Encounterlogs
Dahlias Odd Encounter Sr Crystal 240930
In a world where the ebb and flow of magic define the boundaries of reality and fiction, Dahlia finds herself ensnared in a web of supernatural intrigues beyond her wildest dreams. Upon her accidental encounter with a mysterious man in her modest hotel room, armed and ominous, she is propelled into an unforeseen adventure. The man, with guns drawn and a charm of significant importance around his neck, demands Dahlia to reveal a part of her she never knew existed. A bewildering request to show the side of her neck transforms the atmosphere, plunging Dahlia into a realm of confusion and imminent danger. The situation escalates quickly as a dart embeds itself into her throat, a potent sedative dragging her into unconsciousness, a precursor to her abduction by individuals cloaked in the monotony of the mundane world.
Waking up in an unfamiliar and stark room, Dahlia's confusion turns into fear, then determination, as she encounters 'SRCrystal,' a presence that at once is unfamiliar yet eerily comforting. Through whispered promises and ghostly assurances, Dahlia is led to believe in the possibility of escape, a thread of hope offered by SRCrystal's guidance. As they journey towards a salvation promised yet unseen, the stark reality of her situation dawns upon her, each step forward echoing her resolve to live and the sacrifices made to ensure her survival. SRCrystal's identity, a mystery entangled with Dahlia's fate, heralds a path fraught with danger but illuminated by a faint light of hope, leading Dahlia toward an uncertain future, her determination solidified with each whispered vow of return to a 'home' that has transcended its mortal bindings, a testament to the human spirit's indomitable will to persevere in the face of the abyss.
(Dahlia's odd encounter(SRCrystal):SRCrystal)
[Sun Sep 29 2024]
In room 305
A lone sleigh bed entices visitors to rest, complete with fluffed white
pillows and a soft cream comforter. The petite room boasts simplicity at
it's finest. Caramel curtains cascade over two arched windows, matching a
study desk set to the side which gives renters a convenient workspace. A
single closet provides space for clothes, standing beside a door which leads
into a complete bathroom.
It is afternoon, about 74F(23C) degrees, and the sky is covered by grey clouds.
(Your target is abducted in their sleep, waking up alone in a locked room. They need to either escape or draw attention to them so their allies can come and provide assistance.
)
Dahlia is sitting on her bed, idly browsing through myHaven.
Sometimes a day in Haven can end up in ways you can never, ever predict. It is merely a sad fact of life, the lay of the law. It probably starts innocently enough. Checking in on your phone, browsing the local social app specific to the town, tapping out of ads that promise 'Desperate, sexy locals in your area!' among other things. Maybe there's a cute guy or girl that you'd consider matching with.
*CREAK* The floorboards sound out in protest. Coming in from the bathroom. Soon enough, a man shrouded in a large black coat and a matching brimmed hat obscuring some of his rugged features steps in, takes one look at Dahlia, checks something on his phone, and pulls out what appears to be some handgun, pointing it at her.
The creak has Dahlia on alert, head whipping toward the the bathroom. "Woah! What the fuck?!" She momentarily freezes at the sight of black-clad man before scrambling for her bag and the knife within it. "Who-How-?? I didn't do anything!" She -JUST- stepped off the bus last night. What could she have possibly done now?
"Hey there," he greets all too casually for someone that's stepped out of the loo, acting like he owned the place and this was his room in the antlers. Nevermind the handgun he has drawn on Dahlia. His voice is low and soothing, and he even graces Dahlia with a winning smile that enhances his rugged good features. It's quite at odds with what he holds in his left hand. He giggles when he pulls out a knife, then waves his firearm for emphasis, reaching into his coat pocket, trading his phone with another gun. It looks deadlier, but the implication is clear. Bringing a knife to a gun fight doesn't lend one the best odds. All guns akimbo now, he gestures at an odd charm hanging around his neck, staring back at her meaningfully. "You probably don't know," she supposes, but then makes a warning. "Don't reach for anything else. I have no qualms with ending your little life. Today is gonna be the worst day of your life," he tells her, keeping one gun leveled at her while uses his thumb to work what looks like a dart in the other. "I'd rather not kill you, personally..."
Dahlia rubs at her eyes with the hand that isn't holding the knife. Maybe she's hallucinating? Maybe the shit she took on the bus hasn't worn off yet? But she -feels- sober...more or less. As sober as someone in her state can feel. There's a grimace as he brings out the other gun and she tightens her grip on the knife but she doesn't say anything immediately. Not until he says he'd rather not kill you. "Then, uh, maybe, you can put the gun down?" Green eyes flick to the charm and then to the man. "I don't know shit, man. I-really. I just got here. I barely even made it to this hotel in good time." She insists. "You really have to have the wrong person."
Staring at her in consideration, the man looks a little unsure at first. "You really don't know much how things run here, do you?" He poses at her, sounding a little apologetic. Briefly, he rubs the front of his face with the side of his hand, exhaling. "Alright, alright. I might have the wrong person," he seems to agree, but the pause that follows means that there's a pending addendum. "First, let's check. Go ahead and lift your chin, show me the side of your neck, on the left," he gently demands, lowering the gun pointed at her. It's not aimed at her directly anymore, but all it'd take is a flick of his wrist and it'd have an easy bead right on her person. "Go on. If you don't have it, I'll bugger off," he promises her, already eying the doorway leading back to the bathroom. Maybe there's a secret tunnel there.
"I...no. My cousin...said it might be a good place to start over." Dahlia mumbles, slowly laying down the knife on the bed, beside her backpack. It sounds like she's doubting that and she's only been here less than twenty-four hours. "M-my neck?...I...okay..." If it meant not getting shot, that was probably better, right? She gingerly lifts the collar of her hoodie to expose her neck to the man. "What-are you looking for? What kind of mark?"
When Dahlia complies, an absolute, shit-eating grin spreads wide and far over the man's rugged face. He wasn't listening to her at all, waiting for her to do as he bade her. "Good night, lady," he bids her as a click sounds out from his dart gun, followed by the pinprick of a needle embedding it self into her throat. Perfect aim. In the Olympics he'd probably score pretty high if Dahlia was a few meters further, impressing the world with his marksmanship. Too bad this something else entirely, and Dahlia is a person, not a target board. With all the nonchalance in the world, he eases his butt over the desk behind him, waiting patiently for the potent sedative to work its magic into Dahlia's system. The last thing Dahlia senses before it all goes dark is the intruder reaching up to his ear and asking, "Clear? Good..." in an echoed reverb.
You know when you have a gut instinct that something is wrong but it kicks in a moment too late? That is exactly what happens to Dahlia as she exposes her neck to the man. She's too slow to react to the dart, a gasp of shock dying on her lips as she starts to fall back on to the bed. "I...why..." Is about all she'll get out before she passes out.
"Alright. I'm coming now. Just..." The man talking into something close to his ear states, approaching Dahlia's unconscious form purposefully. "Keep it clear. I'll go in back." Bending, he hoists Dahlia over his shoulder, giving her a heft and testing her wait. His hand over her back curves down to her rear, potentially taking some liberties some might argue, but he'd shoot back he's a professional and sometimes you gotta grab the butt so that no one takes an awful tumble.
"Right," he says to himself, and opens the door leading into the front reception of the Antlers Hotel. It's dead empty, not a soul in sight besides him and a man in the similar garb waiting for him. Into a discrete black van Dahlia goes, and what passes as a few hours is instantaneous for Dahlia as the drugs finally wear off. Her renewed senses slowly present her in a dark room, with only a vent way high above and a solid white door to welcome her to her new residence. It's a pretty crappy downgrade from her room at the Antlers, all things considered.
Dahlia' eyes groggily blink open, disoriented, confused. "...Wha-where.." She mumbles to herself.
Dahlia bolts upright, scrambling back some as she realized she had not, in fact, been dreaming. Hallucinating? Doubtful. She cautiously finds her way to her feet, heart pounding. Lips parting like she wants to scream but nothing is quite coming out. Not yet.
"Here," SRCrystal informs Dahlia from behind. It's a voice that Dahlia hasn't heard before, yet with the curl of this feminine voice, it takes on the warmth of familiarity all the same. "You're here," it answers her simply. In the back of Dahlia's mind, something firmer encourages her to: Turn around. The room feels hollower as a result, and chillier.
"Right hereHere," something informs Dahlia from behind. It's a voice that Dahlia hasn't heard before, yet with the curl of this feminine voice, it takes on the warmth of familiarity all the same. "You're here," it answers her simply. In the back of Dahlia's mind, something firmer encourages her to: Turn around. The room feels hollower as a result, and chillier. (oops)
The voice from behind Dahlia results in a soft 'eek' sound catching up in her throat. Unnerving, and yet...why does it, she?, sound like she knows Dahlia She breathes in sharply, trying and failing to calm her racing heart. "Who are you?" She asks, voice timid and uncertain. Nevertheless, as was proven however long ago that she got knocked out...she's prone to following directions. That suggestion from the recesses of her mind causes her to turn around cautiously. Hre fingers have curled in on themselves, forming fists that remain at her sides.
What greets Dahlia when she turns is something that she might find sort of profound, but the sense of familiarity radiates all the same. For some reason or another, a sense is instilled in the dark-haired woman that she knows this person somehow. It comes at an uncomfortable, barely there haze of influence all in the back of her mind. Some blonde haired woman with the same green eyes as Dahlia. "You don't remember me?" She asks back at Dahlia after giving her a round of applause for turning around, utterly pleased that she did as told. "It's me, silly," the skinny blonde tells her. 'Me' is all she gets for now. "But that's not important. We have to get out of here," she tells her importantly, beckoning her closer, a frail, sad smile adorning her sharp features. "I need your help to do that though. Come, come," she urges, gesturing towards herself.
Behind Dahlia, footsteps echo beyond the wall, voices and screams mingling the the despair of soft crying and pleas for help. In response, a woman's shrill voice cuts into the air, "Quiet!" It all goes quiet then, easy as that. The blonde before Dahlia pays none of that any mind. She only has eyes for the person she shares her cell with.
Remember her? Who? Dahlia tries to remember. The green eyes...maybe they're familiar. The shout of 'Quiet' causes her to grimace. A brief flashback of her stay in the psych ward as a teenager and young adult. "Where are we?" She manages to ask, mouth dry and tongue feeling thick. Afraid. Getting out of here does seem paramount though, since she didn't bring herself here. /r/r Dahlia steps closer to the blonde woman. "H-how? How can I help?" She squeezes her fingers tighter, the pain giving her a moment of clarity, of being able to draw in a breath.
