Encounterlogs
Coltons Odd Encounter Sr Liesl 250219
Colton Moore's quiet morning is interrupted when an unnaturally cold feeling and the sound of crying lead him to discover a ghost mourning beside a corpse in his luxurious living room. The ghost, distressingly out of time in appearance and manner, introduces itself as a messenger, bemoaning the victim of the Wild Hunt, a deadly game by a rival faction. Colton finds himself thrust into an ancient conflict, offering his condolences and cooperating with the ghost to fulfill a rite for the deceased. Despite the surreal encounter and the ghost's initial hostility, Colton manages to placate the mourner with an offer of tears, a traditional symbol of mourning. The exchange surprisingly concludes with the ghost leaving behind the corpse for Colton to deal with, hinting at a larger, unseen conflict between powerful forces beyond his understanding.
Meanwhile, in a different corner of Haven, Takeshi and Lynette embark on an entirely different kind of adventure, chasing down a demon summoned by the Sapphire Martyrs. Their journey begins with chaotic navigation through the city, ultimately leading them to crash their motorcycle at the edge of a forest where the ritual site is believed to be. Takeshi, with his reckless bravery, and Lynette, with her surprisingly accurate intuition, prepare to face the cultists and their demon. Unbeknownst to them, Seamus finds himself conversing with a frustrated demon who's materialized in his apartment, dissatisfied with the botched efforts of its summoners. The interconnected tales of Colton, Takeshi, Lynette, and Seamus unfold a tapestry of the supernatural that permeates Haven, drawing them into conflicts with ghosts, demons, and cultists, all under the threat of an impending occult disaster that could unleash untold havoc if not averted.
(Colton's odd encounter(SRLiesl):SRLiesl)
[Tue Feb 18 2025]
In a tasteful living room with rich textures and soft lighting
Luxurious but welcoming, the living room features floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall, draped with velvet curtains of a deep golden hue. The spacious room is anchored by a large, terracotta-hued sofa, overburdened by cushions and throw pillows in rich jewel tones of emerald and burgundy. The sofa is flanked by intricately carved wooden side tables and a pair of armchairs, while a polished wood coffee table sits in front, completing the seating area.
Above, the lighting is layered to create an ambiance of warmth, from the soft glow of brass-accented table lamps to the more dramatic overhead fixtures that cast an amber light over the room. On the southern wall, a fireplace framed by a dark, polished wood mantel takes center stage, with a brass tool stand beside it. A 75-inch TV is set above, while recessed shelves on either sides of the fireplace are home to an assortment knick-knacks, ranging from photo frames to trophies and certificates to tiny little potted plants.
It is morning, about 22F(-5C) degrees, and the sky is partly covered by dark grey stormclouds.
(Your target is possessed by an angry spirit that is forcing them to act out and putting themselves and/or others at risk. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
Frost permeates around the living room, preceded by a breathy sigh that lingers to close to the ear, forcing the hairs on skin to stand on edge. It's no doubt the chill of winter that's been hitting Haven particularly, but to someone far more perceptive or even more aware of how things work around here, it might come off as unnaturally cold. Especially when the sounds of someone crying reverberate nearby. Again, too close in the proximity to ignore, but far enough that it might encourage someone to push off from a luxurious looking sofa and investigate. It's a woman's call for grief, and the wails are far too heartwrenching this early in the morning to suggest it's something benign like losing their internet connection.
Cracking an eye from where he lounges on the fancy penthouse sofa, Colton glances around to try and spot the source of those mournful cries. "Fuck," he sighs. "Should have never left the trailer park." Ghosts have never been his strong point, and he'd left his little bestiary with all its notes on different supernatural phenomena back at home. He breathes in slowly, then calls out aloud, "/Please/ tell me you're a living person and not a spirit, whoever you are."
Potentially currying concern, the smell of death grows just as the wails become quieter the closer Colton might wander closer in his investigation with only a flick and tick of his eyes about his surroundings. In this moment that transcends time and logic, the surroundings grow hazier for seconds that trend towards no more than a minute before all is clear again. Colton is still within the dwellings he's been residing in, but the nagging reminder of that sense of deja vu hangs heavy about his shoulders, in his mind.
The materialization of a figure on its knees might confirm Colton's worries. Looks like a ghost, cries like a ghost, might quack like one if he's (un)lucky. Androgynous in make, they are shrouded in startling white some might relate to a funerary shroud from ye olde days. Terribly out of fashion in this time. It's clutching at its sides, looming sullenly over a person that looks far more palpable than she is, the source of death -- who happened to get with the times. Wearing jeans, a denim Jacket, and a maroon baseball cap over the shaggy mane of his head. A supporter of the White Oak Wildcats, bless his soul. How that corpse managed to end up here is a mystery in of itself.
I am no spirit, Brother," the shrouded figure assures him, sniffing at the thought, in spite of it all."
Letting out a displeased grunt in the back of his throat - which he'd consider reasonable, discovering a corpse in the living room - Colton looks the shrouded apparition up and down, then shuffles a few steps closer to the cadaver, crouching down by its side. "I'm sorry," he says, simply. He prefers to keep it short and simple with the ethereal - they weren't a problem he could solve with his hands, so being polite is as reasonable a second course of action as any other. "Was he your family? A descendant?" He sniffs lightly at the air, pushing past the sweet cloy of all corpses to chase down the particulars. He wasn't a policeman, but his senses were some of the sharpest around - hopefully he'd be able to pick up a few clues after examining the dead man. Hands free for now, of course - no touching while the not-spirit's watching.
