Encounterlogs
Claires Odd Encounter Sr Savannah
One night, Claire receives alarming reports of a new supernatural entity terrorizing the outskirts of Haven. Mobilizing a team of Temple enforcers, she gears up and heads to a rustic cabin where the entity is believed to be wreaking havoc. As they arrive, Claire notices an ominous presence and shadows behaving atypically; the darkness seems alive, engulfing the property beneath an oppressive shadow. After strategic communication with her team, Claire moves in, crossbow ready, replacing her bolts with incendiaries as a precaution against the aberrant shadows.
Inside, the cabin is eerily silent, except for a masculine scream from the second floor. Claire commands her team to cover her as she ascends the stairs, cutting through the smothering shadow. Upon reaching the source of the disturbance, she finds a grotesque, shadowy entity flanked by two human husks, transformed into undead. The entity, identifying as a debt collector simply named SRSavannah, made a chilling offer to the homeowners in exchange for their son's success. Claire, undeterred by the horrific scene and the entity's cryptic words, refuses to negotiate and attempts to kill him. However, her efforts prove futile. SRSavannah exhibits powerful sorcery, to the point where Claire's life is at stake. She is thrown from the cabin and forced to call a full retreat, acknowledging the entity's menacing superiority.
In another tense encounter, Alexandra practices her lesson plans when strange occurrences alarm her: a drop in temperature and the unsettling reflection of someone else in the window. Preparing for the worst, she arms herself with a rifle as pounding resonates at her bedroom door. When the door finally bursts open, no one is visibly there, but the ominous presence persists. Suddenly, she's violently thrown across the room by an invisible force, revealing a malevolent ghost. With limited options and no effective means to confront this entity, Alexandra flees her apartment, pursued by the vengeful spirit until it exhausts its strength. Escaping to the safety of the outside, she's left shaken and contemplating her next move against an adversary that may still lay in wait.
(Claire's odd encounter(SRSavannah):SRSavannah)
[Tue Jan 2 2024]
In a stylish bedroom and study
There are two doors, one to the south leads into the main room and one just to the left of it leads to the bathroom.
This room is painted a light gray. The floor is faux wooden laminate in a chestnut color. A king sized bed with black linens is situated in the northeast corner of the room.
Illumination is provided by round, recessed lights in the ceiling.
Against the west wall is a cherrywood writing desk, flanked by a black bookshelf.
A door to the south leads out into the apartment, while a door to the southwest leads to the bathroom.
It is night, about 16F(-8C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. There is a last quarter moon.
(A new supernatural being has arrived in Haven, causing havoc as it's trying to establish its territory. The characters must either confront it or find a way to peacefully coexist. This newcomer has powerful abilities and is not easily defeated. This encounter tests the characters' resourcefulness and diplomacy skills, as they try to avoid an all-out war in their small town.)
Another Haven night for Claire, as she receives a notification on her phone. It seems being in touch with the town around her has benefits as she gets advanced notice of something coming down the pipe and perhaps hitting the public space sooner, rather than later. There is something causing a ruckus within the outer edges of the town. The reports of some scouts informing her that whatever is causing a problem has decided to invade the home of some residents in the outer forest, a cabin, rustic, middle of nowhere, down some dirt road but it seems luckily enough for her, someone hunting in that area and ridding the forest of kobolds and rats might have been able to swing into signal range to make a report to Temple. It sounds bad. Loud noises. Screams. The standard for something taking a normal night and turning it in the opposite direction.
The dim rumble of van surrounds Claire as she, along with another pair of Temple enforcers, make their way through the rough dirt roads that form the outskirts of Haven. She had gotten the reports and it had not taken her long to mobilize some of the local heavies to check it out. In the back of the van she does final checks on the rifles and other gear pulled from the armory, before giving a quick inspection of her own kit, adjusting the straps on her plate carrier for the second or third time, making sure her other gear is properly situated. By the time the van pulls up, she feels ready. Boots on the ground the second they pull up to the cabin, Claire does a quick comm check before motioning for the two others to go around to the back and for the driver to stand by with the engine running. With that out of the way she approaches the cabin, a heavy crossbow in her hand.
The door creaks as it swings open and closed, the heavy sound if wood clacking against wood every so often as one of the hinges clearly does not hold the door all that well anymore. The wind gusts, it blows the door open, CLACK. It closes, CLACK. There is silence inside of the house for now, but that eerie silence is only pressed out into the distance around Claire as an oppressive shadow seems to loom over the property right now. It comes from above the house, where moonlight should be landing through clouds and instead, almost seems to funnel itself into that twisting nether above, spiraling into a swirl of shadow and darkness that ebbs and flows, like a pulsating beat of a heart around the entire property. As Claire approaches and the other Templars make their way closer, it would engulf their feet, like an inky pool of mist they often encounter, but this one? It was dinged with darkness, with shadow, the complete absence of light.
Tapping her earpiece and murmuring into her comms, Claire relays, "Got no signs of life from the cabin. Shadows are misbehaving. Switch to incendiary and keep alert." And right on cue, she pulls her bolt and replaces it, the tip smoldering and glowing ominously like iron fresh from a forge. She notes the shadows but continues her approach, catching that door with her foot and pulling it open, sweeping the first room before slipping inside. To comms, Claire mutters, "In through the front."
Inside of the cabin the shadows misbehave even more so. As Claire enters the front she would witness the entire existence around her pulsing and billowing in like smoke from a flame, but instead of rising, it would sweep up towards the stairwell in billowed breaths. It was silent, making no noise, but the mist was being pulled in with each heartbeat of motion towards that stairwell and above, slinking up the stairs, floating slightly down, slinking up the stairs, floating slightly down. It was making progress through and the mist from Haven often seen, inky black and stained now with this shadow was creeping its way up like some pulsing vein along the stairwell and into the second floor of the cabin. From that area, each breath outwards, a purple hue could be seen, only to be gobbled up with the intake of breath inwards, as if the house itself might be alive, or at least something, inside of it. Then, a scream, it sounds masculine in nature.
"Manifestation upstairs. Swing through the back and cover the stairs. I am heading up." The message is delivered quickly and smoothely in a way that doesn't betray Claire's elevated heartrate or the way her finger tenses on the trigger. Important not to show the nerves on comms. She hears the heavy bootfalls swinging around to her even qas she is on the stairs. She freezes at the scream, but continues with slow caution all the same, as she reaches the top of the stairs and starts walking towards the direction of that scream, her weapon at the ready.
