references. Phrases like "ritual alignment" and "celestial convergence" punctuate their conversation, hinting at some grandiose plan or dark ceremony in the making. "Are the ley lines converging correctly?" the leader asks, their voice laced with a tone of impatient authority. "Yes," replies a subordinate, their tone hesitant. "But the markers are slightly off from the original coordinates." The leader's cowl shifts as they nod thoughtfully, the flickering candlelight casting eerie shadows across their face. "Adjust them. We need the precise alignment to ensure the convergence is optimal. We can't afford any discrepancies." The intense focus and methodical precision of the group suggest theyre working on something of significant importance, perhaps even something dangerous. They do not seem to notice @Novel, peering through the library window and carefully analyzing their every movement. As he observes, Novel's tumultuous experiences within the Institutean institution that seems to harbor more secrets and hidden agendas than he could ever have imagined - may come to mind. The strange practices of these individuals align unsettlingly well with the obscure, clandestine activities hes encountered before. Could their ritualistic behavior be connected to the sinister undertones hes experienced throughout the Institute?
Novel eventually comes to the obvious conclusion it's either pointless nerd shit, with the equivalent of normal human beings performing cargo cult rituals, or it's pointful nerd shit at which point he needs to ask Fayad or someone else about it later. And, short of hurling something out of the window - and likely being dragged off to get his dick tazed AGAIN and being given drugs that are supposed to calm him down but, in fact, make him more homicidal - this isn't really his fucking problem.
Plus he never had the patience for pretending to play fantasy battles when he could go out into the woods and put a sword through a dinosaur. Like, come on. How does this even compare.
But it's a fair point. He's seen some creepy ass machines and there's some weird plumbing all over the place, and strange maker's marks for older things...
Books or annoying people... fuck it. Let's annoy some goddamn people. Worse come to worse he can make them all miserable to enjoy their suffering. He gathers his notes, roughly shoves them under his scrubs in a bundle, and then makes his way downstairs to them.
The conclusion of Ash's ritual is not just a triumph over the cursed dagger but a test of their ability to preserve the veil that separates the ordinary from the supernatural. Faced with the curious eyes of a child and the concern of a mother, Ash employs quick thinking and a touch of magic to alter memories, ensuring their secret remains safe. However, the encounter leaves Ash with lingering questions about the mother's knowledge of the supernatural and the child's potential ties to it. The story takes a darker turn as the news of the mother's death surfaces, implicating ties to a mysterious figure named James, and revealing a deeper narrative of family and the dangers of their world. Ash's day ends with a poignant reflection on the responsibilities that come with wielding magic and the shadows that lurk within their seemingly mundane existence.
(Ash's odd encounter(SRIllyana):SRIllyana)
[Mon Aug 26 2024]
In Rosie's Diner
Filled with nostalgia, this diner is a step into the past - to a time of swing and jive, and one would claim, simpler times. The walls are cream toned, letting the pink and turquoise neon striping along the ceiling give the space more vibrant coloring. Pieces of kitsch and memorabilia are posted here and there, providing character and retro style.
Behind the counter, cooks work the main line, allowing customers to watch as their meals are prepped. A soda fountain and a glass domed freezer is set away from the heat, where the soda jerk creates speciality floats, sundaes, malts and shakes.
Meanwhile, waitresses on roller skates gracefully take orders, their uniforms chock full of bling.
It is morning, about 79F(26C) degrees,
(Someone in Haven has found out about the supernatural and is freaking out about it. They're at risk of exposing the secret, hurting themselves, or hurting others. Your target and their allies are tasked with containing the situation.
)
Ash lounges standing up at the counter, occasionally checking on their Hello Kitty phone - especially their bank account app. The numbers do not move. In their hand is a golden dagger, which they hold between index and thumb, swinging it back and forth. They watch their linecooks work, their lenses shimmering in the artificial lighting. They seem oblivious to the anxiety they're giving by doing so, paying more attention to the meat and fixings than the one doing it. When, suddenly, their knife begins to glow. They curse, "Shit! Where- actually, you all take a break. I need to do something in here." They move swiftly over to the few customers, explaining that the shop needs to close for a bit, and telling anyone who's coming in that they're close. Until, finally, the employees are in the back room, and the front door has the closed sign on. Pulling closed the blinds, they can finally begin.