Its grief-stricken spectre is like the cat that has brought its catch to an owner, ready to seek praise and not reprimand for their deeds of valour. If only this occasion was as wholesome. It clutches at its sides, rocking back and forth, the dark tendrils of its hair a stark contrast to shroud of white mourning obscuring its form. What's quite evident is that this visitor's limbs are far too long to be human, and its nails are long and clawed, obsidian black and look more like talons than what anyone else would typically grow. The horrible wailing stops abruptly as someone -- Colton interrupts its mourning rites. It's form toes the line between solid and ephemeral, struggling to maintain a grip on the prime material plane, evidently. What it lacks in substance it more than makes up with its unwelcome, haunting presence.
Notably, when it speaks, it fades, only to return like a thorn in Colton's side when silence on its part ensues. "Don't touch," it hisses,holding out one of those pallid, clawed hands. It doesn't take a rocket surgeon to know the cause of death though. Bite marks all over his neck. Yet they are fresh, and it seems he was simply keeping the wrong company. He looks horribly drained, but at peace with his last moments, a smile frozen in time. The visiting spectre waves a palm over his eyes, continuing with some sort of funery rite in passing. "Do you not know the courtly etiquette? Show. Show proper form," it bids, patient for now, expectant.
Withdrawing a little at the sight of the creature's hand, Colton clears his throat as he settles back into a seated position on the hard wooden floor. "Sorry," he apologises. "No, I'm not familiar with your rites, but..." He slides a hand into his back pocket, bringing out a shabby wallet that jingles with change. "I've got coins for the ferryman, if you believe in that sort of thing." He glances up warily at the apparition. He had a certain amount of respect for the dead... but that wasn't his highest priority at the moment. "Will you show me the proper form?"
"We. We are to weep for the departed," it instructs patiently, hardly shifting its attention from the corpse. "We come on behalf of the Autumn. We come on behalf of the Winter," it goes on, educating Colton on some reminder that likely flies right over his Moore head. It'd fly over most everyone else's just as well, to be fair, for this one is far from home. "...this one. I know it all too well. Not him. His passing. A victim of the Wild Hunt. Oberion's games," she murmurs in distaste. "I can smell the Midsommar hounds upon him. Not good, not good," she concludes, shaking her head, but horribly mistaken in her perceptions for the situation. She might just sense something on Colton and is using that to pin a scandal on their detested rivals. Who knows.
It turns its head, settling sightless gaze upon him, a mouth too large for its face twisting into a frown. it's not pretty, but has a strange allure over it anyway, those chompers made for one thing in mind: to sound out grief. "...brother?" it asks to him, the whispers of a faintly feminine croon riddled with confusion. "...we are not in halls of Nevernever. Queer." Intrigue replaces confusion. "And you are?" it wonders, rising from its sprawl with alien grace, curling a clawed hand that sets the corpse into stasis. The stench is immediately gone, and the crying starts again, horrible, grief-stricken sobs meant to tug at the heartstrings of all but the most steel hearted.
Maybe, if he tried, Colton could block out the twisting emotions that stir in his chest. He rides it out instead, letting the corners of his mouth tug downwards in mourning for a man he doesn't know. "I am Colton Moore," he says, speaking his name freely. "We are in Haven, which my family built." He forces his eyes away from its outsized features, staring down at the body, and lets out a slow sigh. "I'm sorry about your man." He reaches up to press a finger into the caruncle of an eye, just hard enough to bring about that sting of tears welling up, combining with the projected grief from the apparition. He collects the solitary tear onto a finger, lifting it up for the mournful creature to see glinting in the light.
"Tears for you and for him," he says. "If you want them. Do you need help bringing him to where he needs to be?"
The banshee faintly gestures towards the corpse while weeping, shaking its head. An oddity is revealed as it seems able to speak into Colton's mind while it sings its song of grief, though it comes more like white noise, yielding to the solemn words spoken to Colton. "As you can see. Oberion's impetuousness has been the cause of an imbalance for Father Autumn. Mother Winter. Summer has not risen, and yet he has seen fit to commence the Wild Hunt." It is proper Unseelie propaganda, straight into the minds of the unitiated for a cause not of his own. It wipes some of the tears that somehow form upon a sightless visage, landing wetly on the floor.
It, of course could go on and on about their rivals, but there comes an offering. "Ah." The weeping abruptly stops, a whispered sigh caressing the back of Colton's neck. With outstretched arms, it cups its clawed hands together, and that moisture on Colton's finger appears in its palms, shimmering briefly before it turns to ash, smelling like burnt flesh. A man's soft laugher comes forth, and the corpse at her side seems to stir, though that might have just been a play on the light. "An offering to our Everlasting Queen." It is appeased now, and lowers to the ground, its funerary shroud sliding around legs that never seem to appear. "Tell your monarch my intrusion is not an act of war. We bring a dire missive. In return I will take this one with me as a tithe, and you may keep this soul to be interred in your court."
When Colton nods his head in acceptance, he's not just obliging the creature. He's one of the Moores, and a powerful one - an authority, here in Haven. A lot of it might go over his head, but he was familiar with working on minimal understanding. "It is no intrusion at all," he says, lifting up onto his feet. "Please enjoy a week's welcome to linger and complete your business." He puts the stirring of the corpse firmly out of mind. Repress now, process when he had some alone time, or just keep repressed anyway. That's how a real man managed things. He offers out a hand, weathered and rough and full of earthly vitality, for the spirit to shake. "Maybe we will meet again, if I visit your own kingdom. I hope a strong peace can hold between us."
