Encounterlogs
Autumns Odd Encounter Sr Bjarne 240309
In a vivid narrative that bridges the supernatural with a tale of desperation and esoteric power, Autumn finds herself deep within the heart of a forest on Elm's Bane, a place shrouded in mist and mystery. Her quest to trace the magic leading to a voodoo tree, driven by the machinations of Bjarne, plunges her into an encounter ripe with ancient magics and cursed voodoo dolls. Autumn's confrontation with these dolls, each representing a different torment intended for Viktorin Teptic, binds her in a violent dance of electrocution, emotional turmoil, and visceral fear. Despite the agonizing trials inflicted by the dolls' curses, she resolves to stand against the malevolent forces at play, indicating a determination to confront the wolf responsible for the sorcery.
Meanwhile, Viktorin, caught and contained within a holding cell, parses through the scents of significant figures and locations, musing over their implications. His cellmate, a bald man with esoteric knowledge and a desperate desire for freedom, proposes a dangerous escape through the summoning of a demon. Despite Viktorin's skepticism and reluctance to engage in what seems an extreme solution for their temporary confinement, the man proceeds alone. Utilizing his own blood to activate a chalk-drawn ritual circle, he invokes a spell charged with fear and urgency, aiming to tear open a portal to the outskirts of town. Viktorin, witnessing the bald man's fear-driven determination, is left to consider the implications of the magic at work and the threats that loom beyond the confines of their cell.
(Autumn's odd encounter(SRBjarne):SRBjarne)
[Fri Mar 8 2024]
On Elm's Bane
This long, straight road plunges deeply into the dark heart of the forest, the mist-soaked depths of which pour brambled thorns and creeping overgrowth like some arboreal vitae that coats the sides of the asphalt implement buried within it. Wide enough to allow the passing of two decently-sized cars, it's flanked by ancient elm trees spotted with lichen that clings to their craggy bark and twisted, reaching branches. Many of the elms are dead; twisted grey skeletons with cracked bones that refuse to shuffle off into decay and instead impede the growth of the still-living trees that seem to always be growing no matter how often they're cut down. Prickling burrs and nettles creep amongst the dead, dessicated trees, winding themselves about their splintered trunks and branches. The thickness of the elm growth barely allows for the briny, seaside breeze to freshen the area, causing the air to hold a cloying mustiness of earth and decaying wood.
It is night, about 50F(10C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. There is a new moon.
Having parked her bike, Autumn is walking down the road through the forest while she puts her phone away. She closes her eyes for a moment, concentrating for any traces of magic leading to the voodoo tree, before she continues walking. "Tree must be around somewhere," she mutters to herself.
Who-do the voodoo? Well, apparently Bjarne in this case, or at least someone he'd paid. It'd likely resulted in a few days of irritation and mild annoyance for Viktorin, and perhaps that was enough. Autumn wanders up and along Elm's Bane, extra sensory feelers out and probing the area about her. Whether she manages to feel the magic or not, depends, of course, on her abilities.
Using her magic, Autumn focuses her energy on her surrounding to at least find some humming. She stops walking and focuses more while she keeps an eye out at the dark forest around her.
The magic is used, as it usually is, and Autumn opens herself up to the fabric of the universe - or at least, the chaotic sort of echo that sits atop our own. It's not an entirely natural thing, for without the gates it wouldn't exist, but it's been a part of this world for so long that it near as well may be considered as much. Trickles and prickles of the lingering spell catch upon her, like the scent of baked goods in those old timey cartoons. It draws her in toward itself, off of the beaten path and deeper into the forest.
Catching the trail, Autumn turns to enter the forest to follow the magical trail. She walks cautiously, being careful not to trip or make any noises that would attract creatures. Her eyes squint when she comes across a log, and she slowly goes over it before she carries on.
Bushes and brambles reach out with thorny hands, clasping and grasping at Autumn as if they were trying to slow her, or capture her. The off-road path is barely beaten, clearly only maintained by foot traffic alone. Yet, as Autumn follows this she may feel the quiet energy of a layline. Two, in fact. Intersected.
A low hum from under her breath, Autumn senses the energy and fastens her pace. With a peer around herself, she turns to keep her eyes straight out before her as she moves one hand to her coat pocket.