That pulsing shadow continues now, wrapping itself around Claire's legs like tendrils. They grasp at her ankles, swirling up along her thighs before puffing out into a fine mist around her torso, spreading out as she moves along the stairs and towards the direction of that scream. There is no more scream now and instead, the sound of bone on bone, the crunch, the terrible noise of something mangled. There is a floorboard creaking in the distance now as well, that eerie sound often heard throughout Haven but now, for good reason. The heavy step of footfalls don't come closer to Claire, but instead make their way around in a bedroom before there is another cry, followed by the sobbing sounds of a woman, and then, more sickening crunches. A squish. A splatter. The sound of flesh and bone rending and molding, moving, before soon, the sound of footfalls against the floorboards once more and then, a voice carries along the pulsing mist, as if carried by the shadow itself, "Come inside, don't shoot first, ask questions, instead..."
Claire notes the way the tendrils of shadows are moving and experimentally swishes a hand through them a few times before moving on with a little more speed towards the sounds. Her quiet reply is, "We'll see. This isn't exactly an Order candygram." She opens the door to the bedroom, turning the knob and then nudging the door open with her foot. Peeking in, Claire sweeps the room with her crossbow, looking for the source of those noises.
There is something sitting in one of the rocking chairs that reside in this room. It seems that old, generational sort of furniture that one just knows has a history to it, and this history? Well, it is being sat upon by a shadowed figured, more masculine than not, but features are hard to see in the moment with the mist and shadow that pulses and swirls about them, clearly the center of this entire experience. Flanking him on either side are two people, or what was once people. Instead, the husk of humans remain. Bent in an odd shape with shoulders hunched, bone sticking out of their arms, their legs, muscle showing in ripped splices of skin. They're clearly the undead now, and when he looks towards Claire, they look towards the woman as well, and as he speaks, their mouths moved as if trying to voice the words, but nothing happened other than the unsettling sound of grinding jawbone, "No, it is not. It is simply me. I have shown up for what was owed, but I am intending to stay, at least a while. I imagined someone would come to find out just what was happening out here, I am glad it was you, do you know why? I imagine you're more practical than some of the others, being, well... simply..." He vaguely gestures off towards her with a lift of his hand, the shadowed mist swirling towards her in a rush before falling short like the splashing wave of individual grains of sand, scattering around her feet and sloshing there, as if it has weight to it.
The sight that Claire is greeted with doesn't visibly shake her beyond a slight widening of her eyes, but her nerves are betrayed by the thudding of her heart and the whiteness around her knuckles as she grips her weapon and aims it squarely at the manifestation. She doesn't fire for now, simply watching. Tilting her head to one side, Claire taps her comms and says, "Be ready to torch the house on my orders." Narrowing her eyes at the manifestation as it splashes that tendril of shadow against her, she says, "Practical and with predictable inteests." Nodding her head to the undead, she says, "Were they naturals?"
Eerily mimicked movements show both of those undead now moving as if rising up to full height when the manifestation and that being does as well. He would step closer to Claire, though beyond the unnatural nerve of everything with the shadow, he does not seem threatening at least, intentionally. He moves in a way that shows eyes, the shadow from him fading and slipping down towards his legs as he walks closer to her, looking along the crossbow towards her face, his head tilting as if considering her overall, "If you burn the house I will simply have to find a new one. Please do not do that. They were, unnatural enough, as is their son. He's going to be very successful and that is exactly what they wanted when they made their deal..." The undead beside him now move their mouths as he speaks, and his face becomes more clear. Angled. High cheekbones. He seems old, skin looking different, certainly not human, as if anything else was an indication already. He lifts a shadowed hand, which the mist slips away from and shows gnarled fingers, nails long, too grown, he is not beautiful, unless only in the spectacle of him, "They obtained their wish, and I have obtained what I came this evening, though... I think staying would be in my best interests, for a time. This town is always something special when I visit, I'm sure you understand, why else would you be here?"
One step back is all she takes. It is the lack of fear that gives Claire pause and stops her finger at the trigger even as she is prepared to put a heavy bolt through the creature's chest. She sucks on her teeth as she listens to the story that comes tumbling out to her, her eyes flicking over to the undead, eyeing the people who had apparently taken a step too far from their humanity in their insane dealmaking on behalf of their son. Sucking her teeth, she says, "Grasping always leads to it's own doom." As the creature leans over her crossbow, Claire says, "And just who were you to make such a deal with them and likewise who are you to dare stay?"
"I am just someone here collecting a debt owed, and a place to call my own while I decide if I am staying for longer, or simply passing through," SRSavannah says to Claire as she looks over that crossbow towards the woman, still studying her. There is a thickness to the shadow the closer he is to her, as if walking through water, without getting wet. He begins to pull back and so does the shadow, so do the two undead at his side. They seem to slump over and slowly settle down as if bones hold them up and muscles freeze, animated no longer. He moves back to the rocking chair and settles himself into it, leaning back, beginning to rock, gesturing towards the nearby dresser, showing a photograph of the family. Mother. Father. Son. He continues that gesture, "Some parents will give anything and I had it within my ability to make certain things happen. Don't you think that is practical? Every parent wants a headstart in life, but my name? A formality, either you will learn it in the future or you will not know it when I leave, it all depends on tonight." The shadow begins to pull upwards, slipping up stairwell, brushing against the back of Claire's legs as if pulling her closer, or attempting, like a strong undercurrent as water from a wave on the shoreline withdraws back into the ocean, "Do you want to set things on fire tonight, or simply make sure that the only thing I collect are debts owed?"
The shadows at that back of her legs, do indeed tug at Claire enough that she finds herself taking steps to avoid losing her balance. Her eyes are indecision, but slowly hardening as she says, "Well matters being what they are, you may just view it as debt collection, but that isn't what it is. The power you hold and offer makes the deals you enter into inherently predatory. Imbalance of knowledge. Imbalance of power. These people.. for all their idiocy in entering into such a scheme are still victims and for that.. You have to die." The bolt aims not for the man, but the spirit, the smoldering tip of the crossbow bolt igniting with the rush of the air and sending embers through the shadows as it slices towards the manifestation.