"Two moons rise, one calm, one wild,"
"One sings soft, the other beguiled."
"One will guide with steady light,"
"the other lures to endless night."
"Choose with care, tread slow, tread wise,"
"lest fate be sealed by reckless ties."
Slowly turning, SRLiesl faces a captive, but unseen audience, and braces an arm along its midsection before bowing gently, to the quiet applause and amused laughter that coruscates. It's almost as if someone had installed a laugh track in C's dwellings. The soft laughter comes from what sounds like a thousand voices sourced to one being. The play is concluded and it hugs the smoke that cannot escape its clawed hands close to where its heart should be, near and dear. "I cannot stay. The smile of the Everlasting Queen is what keeps me abreast. To that end I must go," it announces the curtain call, disappearing into a trail of motes that punctuate into a wisp of a contained screech. And strangely, more muted applause, and a whisper of the actors named:
"Ray, the deceased."
"Wisp, of Nevernever,"
"And dear Colton Moore."
(Your target and their allies stumble upon a ritual site of The Sapphire Martyrs in the outskirts of Haven. The cultists are attempting to summon a powerful demon, believing that it can hasten the end of the world. Your group must intervene before the demon is fully summoned and the ritual is completed. However, they should be wary; the Martyrs are not only expecting resistance, but they welcome it, seeing it as another test of their faith and commitment to their cause. They will not go down without a fight, and the characters will need to figure out a way to disrupt the ritual, defeat the Martyrs, and handle the partially summoned demon.)
Seamus is bumbling around his apartment, experimenting with various alcohols and practicing his mixology. A smouldering cigarette hangs out of the side of his mouth, and a half eaten sandwich hangs out on the counter.
It is Tuesday, and very much just like any other Tuesday appropriate to Haven. At least for those aware, for those that are not, it is often far more difficult, regular memory wiping, regularly being preyed upon... And the only limit that persists is through sanctuary.
Seamus is experimenting with his alcohol when, out of the corner of his eyes, he spots the silhouette of a red-skinned man. Whether he glances over or not, there are slim, thin horns that grow from his head, and he appears to be see-through. Just casually strolled in through the wall, because that is, of course, what a creature like this might decide to do. It tries to grab for one of the bottled, laid out elsewhere, maybe forgotten, or left there for a moment, and his hand passes through. His voice is a snarl when he tries to command Seamus "You- Bring me one of those bottles from over there."
For Lynette and Takeshi, it all starts different. The other woman had left them, and shortly after, Takeshi receives a text message on his phone. A small and little file, adorned with a fractured, tear-shaped blue sapphire. Someone has taken something from somewhere and brought it to Haven, and here it ended up in their hands. The information comes from the Underworld, as it often does for those Takeshi affiliates with, yet another ritual the Martyrs are attempting, and of course, it had to be yet another demon summoning, and it follows with the typical 'demand' to clear it out, to stop the ritual and stop any demon summoning. The entrance to hell is, after all, usually blocked with vines and other growth for a reason. There is no precise information to it, just that the trail leads somewhere, south of the city, deep into the forest.
Takeshi pulls his phone out of his pocket and for a solid minute he would be silent over than his eyes scanning back and forth over his phone as he reads what's on it. He walks past Lynette, giving her a clap on her ass to inform her it was time to go as he points, dramatically outside of the shrine home they'd been in a moment ago. "It's time!" He tells her, looking over his shoulder to look at her with a jagged, zigzag like grin. "It's time to go an adventure!"
Takeshi quickly runs over to his Motorbike parked (or perhaps simply crashed) outside of the shrine home in the drive way as he jumps onto it, revving the engine obnoxiously loudly as he waves over at Lynette twice to tell her to get on the back!
Seamus glances up from his work and almost let's his cigarette fall out from his mouth but, being far too practiced at smoking, catches it with his right hand before it falls too hard. "I gotta stop day drinking," he mutters before wedging it back into the corner and ignoring the devil. "For a moment there I thought you... hallucination man, were a real thing asking for my booze. I dont share my booze with anyone. Especially things I don't understand." He squints and looks down at his sandwich, "Great I am talking to sandwiches and ghosts."
"You have got to stop doing that!" Lynette yelps after getting her ass smacked again. She quickly readjusts herself so she can hurry after Takeshi. After all, he was the key to finally getting answers around here. "Are you going to tell me what kind of adventure this is yet?" Lynette asks, hesitantly getting on the back of of the bike and wrapping her arms around the waist of Takeshi.
The bike wheelies up into the air as Takeshi accidentally over-revs it pulling out of the drive, threatening to dump Lynette onto the ground ground if she didn't hold onto him tight! It wasn't long before they were weaving through traffic at speeds far higher than they really ought to be, the demon lad not seeming to care that only he would survive if they got into an accident as they whizz past cars on every side, the bike leaning from side to side with sudden, jerky movements that feel like they might lurch Lynette off!
"Adventure!" Takeshi would, eventually, answer her question "There bad guy in town!" He says before pausing as he realizes he doesn't actually know much beyond that, and doesn't actually know where he's going. He almost crashes into the back of a truck as he gets distracted trying to figure out what to do next, but manages to bring the bike to a screeching stop, the vehicle lifting it's rear wheel off the ground as it's front wheel draws a black, ugly line of burnt rubber along the road.