Some more brush, some more bramble. A 'hup' over a log, and soon enough Autumn finds herself in a place that just hums with that quiet power. It's damn near audible. An intersection of laylines, with an ancient tree at it's centre. Various ritualistic markings have been painted across it's surface in brownish, dried blood, though the meanings may escape her. Amongst the branches of the trees there hang a number of voodoo-esque dolls, each with their own strange energy.
Reaching her destination, Autumn steps forward to examine the ancient tree with her hand reaching out. Fingers brush against the painted wood before she lifts her head up at the voodoo dolls. "Hmm," she ponders as she attempts to grab the one closer to her.
It isn't difficult to recognize whom the doll is supposed to represent. This one, in particular, is Viktorin Teptic, and it depicts him being electrocuted. It's more like a stuffed burlap doll, than anything action figure like. Once Autumn grabs it, she feels a connection being made. Only moments after? The air about her starts to crackle, and pop, and despite her best efforts, she can't quite let go of the doll.
Grabbing the small Vik doll, Autumn attempts to get it off of her before she lets out a sigh in defeat. She takes note of each doll and looks back to the tree. She then jumps and grabs another close one and holds them around her arm until she notices the mist rising. "Shit," Autumn murmurs and faces the tree, proceeding to chant quietly and channeling her magical energy to try against the voodoo magic.
That probably wasn't the wisest choice, but it was a quick way to deal with the problem, at least. The first doll, the electric one, builds and builds, and just as Autumn grasps at the second, it's terrible little curse fires upon her, rather than it's intended victim. Autumn is electrocuted, from head to toe. Peels of lightning coarsing through her body, causing teeth to crash together and limps to spasm. It's a miracle she doesn't black out, quite frankly, or bite off her own tongue. The second doll appears to depict Viktorin in the midst of some social rejection, a bright red mark on his face and tears in his little burlap eyes. It too, begins to hum, while grasped by the woman.
Autumn yelps in pain as her body spasms and twitches from the electrocution. "The hell?" She mutters, looking at the second Vik doll while her body shudders. "How many more of these are around here?" She then continues to channel her magic while she says, "I'm going to throw them at wolf..."
Did the second doll just grin for a second there? Surely not. Either way, the first doll? With it's little curse given to Autumn instead of it's intended victim, turns inert, and no longer forces her to grip it. The magic slips away as the condition upon the town weakers. Then, the second dolls flavour of pain comes upon her. It starts with a slap, across the face, and then it's followed with a different sort of assault. An emotional one. Dread comes upon her, and anxiety. A lack of self worth. The crushing weight of loneliness that pushes air from the lungs, and makes it difficult to breathe. She isn't worth loving. She's going to die alone. She's going to hurt anyone who has ever cared for her.
Letting the first doll fall out of her arm, Autumn staggers from the slap and leans back against a tree, gasping for air as she slides down onto the ground. "What cruel spell this is," she croaks, staring at the second doll and looks back at the rest of the dolls. "This is not mine. One at a time..." Should she regain herself, she counts the remaining dolls hanging around.
Thankfully, there are only two that remain in good condition. There were many more, but the vast majority of them had been burned up, and away already. Spent. Their curses afflicted to the poor man.
The second doll, much like the first, is spent, and slips free of Autumn's gasp.
Her grasp, rather.
takes a deep breath and sets the second Vik down with wary eyes before she gets up to her feet. With the forest becoming full of mist, Autumn quickly grabs the third doll and then the fourth before she turns to head behind the ancient tree, attempting to hide.
There's a snapping, and pulling sensation, like that of a bungie cord, and the third and fourth dolls begin to hum, and vibrate in Autumn's hands. The first? It appears to show Vik lying upon the floor, throat ripped out, covered in bites, and mauls. Killed by a werewolf. It comes over Autumn in waves. The snarling in her ears. The teeth catching at delicate flesh. Tearing through her, smashing her ribs into pieces and carving out a hollow in her chest. She can feel the bite of fangs against her still-beating heart, and the terror is near overwhelming.
Autumn doesn't quite get a chance to recover from this as the fourth, and final cursed doll works it's terrible magic. This one? It depicts Vik covered in ash. She can taste it. The ash. It's familiar in a way. It's the town of Haven, burning down. The flames dance across her skin, and deep in the core of her? She knows that she caused this, that the sanctuary protecting the town was torn asunder by the wolf due to her own meddling. The guilt is nearly as unbearable as the taste of innocent lives lost.