Shadows slip up towards the manifestation, that being, and soon, they are forming into something more concrete around him. Darkness surroundings him in that pulsing beat, as if there is a heart behind all of this, perhaps a cold, dead one. He listens to the woman and as it seems like she is heading towards potential conflict with her words, those two undead begin to shift and rise back up to their hunched over full height and once that crossbow, with smoldering tips, penetrates towards his shadow, it lands with a thunk against it. Almost like armor, it takes the hit before that shattering portion of that shadow lashes out, like a reaction to taking damage and blurs in a blast of tendrils towards Claire, trying to knock her harshly against various portions of her body from chest, to legs and arms. This being is powerful, it shows in the swiftness of that dark sorcery that lashes out towards her like beams of inky dark and both undead, shamble towards her now as he rises from the rocking chair, leaving it to continue with that motion for several more seconds, creaking floorboards sounding out, "This was a mistake. The enjoyment of death could have just been my reward, a bargain struck willingly, no coercion, but now? Now you try to pierce my darkness?"
Even as the bolt is loosed Claire is moving, cognizant of her delay between shots. She throws herself backwards against those tendrils of shadows at her legs, a knife drawn from her wrist sheath bearing a smoldering edge as she tries to dissipate them enough with a downward slash such that they don't trip her up too much as she tosses herself backwards and out of their grip as best she is able. She jerks the door closed behind her in an attempt to put it between her and that massed punch of shadowy tendrils. Her hand leaps to her earpiece, tripping her comms as she makes her way to the staircase, remarking, "Heading your way. Light it up and ready your rifles. Entity inbound behind me with two wights."
The door closes and the shadow slams into it afterwards, leaving Claire to see those tendrils of inky mist rising and slipping underneath the door frame itself. The door moves with the effort of the mist smacking against it, but soon, those comms are responding in a different manner. The sound of gunshots outside begin to echo out, and reports come in afterwards, "Undead down here, Ma'am! Responding!" The sound of more gunfire now, and then, on the other side of the door a voice sounds out, muffled at first, but one of those tendrils snakes out towards Claire and from it, the sound of his voice comes, as if vibrating through the air directly into her ears, "Did you think I came ill prepared?" There is the sound of footfalls now, upon the first floor, they sound uneven, not panicked, as if stumbled, shambled beings might be creating it, now coming towards the stairwell that Claire took up originally, "Do you wish to call of this assault? I could be convinced that it won't affect my stay within Haven? Just a short visit, perhaps..."
Claire furrows her brow as the power of this entity is made manifest and the march of the undead begin. Far more heat than she anticipated. Tapping her comms, she says, "Bigger threat than expected. Pull out. This one's an L." Find herself beset with the enetity in the hallway and the tromp of undead coming up the stairwell, Claire glowers and positions herself with her back to the window at the end of the hallway, facing the manifestation as it worms its way out. Glaring, she says, "I know when I am beat. I would kill you if I were able and well you know it." Sucking her teeth for a second, she continues, "But I know when I am outclassed.. and surrounded."
"You would kill me if you were able, and I well know it, but the same does not go to you," says the entity on the other side of that door, his tendrils creeping forward towards her in that misty shadow, "For now, I will be here, enjoying my stay within this lovely town and you will leave me alone, if we all know what is good for it..." Then those tendrils shoot out, the door blasts open and they smack Claire towards that window at the end of the hallway and right out of it, glass shattering and sending her off towards one of the nearby trees, an evergreen, able to shelter her fall towards the ground, though she might smell quite like pine and sap for a little while afterwards. The undead seem to withdraw, moving back towards the house in shambled, slow and undying effort, as her forces retreat and pull back along with Claire, probably to rendezvous with that van that was parked, and still idling ready to spring into action. The wind still blows that door, CLACK, CLACK. CLACK, CLACK. Though now, the silence is permeated by the sound of groaning undead, along with that sudden, jarring noise of wood smacking on wood.
Claire takes the hit square in the goes limp as she ragdolls out that upper-upper story window, her back slamming hard into the trunk of the tree before falling about ten feet to the ground below, her fall only broken by the thunk of tree limbs shattering the ceramic plates of her carrier. Left coughing on the ground and gasping to get her air back, she takes a few moments before collecting herself up and making her way to the van with a limp and an explosive amount of pain wracking her body. Tapping comms, she gets out weakly, "Full withdraw. This one is too big to chew up." Soon she is packed in the back of the van, and rumbling off with a furrowde brow set above and angry glare.
(A ghost with only fragments of memory that have driven them near insane is attacking your target. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
OOC: Hello! Go ahead and emote what you were doing and we'll get started!
Alexandra paces about in her bedroom, occasionally texting one of her students regarding some of her history. Her latest text included the phrase, "It's not a war crime, the first time." She finishes and hits send, then starts talking through her lesson plan, apparently serious about her plans to teach at least one student at the campus if nothing else. She makes some comments aloud about various ways to shoot forest critters and find which parts of them might actually be worth bringing back to study. It is like she is practicing a speech, but for teaching and presenting.
The only thing that breaks the silence in the room is the sound of Alexandra's own voice, and so engrossed in preparing for this lesson plan, the distractions of the outside go unnoticed, though it isn't anything worth noting save for the way the mists begin to rise outside as seen from the bedroom window. It is otherwise cozy in the room, but after some continued practice, Alexandra would be able to feel the temperature seems to be dropping. Nothing out of the ordinary given the season, but perhaps there's a window cracked open.
Alexandra is pretty sensitive to cold, given where she grew up: Louisiana and Texas. She also suspects there may be something wrong with the heater in this apartment. She did just move in, so it is entirely possible that it was unoccupied enough for something to get messed up. She checks the thermostate first, then the windows. Why would she ever leave windows open? Did she miss that in her pass through? Still, as good a time as any to check them and make sure they are closed. And locked. Barred if that is an option in Haven. Sadly, she suspects not. Tactically, this apartment is kinda a death trap, but it was cheap enough to afford it on her new salary with White Oak.
The thermostat, at least visually, reveals no indication that anything has been adversely set or otherwise malfunctioning. The window, however, reveals the same. It's not open. It's not cracked, and yet still the temperature lessens further. In the reflection, though, fleetingly, Alexandra can see an image that is not her own, almost as if someone else was in the room behind her - their presence betrayed by the reflection.
Alexandra scowls at the reflection in the window and glances behind her. "Just your nerves. You're clearly anxious. Focus on the fuel," she says, psyching herself up for whatever is happening. Her eyes dart about, looking for anything out of place. But this is a new room that came pre-furnished. Everything is out of place to her. Literally. She narrows her steely blue gaze as she tries to discern movement. "Maybe it's just a mouse. I should get a cat," she says thoughtfully, preparing to start checking under various furniture in the room to seek out the perp.