An arc of lightning blasts out of the artifact to strike SRIllyana, sending him flying.
Ash sighs in relief when the lightning misses them, hitting no one, even. Such a good thing that they got their customers out in time. They focus on their standard ritual procedure - forming layered circles of light. They summon will o' wisps, balls of faint fairy fire with a sense of being alive, and command them into a circle around the knife, which they've gingerly put down on the ground. Then, they start to tut - forming complex geometrical patterns with their fingers and arms, moving at sharp angles and smooth semicircular curves. As they do so, the will o' wisps begin to merge.
Growing air pressure makes your ear's pop uncomfortably and deadens all sound.
Ash starts to sway, bringing their shoulders, torso, waist and hips into play, making their somatic components broader, more powerful. Light trails from their movements, forming sigils that pulse, moving forward and infusing more magic into the circle. They hum slightly as they go, as much to keep rhythm as it is to enjoy the process. One gets the feeling that this is where they are most alive.
As the diner is emptied and the staff vanish into the back; This is nothing new for Rosie's and the eccentricities there in, Ash is left alone with the dagger. It glows in their hand, a growing lambent thing, the steady hum of building magic steadily working its way toward a climactic release. That is, until it fires a bolt of lightening. It fires out across the diner. It breaks the steady ambiance of calm. It punctuates the hiss of meat, the sizzle of the friers. It bursts, like a storm through the silence of the eatery, strobing across the interior. The flash blinds, but only for a moment, the chrome plating and the vibrant colors only enhancing what might otherwise have been something that is, if not mundane, then less hostile in the illumination it gives off. But flash it does, and the O-zone scent of discharging magic and thunderous force is what remains as it arcs around Ash. The store owner continues the ritual to decurse. Naturally, for such objects simply cant be left loose in Haven. This city is full of too many strange happenings. It is flooded with the abstract and the alien. It's heartbeat pulses with the bizarre and the peculiar. Its rhythm vibrates like the A-train through the tunnels- the arteries of civilisation, and so, every single chance to mediate the curious should be taken. This then is why arcanists are issential to the upkeep of the city, even those who hide in the open. Those like Ash, who steadily works to restore the mundanity from the chaos in this simple act.
The whole room shakes.
Ash begins to move their feet, to dance, bringing their whole body into it. The sigils form wider, larger, more potent, and travel with their movement around the circle. They become three dimensional, too, as they spin, leaping at times, bending their body at others, hands moving wide and narrow to maintain the complex geometric shapes required of the sigils. One by one, they push these symbols into place, and the will o' wisps start to merge into a single ring of light.
A blast of force sends SRIllyana flying into Ash.
Ash finishes their circle, slowing their movement, and the energy behind it, relaxing for the follow through - and then are knocked off of their feet as the dagger throws a petty tantrum, knocking them back. They grunt in pain, knocking into tables and chairs - but such things happen in their line of work, and bruises don't normally last long. They force their way back to their feet, half stumbling and scrambling until they can stand up properly, walking back to the circle. All that is left now, after all... is to activate it. They reach out, touching a sigil - and then flare with fairy fire, becoming almost like a will o' wisp themself, alight with a cool blue-purple flame that doesn't burn. The circle thrums, pulses, heart beating faster and faster, until in a burst of light...
It is done.
With a final burst of power the curse on a golden dagger is broken.