As she tries not to scream, Autumn writhes in agony as the falls back down on the ground. Her breathing becomes shaky before she seethes from the fourth one's burning curse. "So this is power wolf can do," she murmurs, staring in shock at the two dolls that she's bearing the pain. "...He must be stopped."
Magic is rarely in the wheelhouse of a wolf, but that hasn't prevented them seeking out shamans and medicine men in the past to assist them when a curse is required. Speaking of which, the curse that lingered over Viktorin begins to fade away now, as the spell is broken, and the suffering that had been prepared for him is taken by another.
That final doll. It was different. It wasn't just pain, and agony, it was a promise, perhaps. Or even a hint of the wolf's intentions.
But now, on her knees in the forest by the ancient tree, Autumn is afforded some small time to catch her breath with the curse lifted.
(A member of The Destined Host has started a ritual to summon a powerful demon in the basement of an old, abandoned house in Haven. Locals have reported strange noises and eerie lights emanating from the house at night, causing a wave of fear and confusion among the town's population. The characters must infiltrate the house, stop the ritual before the demon is summoned, and deal with the cultist. This encounter will take them into the dark underbelly of Haven, revealing to them the true extent of the Host's influence in the town and the horror of their plans for it. The characters will also have to grapple with the moral complexity of The Destined Host's beliefs and their own stance on the use of demonic power.)
Viktorin twiddles with his phone whilst he's in the holding cell. Caught once more, hw's already stuffed his weapons and armor away, and this time he's grinding his teeth in absolute anger. "Man... fuck. Why can't this town have open carry or some shit so that when I'm kitted out for business, I'm not immediately detained or something." He huffs and exhales, grumbling softly. "Scent one. Wolf. Scent two. Autumn. Scent three, unknown female. Scent four... Carter. Possibly. Wolf traveled... from around Tabitha's residence... all the way to the Lighthouse. And apparently one female went to the trailer park. I gotta start putting my sniffer to better use." The demigod ruminates over his words carefully, calculating and compiling the information into neat little tidbits when he says them aloud. And still, he stares forth at the cell door, just awaiting his release.
The cell door opens, quickly, and then a man is thrust in. He is bald, with dark eyes, and there's some swearing low shift as he is thrown inside. He cusses at the door for a long moment, and then he turns to look at Viktorin. "Fuck these deputies," he says. He pauses. "-Fuck them-," he tells the young man. "They are tiny-dicked, power-hungry fools," he says.
Viktorin yawns sleepily and grunts wordlessly to his newfound companion. Still he checks his phone, checks the time. To no avail of course. The demigod glances over towards the man, and he asks, "So. What're you in for?"
"Some kind of bullshit," the bald man says evasively to Viktorin. "The question is not why I'm here --" His eyes focus on Viktorin. "The question is if you want to get out," he says, looking slowly around the cell. "I can get us out, if you want," he tells the demigod. His eyes focus on a camera in the corner, and then he begins to murmur, his voice low. Viktorin recognizes magic when he sees it, as the bald man begins to hex the camera so it does not watch what they do. "It would be best with three of us," he tells Viktorin. "But if you're willing?" he says. "Two of us can escape."
"Well, the dropped me in here with all my weapons still, so you're in luck," the demigod remarks, almost amusedly. Almost entertained. But the aggravation and rigidness doesn't leave. He's anxious and twitchy, hateful and fearful, shivering and already on edge. An easy tell with the way he tightens his jaw, his lips, his eyes already slanted and squinty. His brow furrowed, hie eyebrows knitted together. His nose wrinkled. All that's left is a little snarl, and he'd look downright pissed. A question asked goes unanswered. At least not immediately. Viktorin seems to weigh his options for a minute or two, and then he nods, "Well, what the hell, yeah, lemme leave," he growls. The Czech clearly doesn't completely understand the magic going on, but he recognizes that -something- was done to the cameras, and there's skepticism that goes to the man's countenance. "Okay. What next?"
"What's next?" the man asks Viktorin. "Well," he says, digging a piece of chalk from his clothes. He's a little dirty. "We perform a ritual," he explains to the man. "A kind of bargain -- you and I, we can summon a spirit. A demon," he says. "A thing that in exchange for us letting enter this world will give us a way out," he tells the man. "He will make a hole we can exit through as he, in turn, comes in." Bending over, he begins to sketch a circle on the floor of the cell in white chalk. "It's simple. It just takes two," he explains. "Two will do, even when three is best."