Perhaps it certainly is just a mouse that's causing the anxiety. It must be a particularly large one, because as Alexandra begins to check under the furniture as if to locate it, footsteps can be heard somewhere in the apartment. They are heavy. They thud. They are slow, and methodical. And they stop right outside the bedroom door. From where Alexandra is, looking under the furniture, she'd have a good vantage point to see under the crack of the door. There is a shadow there, a telltale sign of someone behind the door, and with that shadow comes, if she squints, the sight of boots. A very large mouse indeed...
Alexandra moves to the closet and gets out her rifle. "Who is it?" she asks then hunkers down behind the bed with the rifle pointed toward the door. Her rifle is nothing special, just a Remington .243 hunting rifle. Meant for deer. But they do usually work decently well on human-sized targets. From a distance. "No one should be in here but me," she adds toward the door as she quietly works the bolt to chamber a round, then flick off the safety. She takes slow, deep breaths, centering herself. Her finger is not yet on the trigger, but it is most assuredly touching the trigger guard.
There is no response from Alexandra's calling out. That shadow remains under the door, and should she lower herself again to peek, those boots are still there. The only time there is a response is when Alexandra says no one but her should be there, and as she confirms that she's alone, a pounding begins to hit the door. It's like a knock, but not meant to alert. To terrify. It shifts the tension in the air from possible opportunistic thief, to antagonistic predator, intent on ramping up the fear as they pound and pound on the door, each strike shaking the frame as it increases in both strength and volume. There are no words that come from the assailant, just a beating on the door.
Alexandra can assuredly feel her heart rate increasing despite her calming techniques, a direct and instinctual reaction to the sudden pounding at the door. She considers her phone, briefly, to call the sheriff's department. They are right across the street after all. But that would require letting go of her rifle. There are many like it, but this one is hers at the moment. She continues to try to focus her breathing to stay as calm as she can manage. "I really don't have anywhere to retreat," she warns loud enough to be heard through the door, though it is mostly an empty threat.
The banging becomes more ferocious when Alexandra mentions she's nowhere to retreat. So much so that a crack begins to form on the door - as if whomever behind it were trying to punch through the door itself. The overhead light above flickers, making it difficult to see as it blankets the room in darkness for a moment, before coming on and flickering and turning off, and on, and flickering, in that repeat. There is little aid provided considering the temperature drop continues, stinging Alexandra's fingers as they remain on the rifle. As quickly as it started, the poundings stop abrumptly, and the door flies wide open as the handle is turned and forced openn.
Alexandra waits till she can see whoever it is through the door. "I am armed," she warns as well, though it likely does not seem to matter to this particular intruder. She moves her finger to the trigger and prepares to shoot the figure in her door. "I do not want to have to hurt you," she states to help steel her nerves against the encroaching sense of fear creeping up her spine. She takes another deep breath, preparing for the report of the shot in the confined space.
And yet, the door is flung open and there is no one on the other side. But a presence can still be felt. It still /feels/ like someone is in the apartment, stepping into the bedroom. The door slowly begins to close, despite no one touching it - despite no one being in the room. The lights overhead continues to flicker, and it doesn't seem the temperature can drop any lower than it has already, but it's biting.
"Well, shoot," Alexandra says when nothing is visible through the door. She rolls into the floor and under the bed. She gets her phone up and hits 911 and call. She drops the phone to the floor and grips the rifle, breathing deeply to try to keep her panic in check. Sure, a mundane intruder is one thing. A supernatural one? Her combat training focused on enemy, human (ish) combatants. Not invisible cold creatures.
There's a biting cold that flows through Alexandra, as if someone or something was passing through her - it's a chill to the bones that bites and stings and shudders. The phone call to the police rings as it's dropped to the floor, and a voice on the other line can be heard. "911 What's your emergency?" It's then that the biting cold that passes through Alexandra seizes, and it feels like something lifts her off her feet, because soon she's sent hurling through the air and colliding with the nearest wall. It's then that the presence is revealed - at least partially. It's spectral, transparent - wisps of ethereal fog around it. It's a man. Tall, strong features, hatred in his eyes. With the amount of occult knowledge Alexandra is in possession of, she can count the appearance of this assailant, the drop in temperature, and the vanishing nature of it to be indicative of a ghost of some sort. A rather hostile one she's got with her, though - likely some hateful murderer in life.
Alexandra sifts through all the various ways she can handle a ghost. They are pretty limited. She has a couple of rituals at her disposal, but the best one would practically kill her to enact it. And then she is flying out from under the bed and across the room into a wall. Oxygen leaves her lungs on impact, and she drops to the floor, along with the rifle. Thankfully, unlike most movie depictions of guns, most of them do not discharge just from being dropped. She forces herself up to all fours. Her options are really kinda limitedfor dealing with this sort of thing. She tries to sprint for the door. She is not as fast as she might have been when she was going through flight school. Several years of slacking on her PT may have caught up to her.
There are footsteps that charge towards Alexandra as she scrambles, but they don't move to cut her off. They move to charge into her - this spectral spirit can be seen making a beeline for Alexandra just as she scrambles away, and that murderous hate in its eye sees it colliding with the wall and... passing right through it. Alexandra makes it to the door with no resistance, but soon this manifesting spirit can be heard behind her - those thundering footsteps in pursuit. A glance back would reveal nothing but air, but the presence is felt - the murderous hate of a spirit intent to do what it did best in life, in death: kill.
Alexandra does not stop at the bedroom door. Nope, she keeps going, trying to get through the living room to the front door. Perhaps on the mistaken idea that getting out of the building will keep it from following her. The unfamiliar terrain and layout could probably slow her down plenty though. Her heart is already pounding and her options have been dwindled to retreat as much as possible. She at least has enough dignity to not scream, but shy of that, her panic is practically palpable to those tuned to such things.
Alexandra makes her way through the apartment, as fast as she can run knowing that whatever pursues her is so close behind she can feel that dead air on her neck. Reaching and making her way out of the front door exchanges one biting cold for another, but she's out of the apartment. The spectral spirit behind her follows suit, and he leaps as if trying to tackle her, but the only thing that occurs is the sound of his angry howling as he dissipates into the air. With no real skills on hand to deal with this spirit, it seems Alexandra was able to wait it out until that energy to manifest ran dry. It is still here, somewhere, and Alexandra may find it again in her apartment waiting for her... but for now, it's gone.