"Hey, you special, right?" He asks Lynette, looking over his shoulder at her. "Clear mind. Search feelings." He instructs her, seeming for some reason confident this was the exact kind of thing Lynette could be relied upon for. "There some strange magic happening in town. Point direction."
The ghostly figure of the demon lets out a snort. He is, of course, quite armed with a pistol at his hip. For some reason, despite their poor effectiveness inside another realm outside earth, devils, demons and all the like primarily make use of firearms, and this one is no different. He tries to grab for a bottle again and tells Seamus "Do I look like a ghost to you, kid?" He looks down at himself. Yes, he actually does, prompting him to groan and sigh, forsaking his attempt at grabbing one of the bottles for the moment and causes him to move and sit, or lean back against a shelf, as far as he may yet prove to be able to, near Seamus "You're looking like you could use more than a bottle or two. When those fools corrected their work I am going to punish them, and then give you a visit. You have some interesting beverages here." He gestures to a random bottle. "Tell me about that one? I will reward you once I get to delight in what you've made."
Takeshi and Lynette make their way through the city. The cold bites at them, as they drive through, though the city streets themselves are just a tiny bit warmer, and besides for the crash, they continue on their way towards the south of the city. The question is only - have they truly prepared themselves for what is yet to come?
"Rye Old fashioned made with High West rye whiskey," Seamus says sliding the glass across the counter. "But I already know that so why am I telling you... You are one of those things arent you? Fae or some shit." He points a weathered finger at the transparent devil. "So what do you turn into? A goat or something?" He squints then, "And why are you all... see through? You see my cundundrum of course. You are either real, and fucking with me, or not real and my mind is fucking with myself."
Lynette yelps in absolute terror at the awful driver Takeshi truly was. She grips him with the strength that could only come from adrenaline, struggling to hear his broken English over the wind .
As we come to a screeching halt from almost crashing Lynette would slam a fist into his shoulder. "You're carrying precious cargo! Act like it!" Lynette snaps, narrowing her eyes at the back of his head. "Hmph. Special. Of course I am...." She grumbles, begrudgingly doing as she was told. With closed eyes, something does come to her. It's a scent, like ash and tar. With a crinkle in her nose, Lynette would point to their right. "That way. If you don't like it you should have picked yourself."
Takeshi doesn't question her instinct for a moment as the vehicle immediately roars back to life and Lynette is immediately lurched to the right, Takeshi merging into fast traffic and almost getting them T boned as he travels 3 full lanes without looking to get to their turning. By some grace of god they manage to make it, and they're once again racing through traffic "Which way now!" He shouts, barely audible over the rushing wind and roaring engine as they slowly make their way closer and closer to the apartment the man was facing off with the demonic spirit inside of ...
"Whiskey is sounding pretty good to me right now." The ghostly demon laments, his gaze lingers on the bottle for a moment longer before he looks at Seamus, making another snort. "Kid, do I look like some fae to you? I'm a demon." Of course, he flexes an arm, not that it does much with his current state of physical, or rather, incorporeal being right now. "With the touch luck of having absolute idiots working on the summoning ritual." He groans, balling a hand into a fist and trying to whack the shelf with the flat of the side of his hand, little finger curled in, only for the hand to pass through. There is ghostly smoke that releases from his nostrils before he finds calmer words again, and the fury fades from his gaze. "Idiots can't decide on who is more important in which they want to sacrifice first! Can you believe that, kid? Those idiots decide to try and summon me, provide the sacrifice... and then realize they didn't bring enough, and now they are arguing about -WHO- will get to die first. So I got bored and just walked away from them."
With the guidance of Lynette, Takeshi drives the vehicle on. It may perhaps be a natural sense... or be sheer luck, that leads both Takeshi and Lynette to the street that's roughly indicated, and from where they will need to tread on foot onwards on. The weather has been cold, and in Haven, it will be for another while. Snow had fallen and still covers much of the forest, with the occasional melt and then renewed snowfall, making some parts snow-covered slippery ice. Truly, the worst of wintry snowfall! And from the information Takeshi has available, it would be a while into the forest from there before they might find the ritual site itself.
It was difficult to avoid spilling onto the road. For some reason Takeshi seemed to be only getting worse....
Lynette closes her eyes, trying to focus on the real work. Whatever she was smelling, it burned into her nose, horribly unsettling feeling. To follow it seems like the exact opposite of what she'd prefer to be doing. Perhaps it was all in her head. "Another right- now!! Before you miss it," Lynette would yell rather abruptly, considering the speed he was driving at.
Seamus laughs and nods his head vigeriously, "Of course demons are real. I assume next you are going to tell me angels are real." He looks up to the sky, "I am waiting Gabe! Mikey! Now would be a good time." He makes a pfft sound, but scratches the inside of his forearm nervously, "So what do you guys do then... Just run around waiting for your creepy ass cult to sacrifice enough virgins?" He pauses, "I mean... that is what demons do, right? Sacrifice virgins and tempt the faithful."
Takeshi had, of course, forgotten the address he was heading to, or had simply been too fast out the door to look up what part of town that address actually represented! He was relying entirely on the girl on the back of his bike pointing out directions as he raced his way through the streets, bringing the bike low as he rounds a corner with their heads mear inches away from the hard road from how far the bike was leant over to make the corner!