Viktorin scoffs and tells the man, "Dude, I'm in a fucking holding cell, I get released in like an hour. How the hell is summoning a devil and -giving- it something worth it in any shape or form? Yeah, I'd get it if this was like... a year imprisonment if not more. Maybe a month if you're stupidly desperate. But an hour? Come on dude." Then he blinks at the further absurdity of the situation. "Okay, lemme get this straight. You want to summon a demon... in this holding cell... Where the fuck are we gonna pop out into?"
"We're not giving it anything of value," SRLegion promises Viktorin. "Just inviting it in. Simple." He keeps drawing, starting now to sketch in symbols around the edge of it. "And it will drop us somewhere on the outskirts of town," he says. "The magic's not exact -- it's like pathing," he says. "Have you ever pathed?" he wonders. "You aim for Mariner's Highway, but you usually end up in the woods nearby, or on the bluffs."
(re) "We're not giving it anything of value," the bald man promises Viktorin. "Just inviting it in. Simple." He keeps drawing, starting now to sketch in symbols around the edge of it. "And it will drop us somewhere on the outskirts of town," he says. "The magic's not exact -- it's like pathing," he says. "Have you ever pathed?" he wonders. "You aim for Mariner's Highway, but you usually end up in the woods nearby, or on the bluffs."
Viktorin squints, "Okay. Let me pose it this way. Odds are you're being held for a small amount of time. Lemme reiterate. This is a -holding- cell. You'll be free within a day, tops, and then you can go on about as much of a homicidal rampage as you can against the police." He pauses, "Now, I'm not the most law abiding citizen, nor am I in bed with the police. But inviting a spirit here so we can skip holding is like... absurdly unnecessary. That's like pulling a fucking missile launcher out on a guy who punched your arm... It's just... overkill." The Czech seems desperate to explain the absurdity. As if trying to get the man to recognize the situation for what it is. "Yes I've been Pathing before."
"If you won't help," the man says, looking up. "I can technically do it alone." He breathes in, something twitched in his nose. "It is a holding cell. But I'm not being held here to get released," he tells Viktorin. "And now that you've met me?" he says. "I don't know if you're going to get released, either."
"That a threat or something dude?" the Czech asks curiously, watching the man's every move. Carefully he scans the man up and down for any wounds, and he uses his nose for good measure, inhaling to see if he can smell blood too. A plan was at the works, and tension set the demigod to lethargy for the moment. For just one moment. Viktorin slowly dips his hand into his backpack, rummaging through it. Or at least making a show of it But in reality, his hand was already wrapped around the dagger that the deputies didn't seem to take from him.
"Not from me," SRLegion tells Viktorin. "But from the people who paid the deputies to arrest me?" he says. "Perhaps." He pauses. "They won't want you to know what I know," he says. He isn't wounded, but there is a low odor of blood around the bald man. "If you don't want to help," he says. "I can do this without you." He finishes, slowly, his circle, and then there's a grunt. "Do you have a knife?"
(re) "Not from me," the bald man tells Viktorin. "But from the people who paid the deputies to arrest me?" he says. "Perhaps." He pauses. "They won't want you to know what I know," he says. He isn't wounded, but there is a low odor of blood around the bald man. "If you don't want to help," he says. "I can do this without you." He finishes, slowly, his circle, and then there's a grunt. "Do you have a knife?"
Viktorin lifts his eyebrows and asks, "Sure. What're you using it for though?" His grip tightens and the man slants his gaze, distrustfully.
"I need some blood," the man tells Viktorin. "I need to get out of here," he says to the young man sharing the cell with him. "Even if you want to stay for -- whatever happens." Shadowed eyes look at the door. "I need to get the -fuck- out." There's some urgency, as he reaches out a hand. "You have your weapons," he says. "My power isn't in fighting. But magic runs in our blood," he says, and there's worry. "It runs in our blood and we need to get out of here." He says. "Or me. You don't have to fucking come, but -they- are coming for me." His eyes flicker towards the cell door. "And soon."