Alexandra manages to get out of the apartment building and gets to her bike. She sits on it and starts panting, trying to catch her breath. When she does not get followed though, she breaks into a cold sweat, despite the New England winter weather. "Alright. Gonna have to figure out some way to get rid of that," she says between breaths and shakes her head. "Not my most dignified moment. Welcome to Haven indeed," she says to herself with a defeated sigh.
OOC: And that's a wrap! Thank you for spending this time with me and I hope you enjoyed!
Inside, the cabin is eerily silent, except for a masculine scream from the second floor. Claire commands her team to cover her as she ascends the stairs, cutting through the smothering shadow. Upon reaching the source of the disturbance, she finds a grotesque, shadowy entity flanked by two human husks, transformed into undead. The entity, identifying as a debt collector simply named SRSavannah, made a chilling offer to the homeowners in exchange for their son's success. Claire, undeterred by the horrific scene and the entity's cryptic words, refuses to negotiate and attempts to kill him. However, her efforts prove futile. SRSavannah exhibits powerful sorcery, to the point where Claire's life is at stake. She is thrown from the cabin and forced to call a full retreat, acknowledging the entity's menacing superiority.
In another tense encounter, Alexandra practices her lesson plans when strange occurrences alarm her: a drop in temperature and the unsettling reflection of someone else in the window. Preparing for the worst, she arms herself with a rifle as pounding resonates at her bedroom door. When the door finally bursts open, no one is visibly there, but the ominous presence persists. Suddenly, she's violently thrown across the room by an invisible force, revealing a malevolent ghost. With limited options and no effective means to confront this entity, Alexandra flees her apartment, pursued by the vengeful spirit until it exhausts its strength. Escaping to the safety of the outside, she's left shaken and contemplating her next move against an adversary that may still lay in wait.
(Claire's odd encounter(SRSavannah):SRSavannah)
[Tue Jan 2 2024]
In a stylish bedroom and study
There are two doors, one to the south leads into the main room and one just to the left of it leads to the bathroom.
This room is painted a light gray. The floor is faux wooden laminate in a chestnut color. A king sized bed with black linens is situated in the northeast corner of the room.
Illumination is provided by round, recessed lights in the ceiling.
Against the west wall is a cherrywood writing desk, flanked by a black bookshelf.
A door to the south leads out into the apartment, while a door to the southwest leads to the bathroom.
It is night, about 16F(-8C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. There is a last quarter moon.
(A new supernatural being has arrived in Haven, causing havoc as it's trying to establish its territory. The characters must either confront it or find a way to peacefully coexist. This newcomer has powerful abilities and is not easily defeated. This encounter tests the characters' resourcefulness and diplomacy skills, as they try to avoid an all-out war in their small town.)
Another Haven night for Claire, as she receives a notification on her phone. It seems being in touch with the town around her has benefits as she gets advanced notice of something coming down the pipe and perhaps hitting the public space sooner, rather than later. There is something causing a ruckus within the outer edges of the town. The reports of some scouts informing her that whatever is causing a problem has decided to invade the home of some residents in the outer forest, a cabin, rustic, middle of nowhere, down some dirt road but it seems luckily enough for her, someone hunting in that area and ridding the forest of kobolds and rats might have been able to swing into signal range to make a report to Temple. It sounds bad. Loud noises. Screams. The standard for something taking a normal night and turning it in the opposite direction.
The dim rumble of van surrounds Claire as she, along with another pair of Temple enforcers, make their way through the rough dirt roads that form the outskirts of Haven. She had gotten the reports and it had not taken her long to mobilize some of the local heavies to check it out. In the back of the van she does final checks on the rifles and other gear pulled from the armory, before giving a quick inspection of her own kit, adjusting the straps on her plate carrier for the second or third time, making sure her other gear is properly situated. By the time the van pulls up, she feels ready. Boots on the ground the second they pull up to the cabin, Claire does a quick comm check before motioning for the two others to go around to the back and for the driver to stand by with the engine running. With that out of the way she approaches the cabin, a heavy crossbow in her hand.
The door creaks as it swings open and closed, the heavy sound if wood clacking against wood every so often as one of the hinges clearly does not hold the door all that well anymore. The wind gusts, it blows the door open, CLACK. It closes, CLACK. There is silence inside of the house for now, but that eerie silence is only pressed out into the distance around Claire as an oppressive shadow seems to loom over the property right now. It comes from above the house, where moonlight should be landing through clouds and instead, almost seems to funnel itself into that twisting nether above, spiraling into a swirl of shadow and darkness that ebbs and flows, like a pulsating beat of a heart around the entire property. As Claire approaches and the other Templars make their way closer, it would engulf their feet, like an inky pool of mist they often encounter, but this one? It was dinged with darkness, with shadow, the complete absence of light.
Tapping her earpiece and murmuring into her comms, Claire relays, "Got no signs of life from the cabin. Shadows are misbehaving. Switch to incendiary and keep alert." And right on cue, she pulls her bolt and replaces it, the tip smoldering and glowing ominously like iron fresh from a forge. She notes the shadows but continues her approach, catching that door with her foot and pulling it open, sweeping the first room before slipping inside. To comms, Claire mutters, "In through the front."
Inside of the cabin the shadows misbehave even more so. As Claire enters the front she would witness the entire existence around her pulsing and billowing in like smoke from a flame, but instead of rising, it would sweep up towards the stairwell in billowed breaths. It was silent, making no noise, but the mist was being pulled in with each heartbeat of motion towards that stairwell and above, slinking up the stairs, floating slightly down, slinking up the stairs, floating slightly down. It was making progress through and the mist from Haven often seen, inky black and stained now with this shadow was creeping its way up like some pulsing vein along the stairwell and into the second floor of the cabin. From that area, each breath outwards, a purple hue could be seen, only to be gobbled up with the intake of breath inwards, as if the house itself might be alive, or at least something, inside of it. Then, a scream, it sounds masculine in nature.
"Manifestation upstairs. Swing through the back and cover the stairs. I am heading up." The message is delivered quickly and smoothely in a way that doesn't betray Claire's elevated heartrate or the way her finger tenses on the trigger. Important not to show the nerves on comms. She hears the heavy bootfalls swinging around to her even qas she is on the stairs. She freezes at the scream, but continues with slow caution all the same, as she reaches the top of the stairs and starts walking towards the direction of that scream, her weapon at the ready.
