Encounterlogs
Deacons Odd Encounter Sr Sarah
On a frigid night at his store, Savage Style, Deacon is interrupted by a commotion outside—a crashed door and blood leading to a neighboring shop. Investigating alone, he discovers the havoc wreaked by a rogue werewolf. Its victim lies bleeding out as the beast, lost to rage and confused, snarls menacingly. Deacon, unarmed and unprotected, feels compelled to act. With cautious steps, he confronts the werewolf, strategizing his approach. He decides to call both the supernatural enforcement group known as the Hand and the local 911 services, but help seems remote, leaving him to address the volatile situation himself.
His attempts to placate the werewolf are met with hostility, and when the creature launches into an attack, Deacon’s quick reflexes shine as he teleports across the street, evading imminent death. He cleverly distracts the wolf, throwing an object, and swiftly escapes into a shadowy mirror-realm to ensure his safety. Meanwhile, the werewolf gives chase to the noise, vacating the area and allowing the potential for more chaos on the beach, away from the central town. Eventually subdued by the Hand, the werewolf's rampage concludes, but not without a casualty—the man in the shop, whose life ebbed away due to his wounds. News later reports the attack as a large dog incident, downplaying the supernatural reality. Despite the tragedy, Deacon's intervention prevents further loss of life in the heart of Haven.
(Deacon's odd encounter(SRSarah):SRSarah)
[Fri Dec 15 2023]
In the back office of Savage Style
It is night, about 20F(-6C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's snowing outside. There is a waxing crescent moon.
Deacon appears to be rummaging about in the back office of the newly coined 'savage style' clothing store, putting together little packages or Christmas stockings.
(Your target crosses paths with a rogue werewolf who lost control under the full moon. The werewolf is not necessarily evil, but is dangerous and unpredictable in its current state. The target must navigate the encounter either by subduing the werewolf, escaping, or finding a way to help the werewolf regain control.)
As Deacon rummages through the back office on this cold winter's night, something can be heard outside, a loud CRASH! as voices can be heard. Footsteps running away. Whatever it is, it likely isn't a good thing.
"Hrm?" There's a sound of confusion as Deacon's head pops up at the sound of a loud crash! He stands up from his desk and moves around it and through the store. "Better not have crashed into the fucking .." he's muttering and grumbling as he moves through the main area of the store, and potentially through the front door and outside into the cold weather to see what all the ruckus is about.
His store has been spared, for now, thankfully for Deacon. But outside is a different story - a door lies flat before his store, a trail of blood running towards the store besides his. Inside, voices can be heard, desperate. "P-Please! I-I Am s-s-s-s-sorry! Please god please!" someone begs of another, only answered by a deep, guttural snarl. Anger. In any other town, one might assume some sort of wild animal wandered in from the forest. But this is Haven, and in Haven - when something's snarling in town, the source tends to be clear. And pretty bad news.
A furrow of the brow comes down over Deacon's eyes and he purses his lips with a frown. Eyes follow the trail of the blood that leads through next door and he hears that snarl. With a glance upward, he gauges the light, as little as it is from the moon, is fairly well covered and with a tilt of his head ... he decides to investigate. He checks his pocket, his knife is there sure but that's not gonna do himself a whole lot of good if this goes south. Still the man's known to put himself on the line for the sake of the gamble and so with a quiet step he moves toward the sound of that voice crying out in fear. Granted, that fear doesn't make him move any more urgently, prioritizing his own safety over whoever's the unfortunate one around the corner.
"D-D-Don-" A final plea, a scream of pain and horror follows. As Deacon reaches the door, he can see the scene ahead. Racks of goods haphazardly thrown over, patches of black fur on the ground and... its source. A massive black wolf, biting at the shoulder of some passed out man, who is in turn bleeding quickly - not good. The wolf seems to have no real connection to reality, stuck in a mindless rage, their clothes - hers, going by what she's wearing - ripped and left besides her. Tail swishing with the familiar flick of a very, very angry canine.