Stepping back from Viktorin, the bald man begins to chant. He looks around -- he finds a little piece of rubble, with Viktorin not helping, and he uses it to slice his hand. Red blood wells, incarnadine, and there's a wince, but as the bald man begins to pace slowly around the chalk circle he has drawn he lets it drip, drip, drip onto the circle. As he moves -- as he chants -- he looks at the door with rising fear, concerned that there is someone coming.
As he moves, his chanting rises in tone and text, fearful. The fear in his voice is higher as he works to slowly circle the chalk ring. Magic begins to crackle in the room, like a static electric shock.
Meanwhile, Viktorin, caught and contained within a holding cell, parses through the scents of significant figures and locations, musing over their implications. His cellmate, a bald man with esoteric knowledge and a desperate desire for freedom, proposes a dangerous escape through the summoning of a demon. Despite Viktorin's skepticism and reluctance to engage in what seems an extreme solution for their temporary confinement, the man proceeds alone. Utilizing his own blood to activate a chalk-drawn ritual circle, he invokes a spell charged with fear and urgency, aiming to tear open a portal to the outskirts of town. Viktorin, witnessing the bald man's fear-driven determination, is left to consider the implications of the magic at work and the threats that loom beyond the confines of their cell.
(Autumn's odd encounter(SRBjarne):SRBjarne)
[Fri Mar 8 2024]
On Elm's Bane
This long, straight road plunges deeply into the dark heart of the forest, the mist-soaked depths of which pour brambled thorns and creeping overgrowth like some arboreal vitae that coats the sides of the asphalt implement buried within it. Wide enough to allow the passing of two decently-sized cars, it's flanked by ancient elm trees spotted with lichen that clings to their craggy bark and twisted, reaching branches. Many of the elms are dead; twisted grey skeletons with cracked bones that refuse to shuffle off into decay and instead impede the growth of the still-living trees that seem to always be growing no matter how often they're cut down. Prickling burrs and nettles creep amongst the dead, dessicated trees, winding themselves about their splintered trunks and branches. The thickness of the elm growth barely allows for the briny, seaside breeze to freshen the area, causing the air to hold a cloying mustiness of earth and decaying wood.
It is night, about 50F(10C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. There is a new moon.
Having parked her bike, Autumn is walking down the road through the forest while she puts her phone away. She closes her eyes for a moment, concentrating for any traces of magic leading to the voodoo tree, before she continues walking. "Tree must be around somewhere," she mutters to herself.
Who-do the voodoo? Well, apparently Bjarne in this case, or at least someone he'd paid. It'd likely resulted in a few days of irritation and mild annoyance for Viktorin, and perhaps that was enough. Autumn wanders up and along Elm's Bane, extra sensory feelers out and probing the area about her. Whether she manages to feel the magic or not, depends, of course, on her abilities.
Using her magic, Autumn focuses her energy on her surrounding to at least find some humming. She stops walking and focuses more while she keeps an eye out at the dark forest around her.
The magic is used, as it usually is, and Autumn opens herself up to the fabric of the universe - or at least, the chaotic sort of echo that sits atop our own. It's not an entirely natural thing, for without the gates it wouldn't exist, but it's been a part of this world for so long that it near as well may be considered as much. Trickles and prickles of the lingering spell catch upon her, like the scent of baked goods in those old timey cartoons. It draws her in toward itself, off of the beaten path and deeper into the forest.
Catching the trail, Autumn turns to enter the forest to follow the magical trail. She walks cautiously, being careful not to trip or make any noises that would attract creatures. Her eyes squint when she comes across a log, and she slowly goes over it before she carries on.
Bushes and brambles reach out with thorny hands, clasping and grasping at Autumn as if they were trying to slow her, or capture her. The off-road path is barely beaten, clearly only maintained by foot traffic alone. Yet, as Autumn follows this she may feel the quiet energy of a layline. Two, in fact. Intersected.
A low hum from under her breath, Autumn senses the energy and fastens her pace. With a peer around herself, she turns to keep her eyes straight out before her as she moves one hand to her coat pocket.
Some more brush, some more bramble. A 'hup' over a log, and soon enough Autumn finds herself in a place that just hums with that quiet power. It's damn near audible. An intersection of laylines, with an ancient tree at it's centre. Various ritualistic markings have been painted across it's surface in brownish, dried blood, though the meanings may escape her. Amongst the branches of the trees there hang a number of voodoo-esque dolls, each with their own strange energy.