Some nods are given here and there. "We're in a very bad place," she informs her, stating the obvious. Her smile grows wider, sadder, yet encouraged. She holds both of her hands out at her sides, encouraging Dahlia's approach. Closer and closer, something in the back of Dahlia's mind urges with an intense yearning that becomes Dahlia's yearning. Each step towards blondie makes the room feel colder, at odds with the girlish warmth coming from the slightly shorter woman. "Kidnappers. Syndicate. They want to use you. I don't want them to use you," she murmurs, her smile growing too wide, too melancholy. "Because I love you, Dahlia. I don't want anything to happen. All you need to do," she croons, locking eyes with Dahlia -- and immediately the urgency to become close with the strange woman grows more unbearable. There's a desire that wells up that screams within Dahlia.
"Come to me."
In her head. "Just tell me you want to live."
Dahlia continues her steps forward, toward the blonde. Her fingers slowly begin to unfurl as that desire to to get closer grows. The room feels colder now, even with her hoodie on, but Dahlia barely notices, fixated on the blonde.
can -feel- that this blonde woman means it. She loves Dahlia and Dahlia has struggled for so many years to find a shred of that, a shred of meaning in anything. She can feel some tears threating to well up within her eyes. She closes that distance, starting to reach a hand out as if for the blonde woman's hand. "I do want to live."
"I want to live too, Dahlia," SRCrystal returns softly. The voice is loud and clear, a breathy caress that tickles at one of Dahlia's ears. The moment these two form an accord, Dahlia's entirety is affected with a melancholy chill of hopelessness. Thoughts that were never hers in the first place now become hers in this shred of eternity that spins and spins, desperate to write itself onto the tapestry of time. "I want to go home," Dahlia feels inside of her core, a pit of sadness beginning to gnaw at her psyche. "I want to go home..." It repeats endlessly as time moves forward with each dogged second. To Dahlia, it's probably all a blur, but those who observe the room from a camera see her exhibiting odd behaviors. Talking to someone not there. Standing solidly in the center of the room like a zombie. An inert, unmoving statue.
For Dahlia, time moves effortlessly. The last moments of a woman are embedded in her head. Terrible things are committed that have led to the demise of the woman that claims she loved Dahlia. Thoughts about a mother that isn't Dahlia's, siblings. The man she had a crush on. When she would go home. Dahlia has lost control of her body, and her mind is overwhelmed with thoughts that are somehow hers. She can hear, feel think, but that's just about it. Her body is locked in place, even as the door starts to shutter, creaking open. A man steps inside, looking around the place. "Step back into the wall," he commands firmly, but once his eyes land on Dahlia's form, the cigarette between his lips drops.
"I want to go home." Dahlia repeats the phrase just once. It echoes so loudly in her mind as these memories that are not hers feel so absolutely real. It is she that suffered those terrible things, she who so horribly misses her family. Her back is to the door as she hears it open. Her own thoughts are tickingly in the back of her mind, but they feel distant. Later, she may realize this sensation felt so familiar, but different, for a reason. She doesn't move. She can't. But those tears that were threatening to form do finally overwhelm her and begin to streak down her face.
Like a marionette, Dahlia moves forward, one foot in front of each other in inexorable march, brushing past the man come to check up on her. He falls to the floor seconds later, and briefly, Dahlia can see what awaited her through the cell. Throngs of people, dressed in macabre attire, perusing wretched, downcast souls. The despair is palpable, matched by what Dahlia feels inside of her heart. The stern control that has locked Dahlia's body lessens, giving leave for her to cry. "I wanna go..." the familiar voice echoes inside of Dahlia's head while she is effectively blindfolded of the sights around her. For her own good, something tells her. Her sense of hearing too grows muffled, sparing her from the cries and eager cries of hawkers shouting their 'goods'. Whatever controls her can't hide what she feels outside though. It's dank and musty, and each step forward feels like the lurching of a struggling ship against the storm. The hopelessness gives way with each of those purposeful steps to determination. A reprieve.
"I'm coming home, mama," thoughts relay inside of the psyche. "I'm coming home." These reports the sense to live. She's alive now, now she just needs to get home, a longing driving body and mind forward. It's all dark for Dahlia, yet inside the burning hope grows stronger and stronger with each passing moment.
Home. Dahlia can't see and she can't hear, but she can -feel- that home is on the horizon. Safety. That man who came to check on her might not go home, but that doesn't matter. The hope swells, it burns. All she has to do is keep putting one foot in front of the other and they'll take her home.
One step after the other, methodically and mechanically. It's dark, Dahlia can't see anything Her legs are burning, the same feeling one experiences when they've been running for an eternity. The only comfort is that it allows Dahlia to feel something that is hers. One painstaking step after the other. Towards home. Where the heart is, coalescing inside of Dahlia's breast.
"...Dahlia," a voice whispers into an ear, effervescent and cold. Mischievous and most of all, content. The moment that whisper fades into the eddies that consist of this mortal plane, sight returns. Home was promised, but she stands somewhere that isn't home. Not to her. The surroundings that now greet her are bleak, but peaceful. Rows and rows of headstones surround Dahlia, eternal sentries lined up in vigil for the deceased. Before Dahlia is a small, crumbled headstone. It reads: 'Chloe Emerson, 1956-1974. You will be missed, forever and ever, my little girl.' Unlike the surrounding graves, this one seems to have been abandoned, with no signs of recent visitors.
Home is where the heart is, and yet, for all that has transpired today, Dahlia can only be met with a terrible homesickness that may or may not be her own. And ultimately, her very being returned to her own possession.
blinks twice as her sight returns, gaze drifting over the rows of headstones, unfamiliar and yet oddly comforting. She lowers her eyes to the head stone. "Chloe." She repeats the name out loud. 1974? Any family that poor girl had was probably long dead or at least no longer around. The sight of the abandoned grave makes her ache. She sinks down to her knees in front of the grave, trembling as the reality of events crashes down on her. "Thank you, Chloe." She whispers to the gravestone. It's a struggle for Dahlia to wrap her head around, though her cousin - a self proclaimed Witch over in Boston - had opened her eyes some but this...well. If this wasn't proof she wasn't totally crazy...@me rubbed at her forehead a little. "I'm going to come and visit you again. With flowers next time." A promise. The least she can do for the ghost that saved her life. Everyone deserved to have some company now and then, right? Even in the afterlife.
(Your target comes across a member of The Destined Host who, driven mad by the demon they've made a pact with, is now on a violent rampage through the town. The characters must find a way to subdue them without causing harm to the innocent people of Haven. Meanwhile, they must also uncover and halt a ritual that the rest of the Host is conducting in secret, aiming to summon a powerful demon into the world. This encounter will test not only their combat abilities, but also their investigative skills and their ability to make tough ethical decisions. The information they uncover could have significant implications for future dealings with The Destined Host.)
It's a comfortable temperature in Haven and despite the gray clouds, the weather is remarkably clear. With the cleanse this weekend, things in Haven have been quiet for the deputy. No vampires or wolves about causing mischief. No demonborn's starting fights in bars. No hedge witches cursing ex-lovers. It's basically a vacation for the young deputy.
That is until their radio buzzes, "All units, we have reports of a large man at the baseball diamond attacking people with a knife."
And a Vacation is something Aristotle was certainly treating this like. His own tendancies leaving him completely unbothered by how the rest of the supernatural community may be taking the cleanse, and quite honestly? He's a bit oblivious to it by his own choice, seeing as how he's lazing about in bed in his pajamas. Unfortunately, the beeping from his radio alerts his attention, and hearing what is reported has him going, "Oh. Huh. A knife. That's... surprising for Haven." He lets out a little sigh, clambering out of his bed to reach for his radio. "Deputy Wilson responding. I'll head over and check it out." He says, lightly gearing himself a moment later by way of his badge, holster, and vest.
Uneventful is the only way to describe getting dressed, and the trip from someone' home to his vehicle and on to the baseball diamond is no more interesting.
Upon his arrival to the open field it's very easy to see a big naked man with a knife running about the grass, this way. That way. He bulls over a garbage can then tries to stab it. Then he moves on to slide at ghost only he seems to be able to see. Any pedestrians who were here have long ran off, there are some people in distantly parked cars gawking at the scene though. For now only Aristotle is here and the big man doesn't seem to notice him yet. "We've been abandoned! The Host has disowned us! We will all die." the man screams, almost incoherently.
Uneventful is the only way to describe getting dressed, and the trip from someone' home to his vehicle and on to the baseball diamond is no more interesting.
Upon his arrival to the open field it's very easy to see a big naked man with a knife running about the grass, this way. That way. He bulls over a garbage can then tries to stab it. Then he moves on to slide at ghost only he seems to be able to see. Any pedestrians who were here have long ran off, there are some people in distantly parked cars gawking at the scene though. For now only Aristotle is here and the big man doesn't seem to notice him yet. "We've been abandoned! The Host has disowned us! We will all die." the man screams, almost incoherently.
Uneventful is the only way to describe getting dressed, and the trip from Aristotle's home to his vehicle and on to the baseball diamond is no more interesting.
Upon his arrival to the open field it's very easy to see a big naked man with a knife running about the grass, this way. That way. He bulls over a garbage can then tries to stab it. Then he moves on to slide at ghost only he seems to be able to see. Any pedestrians who were here have long ran off, there are some people in distantly parked cars gawking at the scene though. For now only Aristotle is here and the big man doesn't seem to notice him yet. "We've been abandoned! The Host has disowned us! We will all die." the man screams, almost incoherently.
Mildly perplexed at what he's overhearing upon his arrival, Aristotle exits from his vehicle with his hand on his holster. He doesn't seem overly cautious over the naked man or his knife until he notes him attempted to stab a garbage can of all things. He makes an approach, but it's slow. "Hey!" He calls out, loud enough to ensure his voice carries to where the man is. "Wanna put that knife down so we can talk?" He asks, before adding in with a vague explanation of, "Host business."
"Please do not abandon us!" the crazed man says, he looks around like he's on drugs. Wild eyed. When he can't find anything nearby to attack or charge, he begins to cut himself with his knife, cutting a hand shape into his chest with gritted teeth.
He's interrupted from his self mutilation when Aristotle approaches and speaks to him the man's focus snaps onto Aristotle, there is a half second where he might attack till the man tricks him with the 'Host business' line. The man goes wide eyed and says, "You can still hear them? They are talking to you? They stopped talking to me. Did I do something wrong?"
There's a look in Aristotle's eye as he contemplates that suggests he'd want to take an extra step towards the man, but he holds fast. He lets his shoulders relax so as to appear non-threatening, but his hand doesn't leave his holster. "Not abandoned." He says, as if to confirm that this 'host' didn't leave him. Instead he supplies, "This silence is just a test to..." he pauses for a split moment. "Determine if you're actually worthy of the responsibility that'll be imposed on you. And right now, you're not passing. We need to have a talk." He says, before his free hand is extended out as if to beckon the man to follow. "Come with me."