That pulsing shadow continues now, wrapping itself around Claire's legs like tendrils. They grasp at her ankles, swirling up along her thighs before puffing out into a fine mist around her torso, spreading out as she moves along the stairs and towards the direction of that scream. There is no more scream now and instead, the sound of bone on bone, the crunch, the terrible noise of something mangled. There is a floorboard creaking in the distance now as well, that eerie sound often heard throughout Haven but now, for good reason. The heavy step of footfalls don't come closer to Claire, but instead make their way around in a bedroom before there is another cry, followed by the sobbing sounds of a woman, and then, more sickening crunches. A squish. A splatter. The sound of flesh and bone rending and molding, moving, before soon, the sound of footfalls against the floorboards once more and then, a voice carries along the pulsing mist, as if carried by the shadow itself, "Come inside, don't shoot first, ask questions, instead..."
Claire notes the way the tendrils of shadows are moving and experimentally swishes a hand through them a few times before moving on with a little more speed towards the sounds. Her quiet reply is, "We'll see. This isn't exactly an Order candygram." She opens the door to the bedroom, turning the knob and then nudging the door open with her foot. Peeking in, Claire sweeps the room with her crossbow, looking for the source of those noises.
There is something sitting in one of the rocking chairs that reside in this room. It seems that old, generational sort of furniture that one just knows has a history to it, and this history? Well, it is being sat upon by a shadowed figured, more masculine than not, but features are hard to see in the moment with the mist and shadow that pulses and swirls about them, clearly the center of this entire experience. Flanking him on either side are two people, or what was once people. Instead, the husk of humans remain. Bent in an odd shape with shoulders hunched, bone sticking out of their arms, their legs, muscle showing in ripped splices of skin. They're clearly the undead now, and when he looks towards Claire, they look towards the woman as well, and as he speaks, their mouths moved as if trying to voice the words, but nothing happened other than the unsettling sound of grinding jawbone, "No, it is not. It is simply me. I have shown up for what was owed, but I am intending to stay, at least a while. I imagined someone would come to find out just what was happening out here, I am glad it was you, do you know why? I imagine you're more practical than some of the others, being, well... simply..." He vaguely gestures off towards her with a lift of his hand, the shadowed mist swirling towards her in a rush before falling short like the splashing wave of individual grains of sand, scattering around her feet and sloshing there, as if it has weight to it.
The sight that Claire is greeted with doesn't visibly shake her beyond a slight widening of her eyes, but her nerves are betrayed by the thudding of her heart and the whiteness around her knuckles as she grips her weapon and aims it squarely at the manifestation. She doesn't fire for now, simply watching. Tilting her head to one side, Claire taps her comms and says, "Be ready to torch the house on my orders." Narrowing her eyes at the manifestation as it splashes that tendril of shadow against her, she says, "Practical and with predictable inteests." Nodding her head to the undead, she says, "Were they naturals?"
Eerily mimicked movements show both of those undead now moving as if rising up to full height when the manifestation and that being does as well. He would step closer to Claire, though beyond the unnatural nerve of everything with the shadow, he does not seem threatening at least, intentionally. He moves in a way that shows eyes, the shadow from him fading and slipping down towards his legs as he walks closer to her, looking along the crossbow towards her face, his head tilting as if considering her overall, "If you burn the house I will simply have to find a new one. Please do not do that. They were, unnatural enough, as is their son. He's going to be very successful and that is exactly what they wanted when they made their deal..." The undead beside him now move their mouths as he speaks, and his face becomes more clear. Angled. High cheekbones. He seems old, skin looking different, certainly not human, as if anything else was an indication already. He lifts a shadowed hand, which the mist slips away from and shows gnarled fingers, nails long, too grown, he is not beautiful, unless only in the spectacle of him, "They obtained their wish, and I have obtained what I came this evening, though... I think staying would be in my best interests, for a time. This town is always something special when I visit, I'm sure you understand, why else would you be here?"
One step back is all she takes. It is the lack of fear that gives Claire pause and stops her finger at the trigger even as she is prepared to put a heavy bolt through the creature's chest. She sucks on her teeth as she listens to the story that comes tumbling out to her, her eyes flicking over to the undead, eyeing the people who had apparently taken a step too far from their humanity in their insane dealmaking on behalf of their son. Sucking her teeth, she says, "Grasping always leads to it's own doom." As the creature leans over her crossbow, Claire says, "And just who were you to make such a deal with them and likewise who are you to dare stay?"
"I am just someone here collecting a debt owed, and a place to call my own while I decide if I am staying for longer, or simply passing through," SRSavannah says to Claire as she looks over that crossbow towards the woman, still studying her. There is a thickness to the shadow the closer he is to her, as if walking through water, without getting wet. He begins to pull back and so does the shadow, so do the two undead at his side. They seem to slump over and slowly settle down as if bones hold them up and muscles freeze, animated no longer. He moves back to the rocking chair and settles himself into it, leaning back, beginning to rock, gesturing towards the nearby dresser, showing a photograph of the family. Mother. Father. Son. He continues that gesture, "Some parents will give anything and I had it within my ability to make certain things happen. Don't you think that is practical? Every parent wants a headstart in life, but my name? A formality, either you will learn it in the future or you will not know it when I leave, it all depends on tonight." The shadow begins to pull upwards, slipping up stairwell, brushing against the back of Claire's legs as if pulling her closer, or attempting, like a strong undercurrent as water from a wave on the shoreline withdraws back into the ocean, "Do you want to set things on fire tonight, or simply make sure that the only thing I collect are debts owed?"
The shadows at that back of her legs, do indeed tug at Claire enough that she finds herself taking steps to avoid losing her balance. Her eyes are indecision, but slowly hardening as she says, "Well matters being what they are, you may just view it as debt collection, but that isn't what it is. The power you hold and offer makes the deals you enter into inherently predatory. Imbalance of knowledge. Imbalance of power. These people.. for all their idiocy in entering into such a scheme are still victims and for that.. You have to die." The bolt aims not for the man, but the spirit, the smoldering tip of the crossbow bolt igniting with the rush of the air and sending embers through the shadows as it slices towards the manifestation.
Shadows slip up towards the manifestation, that being, and soon, they are forming into something more concrete around him. Darkness surroundings him in that pulsing beat, as if there is a heart behind all of this, perhaps a cold, dead one. He listens to the woman and as it seems like she is heading towards potential conflict with her words, those two undead begin to shift and rise back up to their hunched over full height and once that crossbow, with smoldering tips, penetrates towards his shadow, it lands with a thunk against it. Almost like armor, it takes the hit before that shattering portion of that shadow lashes out, like a reaction to taking damage and blurs in a blast of tendrils towards Claire, trying to knock her harshly against various portions of her body from chest, to legs and arms. This being is powerful, it shows in the swiftness of that dark sorcery that lashes out towards her like beams of inky dark and both undead, shamble towards her now as he rises from the rocking chair, leaving it to continue with that motion for several more seconds, creaking floorboards sounding out, "This was a mistake. The enjoyment of death could have just been my reward, a bargain struck willingly, no coercion, but now? Now you try to pierce my darkness?"