This right lead straight into the forest however! And not with a road! The road ends quite abruptly, Takeshi not noticing until it was too late as the front wheel of the bike hits the curb and the metal monstrosity is sent flipping through the air, trebuchetting the two occupants off of it into the air! Takeshi panics only for a moment before his eyes find the ground and his body twist around in the air like a cat's, snatching Lynette out of the air before landing on the ground in a crouch, Lynette on his shoulder as he slides a few yards to a stop in the wood's dirt floor! "Whew ..." He says, popping up to his feet and placing Lynette back down onto hers, trying to play it cool like he hadn't almost just gotten the both of them killed. "Which way now?" He asks
Meanwhile, in a different corner of Haven, Takeshi and Lynette embark on an entirely different kind of adventure, chasing down a demon summoned by the Sapphire Martyrs. Their journey begins with chaotic navigation through the city, ultimately leading them to crash their motorcycle at the edge of a forest where the ritual site is believed to be. Takeshi, with his reckless bravery, and Lynette, with her surprisingly accurate intuition, prepare to face the cultists and their demon. Unbeknownst to them, Seamus finds himself conversing with a frustrated demon who's materialized in his apartment, dissatisfied with the botched efforts of its summoners. The interconnected tales of Colton, Takeshi, Lynette, and Seamus unfold a tapestry of the supernatural that permeates Haven, drawing them into conflicts with ghosts, demons, and cultists, all under the threat of an impending occult disaster that could unleash untold havoc if not averted.
(Colton's odd encounter(SRLiesl):SRLiesl)
[Tue Feb 18 2025]
In a tasteful living room with rich textures and soft lighting
Luxurious but welcoming, the living room features floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall, draped with velvet curtains of a deep golden hue. The spacious room is anchored by a large, terracotta-hued sofa, overburdened by cushions and throw pillows in rich jewel tones of emerald and burgundy. The sofa is flanked by intricately carved wooden side tables and a pair of armchairs, while a polished wood coffee table sits in front, completing the seating area.
Above, the lighting is layered to create an ambiance of warmth, from the soft glow of brass-accented table lamps to the more dramatic overhead fixtures that cast an amber light over the room. On the southern wall, a fireplace framed by a dark, polished wood mantel takes center stage, with a brass tool stand beside it. A 75-inch TV is set above, while recessed shelves on either sides of the fireplace are home to an assortment knick-knacks, ranging from photo frames to trophies and certificates to tiny little potted plants.
It is morning, about 22F(-5C) degrees, and the sky is partly covered by dark grey stormclouds.
(Your target is possessed by an angry spirit that is forcing them to act out and putting themselves and/or others at risk. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
Frost permeates around the living room, preceded by a breathy sigh that lingers to close to the ear, forcing the hairs on skin to stand on edge. It's no doubt the chill of winter that's been hitting Haven particularly, but to someone far more perceptive or even more aware of how things work around here, it might come off as unnaturally cold. Especially when the sounds of someone crying reverberate nearby. Again, too close in the proximity to ignore, but far enough that it might encourage someone to push off from a luxurious looking sofa and investigate. It's a woman's call for grief, and the wails are far too heartwrenching this early in the morning to suggest it's something benign like losing their internet connection.
Cracking an eye from where he lounges on the fancy penthouse sofa, Colton glances around to try and spot the source of those mournful cries. "Fuck," he sighs. "Should have never left the trailer park." Ghosts have never been his strong point, and he'd left his little bestiary with all its notes on different supernatural phenomena back at home. He breathes in slowly, then calls out aloud, "/Please/ tell me you're a living person and not a spirit, whoever you are."
Potentially currying concern, the smell of death grows just as the wails become quieter the closer Colton might wander closer in his investigation with only a flick and tick of his eyes about his surroundings. In this moment that transcends time and logic, the surroundings grow hazier for seconds that trend towards no more than a minute before all is clear again. Colton is still within the dwellings he's been residing in, but the nagging reminder of that sense of deja vu hangs heavy about his shoulders, in his mind.
The materialization of a figure on its knees might confirm Colton's worries. Looks like a ghost, cries like a ghost, might quack like one if he's (un)lucky. Androgynous in make, they are shrouded in startling white some might relate to a funerary shroud from ye olde days. Terribly out of fashion in this time. It's clutching at its sides, looming sullenly over a person that looks far more palpable than she is, the source of death -- who happened to get with the times. Wearing jeans, a denim Jacket, and a maroon baseball cap over the shaggy mane of his head. A supporter of the White Oak Wildcats, bless his soul. How that corpse managed to end up here is a mystery in of itself.
I am no spirit, Brother," the shrouded figure assures him, sniffing at the thought, in spite of it all."
Letting out a displeased grunt in the back of his throat - which he'd consider reasonable, discovering a corpse in the living room - Colton looks the shrouded apparition up and down, then shuffles a few steps closer to the cadaver, crouching down by its side. "I'm sorry," he says, simply. He prefers to keep it short and simple with the ethereal - they weren't a problem he could solve with his hands, so being polite is as reasonable a second course of action as any other. "Was he your family? A descendant?" He sniffs lightly at the air, pushing past the sweet cloy of all corpses to chase down the particulars. He wasn't a policeman, but his senses were some of the sharpest around - hopefully he'd be able to pick up a few clues after examining the dead man. Hands free for now, of course - no touching while the not-spirit's watching.