The question is then; will Ash be successful in this attempt? Decursing is something that Ash has familiarity with and it would appear that they are well on their way towards a successful abolition of another supernatural item left by one of the reckless and the acursed. The room shakes, the flashing lambent illumination flickers, and once more, Ash works. This is not unusual. This, for Ash is common. They have been trained well, and this education allows them to enforce their ritualism with the skill of a gifted caster. Surely... surely, there will be a success. But something-- It's not exactly notable at this point in time. The ridding of the antithetical arcane artifact is taking Ash's attention at this moment, but once the task is over, they may indeed have some other issue to deal with. One of nature rather than supernature. A problem, yes, but one that is easy to deal with... with any luck that is. For as Ash works, the sound of the toilet flushing can be heard. Evidently, someone was missed when the evacuation order was given. It couldn't be helped, of course. This is time sensitive. It may even be possible that Ash isn't as alone as they may have hoped. There are signs that invisible lingering spirits are in attendance, watching them work, and Ash is forced to shiver as a sensation of cold-- a chill-- a grim indicative of mortality tugging like the reaper of a child through the soul of the living. And that sound continues. Hopefully, Ash will conclude this before who ever is in the bathroom concludes their... well... business. But the flush resounds sinisterly, the sound hammering through the diner somehow... The resounding cacophonic melody the herald of a potential- nay, a sure inevitability. Ash is not alone here, and that becomes clear as the sound of a tap is turned, the water spilling over hands from the faucet, the dryer hums to life and then, with the slowness of a horror movie, the bathroom door rattles, rocks, then opens, revealing a small child, who sees Ash at work...
Ash picks up the golden dagger with a sigh, then turns and sees... the child. They stand still for a moment, not exactly shocked so much as unprepared. Their face doesn't reflect their whirring thoughts, but it quickly calms. They smile at the child, asking, "Oh, did you catch part of my practice? How did you like it?" As they do so, they slide the LED rings off of their fingers, turning off the mobile speaker in their hands, and slide them all into their backpack. They motion back over their shoulder at the damage, saying, "I already called the electrician to fix the wireage... figured I'd take advantage of the quiet. You, however... are not supposed to be here." They waggle a finger at the kid, looking amused, before pointing out the door. "You should probably get back to your parents, child. If you live in town, maybe you'll be able to see my performance come Fall, yeah? *Don't tell anyone about this, keep it a secret*, yeah?"
Ash spoke the words 'Don't tell anyone about this, keep it a secret' with an extra touch, and a finger to their lips. They wink at the child, conspiratorially, to help the child's mind accept the persuasion... persuasively. Humans are so very easy to handle, aren't they? At least, Ash thinks so... disregarding completely the fact that they themself are rather susceptible to the same tactics. Ash picks up the dagger, wraps it in a counter rag, then slides it into their bag, nonchalantly.
Ash's unspoken question is answered soon after they think it. For indeed, what could have caused a parent to leave a child behind? Is it negligence? Is it escapism of the youth? Is it independents? Or is it something more sinister? But no, there is a parent there, too and the young mother; At best early twenties stands with the child, who must be four or five. Her eyes are wide, the same as the mother, and as Ash turns, still holding that dagger in hand, the reason for their attendance becomes obvious. The panic in their eyes is perfectly natural. The mother, you see is deaf, something indicated as the child, dutiful even in their shock signs with ASL as he tells his mother at the same time. "Look Mom, that mister's doing Doctor Strange." The small child's face lights up when Ash addresses them and though the mother, who was hidden by the wall until that point sees that, she may have missed the initial conversation. It's likely, for she holds the child closely, arms around the boy like a bear protecting their young. That though is likely because of the strange scene, and not at what Ash was doing before with the ritual. Still, this is an issue. Two normals having stepped in. The child seems pliant enough to Ash's suggestion though. He smiles and nods, but looks to his mother for approval or denial before agreeing to anything. The mother signs, mouthing the words, if not saying them, and the child translates. "My Mommy is asking what you're planning on doing with that knife, Mister." And the question is as innocent as one might expect. No one is reaching for a phone yet, but the mother does take the child's hand, and they are skirting the ritual area, heading for the door as Ash wraps the artifact. The persuasion is likely going to work, of course. These are just humans. Though this is a child, and children are curious, and the mother seems to want to drag their spawn away before anything -odder- can happen, or before the potential mass murderer (@ash) can harm either of them.
Ash had the dagger on the ground until they picked it up, immediately wrapping it up and putting it away, so seems a bit confused at the lady's reaction. Perhaps she came in right after they picked it up, and signed faster than it took for them to start putting it away. At least she can see now that it was not meant to be a weapon. They tell the child, "You can tell her that I was practicing while waiting for the electrician to fix the power issue. That's why there's damage. Next time you both come in, though, you can have a burger and shake for free for the inconvenience. I should have checked the bathroom." They seem unconcerned as the woman and child leave, giving a distracted wave as they start moving tables and chairs back into place.