There is a helpless look on the guys face, he seems temporarily so lost. He's sweaty, and now bleeding from his self mutilation that does not seem to hurt him at all. He still has his big kitchen knife and thats a valid threat if he was to turn it against Aristotle.
A little more information leeks out as the man speaks rapidly, "They spoke to my head everyday, telling me what to do. But..it just stopped..a few days ago-.." the man pauses to listen to what Aristotle tells him. His eyes widen and he gasp, "I failed..I knew it. I failed their test. I have to repent!" he shouts then he holds the knife to his own neck, "I'll prove myself!"
"Woah, slow down." Aristotle says. Or rather, demands. "You being dead makes you useless, and this very real, legitimate test is one that you will fail. It should be pretty clear by now that we still need you alive." He says, stressing his words as he motions for the man to come closer. "Put the knife down and come with me." He says.
With a breath, the man seems to calm as he tries to rationalize all the words Aristotle has offered him. "Yeah..I can't fail." the knife lowers a bit. He looks unsure, and slightly distrusting of Aristotle but soon he lower his weapon hand to his side and takes a step closer to Aristotle, "You will take me to them? So I can serve?" he ask, seeking reassurance. The naked man while large both in bulk and voice, seems kinda small right now.
"I will." Aristotle says, nodding to this man. Even still, he doesn't lower his guard, tensing just slightly as the man approaches. "I'm going to have to sneak you in plain sight to where we're going, though. This will require me to put you in handcuffs." He says, prefacing this as a way to avoid the man's distrust otherwise. "Otherwise, there might be too much opposition and it'll put us both in a position where we can't serve." He says. As he speaks, he starts to move around the man towards his backside with his holstered-rested hand beginning to tug out a pair of handcuffs.
Surrendering to Aristotle, the man goes along quietly. Calmed by the man's words and negotiation skills. He eventually gives up the knife and even allows the handcuffs. He gets in back seat of Aristotle's car to be taken away. Once he's dropped off at the clinic and analyzed by professionals. A report will state to Aristotle that the man was already a schizophrenic and it appears the destined host was manipulating him. But when the cleanse occured, the contact was cut and it left the man to snap.
(Your target is abducted by humans who believe that the target can help make them supernatural. They need to either get out of the situation themselves, or stall for long enough for their allies to come save them.
)
OOC: Hello! Thank you for accepting! Go ahead and emote what you were doing and we will get started :)
Julius is in the occult section of the bookstore and is looking through sections involving fae. The man is might be highly interested in the subject of fae since he seems to have a stack of four or five such books he wants to buy tucked under his arm, ranging from folk lore, to more specific pieces on fae history. He pauses to stroke his beard, thoughtful about his next choice
Putting back a book or two Julius takes some choice favorites to the front counter to pay for them then leave the book store to head to his van on Elm street. He's not very wary of his surroundings, in fact he's distracted while he thumbs through the first chapter of his book about uncommon creatures.
The lack of any magic in the world for the time being might be enough to lull someone into a sense of tranquility - now, anything untoward that may occur would be strictly -human-, which every other place in the world seems much more equipped to deal with, except for Haven. Julius finds no issues making his way to his van, and being so distracted and unwary of his surroundings, he fails to notice the door to his van is already unlocked as he settles into the drivers seat.
Julius sits in the front seat of his van, burning his attention in the book. At some point he sticks the keys into the ignition but decides not to turn the van on while he's reading. He grunts out some soft words under his breath. Eventually he closes the book and tosses it onto the passenger seat for it to be in easy reach for more reading later. It's then he looks into the rear-view of his mirror to see if anyone is going to be too close behind him to pull out.
It is quiet in the van - at least for what Julius can gather given how enraptured he is with his book. It's tossed aside with little issue. As he checks the rear-view mirror however, he does notice that someone is too close for him to safely pull out. Someone is in his back seat, and they lock eyes through the rear-view mirror. Immediately, once this assailant registers that he's been spotted, he lunges forward to wrap his arm around Julius' neck, using the headrest of the seat itself as leverage. "Don't do anything stupid. Do exactly what I tell you to do and you won't get hurt, understand?"
There is a moment of surprise when Julius locks eyes with the assailant. One hand reaches for his belt, only to realize he doesn't carry a pistol on it these days, his other hand moves between throat and arm to prevent the chokehold from locking in place. He seems skilled in close range grappling. He doesn't fight beyond that yet, he stops and listens then says, "Who the fuck are you?"
"Your worst fucking nightmare and the fucking grim reaper if you don't do exactly what the fuck I fucking say." The man says, lightly grappling with Julius as his hand is prevented from locking into the tight hold he wanted. He clasps his hands though, keeping Julius pinned for now. "Start the car and drive. Somewhere private." He demands. "You're gonna help me out with something. And if you do a good job, I'll think about letting you live."
Julius grunts softly. Showing his hand at his waist is empty before reaching slow for the ignition to start the van. He takes hold of the wheel and begins to drive off, to the woods just outside of town. "Tell me what this is about." he says, as he drives with the man's arm at his neck.
The man seems to relax only a hair as Julius acquiesces. He's silent as the van takes off down the road towards the woods, and it's then that he answers Julius. "You're going to help me activate." He says. "You're gonna make me supernatural. And don't give me that bullshit that you can't, because I fucking know the fuck you can." He spits out, preemptively attempting to get ahead of any resistance Julius may have.
Julius grunts softly under his breath. Driving about two hundred feet out before finding a small dirt off road to drive off into. "You are one dumb fuck. I've got no secret way of making that happen for you." he says, being unfriendly in his low, gravelly voice. "And for another thing, why'd you want to be a supernatural? That life isn't any good man."
There's a strike given to Julius' head as his assailant releases his hold long enough to hit him in the side. "The fuck did I just say?" He yells out, before attempting to hold his arm around his neck again as they drive. Likely not the best time to hit him, but he is and one would say, 'a dumb fuck.' "Yes you do. And you're gonna do whatever the fuck you can to make it happen, or I will shoot you in the woods." He threatens. He's quiet for just a moment or two before revealing, "And yes it... being a supernatural? The power they have? The -authority?- I wouldn't have to live by anyone else's commands but my own. I wouldn't have to listen to anyone."
Julius takes the blow to the head and serves when he does but manages to keep the vehicle on the road. He finally parks in the woods. Away from prying eyes then he moves his gaze up to the rear-view mirror to look at the man in the reflection. "There's two ways to get it done. One you gotta already have supernatural DNA, and then you got to unlock it through tramua and stress..usually takes months of torture." the man says, presenting an unlikely scenario. "The other way is simple, you cut a deal with a fae, or demon and they give you the power in exchange for something. Usually something pricey like your soul or first born."
His hold tightens instinctively for his own support when the vehicle swerves, "Fuck - careful dude, shit." He says, as if he wasn't the cause for the swerving. He's silent until they park, and his eyes catch Julius's in the rear-view mirror. He registers his words, nodding in acceptance. "Look at that. All of a sudden you know about ways to do it." He's smug, but doesn't gloat further. "Get out of the car. We'll do either of those methods. You said there's a simple way to do it? Cutting a deal? Faustian type shit? You got a plug for that?"
"I know of one." Julius admits to the man as he idly thumbs his ring to play with it with meaning while bringing up the subject. He reaches slow for the van door to open it. "We can call her, see if she'll come out and make a deal. But whatever it is. I'm warning you. You will get the shit end of the stick."
"I doubt that." SRAristotle says, snorting as he regards Julius's words as an attempt to sway him from doing this. As Julius goes to open the door, he finds himself released by this assailant, who follows suit in departing the vehicle. Julius would be able to get a good look at him - he's a scrawny man, probably no older than his early-twenties, and shorter than Julius. He's in all black, dirty, but he's holding a gun. His gun training would reveal to him with a glance that the safety is on.
Julius seems to want to do this to an extent, to fill his own goals of interacting with the Eidolon he so relentlessly pursues. After they leave the van he briefly glances to the man's gun before moving towards an empty patch of forest nearby. He uses his heel to start digging a circle in the dirt. "Need to call her, she calls herself Lirael and she really likes to fuck with men. So that's a point in your favor." he grunts as he kicks a rock out of the way with the side of his foot. "Alright, gonna have to offer her something just to get her to show up. She might like the gun to be honest."
"Lirael. Alright." The boy says, nodding at Julius. "What is she? Fae or Demon?" He asks, as if to get more information from Julius. "Not that it matters, I'm still gonna do it." When it's mentioned that the gun might be a good offering, he tosses it down on the floor. "She can have the gun. Just make me supernatural." He demands. "She can have whatever she wants."
"Fae." Julius states plainly. He watches as the gun is tossed down. There is a brief moment when the man flexes his fingers into fist as if he's preparing to manhandle his assailant down now that the odds are evened. But instead, he elects to reason with him saying, "Listen, anything she gives you is going to come at a price. Maybe you'll make a deal to be super strong and she'll make it only work thursday mornings before tea time. Thats how she is." he huffs then ask, "Do you got a girl?"
"That just means that on thursdays before tea-time, I'll be unstoppable." The boy says, stubbornly dismissing Julius's warnings. He looks down to the gun he tossed onto the clearing, turning to face it with his back to Julius. "Better one day of being in charge than seven days of being used. How do I start this?"
Julius fingers the band on his right ring finger with his thumb, its something he does when he's deep in thought. He considers his next move then takes a step closer to the boy saying, "You prepared to never have a woman? She's a jealous bitch, she wont let you have a girl. Even a one night stand she'll try to sabotage it. You really want to be celibate? And don't think you can shop around to other faes and demons, cause demons will want you to do evil things as part of their deal."
"Jesus, dude, I'm not looking for a life lesson, I want -power-." He says, a bit loudly as though it were fueled by irritation. He doesn't notice Julius stepping close. "Besides, this thing can give me what I want. Every other woman obviously can't live up to that. What's the first step?"
"Well, here's the life lesson." Julius says, he quickly swings to put his fist into the boy's face, putting all his bulk and size behind it to try and clock him and drop him. "Don't put your gun down."
This boy, quite smaller in both stature and musculature, wasn't expecting a blow to the head. Let alone one with all of Julius's weight behind it. He's knocked down with both the blow from Julius's fist and the ground taking him out of consciousness. He's limp on the ground, breathing, but completely incapacitated. He's out like a light, and when he wakes it'll be with a very nasty headache and, if he tries hard enough to recall, a very important name that will change the course of his life forever. But, that's not a problem that concerns Julius's anymore, as there would be nothing that stops him from leaving.
Julius tosses the unconscious boy into the back of the van and collects the gun to discard that later. His plan for his assailant is rather forgiving. He drops him in the clinic with specific instructions to give therapy and eventual mental imprints to stop seeking power. The sect Julius is in has much experiencing deprogramming people tricked by fae or otherwise supernaturally influenced.