Its grief-stricken spectre is like the cat that has brought its catch to an owner, ready to seek praise and not reprimand for their deeds of valour. If only this occasion was as wholesome. It clutches at its sides, rocking back and forth, the dark tendrils of its hair a stark contrast to shroud of white mourning obscuring its form. What's quite evident is that this visitor's limbs are far too long to be human, and its nails are long and clawed, obsidian black and look more like talons than what anyone else would typically grow. The horrible wailing stops abruptly as someone -- Colton interrupts its mourning rites. It's form toes the line between solid and ephemeral, struggling to maintain a grip on the prime material plane, evidently. What it lacks in substance it more than makes up with its unwelcome, haunting presence.
Notably, when it speaks, it fades, only to return like a thorn in Colton's side when silence on its part ensues. "Don't touch," it hisses,holding out one of those pallid, clawed hands. It doesn't take a rocket surgeon to know the cause of death though. Bite marks all over his neck. Yet they are fresh, and it seems he was simply keeping the wrong company. He looks horribly drained, but at peace with his last moments, a smile frozen in time. The visiting spectre waves a palm over his eyes, continuing with some sort of funery rite in passing. "Do you not know the courtly etiquette? Show. Show proper form," it bids, patient for now, expectant.
Withdrawing a little at the sight of the creature's hand, Colton clears his throat as he settles back into a seated position on the hard wooden floor. "Sorry," he apologises. "No, I'm not familiar with your rites, but..." He slides a hand into his back pocket, bringing out a shabby wallet that jingles with change. "I've got coins for the ferryman, if you believe in that sort of thing." He glances up warily at the apparition. He had a certain amount of respect for the dead... but that wasn't his highest priority at the moment. "Will you show me the proper form?"
"We. We are to weep for the departed," it instructs patiently, hardly shifting its attention from the corpse. "We come on behalf of the Autumn. We come on behalf of the Winter," it goes on, educating Colton on some reminder that likely flies right over his Moore head. It'd fly over most everyone else's just as well, to be fair, for this one is far from home. "...this one. I know it all too well. Not him. His passing. A victim of the Wild Hunt. Oberion's games," she murmurs in distaste. "I can smell the Midsommar hounds upon him. Not good, not good," she concludes, shaking her head, but horribly mistaken in her perceptions for the situation. She might just sense something on Colton and is using that to pin a scandal on their detested rivals. Who knows.
It turns its head, settling sightless gaze upon him, a mouth too large for its face twisting into a frown. it's not pretty, but has a strange allure over it anyway, those chompers made for one thing in mind: to sound out grief. "...brother?" it asks to him, the whispers of a faintly feminine croon riddled with confusion. "...we are not in halls of Nevernever. Queer." Intrigue replaces confusion. "And you are?" it wonders, rising from its sprawl with alien grace, curling a clawed hand that sets the corpse into stasis. The stench is immediately gone, and the crying starts again, horrible, grief-stricken sobs meant to tug at the heartstrings of all but the most steel hearted.
Maybe, if he tried, Colton could block out the twisting emotions that stir in his chest. He rides it out instead, letting the corners of his mouth tug downwards in mourning for a man he doesn't know. "I am Colton Moore," he says, speaking his name freely. "We are in Haven, which my family built." He forces his eyes away from its outsized features, staring down at the body, and lets out a slow sigh. "I'm sorry about your man." He reaches up to press a finger into the caruncle of an eye, just hard enough to bring about that sting of tears welling up, combining with the projected grief from the apparition. He collects the solitary tear onto a finger, lifting it up for the mournful creature to see glinting in the light.
"Tears for you and for him," he says. "If you want them. Do you need help bringing him to where he needs to be?"
The banshee faintly gestures towards the corpse while weeping, shaking its head. An oddity is revealed as it seems able to speak into Colton's mind while it sings its song of grief, though it comes more like white noise, yielding to the solemn words spoken to Colton. "As you can see. Oberion's impetuousness has been the cause of an imbalance for Father Autumn. Mother Winter. Summer has not risen, and yet he has seen fit to commence the Wild Hunt." It is proper Unseelie propaganda, straight into the minds of the unitiated for a cause not of his own. It wipes some of the tears that somehow form upon a sightless visage, landing wetly on the floor.
It, of course could go on and on about their rivals, but there comes an offering. "Ah." The weeping abruptly stops, a whispered sigh caressing the back of Colton's neck. With outstretched arms, it cups its clawed hands together, and that moisture on Colton's finger appears in its palms, shimmering briefly before it turns to ash, smelling like burnt flesh. A man's soft laugher comes forth, and the corpse at her side seems to stir, though that might have just been a play on the light. "An offering to our Everlasting Queen." It is appeased now, and lowers to the ground, its funerary shroud sliding around legs that never seem to appear. "Tell your monarch my intrusion is not an act of war. We bring a dire missive. In return I will take this one with me as a tithe, and you may keep this soul to be interred in your court."
When Colton nods his head in acceptance, he's not just obliging the creature. He's one of the Moores, and a powerful one - an authority, here in Haven. A lot of it might go over his head, but he was familiar with working on minimal understanding. "It is no intrusion at all," he says, lifting up onto his feet. "Please enjoy a week's welcome to linger and complete your business." He puts the stirring of the corpse firmly out of mind. Repress now, process when he had some alone time, or just keep repressed anyway. That's how a real man managed things. He offers out a hand, weathered and rough and full of earthly vitality, for the spirit to shake. "Maybe we will meet again, if I visit your own kingdom. I hope a strong peace can hold between us."
"Two moons rise, one calm, one wild,"
"One sings soft, the other beguiled."
"One will guide with steady light,"
"the other lures to endless night."
"Choose with care, tread slow, tread wise,"
"lest fate be sealed by reckless ties."