The mother seems completely molified by Ash's answer. Perhapse she's a Havenite and has experienced a lot of strangeness through the years. Perhapse she's just cowed by the experiences of Haven's general aesthetic of outlandish abstractity. It is even likely that she's been subject to mental tamperings and influences from supernaturals before. This city seems to be full of them- and more and more by the day. The child is unbothered though, and that's what matters. He looks to Ash with big, wide eyes and though it's clear by now that the persuasion landed, they ask Ash, "Is it going to be a chocolate shake?" That though is the flood gates opening; As there's a torrent of additional inquiries, all related to food, drinks, desserts and protests as his mother seeks to draw him out of the diner. And that's when Ash notices it. The mother is obviously aware of the supernatural. The child however is not, and so there is avid interest in what Ash was doing. With eyes that track to where Ash put the dagger, there's an unusual acuity for the arcane. But as is exceptionally, irrevocably evident, the mother sees far more, as her gaze slips from that decursed item, and around the room. She mouths something, though Ash is unable to see quite what it is- And the child is more interested in the food and the magic that was performed. Those questions continue, and the child tells Ash loudly and clearly that he is going to -not- tell all of his friends. But his voice raises and the mother notices how animated he's being. It's likely of course. The mother stares at Ash with a look that begs for them to fix this. She's terrified. It's a natural fear. It's the fear of a parent who desires nothing less than safety for their child. She begins to sign to the boy, though he's not paying attention. He's too fixated on Ash and the mysteries of magical might that Ash seems to hold. It may take another tact. So how can Ash be sure to fully preserve the secret of the supernatural? They have the support of the mother. But is that enough to stop a child from blathering even the least-- Or worse, implicating their family and the diner in a potential scandal? Persuading is one thing, but it's not the amnesia of full hypnotism. It's a short term instruction and as Ash knows, such things are fleeting. Though if magic was the cause, could it be the solution? Ash has dealt with vampire's thralls with rituals. Are they willing to expend resources to handle this in the same way, or will they find a more down to earth or simple way of keeping this child from visiting danger upon themself and potentially others by information they should not know.
Ash watches the child, then the mother who's stopped. They nod to her, before saying, "It can be chocolate, yes. Hey, before you go, want to see a magic trick?" They hold up a deck of oracle cards from their pockets, crouching down so that they're at the boy's height - though they do not approach. They want to be sure that the mother understands and allows the boy to come to them. If he approaches, they start to set out the cards, drawing sigils on the back. They speak some mumbo jumbo, being dramatic and silly with it - after all, this isn't *real* magic, this is for the child's entertainment. Between their fast reflexes and skill with games, they perform card tricks, humming words of prophecy that are easily interpreted as making new friends, or making a mess at home - nothing scary, but good things with just a hint of failure to sell it. Things that a child might prioritize. All the while, they're performing a ritual with the cards and sigils. The sigils won't be seen by the child, as they're not written in ink but the faintest shift in reflected colors. The magic words ARE magic, but why not make them sound almost silly, with a hint of dramaticism? After all, their teacher has always taught them that the words and language don't matter - it's the belief. And they believe that they know exactly what they're doing as they slowly manipulate the child's memories until it's just a nice visit to the diner, where some guy showed some cool card tricks and promised a free drink and meal for the boy being *such* a good audience.