Sienna hooks her flashlight to the strap of her backpack, quietly loping along until they come across the wooden sign. She turns her phone around, highlighting the words that point them toward the Godrealm. "Alright, this is as good of a spot as any," she tells Kah softly. Her backpack weighs heavy from the small, but clunky carrying cases for three small surveillance drones.
Making sure his protective items are in place, Kah nods solemnly at Sienna. "I will follow your lead" he assures her, hefting the weight of his spear a little uncertainly. He shakes his head, and sets his expression to one of determination and focus. "Let us find our way."
The forest is strange without the magic that normally bleeds through it. Quiet in a way. There are less eyes hiding in the mist. Less danger. Though, there are some that might suggest there is more, given the weakening of the Sanctuary spell. There are four stones scattered amongst the various anchored gates known to those who reside in Haven. The one at the gate that Kah and Sienna find themselves at has part of a word scratched into it, "VE".
Each of these stones have an arrow carved into them as well, assisting in directing the gate magic toward a focal point. A point that rises up through the forest not so far from where the pair find themselves. A tower. A very dorky wizard tower.
Sienna crouches down, unshouldering her backpack in one fluid motion, her movements quiet and efficient. With a glance toward Kah, she unzips the main compartment and pulls out two small drones, their matte black exteriors glinting faintly under the limited light. She places them on the ground carefully, fingers brushing over their controls to activate them. From her side, she retrieves a sat-GPS tablet, the glowing screen reflecting her eyes as she inputs commands.
Her gaze narrows as her flashlight beam hovers over the scratched stone, catching the partial word "VE" etched faintly into its surface. Her brow furrows in thought, but she remains quiet, her eyes tracing the carved arrow pointing toward the tower. "VE... what does that mean?" she murmurs under her breath, more to herself than to Kah. Straightening up, she shifts her attention toward the looming tower in the distance. "Looks like thats our next stop," she supposes, slinging her backpack over a shoulder as her drones pilot forward toward the direction of the tower. "Let's check it out first?"
For the moment, Kah keeps his eye on the woods. He's not certain what might crawl out of it, but it's a small relief that it may not be as dangerous as he's starting to become used to. Splitting that attention between the trees and Sienna becomes an exercise in frustration all too soon. He pauses, though with a thoughtful expression before holding up a hand toward Sienna briefly. "What about the other stones? Perhaps they have something on them too."
Ziiiiiiiiooooww. The drone flickers up into the air, and over toward the target, that bloody awful tower. Without the magic bleeding into the forest, it's likely even more responsive than it might be usually. It doesn't take long before the building comes into view on Sienna's screen. It's tall, bigger than three stories, and has a wee little flagpole at the top. Rumour suggests that the underwear of the Hand President once sailed from it, but it no longer does.
Sienna nods at Kah's suggestion, her expression thoughtful as she swipes a finger across her tablet, zooming in on the footage from the first drone. "Good point, we'll need to check all the stones. If the others have more letters, maybe we can piece it all together." Her fingers dance over the screen, quickly engaging night mode to give them a clearer view of the tower ahead. The eerie, dorky structure comes into sharper focus, while the second drone is commanded toward the other gates, keeping an eye on the live feeds. "The other drone can do that while we scope out the area here," she recommends softly to Kah, carefully trampling through the grass to the tower.
Falling into line, the large man settles in next to Sienna as they tromp. Where branches come into their path, Kah pushes them aside with his shield, using the spear more as a staff or walking stick as they trek through the trees, now. "Very good" he says quietly. His already soft-spoken voice comes even more to the murmur so as not to draw too much attention to themselves. Calm, measured breaths try to keep his heart from racing at the prospect of the task ahead of them. "Has this always been here?" The man genuinely doesn't know of course, not having been in the area very long yet.
Enhance. Enhance. ENHANCE. Thankfully, this is no longer a dream of daytime cop dramas, but a reality of modern technology. The image becomes sharper, and clearer as the drone shifts into it's night view, revealing some markings at the top of the tower. There's a reason that the waystones point, and it appears that Sienna has found it. It's the crux of the magic holding the spell in place, with chalk outlines present against the floor of the top of the tower, where it lies open and exposed to the nights air. There are four circles. Basketball sized. And before them lies the words of the spell, written in dried blood, though slightly too difficult to make out from this distance.
The tower itself has been here for some time. Judging by the growth of the grass around it, and it's generally aging experience. Not years, but certainly months. Those with their ear to the ground may be aware that it belongs to a member of Haven's own community, a man well regarded for their efforts at community outreach.
The closer they come, the easier the tower will be to see. There's just this reaction within the tall man, an urge to feel the change upon him and it's without real thought that he tries to reach for it. A grunt comes from Kah's lips, a little louder than he'd meant as they close the distance between them and the tower. The sound is enough to echo at least a little through the trees and boughs that surround them, and an embarrassed look blazes across the dark features of Kah's face. He winces, then looms over Sienna's shoulder to share the view if possible since his eyes cannot make out the details. Each of these limitations and reminders frustrates the man anew, but he tries to keep his attention on the screens, and on Sienna who will likely know what next move to make. "Magic. Why is it -always- magic?" The question is stupid, of course. It's ALWAYS magic, but even if it doesn't metaphysically make his skin crawl, the reaction is so ingrained in the man that he makes small shudders of irritation and revulsion anyway.
Sienna watches the screen intently as the drone's camera zooms in on the markings at the top of the tower. The chalk outlines catch her eye, and her brows furrow thoughtfully. "It's a recent addition if many to Haven," she says of the tower, swiping out of the screen to bring up a concurrent property record to check owner details. Irrelevant, but always a good thing to know. She stretches out the tablet for Kah to view. "It looks like we're in the right place, the crux of what's holding all the magic in place." A deep breath, her head falling back to gaze up into the darkness where her drone hovers, feeding them a view from the top of the tower. "We need to get up there now. Either we can climb or go through the inside. Your call, big guy."
Kah says "I do not suppose you have thought to bring a rope and hook with us?"
Asking the question, Kah just grunts again as he thinks probably not. "Well .. I can't carry you and my spear and shield both, I think. MAYBE I could climb the outside ..." His eyes scan the screens and look for how smooth or well-maintained the outside of the tower is. Is it brick or stone, or something more modern? He studies the sight of the tower to his best effort trying to determine if he should even try.
Sienna glances at Kah with a wry smile, her fingers still hovering over the tablet. "I always come prepared." She taps the side of her backpack. "Rope, hook, and a few other surprises, just in case. Since we knew it was a tower, I wasn't exactly sure if we'd need it or not."""
Beep boop. The tablet beeps, likely despite Sienna having muted it, and the information she was seeking flashes up over the screen. The owner is none other than Fayad al-Munaqadh. Owner of the Great News Community Centre, and known ally of the man behind this terrible, terrible scheme. The very top of the tower can near see each of the anchored gates settled amongst Haven, likely why this place was chosen as the focal point.
The tower itself is made of heavily reinforced stone, writ with magical enchantments, though there remains little trace of this extra protection given current circumstance. Normally, of course, this would prevent someone simply clambering up the side of the heavily enforced building, but now? Now, the pair might just have a chance.
That other drove, the second one? Continues on it's own personal quest, dancing through the night toward each of the gates in turn, collecting the data on the stones that sit at each. No doubt it will be finished by the time Sienna and Kah have clambed up the giant stone erection.
With a nod then, Kah gives a more broad smile. "Ahh, well that's much better!" His smile doesn't last though, as he shifts the shield to slung it across his back. " Then I think we go up the side. No telling what we'll find inside and the dangers out here are more limited. At least for now?" He raises his eyebrow up, seeking Sienna's opinion. If it's his call though, this is the one he's making!
Sienna looks up at the tower, assessing its stone walls with a quick, practiced glance. She glances at the information flashing on her tablet, her lips pressing together as she reads the name. "Fayad al-Munaqadh... great. Of course it's him," she mutters under her breath before returning her attention to Kah. She unshoulders the bag and unzips one of the side compartments, pulling out a coiled rope and a small grappling hook. "Think you can make the throw?" she asks, passing him the gear.
"Scaling up the side is definitely the best shot," she gives a quick nod, handing him the grappling hook. "Just be careful." She steps back, readying herself and securing her gear in preparation for the scale.
Glancing upward ... and upward .. Kah gives a soft sound of uncertainty. "I'll give it my best shot." It's not going to be strength that Kah has to rely on here, but he's done some things like this before. There's a sense of apprehension that comes over the man as he takes the rope attached to it's grappling hook. No batman toys here, tonight. Letting loose a length, Kah begins to spin the heavy hook at the end of the rope until he's got it whirling about at high-speed, creating the illusion of a disc in the air as he keeps it moving, spinning, twisting ... and he lets out an "Ooomph!" as he angles his release upward and toward the top of the tower. He aims to loop over the crenelation with a little slack to spare, so he can try and pull the rope tight, and secure.
While Kah may be robbed of his supernatural abilities, he's still a pretty buff, giant of a man. That grappling hook goes soaring up into the air, and dark of the night, the rope slipping through his hands as it is drawn up to follow. It's like firing an arrow at the sun, only, you know. It's dark. Either way, the rope spools out, and eventually there is the distinct CLUNK of the hook catching at something or other on the roof of the tower. A tug or two would prove that it's catch is true.
Sienna watches with wide eyes as Kah launches the grappling hook with impressive force, the hook sailing up into the night sky. When she hears the solid "clunk" of it catching, she lets out an excited breath, flashing a proud grin at him. "Look at you! That was perfect, Kah," she gushes, impressed. Without wasting am oment, she steps forward, grabbing hold of the rope. "Okay, let's go..." The cheerleader pulls herself up, hand over hand, her movements quick and determined, eager to reach the top. Despite the weight of her backpack and the occasional slip of her boots against the stone, Sienna's excitement drives her forward as she scales the tower.
Testing the rope, Kah gives Sienna a nod and gestures. "You first" he murmurs but he doesn't have to she's already on it! Kah is next up the rope, to keep an eye on her and watch the integrity of the rope. He tries to move as fast as he's able without over-taking the smaller woman as they make their way up.
Well, at least Kah has a great view to consider as the pair make their way up the tower. It's a bloody tall tower. Three stories, and change, so it likely takes them some time to reach the appex, but thankfully they manage to do so unchallenged. There are no booby traps, or evil birds swooping through the dark at them. Just the quiet of the night, interrupted only by sounds of their efforts.
Upon reaching the top of the tower, the magic that has redirected the power of the gates becomes all the more apparent. The lines in blood, written against the floor, and the four circles that serve as a capstone of sorts, a password, as it were, to assist in dismissing the spell.