Slowly turning, SRLiesl faces a captive, but unseen audience, and braces an arm along its midsection before bowing gently, to the quiet applause and amused laughter that coruscates. It's almost as if someone had installed a laugh track in C's dwellings. The soft laughter comes from what sounds like a thousand voices sourced to one being. The play is concluded and it hugs the smoke that cannot escape its clawed hands close to where its heart should be, near and dear. "I cannot stay. The smile of the Everlasting Queen is what keeps me abreast. To that end I must go," it announces the curtain call, disappearing into a trail of motes that punctuate into a wisp of a contained screech. And strangely, more muted applause, and a whisper of the actors named:
"Ray, the deceased."
"Wisp, of Nevernever,"
"And dear Colton Moore."
(Your target and their allies stumble upon a ritual site of The Sapphire Martyrs in the outskirts of Haven. The cultists are attempting to summon a powerful demon, believing that it can hasten the end of the world. Your group must intervene before the demon is fully summoned and the ritual is completed. However, they should be wary; the Martyrs are not only expecting resistance, but they welcome it, seeing it as another test of their faith and commitment to their cause. They will not go down without a fight, and the characters will need to figure out a way to disrupt the ritual, defeat the Martyrs, and handle the partially summoned demon.)
Seamus is bumbling around his apartment, experimenting with various alcohols and practicing his mixology. A smouldering cigarette hangs out of the side of his mouth, and a half eaten sandwich hangs out on the counter.
It is Tuesday, and very much just like any other Tuesday appropriate to Haven. At least for those aware, for those that are not, it is often far more difficult, regular memory wiping, regularly being preyed upon... And the only limit that persists is through sanctuary.
Seamus is experimenting with his alcohol when, out of the corner of his eyes, he spots the silhouette of a red-skinned man. Whether he glances over or not, there are slim, thin horns that grow from his head, and he appears to be see-through. Just casually strolled in through the wall, because that is, of course, what a creature like this might decide to do. It tries to grab for one of the bottled, laid out elsewhere, maybe forgotten, or left there for a moment, and his hand passes through. His voice is a snarl when he tries to command Seamus "You- Bring me one of those bottles from over there."
For Lynette and Takeshi, it all starts different. The other woman had left them, and shortly after, Takeshi receives a text message on his phone. A small and little file, adorned with a fractured, tear-shaped blue sapphire. Someone has taken something from somewhere and brought it to Haven, and here it ended up in their hands. The information comes from the Underworld, as it often does for those Takeshi affiliates with, yet another ritual the Martyrs are attempting, and of course, it had to be yet another demon summoning, and it follows with the typical 'demand' to clear it out, to stop the ritual and stop any demon summoning. The entrance to hell is, after all, usually blocked with vines and other growth for a reason. There is no precise information to it, just that the trail leads somewhere, south of the city, deep into the forest.
Takeshi pulls his phone out of his pocket and for a solid minute he would be silent over than his eyes scanning back and forth over his phone as he reads what's on it. He walks past Lynette, giving her a clap on her ass to inform her it was time to go as he points, dramatically outside of the shrine home they'd been in a moment ago. "It's time!" He tells her, looking over his shoulder to look at her with a jagged, zigzag like grin. "It's time to go an adventure!"
Takeshi quickly runs over to his Motorbike parked (or perhaps simply crashed) outside of the shrine home in the drive way as he jumps onto it, revving the engine obnoxiously loudly as he waves over at Lynette twice to tell her to get on the back!
Seamus glances up from his work and almost let's his cigarette fall out from his mouth but, being far too practiced at smoking, catches it with his right hand before it falls too hard. "I gotta stop day drinking," he mutters before wedging it back into the corner and ignoring the devil. "For a moment there I thought you... hallucination man, were a real thing asking for my booze. I dont share my booze with anyone. Especially things I don't understand." He squints and looks down at his sandwich, "Great I am talking to sandwiches and ghosts."
"You have got to stop doing that!" Lynette yelps after getting her ass smacked again. She quickly readjusts herself so she can hurry after Takeshi. After all, he was the key to finally getting answers around here. "Are you going to tell me what kind of adventure this is yet?" Lynette asks, hesitantly getting on the back of of the bike and wrapping her arms around the waist of Takeshi.
The bike wheelies up into the air as Takeshi accidentally over-revs it pulling out of the drive, threatening to dump Lynette onto the ground ground if she didn't hold onto him tight! It wasn't long before they were weaving through traffic at speeds far higher than they really ought to be, the demon lad not seeming to care that only he would survive if they got into an accident as they whizz past cars on every side, the bike leaning from side to side with sudden, jerky movements that feel like they might lurch Lynette off!
"Adventure!" Takeshi would, eventually, answer her question "There bad guy in town!" He says before pausing as he realizes he doesn't actually know much beyond that, and doesn't actually know where he's going. He almost crashes into the back of a truck as he gets distracted trying to figure out what to do next, but manages to bring the bike to a screeching stop, the vehicle lifting it's rear wheel off the ground as it's front wheel draws a black, ugly line of burnt rubber along the road.
"Hey, you special, right?" He asks Lynette, looking over his shoulder at her. "Clear mind. Search feelings." He instructs her, seeming for some reason confident this was the exact kind of thing Lynette could be relied upon for. "There some strange magic happening in town. Point direction."