Ash's ritual works its well... magic. The tendrals of arcana weave their way through the child's thoughts as he sits, enraptured before Ash. The mother, who has evidently allowed all of this to take place watches on; She is protective, but has no skill to deal with this on her own- And why should she? She may be gifted in some manner, but there is a concerted effort to insure nothing is even vaguely hinted at. Her gaze keeps flickering past Ash and once more, Ash feels the ghost touch of some phantom on the back of their neck. Is it literal? Is it figurative? Is it a trick of the rigma that brings the ritual to life? Truly, it doesn't matter in this moment. Ash is successful. That's what matters. And once the child has enjoyed the card trick the magic mister has performed for him, the mother offers a sheepish smile, hurrying her child from the diner. There is nothing else that inconveniences Ash for the rest of the day. Rosie's makes a good take. The day is successful, the coffers are filled and each and every patron seems to be content, filled and happy with the service. The wait staff are tipped well, and Ash is praised for being a great boss repeatedly. Business booms, though the question yet remains; Why was the mother, who knew more than she could express so adamant about ascenting to an amnesiotic arcane ritual to abolish the actualisation of supernatural activity? -- The answer as it turns out over the next day is slightly more sinister than it might have seemed, and it isn't reports, supernatural rumors, or even the township that answers this quandry. It's the news, of all things. A report flashes up that Asha Arkwright was found dead in her apartment, leaving her emediate family stunned and aghast. It's the most curious thing though... The picture shows the mother as the report goes on, but not the child... And the news reporter delivers, with great solemnity that the boy, Nathan Arkwright is still missing. It is then, and only then that the dawning horror of the situation comes to pass. There are reports that suggest that James had been spotted about Haven township. And from there, it's not hard for Ash to piece together the full story. Asha, related to James had a child. Unknown to the powerful figure, she had attempted to keep the child safe from the machinations of her malevolent ancestors malicious machinations. She was spotted though, and James does not visit miracles upon his relatives... So as it began with a curious coincidence that culminated in a potential catastrophic outcome, the resolution there in was only forestalled by Ash. For the nights within Haven are dark. They are grim and they secret within their umbra the shadows of what was lost. The nightmares that scratch against the mind. The reapers that collect the souls of the wronged. The hideous horrific hazards of the world of darkness. So as the day creeps, inevitably towards the fall of night, where all good people retire, safe and unconcerned with the minutia of the mundanity of other people's life. The sun descends- The shadows grow long- The night lights protect from the monsters under the bed. But not so for all monsters.... For some monsters lurk in sight of others. Some hide themselves, mingled with the population. Some stand beside you even now, and all in aims of satiating their dreadful desires of carnage...
THE END! Or is it...
(Your target is approached by a seemingly harmless individual who shares an intriguing story about The Black Flame. The individual invites the target to a meeting at a secluded location, claiming it's a gathering of people who share similar interests in the supernatural. As the meeting progresses, it becomes apparent that this is a recruitment drive for The Black Flame. The target must then navigate the situation carefully - whether that's escaping, gathering information, or attempting to sabotage their plans from the inside. The danger escalates when a ritual begins to summon an eldritch horror, and the target must act quickly to prevent a disaster.)
As Novel hangs out in the library, he notices that a large group of cowled individuals go and sit down at the tables outside. From Novel's position in the librarian's desk, with a great view of the White Oak library itself, he notices that these guys are the most stereotypical occult nerds it is possible to be. All bearing necklaces of a globe engulfed in dark flames, they sit down at the table generally reserved for board games, such as Dungeons and Dragons, Lancer, or Warhammer. Fantasy, of course. White Oak has taste and standards, occasionally. They mutter amongst themselves surreptitiously as they bring out a map of the world and begin placing miniatures upon many of the countries, the one seated at the head of the desk evidently directing their actions.
Novel continues to leaf through the pages and papers as he works through the Institute's history, floor plans, architecture, and anything else he can find about this fucked-up place before his acute hearing keys him off to hear the muttering. He's pretty high-keyed to begin with. A lack of cathartic violence - beyond burning some child toucher ex-staff's stuff, the rest of it mailed elsewhere that he stumbled across - and being repeatedly shocked and dragged around by orderlies and other students who are interested in experimenting with him, the fuckers that drew his blood in order to gain 'powers', and a lot of other things have left him on rather high alert.
This is fortunate. When he is bored or in a good mood, he's even more murderous. This all is giving him something to focus on.
Eventually, though, he sets aside his current book to wander over towards the window, peering down either into the cafeteria, or the exterior doors - wherever the fucking goths and nerds are hanging out - to press his ear up to it.