The bloody words read, "There is being a sacrifice of sorts to end this. To bring magic and all it's horrors rushing back into our world as an invader anew. Speak, 'Revocacionem protectione sanctuarium', and the command word in one sentence. Risk your own safety, to rob others of their own."
It's about now that the other drone chipperly informs Sienna through a beep of her tablet, that it has managed to catalogue the other three waystones, and the letters left upon them. "R", "EN", "TRA".
R EN TRA VE - It must be an anagram, of sorts.
Waking up in an unfamiliar and stark room, Dahlia's confusion turns into fear, then determination, as she encounters 'SRCrystal,' a presence that at once is unfamiliar yet eerily comforting. Through whispered promises and ghostly assurances, Dahlia is led to believe in the possibility of escape, a thread of hope offered by SRCrystal's guidance. As they journey towards a salvation promised yet unseen, the stark reality of her situation dawns upon her, each step forward echoing her resolve to live and the sacrifices made to ensure her survival. SRCrystal's identity, a mystery entangled with Dahlia's fate, heralds a path fraught with danger but illuminated by a faint light of hope, leading Dahlia toward an uncertain future, her determination solidified with each whispered vow of return to a 'home' that has transcended its mortal bindings, a testament to the human spirit's indomitable will to persevere in the face of the abyss.
(Dahlia's odd encounter(SRCrystal):SRCrystal)
[Sun Sep 29 2024]
In room 305
A lone sleigh bed entices visitors to rest, complete with fluffed white
pillows and a soft cream comforter. The petite room boasts simplicity at
it's finest. Caramel curtains cascade over two arched windows, matching a
study desk set to the side which gives renters a convenient workspace. A
single closet provides space for clothes, standing beside a door which leads
into a complete bathroom.
It is afternoon, about 74F(23C) degrees, and the sky is covered by grey clouds.
(Your target is abducted in their sleep, waking up alone in a locked room. They need to either escape or draw attention to them so their allies can come and provide assistance.
)
Dahlia is sitting on her bed, idly browsing through myHaven.
Sometimes a day in Haven can end up in ways you can never, ever predict. It is merely a sad fact of life, the lay of the law. It probably starts innocently enough. Checking in on your phone, browsing the local social app specific to the town, tapping out of ads that promise 'Desperate, sexy locals in your area!' among other things. Maybe there's a cute guy or girl that you'd consider matching with.
*CREAK* The floorboards sound out in protest. Coming in from the bathroom. Soon enough, a man shrouded in a large black coat and a matching brimmed hat obscuring some of his rugged features steps in, takes one look at Dahlia, checks something on his phone, and pulls out what appears to be some handgun, pointing it at her.
The creak has Dahlia on alert, head whipping toward the the bathroom. "Woah! What the fuck?!" She momentarily freezes at the sight of black-clad man before scrambling for her bag and the knife within it. "Who-How-?? I didn't do anything!" She -JUST- stepped off the bus last night. What could she have possibly done now?
"Hey there," he greets all too casually for someone that's stepped out of the loo, acting like he owned the place and this was his room in the antlers. Nevermind the handgun he has drawn on Dahlia. His voice is low and soothing, and he even graces Dahlia with a winning smile that enhances his rugged good features. It's quite at odds with what he holds in his left hand. He giggles when he pulls out a knife, then waves his firearm for emphasis, reaching into his coat pocket, trading his phone with another gun. It looks deadlier, but the implication is clear. Bringing a knife to a gun fight doesn't lend one the best odds. All guns akimbo now, he gestures at an odd charm hanging around his neck, staring back at her meaningfully. "You probably don't know," she supposes, but then makes a warning. "Don't reach for anything else. I have no qualms with ending your little life. Today is gonna be the worst day of your life," he tells her, keeping one gun leveled at her while uses his thumb to work what looks like a dart in the other. "I'd rather not kill you, personally..."
Dahlia rubs at her eyes with the hand that isn't holding the knife. Maybe she's hallucinating? Maybe the shit she took on the bus hasn't worn off yet? But she -feels- sober...more or less. As sober as someone in her state can feel. There's a grimace as he brings out the other gun and she tightens her grip on the knife but she doesn't say anything immediately. Not until he says he'd rather not kill you. "Then, uh, maybe, you can put the gun down?" Green eyes flick to the charm and then to the man. "I don't know shit, man. I-really. I just got here. I barely even made it to this hotel in good time." She insists. "You really have to have the wrong person."
Staring at her in consideration, the man looks a little unsure at first. "You really don't know much how things run here, do you?" He poses at her, sounding a little apologetic. Briefly, he rubs the front of his face with the side of his hand, exhaling. "Alright, alright. I might have the wrong person," he seems to agree, but the pause that follows means that there's a pending addendum. "First, let's check. Go ahead and lift your chin, show me the side of your neck, on the left," he gently demands, lowering the gun pointed at her. It's not aimed at her directly anymore, but all it'd take is a flick of his wrist and it'd have an easy bead right on her person. "Go on. If you don't have it, I'll bugger off," he promises her, already eying the doorway leading back to the bathroom. Maybe there's a secret tunnel there.
"I...no. My cousin...said it might be a good place to start over." Dahlia mumbles, slowly laying down the knife on the bed, beside her backpack. It sounds like she's doubting that and she's only been here less than twenty-four hours. "M-my neck?...I...okay..." If it meant not getting shot, that was probably better, right? She gingerly lifts the collar of her hoodie to expose her neck to the man. "What-are you looking for? What kind of mark?"
When Dahlia complies, an absolute, shit-eating grin spreads wide and far over the man's rugged face. He wasn't listening to her at all, waiting for her to do as he bade her. "Good night, lady," he bids her as a click sounds out from his dart gun, followed by the pinprick of a needle embedding it self into her throat. Perfect aim. In the Olympics he'd probably score pretty high if Dahlia was a few meters further, impressing the world with his marksmanship. Too bad this something else entirely, and Dahlia is a person, not a target board. With all the nonchalance in the world, he eases his butt over the desk behind him, waiting patiently for the potent sedative to work its magic into Dahlia's system. The last thing Dahlia senses before it all goes dark is the intruder reaching up to his ear and asking, "Clear? Good..." in an echoed reverb.
You know when you have a gut instinct that something is wrong but it kicks in a moment too late? That is exactly what happens to Dahlia as she exposes her neck to the man. She's too slow to react to the dart, a gasp of shock dying on her lips as she starts to fall back on to the bed. "I...why..." Is about all she'll get out before she passes out.
"Alright. I'm coming now. Just..." The man talking into something close to his ear states, approaching Dahlia's unconscious form purposefully. "Keep it clear. I'll go in back." Bending, he hoists Dahlia over his shoulder, giving her a heft and testing her wait. His hand over her back curves down to her rear, potentially taking some liberties some might argue, but he'd shoot back he's a professional and sometimes you gotta grab the butt so that no one takes an awful tumble.
"Right," he says to himself, and opens the door leading into the front reception of the Antlers Hotel. It's dead empty, not a soul in sight besides him and a man in the similar garb waiting for him. Into a discrete black van Dahlia goes, and what passes as a few hours is instantaneous for Dahlia as the drugs finally wear off. Her renewed senses slowly present her in a dark room, with only a vent way high above and a solid white door to welcome her to her new residence. It's a pretty crappy downgrade from her room at the Antlers, all things considered.
Dahlia' eyes groggily blink open, disoriented, confused. "...Wha-where.." She mumbles to herself.
Dahlia bolts upright, scrambling back some as she realized she had not, in fact, been dreaming. Hallucinating? Doubtful. She cautiously finds her way to her feet, heart pounding. Lips parting like she wants to scream but nothing is quite coming out. Not yet.
"Here," SRCrystal informs Dahlia from behind. It's a voice that Dahlia hasn't heard before, yet with the curl of this feminine voice, it takes on the warmth of familiarity all the same. "You're here," it answers her simply. In the back of Dahlia's mind, something firmer encourages her to: Turn around. The room feels hollower as a result, and chillier.
"Right hereHere," something informs Dahlia from behind. It's a voice that Dahlia hasn't heard before, yet with the curl of this feminine voice, it takes on the warmth of familiarity all the same. "You're here," it answers her simply. In the back of Dahlia's mind, something firmer encourages her to: Turn around. The room feels hollower as a result, and chillier. (oops)
The voice from behind Dahlia results in a soft 'eek' sound catching up in her throat. Unnerving, and yet...why does it, she?, sound like she knows Dahlia She breathes in sharply, trying and failing to calm her racing heart. "Who are you?" She asks, voice timid and uncertain. Nevertheless, as was proven however long ago that she got knocked out...she's prone to following directions. That suggestion from the recesses of her mind causes her to turn around cautiously. Hre fingers have curled in on themselves, forming fists that remain at her sides.
What greets Dahlia when she turns is something that she might find sort of profound, but the sense of familiarity radiates all the same. For some reason or another, a sense is instilled in the dark-haired woman that she knows this person somehow. It comes at an uncomfortable, barely there haze of influence all in the back of her mind. Some blonde haired woman with the same green eyes as Dahlia. "You don't remember me?" She asks back at Dahlia after giving her a round of applause for turning around, utterly pleased that she did as told. "It's me, silly," the skinny blonde tells her. 'Me' is all she gets for now. "But that's not important. We have to get out of here," she tells her importantly, beckoning her closer, a frail, sad smile adorning her sharp features. "I need your help to do that though. Come, come," she urges, gesturing towards herself.
Behind Dahlia, footsteps echo beyond the wall, voices and screams mingling the the despair of soft crying and pleas for help. In response, a woman's shrill voice cuts into the air, "Quiet!" It all goes quiet then, easy as that. The blonde before Dahlia pays none of that any mind. She only has eyes for the person she shares her cell with.
Remember her? Who? Dahlia tries to remember. The green eyes...maybe they're familiar. The shout of 'Quiet' causes her to grimace. A brief flashback of her stay in the psych ward as a teenager and young adult. "Where are we?" She manages to ask, mouth dry and tongue feeling thick. Afraid. Getting out of here does seem paramount though, since she didn't bring herself here. /r/r Dahlia steps closer to the blonde woman. "H-how? How can I help?" She squeezes her fingers tighter, the pain giving her a moment of clarity, of being able to draw in a breath.
Some nods are given here and there. "We're in a very bad place," she informs her, stating the obvious. Her smile grows wider, sadder, yet encouraged. She holds both of her hands out at her sides, encouraging Dahlia's approach. Closer and closer, something in the back of Dahlia's mind urges with an intense yearning that becomes Dahlia's yearning. Each step towards blondie makes the room feel colder, at odds with the girlish warmth coming from the slightly shorter woman. "Kidnappers. Syndicate. They want to use you. I don't want them to use you," she murmurs, her smile growing too wide, too melancholy. "Because I love you, Dahlia. I don't want anything to happen. All you need to do," she croons, locking eyes with Dahlia -- and immediately the urgency to become close with the strange woman grows more unbearable. There's a desire that wells up that screams within Dahlia.