Reaching her destination, Autumn steps forward to examine the ancient tree with her hand reaching out. Fingers brush against the painted wood before she lifts her head up at the voodoo dolls. "Hmm," she ponders as she attempts to grab the one closer to her.
It isn't difficult to recognize whom the doll is supposed to represent. This one, in particular, is Viktorin Teptic, and it depicts him being electrocuted. It's more like a stuffed burlap doll, than anything action figure like. Once Autumn grabs it, she feels a connection being made. Only moments after? The air about her starts to crackle, and pop, and despite her best efforts, she can't quite let go of the doll.
Grabbing the small Vik doll, Autumn attempts to get it off of her before she lets out a sigh in defeat. She takes note of each doll and looks back to the tree. She then jumps and grabs another close one and holds them around her arm until she notices the mist rising. "Shit," Autumn murmurs and faces the tree, proceeding to chant quietly and channeling her magical energy to try against the voodoo magic.
That probably wasn't the wisest choice, but it was a quick way to deal with the problem, at least. The first doll, the electric one, builds and builds, and just as Autumn grasps at the second, it's terrible little curse fires upon her, rather than it's intended victim. Autumn is electrocuted, from head to toe. Peels of lightning coarsing through her body, causing teeth to crash together and limps to spasm. It's a miracle she doesn't black out, quite frankly, or bite off her own tongue. The second doll appears to depict Viktorin in the midst of some social rejection, a bright red mark on his face and tears in his little burlap eyes. It too, begins to hum, while grasped by the woman.
Autumn yelps in pain as her body spasms and twitches from the electrocution. "The hell?" She mutters, looking at the second Vik doll while her body shudders. "How many more of these are around here?" She then continues to channel her magic while she says, "I'm going to throw them at wolf..."
Did the second doll just grin for a second there? Surely not. Either way, the first doll? With it's little curse given to Autumn instead of it's intended victim, turns inert, and no longer forces her to grip it. The magic slips away as the condition upon the town weakers. Then, the second dolls flavour of pain comes upon her. It starts with a slap, across the face, and then it's followed with a different sort of assault. An emotional one. Dread comes upon her, and anxiety. A lack of self worth. The crushing weight of loneliness that pushes air from the lungs, and makes it difficult to breathe. She isn't worth loving. She's going to die alone. She's going to hurt anyone who has ever cared for her.
Letting the first doll fall out of her arm, Autumn staggers from the slap and leans back against a tree, gasping for air as she slides down onto the ground. "What cruel spell this is," she croaks, staring at the second doll and looks back at the rest of the dolls. "This is not mine. One at a time..." Should she regain herself, she counts the remaining dolls hanging around.
Thankfully, there are only two that remain in good condition. There were many more, but the vast majority of them had been burned up, and away already. Spent. Their curses afflicted to the poor man.
The second doll, much like the first, is spent, and slips free of Autumn's gasp.
Her grasp, rather.
takes a deep breath and sets the second Vik down with wary eyes before she gets up to her feet. With the forest becoming full of mist, Autumn quickly grabs the third doll and then the fourth before she turns to head behind the ancient tree, attempting to hide.
There's a snapping, and pulling sensation, like that of a bungie cord, and the third and fourth dolls begin to hum, and vibrate in Autumn's hands. The first? It appears to show Vik lying upon the floor, throat ripped out, covered in bites, and mauls. Killed by a werewolf. It comes over Autumn in waves. The snarling in her ears. The teeth catching at delicate flesh. Tearing through her, smashing her ribs into pieces and carving out a hollow in her chest. She can feel the bite of fangs against her still-beating heart, and the terror is near overwhelming.
Autumn doesn't quite get a chance to recover from this as the fourth, and final cursed doll works it's terrible magic. This one? It depicts Vik covered in ash. She can taste it. The ash. It's familiar in a way. It's the town of Haven, burning down. The flames dance across her skin, and deep in the core of her? She knows that she caused this, that the sanctuary protecting the town was torn asunder by the wolf due to her own meddling. The guilt is nearly as unbearable as the taste of innocent lives lost.
As she tries not to scream, Autumn writhes in agony as the falls back down on the ground. Her breathing becomes shaky before she seethes from the fourth one's burning curse. "So this is power wolf can do," she murmurs, staring in shock at the two dolls that she's bearing the pain. "...He must be stopped."