The ghostly figure of the demon lets out a snort. He is, of course, quite armed with a pistol at his hip. For some reason, despite their poor effectiveness inside another realm outside earth, devils, demons and all the like primarily make use of firearms, and this one is no different. He tries to grab for a bottle again and tells Seamus "Do I look like a ghost to you, kid?" He looks down at himself. Yes, he actually does, prompting him to groan and sigh, forsaking his attempt at grabbing one of the bottles for the moment and causes him to move and sit, or lean back against a shelf, as far as he may yet prove to be able to, near Seamus "You're looking like you could use more than a bottle or two. When those fools corrected their work I am going to punish them, and then give you a visit. You have some interesting beverages here." He gestures to a random bottle. "Tell me about that one? I will reward you once I get to delight in what you've made."
Takeshi and Lynette make their way through the city. The cold bites at them, as they drive through, though the city streets themselves are just a tiny bit warmer, and besides for the crash, they continue on their way towards the south of the city. The question is only - have they truly prepared themselves for what is yet to come?
"Rye Old fashioned made with High West rye whiskey," Seamus says sliding the glass across the counter. "But I already know that so why am I telling you... You are one of those things arent you? Fae or some shit." He points a weathered finger at the transparent devil. "So what do you turn into? A goat or something?" He squints then, "And why are you all... see through? You see my cundundrum of course. You are either real, and fucking with me, or not real and my mind is fucking with myself."
Lynette yelps in absolute terror at the awful driver Takeshi truly was. She grips him with the strength that could only come from adrenaline, struggling to hear his broken English over the wind .
As we come to a screeching halt from almost crashing Lynette would slam a fist into his shoulder. "You're carrying precious cargo! Act like it!" Lynette snaps, narrowing her eyes at the back of his head. "Hmph. Special. Of course I am...." She grumbles, begrudgingly doing as she was told. With closed eyes, something does come to her. It's a scent, like ash and tar. With a crinkle in her nose, Lynette would point to their right. "That way. If you don't like it you should have picked yourself."
Takeshi doesn't question her instinct for a moment as the vehicle immediately roars back to life and Lynette is immediately lurched to the right, Takeshi merging into fast traffic and almost getting them T boned as he travels 3 full lanes without looking to get to their turning. By some grace of god they manage to make it, and they're once again racing through traffic "Which way now!" He shouts, barely audible over the rushing wind and roaring engine as they slowly make their way closer and closer to the apartment the man was facing off with the demonic spirit inside of ...
"Whiskey is sounding pretty good to me right now." The ghostly demon laments, his gaze lingers on the bottle for a moment longer before he looks at Seamus, making another snort. "Kid, do I look like some fae to you? I'm a demon." Of course, he flexes an arm, not that it does much with his current state of physical, or rather, incorporeal being right now. "With the touch luck of having absolute idiots working on the summoning ritual." He groans, balling a hand into a fist and trying to whack the shelf with the flat of the side of his hand, little finger curled in, only for the hand to pass through. There is ghostly smoke that releases from his nostrils before he finds calmer words again, and the fury fades from his gaze. "Idiots can't decide on who is more important in which they want to sacrifice first! Can you believe that, kid? Those idiots decide to try and summon me, provide the sacrifice... and then realize they didn't bring enough, and now they are arguing about -WHO- will get to die first. So I got bored and just walked away from them."
With the guidance of Lynette, Takeshi drives the vehicle on. It may perhaps be a natural sense... or be sheer luck, that leads both Takeshi and Lynette to the street that's roughly indicated, and from where they will need to tread on foot onwards on. The weather has been cold, and in Haven, it will be for another while. Snow had fallen and still covers much of the forest, with the occasional melt and then renewed snowfall, making some parts snow-covered slippery ice. Truly, the worst of wintry snowfall! And from the information Takeshi has available, it would be a while into the forest from there before they might find the ritual site itself.
It was difficult to avoid spilling onto the road. For some reason Takeshi seemed to be only getting worse....
Lynette closes her eyes, trying to focus on the real work. Whatever she was smelling, it burned into her nose, horribly unsettling feeling. To follow it seems like the exact opposite of what she'd prefer to be doing. Perhaps it was all in her head. "Another right- now!! Before you miss it," Lynette would yell rather abruptly, considering the speed he was driving at.
Seamus laughs and nods his head vigeriously, "Of course demons are real. I assume next you are going to tell me angels are real." He looks up to the sky, "I am waiting Gabe! Mikey! Now would be a good time." He makes a pfft sound, but scratches the inside of his forearm nervously, "So what do you guys do then... Just run around waiting for your creepy ass cult to sacrifice enough virgins?" He pauses, "I mean... that is what demons do, right? Sacrifice virgins and tempt the faithful."
Takeshi had, of course, forgotten the address he was heading to, or had simply been too fast out the door to look up what part of town that address actually represented! He was relying entirely on the girl on the back of his bike pointing out directions as he raced his way through the streets, bringing the bike low as he rounds a corner with their heads mear inches away from the hard road from how far the bike was leant over to make the corner!
This right lead straight into the forest however! And not with a road! The road ends quite abruptly, Takeshi not noticing until it was too late as the front wheel of the bike hits the curb and the metal monstrosity is sent flipping through the air, trebuchetting the two occupants off of it into the air! Takeshi panics only for a moment before his eyes find the ground and his body twist around in the air like a cat's, snatching Lynette out of the air before landing on the ground in a crouch, Lynette on his shoulder as he slides a few yards to a stop in the wood's dirt floor! "Whew ..." He says, popping up to his feet and placing Lynette back down onto hers, trying to play it cool like he hadn't almost just gotten the both of them killed. "Which way now?" He asks