"Come to me."
In her head. "Just tell me you want to live."
Dahlia continues her steps forward, toward the blonde. Her fingers slowly begin to unfurl as that desire to to get closer grows. The room feels colder now, even with her hoodie on, but Dahlia barely notices, fixated on the blonde.
can -feel- that this blonde woman means it. She loves Dahlia and Dahlia has struggled for so many years to find a shred of that, a shred of meaning in anything. She can feel some tears threating to well up within her eyes. She closes that distance, starting to reach a hand out as if for the blonde woman's hand. "I do want to live."
"I want to live too, Dahlia," SRCrystal returns softly. The voice is loud and clear, a breathy caress that tickles at one of Dahlia's ears. The moment these two form an accord, Dahlia's entirety is affected with a melancholy chill of hopelessness. Thoughts that were never hers in the first place now become hers in this shred of eternity that spins and spins, desperate to write itself onto the tapestry of time. "I want to go home," Dahlia feels inside of her core, a pit of sadness beginning to gnaw at her psyche. "I want to go home..." It repeats endlessly as time moves forward with each dogged second. To Dahlia, it's probably all a blur, but those who observe the room from a camera see her exhibiting odd behaviors. Talking to someone not there. Standing solidly in the center of the room like a zombie. An inert, unmoving statue.
For Dahlia, time moves effortlessly. The last moments of a woman are embedded in her head. Terrible things are committed that have led to the demise of the woman that claims she loved Dahlia. Thoughts about a mother that isn't Dahlia's, siblings. The man she had a crush on. When she would go home. Dahlia has lost control of her body, and her mind is overwhelmed with thoughts that are somehow hers. She can hear, feel think, but that's just about it. Her body is locked in place, even as the door starts to shutter, creaking open. A man steps inside, looking around the place. "Step back into the wall," he commands firmly, but once his eyes land on Dahlia's form, the cigarette between his lips drops.
"I want to go home." Dahlia repeats the phrase just once. It echoes so loudly in her mind as these memories that are not hers feel so absolutely real. It is she that suffered those terrible things, she who so horribly misses her family. Her back is to the door as she hears it open. Her own thoughts are tickingly in the back of her mind, but they feel distant. Later, she may realize this sensation felt so familiar, but different, for a reason. She doesn't move. She can't. But those tears that were threatening to form do finally overwhelm her and begin to streak down her face.
Like a marionette, Dahlia moves forward, one foot in front of each other in inexorable march, brushing past the man come to check up on her. He falls to the floor seconds later, and briefly, Dahlia can see what awaited her through the cell. Throngs of people, dressed in macabre attire, perusing wretched, downcast souls. The despair is palpable, matched by what Dahlia feels inside of her heart. The stern control that has locked Dahlia's body lessens, giving leave for her to cry. "I wanna go..." the familiar voice echoes inside of Dahlia's head while she is effectively blindfolded of the sights around her. For her own good, something tells her. Her sense of hearing too grows muffled, sparing her from the cries and eager cries of hawkers shouting their 'goods'. Whatever controls her can't hide what she feels outside though. It's dank and musty, and each step forward feels like the lurching of a struggling ship against the storm. The hopelessness gives way with each of those purposeful steps to determination. A reprieve.
"I'm coming home, mama," thoughts relay inside of the psyche. "I'm coming home." These reports the sense to live. She's alive now, now she just needs to get home, a longing driving body and mind forward. It's all dark for Dahlia, yet inside the burning hope grows stronger and stronger with each passing moment.
Home. Dahlia can't see and she can't hear, but she can -feel- that home is on the horizon. Safety. That man who came to check on her might not go home, but that doesn't matter. The hope swells, it burns. All she has to do is keep putting one foot in front of the other and they'll take her home.
One step after the other, methodically and mechanically. It's dark, Dahlia can't see anything Her legs are burning, the same feeling one experiences when they've been running for an eternity. The only comfort is that it allows Dahlia to feel something that is hers. One painstaking step after the other. Towards home. Where the heart is, coalescing inside of Dahlia's breast.
"...Dahlia," a voice whispers into an ear, effervescent and cold. Mischievous and most of all, content. The moment that whisper fades into the eddies that consist of this mortal plane, sight returns. Home was promised, but she stands somewhere that isn't home. Not to her. The surroundings that now greet her are bleak, but peaceful. Rows and rows of headstones surround Dahlia, eternal sentries lined up in vigil for the deceased. Before Dahlia is a small, crumbled headstone. It reads: 'Chloe Emerson, 1956-1974. You will be missed, forever and ever, my little girl.' Unlike the surrounding graves, this one seems to have been abandoned, with no signs of recent visitors.
Home is where the heart is, and yet, for all that has transpired today, Dahlia can only be met with a terrible homesickness that may or may not be her own. And ultimately, her very being returned to her own possession.
blinks twice as her sight returns, gaze drifting over the rows of headstones, unfamiliar and yet oddly comforting. She lowers her eyes to the head stone. "Chloe." She repeats the name out loud. 1974? Any family that poor girl had was probably long dead or at least no longer around. The sight of the abandoned grave makes her ache. She sinks down to her knees in front of the grave, trembling as the reality of events crashes down on her. "Thank you, Chloe." She whispers to the gravestone. It's a struggle for Dahlia to wrap her head around, though her cousin - a self proclaimed Witch over in Boston - had opened her eyes some but this...well. If this wasn't proof she wasn't totally crazy...@me rubbed at her forehead a little. "I'm going to come and visit you again. With flowers next time." A promise. The least she can do for the ghost that saved her life. Everyone deserved to have some company now and then, right? Even in the afterlife.
(Your target comes across a member of The Destined Host who, driven mad by the demon they've made a pact with, is now on a violent rampage through the town. The characters must find a way to subdue them without causing harm to the innocent people of Haven. Meanwhile, they must also uncover and halt a ritual that the rest of the Host is conducting in secret, aiming to summon a powerful demon into the world. This encounter will test not only their combat abilities, but also their investigative skills and their ability to make tough ethical decisions. The information they uncover could have significant implications for future dealings with The Destined Host.)
It's a comfortable temperature in Haven and despite the gray clouds, the weather is remarkably clear. With the cleanse this weekend, things in Haven have been quiet for the deputy. No vampires or wolves about causing mischief. No demonborn's starting fights in bars. No hedge witches cursing ex-lovers. It's basically a vacation for the young deputy.
That is until their radio buzzes, "All units, we have reports of a large man at the baseball diamond attacking people with a knife."
And a Vacation is something Aristotle was certainly treating this like. His own tendancies leaving him completely unbothered by how the rest of the supernatural community may be taking the cleanse, and quite honestly? He's a bit oblivious to it by his own choice, seeing as how he's lazing about in bed in his pajamas. Unfortunately, the beeping from his radio alerts his attention, and hearing what is reported has him going, "Oh. Huh. A knife. That's... surprising for Haven." He lets out a little sigh, clambering out of his bed to reach for his radio. "Deputy Wilson responding. I'll head over and check it out." He says, lightly gearing himself a moment later by way of his badge, holster, and vest.
Uneventful is the only way to describe getting dressed, and the trip from someone' home to his vehicle and on to the baseball diamond is no more interesting.
Upon his arrival to the open field it's very easy to see a big naked man with a knife running about the grass, this way. That way. He bulls over a garbage can then tries to stab it. Then he moves on to slide at ghost only he seems to be able to see. Any pedestrians who were here have long ran off, there are some people in distantly parked cars gawking at the scene though. For now only Aristotle is here and the big man doesn't seem to notice him yet. "We've been abandoned! The Host has disowned us! We will all die." the man screams, almost incoherently.
Uneventful is the only way to describe getting dressed, and the trip from someone' home to his vehicle and on to the baseball diamond is no more interesting.
Upon his arrival to the open field it's very easy to see a big naked man with a knife running about the grass, this way. That way. He bulls over a garbage can then tries to stab it. Then he moves on to slide at ghost only he seems to be able to see. Any pedestrians who were here have long ran off, there are some people in distantly parked cars gawking at the scene though. For now only Aristotle is here and the big man doesn't seem to notice him yet. "We've been abandoned! The Host has disowned us! We will all die." the man screams, almost incoherently.
Uneventful is the only way to describe getting dressed, and the trip from Aristotle's home to his vehicle and on to the baseball diamond is no more interesting.
Upon his arrival to the open field it's very easy to see a big naked man with a knife running about the grass, this way. That way. He bulls over a garbage can then tries to stab it. Then he moves on to slide at ghost only he seems to be able to see. Any pedestrians who were here have long ran off, there are some people in distantly parked cars gawking at the scene though. For now only Aristotle is here and the big man doesn't seem to notice him yet. "We've been abandoned! The Host has disowned us! We will all die." the man screams, almost incoherently.
Mildly perplexed at what he's overhearing upon his arrival, Aristotle exits from his vehicle with his hand on his holster. He doesn't seem overly cautious over the naked man or his knife until he notes him attempted to stab a garbage can of all things. He makes an approach, but it's slow. "Hey!" He calls out, loud enough to ensure his voice carries to where the man is. "Wanna put that knife down so we can talk?" He asks, before adding in with a vague explanation of, "Host business."
"Please do not abandon us!" the crazed man says, he looks around like he's on drugs. Wild eyed. When he can't find anything nearby to attack or charge, he begins to cut himself with his knife, cutting a hand shape into his chest with gritted teeth.
He's interrupted from his self mutilation when Aristotle approaches and speaks to him the man's focus snaps onto Aristotle, there is a half second where he might attack till the man tricks him with the 'Host business' line. The man goes wide eyed and says, "You can still hear them? They are talking to you? They stopped talking to me. Did I do something wrong?"
There's a look in Aristotle's eye as he contemplates that suggests he'd want to take an extra step towards the man, but he holds fast. He lets his shoulders relax so as to appear non-threatening, but his hand doesn't leave his holster. "Not abandoned." He says, as if to confirm that this 'host' didn't leave him. Instead he supplies, "This silence is just a test to..." he pauses for a split moment. "Determine if you're actually worthy of the responsibility that'll be imposed on you. And right now, you're not passing. We need to have a talk." He says, before his free hand is extended out as if to beckon the man to follow. "Come with me."
There is a helpless look on the guys face, he seems temporarily so lost. He's sweaty, and now bleeding from his self mutilation that does not seem to hurt him at all. He still has his big kitchen knife and thats a valid threat if he was to turn it against Aristotle.
A little more information leeks out as the man speaks rapidly, "They spoke to my head everyday, telling me what to do. But..it just stopped..a few days ago-.." the man pauses to listen to what Aristotle tells him. His eyes widen and he gasp, "I failed..I knew it. I failed their test. I have to repent!" he shouts then he holds the knife to his own neck, "I'll prove myself!"