Magic is rarely in the wheelhouse of a wolf, but that hasn't prevented them seeking out shamans and medicine men in the past to assist them when a curse is required. Speaking of which, the curse that lingered over Viktorin begins to fade away now, as the spell is broken, and the suffering that had been prepared for him is taken by another.
That final doll. It was different. It wasn't just pain, and agony, it was a promise, perhaps. Or even a hint of the wolf's intentions.
But now, on her knees in the forest by the ancient tree, Autumn is afforded some small time to catch her breath with the curse lifted.
(A member of The Destined Host has started a ritual to summon a powerful demon in the basement of an old, abandoned house in Haven. Locals have reported strange noises and eerie lights emanating from the house at night, causing a wave of fear and confusion among the town's population. The characters must infiltrate the house, stop the ritual before the demon is summoned, and deal with the cultist. This encounter will take them into the dark underbelly of Haven, revealing to them the true extent of the Host's influence in the town and the horror of their plans for it. The characters will also have to grapple with the moral complexity of The Destined Host's beliefs and their own stance on the use of demonic power.)
Viktorin twiddles with his phone whilst he's in the holding cell. Caught once more, hw's already stuffed his weapons and armor away, and this time he's grinding his teeth in absolute anger. "Man... fuck. Why can't this town have open carry or some shit so that when I'm kitted out for business, I'm not immediately detained or something." He huffs and exhales, grumbling softly. "Scent one. Wolf. Scent two. Autumn. Scent three, unknown female. Scent four... Carter. Possibly. Wolf traveled... from around Tabitha's residence... all the way to the Lighthouse. And apparently one female went to the trailer park. I gotta start putting my sniffer to better use." The demigod ruminates over his words carefully, calculating and compiling the information into neat little tidbits when he says them aloud. And still, he stares forth at the cell door, just awaiting his release.
The cell door opens, quickly, and then a man is thrust in. He is bald, with dark eyes, and there's some swearing low shift as he is thrown inside. He cusses at the door for a long moment, and then he turns to look at Viktorin. "Fuck these deputies," he says. He pauses. "-Fuck them-," he tells the young man. "They are tiny-dicked, power-hungry fools," he says.
Viktorin yawns sleepily and grunts wordlessly to his newfound companion. Still he checks his phone, checks the time. To no avail of course. The demigod glances over towards the man, and he asks, "So. What're you in for?"
"Some kind of bullshit," the bald man says evasively to Viktorin. "The question is not why I'm here --" His eyes focus on Viktorin. "The question is if you want to get out," he says, looking slowly around the cell. "I can get us out, if you want," he tells the demigod. His eyes focus on a camera in the corner, and then he begins to murmur, his voice low. Viktorin recognizes magic when he sees it, as the bald man begins to hex the camera so it does not watch what they do. "It would be best with three of us," he tells Viktorin. "But if you're willing?" he says. "Two of us can escape."
"Well, the dropped me in here with all my weapons still, so you're in luck," the demigod remarks, almost amusedly. Almost entertained. But the aggravation and rigidness doesn't leave. He's anxious and twitchy, hateful and fearful, shivering and already on edge. An easy tell with the way he tightens his jaw, his lips, his eyes already slanted and squinty. His brow furrowed, hie eyebrows knitted together. His nose wrinkled. All that's left is a little snarl, and he'd look downright pissed. A question asked goes unanswered. At least not immediately. Viktorin seems to weigh his options for a minute or two, and then he nods, "Well, what the hell, yeah, lemme leave," he growls. The Czech clearly doesn't completely understand the magic going on, but he recognizes that -something- was done to the cameras, and there's skepticism that goes to the man's countenance. "Okay. What next?"
"What's next?" the man asks Viktorin. "Well," he says, digging a piece of chalk from his clothes. He's a little dirty. "We perform a ritual," he explains to the man. "A kind of bargain -- you and I, we can summon a spirit. A demon," he says. "A thing that in exchange for us letting enter this world will give us a way out," he tells the man. "He will make a hole we can exit through as he, in turn, comes in." Bending over, he begins to sketch a circle on the floor of the cell in white chalk. "It's simple. It just takes two," he explains. "Two will do, even when three is best."
Viktorin scoffs and tells the man, "Dude, I'm in a fucking holding cell, I get released in like an hour. How the hell is summoning a devil and -giving- it something worth it in any shape or form? Yeah, I'd get it if this was like... a year imprisonment if not more. Maybe a month if you're stupidly desperate. But an hour? Come on dude." Then he blinks at the further absurdity of the situation. "Okay, lemme get this straight. You want to summon a demon... in this holding cell... Where the fuck are we gonna pop out into?"