Even as the bolt is loosed Claire is moving, cognizant of her delay between shots. She throws herself backwards against those tendrils of shadows at her legs, a knife drawn from her wrist sheath bearing a smoldering edge as she tries to dissipate them enough with a downward slash such that they don't trip her up too much as she tosses herself backwards and out of their grip as best she is able. She jerks the door closed behind her in an attempt to put it between her and that massed punch of shadowy tendrils. Her hand leaps to her earpiece, tripping her comms as she makes her way to the staircase, remarking, "Heading your way. Light it up and ready your rifles. Entity inbound behind me with two wights."
The door closes and the shadow slams into it afterwards, leaving Claire to see those tendrils of inky mist rising and slipping underneath the door frame itself. The door moves with the effort of the mist smacking against it, but soon, those comms are responding in a different manner. The sound of gunshots outside begin to echo out, and reports come in afterwards, "Undead down here, Ma'am! Responding!" The sound of more gunfire now, and then, on the other side of the door a voice sounds out, muffled at first, but one of those tendrils snakes out towards Claire and from it, the sound of his voice comes, as if vibrating through the air directly into her ears, "Did you think I came ill prepared?" There is the sound of footfalls now, upon the first floor, they sound uneven, not panicked, as if stumbled, shambled beings might be creating it, now coming towards the stairwell that Claire took up originally, "Do you wish to call of this assault? I could be convinced that it won't affect my stay within Haven? Just a short visit, perhaps..."
Claire furrows her brow as the power of this entity is made manifest and the march of the undead begin. Far more heat than she anticipated. Tapping her comms, she says, "Bigger threat than expected. Pull out. This one's an L." Find herself beset with the enetity in the hallway and the tromp of undead coming up the stairwell, Claire glowers and positions herself with her back to the window at the end of the hallway, facing the manifestation as it worms its way out. Glaring, she says, "I know when I am beat. I would kill you if I were able and well you know it." Sucking her teeth for a second, she continues, "But I know when I am outclassed.. and surrounded."
"You would kill me if you were able, and I well know it, but the same does not go to you," says the entity on the other side of that door, his tendrils creeping forward towards her in that misty shadow, "For now, I will be here, enjoying my stay within this lovely town and you will leave me alone, if we all know what is good for it..." Then those tendrils shoot out, the door blasts open and they smack Claire towards that window at the end of the hallway and right out of it, glass shattering and sending her off towards one of the nearby trees, an evergreen, able to shelter her fall towards the ground, though she might smell quite like pine and sap for a little while afterwards. The undead seem to withdraw, moving back towards the house in shambled, slow and undying effort, as her forces retreat and pull back along with Claire, probably to rendezvous with that van that was parked, and still idling ready to spring into action. The wind still blows that door, CLACK, CLACK. CLACK, CLACK. Though now, the silence is permeated by the sound of groaning undead, along with that sudden, jarring noise of wood smacking on wood.
Claire takes the hit square in the goes limp as she ragdolls out that upper-upper story window, her back slamming hard into the trunk of the tree before falling about ten feet to the ground below, her fall only broken by the thunk of tree limbs shattering the ceramic plates of her carrier. Left coughing on the ground and gasping to get her air back, she takes a few moments before collecting herself up and making her way to the van with a limp and an explosive amount of pain wracking her body. Tapping comms, she gets out weakly, "Full withdraw. This one is too big to chew up." Soon she is packed in the back of the van, and rumbling off with a furrowde brow set above and angry glare.
(A ghost with only fragments of memory that have driven them near insane is attacking your target. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
OOC: Hello! Go ahead and emote what you were doing and we'll get started!
Alexandra paces about in her bedroom, occasionally texting one of her students regarding some of her history. Her latest text included the phrase, "It's not a war crime, the first time." She finishes and hits send, then starts talking through her lesson plan, apparently serious about her plans to teach at least one student at the campus if nothing else. She makes some comments aloud about various ways to shoot forest critters and find which parts of them might actually be worth bringing back to study. It is like she is practicing a speech, but for teaching and presenting.
The only thing that breaks the silence in the room is the sound of Alexandra's own voice, and so engrossed in preparing for this lesson plan, the distractions of the outside go unnoticed, though it isn't anything worth noting save for the way the mists begin to rise outside as seen from the bedroom window. It is otherwise cozy in the room, but after some continued practice, Alexandra would be able to feel the temperature seems to be dropping. Nothing out of the ordinary given the season, but perhaps there's a window cracked open.
Alexandra is pretty sensitive to cold, given where she grew up: Louisiana and Texas. She also suspects there may be something wrong with the heater in this apartment. She did just move in, so it is entirely possible that it was unoccupied enough for something to get messed up. She checks the thermostate first, then the windows. Why would she ever leave windows open? Did she miss that in her pass through? Still, as good a time as any to check them and make sure they are closed. And locked. Barred if that is an option in Haven. Sadly, she suspects not. Tactically, this apartment is kinda a death trap, but it was cheap enough to afford it on her new salary with White Oak.
The thermostat, at least visually, reveals no indication that anything has been adversely set or otherwise malfunctioning. The window, however, reveals the same. It's not open. It's not cracked, and yet still the temperature lessens further. In the reflection, though, fleetingly, Alexandra can see an image that is not her own, almost as if someone else was in the room behind her - their presence betrayed by the reflection.
Alexandra scowls at the reflection in the window and glances behind her. "Just your nerves. You're clearly anxious. Focus on the fuel," she says, psyching herself up for whatever is happening. Her eyes dart about, looking for anything out of place. But this is a new room that came pre-furnished. Everything is out of place to her. Literally. She narrows her steely blue gaze as she tries to discern movement. "Maybe it's just a mouse. I should get a cat," she says thoughtfully, preparing to start checking under various furniture in the room to seek out the perp.
Perhaps it certainly is just a mouse that's causing the anxiety. It must be a particularly large one, because as Alexandra begins to check under the furniture as if to locate it, footsteps can be heard somewhere in the apartment. They are heavy. They thud. They are slow, and methodical. And they stop right outside the bedroom door. From where Alexandra is, looking under the furniture, she'd have a good vantage point to see under the crack of the door. There is a shadow there, a telltale sign of someone behind the door, and with that shadow comes, if she squints, the sight of boots. A very large mouse indeed...