"Woah, slow down." Aristotle says. Or rather, demands. "You being dead makes you useless, and this very real, legitimate test is one that you will fail. It should be pretty clear by now that we still need you alive." He says, stressing his words as he motions for the man to come closer. "Put the knife down and come with me." He says.
With a breath, the man seems to calm as he tries to rationalize all the words Aristotle has offered him. "Yeah..I can't fail." the knife lowers a bit. He looks unsure, and slightly distrusting of Aristotle but soon he lower his weapon hand to his side and takes a step closer to Aristotle, "You will take me to them? So I can serve?" he ask, seeking reassurance. The naked man while large both in bulk and voice, seems kinda small right now.
"I will." Aristotle says, nodding to this man. Even still, he doesn't lower his guard, tensing just slightly as the man approaches. "I'm going to have to sneak you in plain sight to where we're going, though. This will require me to put you in handcuffs." He says, prefacing this as a way to avoid the man's distrust otherwise. "Otherwise, there might be too much opposition and it'll put us both in a position where we can't serve." He says. As he speaks, he starts to move around the man towards his backside with his holstered-rested hand beginning to tug out a pair of handcuffs.
Surrendering to Aristotle, the man goes along quietly. Calmed by the man's words and negotiation skills. He eventually gives up the knife and even allows the handcuffs. He gets in back seat of Aristotle's car to be taken away. Once he's dropped off at the clinic and analyzed by professionals. A report will state to Aristotle that the man was already a schizophrenic and it appears the destined host was manipulating him. But when the cleanse occured, the contact was cut and it left the man to snap.
(Your target is abducted by humans who believe that the target can help make them supernatural. They need to either get out of the situation themselves, or stall for long enough for their allies to come save them.
)
OOC: Hello! Thank you for accepting! Go ahead and emote what you were doing and we will get started :)
Julius is in the occult section of the bookstore and is looking through sections involving fae. The man is might be highly interested in the subject of fae since he seems to have a stack of four or five such books he wants to buy tucked under his arm, ranging from folk lore, to more specific pieces on fae history. He pauses to stroke his beard, thoughtful about his next choice
Putting back a book or two Julius takes some choice favorites to the front counter to pay for them then leave the book store to head to his van on Elm street. He's not very wary of his surroundings, in fact he's distracted while he thumbs through the first chapter of his book about uncommon creatures.
The lack of any magic in the world for the time being might be enough to lull someone into a sense of tranquility - now, anything untoward that may occur would be strictly -human-, which every other place in the world seems much more equipped to deal with, except for Haven. Julius finds no issues making his way to his van, and being so distracted and unwary of his surroundings, he fails to notice the door to his van is already unlocked as he settles into the drivers seat.
Julius sits in the front seat of his van, burning his attention in the book. At some point he sticks the keys into the ignition but decides not to turn the van on while he's reading. He grunts out some soft words under his breath. Eventually he closes the book and tosses it onto the passenger seat for it to be in easy reach for more reading later. It's then he looks into the rear-view of his mirror to see if anyone is going to be too close behind him to pull out.
It is quiet in the van - at least for what Julius can gather given how enraptured he is with his book. It's tossed aside with little issue. As he checks the rear-view mirror however, he does notice that someone is too close for him to safely pull out. Someone is in his back seat, and they lock eyes through the rear-view mirror. Immediately, once this assailant registers that he's been spotted, he lunges forward to wrap his arm around Julius' neck, using the headrest of the seat itself as leverage. "Don't do anything stupid. Do exactly what I tell you to do and you won't get hurt, understand?"
There is a moment of surprise when Julius locks eyes with the assailant. One hand reaches for his belt, only to realize he doesn't carry a pistol on it these days, his other hand moves between throat and arm to prevent the chokehold from locking in place. He seems skilled in close range grappling. He doesn't fight beyond that yet, he stops and listens then says, "Who the fuck are you?"
"Your worst fucking nightmare and the fucking grim reaper if you don't do exactly what the fuck I fucking say." The man says, lightly grappling with Julius as his hand is prevented from locking into the tight hold he wanted. He clasps his hands though, keeping Julius pinned for now. "Start the car and drive. Somewhere private." He demands. "You're gonna help me out with something. And if you do a good job, I'll think about letting you live."
Julius grunts softly. Showing his hand at his waist is empty before reaching slow for the ignition to start the van. He takes hold of the wheel and begins to drive off, to the woods just outside of town. "Tell me what this is about." he says, as he drives with the man's arm at his neck.
The man seems to relax only a hair as Julius acquiesces. He's silent as the van takes off down the road towards the woods, and it's then that he answers Julius. "You're going to help me activate." He says. "You're gonna make me supernatural. And don't give me that bullshit that you can't, because I fucking know the fuck you can." He spits out, preemptively attempting to get ahead of any resistance Julius may have.
Julius grunts softly under his breath. Driving about two hundred feet out before finding a small dirt off road to drive off into. "You are one dumb fuck. I've got no secret way of making that happen for you." he says, being unfriendly in his low, gravelly voice. "And for another thing, why'd you want to be a supernatural? That life isn't any good man."
There's a strike given to Julius' head as his assailant releases his hold long enough to hit him in the side. "The fuck did I just say?" He yells out, before attempting to hold his arm around his neck again as they drive. Likely not the best time to hit him, but he is and one would say, 'a dumb fuck.' "Yes you do. And you're gonna do whatever the fuck you can to make it happen, or I will shoot you in the woods." He threatens. He's quiet for just a moment or two before revealing, "And yes it... being a supernatural? The power they have? The -authority?- I wouldn't have to live by anyone else's commands but my own. I wouldn't have to listen to anyone."
Julius takes the blow to the head and serves when he does but manages to keep the vehicle on the road. He finally parks in the woods. Away from prying eyes then he moves his gaze up to the rear-view mirror to look at the man in the reflection. "There's two ways to get it done. One you gotta already have supernatural DNA, and then you got to unlock it through tramua and stress..usually takes months of torture." the man says, presenting an unlikely scenario. "The other way is simple, you cut a deal with a fae, or demon and they give you the power in exchange for something. Usually something pricey like your soul or first born."
His hold tightens instinctively for his own support when the vehicle swerves, "Fuck - careful dude, shit." He says, as if he wasn't the cause for the swerving. He's silent until they park, and his eyes catch Julius's in the rear-view mirror. He registers his words, nodding in acceptance. "Look at that. All of a sudden you know about ways to do it." He's smug, but doesn't gloat further. "Get out of the car. We'll do either of those methods. You said there's a simple way to do it? Cutting a deal? Faustian type shit? You got a plug for that?"
"I know of one." Julius admits to the man as he idly thumbs his ring to play with it with meaning while bringing up the subject. He reaches slow for the van door to open it. "We can call her, see if she'll come out and make a deal. But whatever it is. I'm warning you. You will get the shit end of the stick."
"I doubt that." SRAristotle says, snorting as he regards Julius's words as an attempt to sway him from doing this. As Julius goes to open the door, he finds himself released by this assailant, who follows suit in departing the vehicle. Julius would be able to get a good look at him - he's a scrawny man, probably no older than his early-twenties, and shorter than Julius. He's in all black, dirty, but he's holding a gun. His gun training would reveal to him with a glance that the safety is on.
Julius seems to want to do this to an extent, to fill his own goals of interacting with the Eidolon he so relentlessly pursues. After they leave the van he briefly glances to the man's gun before moving towards an empty patch of forest nearby. He uses his heel to start digging a circle in the dirt. "Need to call her, she calls herself Lirael and she really likes to fuck with men. So that's a point in your favor." he grunts as he kicks a rock out of the way with the side of his foot. "Alright, gonna have to offer her something just to get her to show up. She might like the gun to be honest."
"Lirael. Alright." The boy says, nodding at Julius. "What is she? Fae or Demon?" He asks, as if to get more information from Julius. "Not that it matters, I'm still gonna do it." When it's mentioned that the gun might be a good offering, he tosses it down on the floor. "She can have the gun. Just make me supernatural." He demands. "She can have whatever she wants."
"Fae." Julius states plainly. He watches as the gun is tossed down. There is a brief moment when the man flexes his fingers into fist as if he's preparing to manhandle his assailant down now that the odds are evened. But instead, he elects to reason with him saying, "Listen, anything she gives you is going to come at a price. Maybe you'll make a deal to be super strong and she'll make it only work thursday mornings before tea time. Thats how she is." he huffs then ask, "Do you got a girl?"
"That just means that on thursdays before tea-time, I'll be unstoppable." The boy says, stubbornly dismissing Julius's warnings. He looks down to the gun he tossed onto the clearing, turning to face it with his back to Julius. "Better one day of being in charge than seven days of being used. How do I start this?"
Julius fingers the band on his right ring finger with his thumb, its something he does when he's deep in thought. He considers his next move then takes a step closer to the boy saying, "You prepared to never have a woman? She's a jealous bitch, she wont let you have a girl. Even a one night stand she'll try to sabotage it. You really want to be celibate? And don't think you can shop around to other faes and demons, cause demons will want you to do evil things as part of their deal."
"Jesus, dude, I'm not looking for a life lesson, I want -power-." He says, a bit loudly as though it were fueled by irritation. He doesn't notice Julius stepping close. "Besides, this thing can give me what I want. Every other woman obviously can't live up to that. What's the first step?"
"Well, here's the life lesson." Julius says, he quickly swings to put his fist into the boy's face, putting all his bulk and size behind it to try and clock him and drop him. "Don't put your gun down."
This boy, quite smaller in both stature and musculature, wasn't expecting a blow to the head. Let alone one with all of Julius's weight behind it. He's knocked down with both the blow from Julius's fist and the ground taking him out of consciousness. He's limp on the ground, breathing, but completely incapacitated. He's out like a light, and when he wakes it'll be with a very nasty headache and, if he tries hard enough to recall, a very important name that will change the course of his life forever. But, that's not a problem that concerns Julius's anymore, as there would be nothing that stops him from leaving.
Julius tosses the unconscious boy into the back of the van and collects the gun to discard that later. His plan for his assailant is rather forgiving. He drops him in the clinic with specific instructions to give therapy and eventual mental imprints to stop seeking power. The sect Julius is in has much experiencing deprogramming people tricked by fae or otherwise supernaturally influenced.
Sienna hooks her flashlight to the strap of her backpack, quietly loping along until they come across the wooden sign. She turns her phone around, highlighting the words that point them toward the Godrealm. "Alright, this is as good of a spot as any," she tells Kah softly. Her backpack weighs heavy from the small, but clunky carrying cases for three small surveillance drones.