"We're not giving it anything of value," SRLegion promises Viktorin. "Just inviting it in. Simple." He keeps drawing, starting now to sketch in symbols around the edge of it. "And it will drop us somewhere on the outskirts of town," he says. "The magic's not exact -- it's like pathing," he says. "Have you ever pathed?" he wonders. "You aim for Mariner's Highway, but you usually end up in the woods nearby, or on the bluffs."
(re) "We're not giving it anything of value," the bald man promises Viktorin. "Just inviting it in. Simple." He keeps drawing, starting now to sketch in symbols around the edge of it. "And it will drop us somewhere on the outskirts of town," he says. "The magic's not exact -- it's like pathing," he says. "Have you ever pathed?" he wonders. "You aim for Mariner's Highway, but you usually end up in the woods nearby, or on the bluffs."
Viktorin squints, "Okay. Let me pose it this way. Odds are you're being held for a small amount of time. Lemme reiterate. This is a -holding- cell. You'll be free within a day, tops, and then you can go on about as much of a homicidal rampage as you can against the police." He pauses, "Now, I'm not the most law abiding citizen, nor am I in bed with the police. But inviting a spirit here so we can skip holding is like... absurdly unnecessary. That's like pulling a fucking missile launcher out on a guy who punched your arm... It's just... overkill." The Czech seems desperate to explain the absurdity. As if trying to get the man to recognize the situation for what it is. "Yes I've been Pathing before."
"If you won't help," the man says, looking up. "I can technically do it alone." He breathes in, something twitched in his nose. "It is a holding cell. But I'm not being held here to get released," he tells Viktorin. "And now that you've met me?" he says. "I don't know if you're going to get released, either."
"That a threat or something dude?" the Czech asks curiously, watching the man's every move. Carefully he scans the man up and down for any wounds, and he uses his nose for good measure, inhaling to see if he can smell blood too. A plan was at the works, and tension set the demigod to lethargy for the moment. For just one moment. Viktorin slowly dips his hand into his backpack, rummaging through it. Or at least making a show of it But in reality, his hand was already wrapped around the dagger that the deputies didn't seem to take from him.
"Not from me," SRLegion tells Viktorin. "But from the people who paid the deputies to arrest me?" he says. "Perhaps." He pauses. "They won't want you to know what I know," he says. He isn't wounded, but there is a low odor of blood around the bald man. "If you don't want to help," he says. "I can do this without you." He finishes, slowly, his circle, and then there's a grunt. "Do you have a knife?"
(re) "Not from me," the bald man tells Viktorin. "But from the people who paid the deputies to arrest me?" he says. "Perhaps." He pauses. "They won't want you to know what I know," he says. He isn't wounded, but there is a low odor of blood around the bald man. "If you don't want to help," he says. "I can do this without you." He finishes, slowly, his circle, and then there's a grunt. "Do you have a knife?"
Viktorin lifts his eyebrows and asks, "Sure. What're you using it for though?" His grip tightens and the man slants his gaze, distrustfully.
"I need some blood," the man tells Viktorin. "I need to get out of here," he says to the young man sharing the cell with him. "Even if you want to stay for -- whatever happens." Shadowed eyes look at the door. "I need to get the -fuck- out." There's some urgency, as he reaches out a hand. "You have your weapons," he says. "My power isn't in fighting. But magic runs in our blood," he says, and there's worry. "It runs in our blood and we need to get out of here." He says. "Or me. You don't have to fucking come, but -they- are coming for me." His eyes flicker towards the cell door. "And soon."
Stepping back from Viktorin, the bald man begins to chant. He looks around -- he finds a little piece of rubble, with Viktorin not helping, and he uses it to slice his hand. Red blood wells, incarnadine, and there's a wince, but as the bald man begins to pace slowly around the chalk circle he has drawn he lets it drip, drip, drip onto the circle. As he moves -- as he chants -- he looks at the door with rising fear, concerned that there is someone coming.
As he moves, his chanting rises in tone and text, fearful. The fear in his voice is higher as he works to slowly circle the chalk ring. Magic begins to crackle in the room, like a static electric shock.