Alexandra moves to the closet and gets out her rifle. "Who is it?" she asks then hunkers down behind the bed with the rifle pointed toward the door. Her rifle is nothing special, just a Remington .243 hunting rifle. Meant for deer. But they do usually work decently well on human-sized targets. From a distance. "No one should be in here but me," she adds toward the door as she quietly works the bolt to chamber a round, then flick off the safety. She takes slow, deep breaths, centering herself. Her finger is not yet on the trigger, but it is most assuredly touching the trigger guard.
There is no response from Alexandra's calling out. That shadow remains under the door, and should she lower herself again to peek, those boots are still there. The only time there is a response is when Alexandra says no one but her should be there, and as she confirms that she's alone, a pounding begins to hit the door. It's like a knock, but not meant to alert. To terrify. It shifts the tension in the air from possible opportunistic thief, to antagonistic predator, intent on ramping up the fear as they pound and pound on the door, each strike shaking the frame as it increases in both strength and volume. There are no words that come from the assailant, just a beating on the door.
Alexandra can assuredly feel her heart rate increasing despite her calming techniques, a direct and instinctual reaction to the sudden pounding at the door. She considers her phone, briefly, to call the sheriff's department. They are right across the street after all. But that would require letting go of her rifle. There are many like it, but this one is hers at the moment. She continues to try to focus her breathing to stay as calm as she can manage. "I really don't have anywhere to retreat," she warns loud enough to be heard through the door, though it is mostly an empty threat.
The banging becomes more ferocious when Alexandra mentions she's nowhere to retreat. So much so that a crack begins to form on the door - as if whomever behind it were trying to punch through the door itself. The overhead light above flickers, making it difficult to see as it blankets the room in darkness for a moment, before coming on and flickering and turning off, and on, and flickering, in that repeat. There is little aid provided considering the temperature drop continues, stinging Alexandra's fingers as they remain on the rifle. As quickly as it started, the poundings stop abrumptly, and the door flies wide open as the handle is turned and forced openn.
Alexandra waits till she can see whoever it is through the door. "I am armed," she warns as well, though it likely does not seem to matter to this particular intruder. She moves her finger to the trigger and prepares to shoot the figure in her door. "I do not want to have to hurt you," she states to help steel her nerves against the encroaching sense of fear creeping up her spine. She takes another deep breath, preparing for the report of the shot in the confined space.
And yet, the door is flung open and there is no one on the other side. But a presence can still be felt. It still /feels/ like someone is in the apartment, stepping into the bedroom. The door slowly begins to close, despite no one touching it - despite no one being in the room. The lights overhead continues to flicker, and it doesn't seem the temperature can drop any lower than it has already, but it's biting.
"Well, shoot," Alexandra says when nothing is visible through the door. She rolls into the floor and under the bed. She gets her phone up and hits 911 and call. She drops the phone to the floor and grips the rifle, breathing deeply to try to keep her panic in check. Sure, a mundane intruder is one thing. A supernatural one? Her combat training focused on enemy, human (ish) combatants. Not invisible cold creatures.
There's a biting cold that flows through Alexandra, as if someone or something was passing through her - it's a chill to the bones that bites and stings and shudders. The phone call to the police rings as it's dropped to the floor, and a voice on the other line can be heard. "911 What's your emergency?" It's then that the biting cold that passes through Alexandra seizes, and it feels like something lifts her off her feet, because soon she's sent hurling through the air and colliding with the nearest wall. It's then that the presence is revealed - at least partially. It's spectral, transparent - wisps of ethereal fog around it. It's a man. Tall, strong features, hatred in his eyes. With the amount of occult knowledge Alexandra is in possession of, she can count the appearance of this assailant, the drop in temperature, and the vanishing nature of it to be indicative of a ghost of some sort. A rather hostile one she's got with her, though - likely some hateful murderer in life.
Alexandra sifts through all the various ways she can handle a ghost. They are pretty limited. She has a couple of rituals at her disposal, but the best one would practically kill her to enact it. And then she is flying out from under the bed and across the room into a wall. Oxygen leaves her lungs on impact, and she drops to the floor, along with the rifle. Thankfully, unlike most movie depictions of guns, most of them do not discharge just from being dropped. She forces herself up to all fours. Her options are really kinda limitedfor dealing with this sort of thing. She tries to sprint for the door. She is not as fast as she might have been when she was going through flight school. Several years of slacking on her PT may have caught up to her.
There are footsteps that charge towards Alexandra as she scrambles, but they don't move to cut her off. They move to charge into her - this spectral spirit can be seen making a beeline for Alexandra just as she scrambles away, and that murderous hate in its eye sees it colliding with the wall and... passing right through it. Alexandra makes it to the door with no resistance, but soon this manifesting spirit can be heard behind her - those thundering footsteps in pursuit. A glance back would reveal nothing but air, but the presence is felt - the murderous hate of a spirit intent to do what it did best in life, in death: kill.
Alexandra does not stop at the bedroom door. Nope, she keeps going, trying to get through the living room to the front door. Perhaps on the mistaken idea that getting out of the building will keep it from following her. The unfamiliar terrain and layout could probably slow her down plenty though. Her heart is already pounding and her options have been dwindled to retreat as much as possible. She at least has enough dignity to not scream, but shy of that, her panic is practically palpable to those tuned to such things.
Alexandra makes her way through the apartment, as fast as she can run knowing that whatever pursues her is so close behind she can feel that dead air on her neck. Reaching and making her way out of the front door exchanges one biting cold for another, but she's out of the apartment. The spectral spirit behind her follows suit, and he leaps as if trying to tackle her, but the only thing that occurs is the sound of his angry howling as he dissipates into the air. With no real skills on hand to deal with this spirit, it seems Alexandra was able to wait it out until that energy to manifest ran dry. It is still here, somewhere, and Alexandra may find it again in her apartment waiting for her... but for now, it's gone.
Alexandra manages to get out of the apartment building and gets to her bike. She sits on it and starts panting, trying to catch her breath. When she does not get followed though, she breaks into a cold sweat, despite the New England winter weather. "Alright. Gonna have to figure out some way to get rid of that," she says between breaths and shakes her head. "Not my most dignified moment. Welcome to Haven indeed," she says to herself with a defeated sigh.
OOC: And that's a wrap! Thank you for spending this time with me and I hope you enjoyed!