The demonborn Novel approaches the window with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, the old, creaky wood of the library floor protests under his weight. His breath forms small foggy clouds against the cold glass as he peers down at the courtyard below full of students. The sun casts a pale, waning light over the scene, adding an almost eerie ambiance to the unfolding spectacle. The group of cowled figures continues their clandestine activities, completely absorbed in their map and miniatures. Each individual seems to be meticulously following the directions of their apparent leader, who is seated at the head of the table. This leader is distinguished by a more elaborate cowl and a slightly ornate pendant that dangles conspicuously from their necka large, intricately carved amulet featuring a fiery globe that flickers ominously in the dim light. It is straining to hear over the ambient noise of the library and the occasional shuffling of papers, but Novel's supernatural hearing is potent. The muttering of the group grows clearer. They speak in low, conspiratorial tones, their words weaving together a web of arcane jargon and obscure references. Phrases like "ritual alignment" and "celestial convergence" punctuate their conversation, hinting at some grandiose plan or dark ceremony in the making. "Are the ley lines converging correctly?" the leader asks, their voice laced with a tone of impatient authority. "Yes," replies a subordinate, their tone hesitant. "But the markers are slightly off from the original coordinates." The leader's cowl shifts as they nod thoughtfully, the flickering candlelight casting eerie shadows across their face. "Adjust them. We need the precise alignment to ensure the convergence is optimal. We can't afford any discrepancies." The intense focus and methodical precision of the group suggest theyre working on something of significant importance, perhaps even something dangerous. They do not seem to notice @Novel, peering through the library window and carefully analyzing their every movement. As he observes, someone tumultuous experiences within the Institutean institution that seems to harbor more secrets and hidden agendas than he could ever have imagined - may come to mind. The strange practices of these individuals align unsettlingly well with the obscure, clandestine activities hes encountered before. Could their ritualistic behavior be connected to the sinister undertones hes experienced throughout the Institute?
The demonborn Novel approaches the window with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, the old, creaky wood of the library floor protests under his weight. His breath forms small foggy clouds against the cold glass as he peers down at the courtyard below full of students. The sun casts a pale, waning light over the scene, adding an almost eerie ambiance to the unfolding spectacle. The group of cowled figures continues their clandestine activities, completely absorbed in their map and miniatures. Each individual seems to be meticulously following the directions of their apparent leader, who is seated at the head of the table. This leader is distinguished by a more elaborate cowl and a slightly ornate pendant that dangles conspicuously from their necka large, intricately carved amulet featuring a fiery globe that flickers ominously in the dim light. It is straining to hear over the ambient noise of the library and the occasional shuffling of papers, but Novel's supernatural hearing is potent. The muttering of the group grows clearer. They speak in low, conspiratorial tones, their words weaving together a web of arcane jargon and obscure references. Phrases like "ritual alignment" and "celestial convergence" punctuate their conversation, hinting at some grandiose plan or dark ceremony in the making. "Are the ley lines converging correctly?" the leader asks, their voice laced with a tone of impatient authority. "Yes," replies a subordinate, their tone hesitant. "But the markers are slightly off from the original coordinates." The leader's cowl shifts as they nod thoughtfully, the flickering candlelight casting eerie shadows across their face. "Adjust them. We need the precise alignment to ensure the convergence is optimal. We can't afford any discrepancies." The intense focus and methodical precision of the group suggest theyre working on something of significant importance, perhaps even something dangerous. They do not seem to notice @Novel, peering through the library window and carefully analyzing their every movement. As he observes, Novel's tumultuous experiences within the Institutean institution that seems to harbor more secrets and hidden agendas than he could ever have imagined - may come to mind. The strange practices of these individuals align unsettlingly well with the obscure, clandestine activities hes encountered before. Could their ritualistic behavior be connected to the sinister undertones hes experienced throughout the Institute?
Novel eventually comes to the obvious conclusion it's either pointless nerd shit, with the equivalent of normal human beings performing cargo cult rituals, or it's pointful nerd shit at which point he needs to ask Fayad or someone else about it later. And, short of hurling something out of the window - and likely being dragged off to get his dick tazed AGAIN and being given drugs that are supposed to calm him down but, in fact, make him more homicidal - this isn't really his fucking problem.
Plus he never had the patience for pretending to play fantasy battles when he could go out into the woods and put a sword through a dinosaur. Like, come on. How does this even compare.
But it's a fair point. He's seen some creepy ass machines and there's some weird plumbing all over the place, and strange maker's marks for older things...
Books or annoying people... fuck it. Let's annoy some goddamn people. Worse come to worse he can make them all miserable to enjoy their suffering. He gathers his notes, roughly shoves them under his scrubs in a bundle, and then makes his way downstairs to them.