Making sure his protective items are in place, Kah nods solemnly at Sienna. "I will follow your lead" he assures her, hefting the weight of his spear a little uncertainly. He shakes his head, and sets his expression to one of determination and focus. "Let us find our way."
The forest is strange without the magic that normally bleeds through it. Quiet in a way. There are less eyes hiding in the mist. Less danger. Though, there are some that might suggest there is more, given the weakening of the Sanctuary spell. There are four stones scattered amongst the various anchored gates known to those who reside in Haven. The one at the gate that Kah and Sienna find themselves at has part of a word scratched into it, "VE".
Each of these stones have an arrow carved into them as well, assisting in directing the gate magic toward a focal point. A point that rises up through the forest not so far from where the pair find themselves. A tower. A very dorky wizard tower.
Sienna crouches down, unshouldering her backpack in one fluid motion, her movements quiet and efficient. With a glance toward Kah, she unzips the main compartment and pulls out two small drones, their matte black exteriors glinting faintly under the limited light. She places them on the ground carefully, fingers brushing over their controls to activate them. From her side, she retrieves a sat-GPS tablet, the glowing screen reflecting her eyes as she inputs commands.
Her gaze narrows as her flashlight beam hovers over the scratched stone, catching the partial word "VE" etched faintly into its surface. Her brow furrows in thought, but she remains quiet, her eyes tracing the carved arrow pointing toward the tower. "VE... what does that mean?" she murmurs under her breath, more to herself than to Kah. Straightening up, she shifts her attention toward the looming tower in the distance. "Looks like thats our next stop," she supposes, slinging her backpack over a shoulder as her drones pilot forward toward the direction of the tower. "Let's check it out first?"
For the moment, Kah keeps his eye on the woods. He's not certain what might crawl out of it, but it's a small relief that it may not be as dangerous as he's starting to become used to. Splitting that attention between the trees and Sienna becomes an exercise in frustration all too soon. He pauses, though with a thoughtful expression before holding up a hand toward Sienna briefly. "What about the other stones? Perhaps they have something on them too."
Ziiiiiiiiooooww. The drone flickers up into the air, and over toward the target, that bloody awful tower. Without the magic bleeding into the forest, it's likely even more responsive than it might be usually. It doesn't take long before the building comes into view on Sienna's screen. It's tall, bigger than three stories, and has a wee little flagpole at the top. Rumour suggests that the underwear of the Hand President once sailed from it, but it no longer does.
Sienna nods at Kah's suggestion, her expression thoughtful as she swipes a finger across her tablet, zooming in on the footage from the first drone. "Good point, we'll need to check all the stones. If the others have more letters, maybe we can piece it all together." Her fingers dance over the screen, quickly engaging night mode to give them a clearer view of the tower ahead. The eerie, dorky structure comes into sharper focus, while the second drone is commanded toward the other gates, keeping an eye on the live feeds. "The other drone can do that while we scope out the area here," she recommends softly to Kah, carefully trampling through the grass to the tower.
Falling into line, the large man settles in next to Sienna as they tromp. Where branches come into their path, Kah pushes them aside with his shield, using the spear more as a staff or walking stick as they trek through the trees, now. "Very good" he says quietly. His already soft-spoken voice comes even more to the murmur so as not to draw too much attention to themselves. Calm, measured breaths try to keep his heart from racing at the prospect of the task ahead of them. "Has this always been here?" The man genuinely doesn't know of course, not having been in the area very long yet.
Enhance. Enhance. ENHANCE. Thankfully, this is no longer a dream of daytime cop dramas, but a reality of modern technology. The image becomes sharper, and clearer as the drone shifts into it's night view, revealing some markings at the top of the tower. There's a reason that the waystones point, and it appears that Sienna has found it. It's the crux of the magic holding the spell in place, with chalk outlines present against the floor of the top of the tower, where it lies open and exposed to the nights air. There are four circles. Basketball sized. And before them lies the words of the spell, written in dried blood, though slightly too difficult to make out from this distance.
The tower itself has been here for some time. Judging by the growth of the grass around it, and it's generally aging experience. Not years, but certainly months. Those with their ear to the ground may be aware that it belongs to a member of Haven's own community, a man well regarded for their efforts at community outreach.
The closer they come, the easier the tower will be to see. There's just this reaction within the tall man, an urge to feel the change upon him and it's without real thought that he tries to reach for it. A grunt comes from Kah's lips, a little louder than he'd meant as they close the distance between them and the tower. The sound is enough to echo at least a little through the trees and boughs that surround them, and an embarrassed look blazes across the dark features of Kah's face. He winces, then looms over Sienna's shoulder to share the view if possible since his eyes cannot make out the details. Each of these limitations and reminders frustrates the man anew, but he tries to keep his attention on the screens, and on Sienna who will likely know what next move to make. "Magic. Why is it -always- magic?" The question is stupid, of course. It's ALWAYS magic, but even if it doesn't metaphysically make his skin crawl, the reaction is so ingrained in the man that he makes small shudders of irritation and revulsion anyway.
Sienna watches the screen intently as the drone's camera zooms in on the markings at the top of the tower. The chalk outlines catch her eye, and her brows furrow thoughtfully. "It's a recent addition if many to Haven," she says of the tower, swiping out of the screen to bring up a concurrent property record to check owner details. Irrelevant, but always a good thing to know. She stretches out the tablet for Kah to view. "It looks like we're in the right place, the crux of what's holding all the magic in place." A deep breath, her head falling back to gaze up into the darkness where her drone hovers, feeding them a view from the top of the tower. "We need to get up there now. Either we can climb or go through the inside. Your call, big guy."
Kah says "I do not suppose you have thought to bring a rope and hook with us?"
Asking the question, Kah just grunts again as he thinks probably not. "Well .. I can't carry you and my spear and shield both, I think. MAYBE I could climb the outside ..." His eyes scan the screens and look for how smooth or well-maintained the outside of the tower is. Is it brick or stone, or something more modern? He studies the sight of the tower to his best effort trying to determine if he should even try.
Sienna glances at Kah with a wry smile, her fingers still hovering over the tablet. "I always come prepared." She taps the side of her backpack. "Rope, hook, and a few other surprises, just in case. Since we knew it was a tower, I wasn't exactly sure if we'd need it or not."""
Beep boop. The tablet beeps, likely despite Sienna having muted it, and the information she was seeking flashes up over the screen. The owner is none other than Fayad al-Munaqadh. Owner of the Great News Community Centre, and known ally of the man behind this terrible, terrible scheme. The very top of the tower can near see each of the anchored gates settled amongst Haven, likely why this place was chosen as the focal point.
The tower itself is made of heavily reinforced stone, writ with magical enchantments, though there remains little trace of this extra protection given current circumstance. Normally, of course, this would prevent someone simply clambering up the side of the heavily enforced building, but now? Now, the pair might just have a chance.
That other drove, the second one? Continues on it's own personal quest, dancing through the night toward each of the gates in turn, collecting the data on the stones that sit at each. No doubt it will be finished by the time Sienna and Kah have clambed up the giant stone erection.
With a nod then, Kah gives a more broad smile. "Ahh, well that's much better!" His smile doesn't last though, as he shifts the shield to slung it across his back. " Then I think we go up the side. No telling what we'll find inside and the dangers out here are more limited. At least for now?" He raises his eyebrow up, seeking Sienna's opinion. If it's his call though, this is the one he's making!
Sienna looks up at the tower, assessing its stone walls with a quick, practiced glance. She glances at the information flashing on her tablet, her lips pressing together as she reads the name. "Fayad al-Munaqadh... great. Of course it's him," she mutters under her breath before returning her attention to Kah. She unshoulders the bag and unzips one of the side compartments, pulling out a coiled rope and a small grappling hook. "Think you can make the throw?" she asks, passing him the gear.
"Scaling up the side is definitely the best shot," she gives a quick nod, handing him the grappling hook. "Just be careful." She steps back, readying herself and securing her gear in preparation for the scale.
Glancing upward ... and upward .. Kah gives a soft sound of uncertainty. "I'll give it my best shot." It's not going to be strength that Kah has to rely on here, but he's done some things like this before. There's a sense of apprehension that comes over the man as he takes the rope attached to it's grappling hook. No batman toys here, tonight. Letting loose a length, Kah begins to spin the heavy hook at the end of the rope until he's got it whirling about at high-speed, creating the illusion of a disc in the air as he keeps it moving, spinning, twisting ... and he lets out an "Ooomph!" as he angles his release upward and toward the top of the tower. He aims to loop over the crenelation with a little slack to spare, so he can try and pull the rope tight, and secure.
While Kah may be robbed of his supernatural abilities, he's still a pretty buff, giant of a man. That grappling hook goes soaring up into the air, and dark of the night, the rope slipping through his hands as it is drawn up to follow. It's like firing an arrow at the sun, only, you know. It's dark. Either way, the rope spools out, and eventually there is the distinct CLUNK of the hook catching at something or other on the roof of the tower. A tug or two would prove that it's catch is true.
Sienna watches with wide eyes as Kah launches the grappling hook with impressive force, the hook sailing up into the night sky. When she hears the solid "clunk" of it catching, she lets out an excited breath, flashing a proud grin at him. "Look at you! That was perfect, Kah," she gushes, impressed. Without wasting am oment, she steps forward, grabbing hold of the rope. "Okay, let's go..." The cheerleader pulls herself up, hand over hand, her movements quick and determined, eager to reach the top. Despite the weight of her backpack and the occasional slip of her boots against the stone, Sienna's excitement drives her forward as she scales the tower.
Testing the rope, Kah gives Sienna a nod and gestures. "You first" he murmurs but he doesn't have to she's already on it! Kah is next up the rope, to keep an eye on her and watch the integrity of the rope. He tries to move as fast as he's able without over-taking the smaller woman as they make their way up.
Well, at least Kah has a great view to consider as the pair make their way up the tower. It's a bloody tall tower. Three stories, and change, so it likely takes them some time to reach the appex, but thankfully they manage to do so unchallenged. There are no booby traps, or evil birds swooping through the dark at them. Just the quiet of the night, interrupted only by sounds of their efforts.
Upon reaching the top of the tower, the magic that has redirected the power of the gates becomes all the more apparent. The lines in blood, written against the floor, and the four circles that serve as a capstone of sorts, a password, as it were, to assist in dismissing the spell.
The bloody words read, "There is being a sacrifice of sorts to end this. To bring magic and all it's horrors rushing back into our world as an invader anew. Speak, 'Revocacionem protectione sanctuarium', and the command word in one sentence. Risk your own safety, to rob others of their own."
It's about now that the other drone chipperly informs Sienna through a beep of her tablet, that it has managed to catalogue the other three waystones, and the letters left upon them. "R", "EN", "TRA".
R EN TRA VE - It must be an anagram, of sorts.