No armor to be had, no real weapon either ... this is going to be tricky. Does he just let the man die, and call it a night without concern for his well-being? More interestingly, Deacon seems curious as to the agitated nature of the wolf itself. Maybe it's a relationship thing, but he's not gonna risk it. With a grunt, he realizes he'll have to do -something-. Can't just leave it for the news to pick up on in the morning. Reaching quietly for his phone, he's pulling up the App for business activitives and contact with the back office as these things go, trying to move swiftly now yet slowly enough to keep the edge of surprise; the wind could shift at any moment! A 911 call, and an a request for the Hand's version of 'animal control' are his attempted communications before he's giving a low-pitched whistle from his place around the corner! "Oy!"
Clever, really, of Deacon to call both, the Hand and 911. The Hand responds immediately - they'll disperse some of their people. When convenient. 911 will 'send an officer over'. Usually code speak for 'There's enough trouble in town, we'll pick up the corpse.'. Seems he's on his own for now, until either of them free up. As the man whistles, the werewolf's ears perk up and twitch, a most dog-like behavior, if coming from a monster of legends instead. It pauses its bloody meal, then draws around, slowly. Eyes like black coal fixated on the tall man. Blood-stained lips draw away from teeth and it snarls at him, rage filling her eyes. Not out-right attacking, yet, but certainly in quite a mood right now as massive pearly fangs reveal themselves, the red liquid dripping off of them, onto the floor.
"Easy, now. I don't know what he did to you, but I didn't, hrm?" The words don't matter as much as the calm and easy tone that Deacon tries to effect as best he can. He chooses his words carefully anyway, in case some of those faculties remain there, buried down if not behind the wheel right now of the over-sized beast in front of him. Drooling jowels and gleaming teeth are met by glittering viridian orbs that watch the massive black creature with every ounce of focus they can muster. Waiting .. watching. He doesn't move too quickly, now just trying to buy the man bleeding out time where the beast isn't actively chewing on him. "C'mon ..." he murmurs, talking to both wolf and his hopeful backup.
The monster does not seem particularly talkative, or understanding. There is the slightest flicker of recognition in those words, sure. A small, small relaxation in those ears, a slow of its flicking tail, but it doesn't stop it from stalking Deacon, starting to circle him, her eyes flicking almost constantly to his neck. Hungry. Then, it jumps onto a wall, bouncing off of it to redirect its aim straight for the man's throat in a vicious attack. However, compared to the man with piercing eyes, the monster is a slow one. Laughingly slow, almost, despite the ferocity behind its attack. One that could for sure be reacted to.
Even moreso than his speed, it's something else that Deacon relies upon here for now. As the wolf launches itself toward him, Deacon turns his attention behind him as he spies some random person making their late-night walk back from one of the places still serving up here, or along Paine avenue perhaps. That's unlucky for them maybe in a few moments, but there's a moment where it seems like the wolf is going to make it's kill and then Deacon disappears from sight only to reappear across the street nearby that late-night stumbler. Moving through the shadows in the blink of an eyes to avoid those teeth he's whistling again all the while shoving that poor soul on by the shoulder. "Best you get on now" he says cheerfully, putting some holiday cheer into his voice while keeping an eye on this creature in the store-front the other side of the asphalt.
"Huh?" - If wolves could talk, that would be what the strange noise would most likely be. The wolf looks utterly confused at the sudden disappearance of its prey, left biting at air. It looks around itself, turning as if expecting an attack. From behind. From above it. Looking strangely disgusted the entire time. It seems to be too distracted by the enemy it expects to be 'up close' to notice Deacon from afar right now, biting the air over and over, clawing at the shop's remaining stands as if expecting the man to be invisible, or hiding. A perfect opportunity to escape, perhaps. Could let the police handle it when they feel like it. Or the Hand.
And that's exactly what Deacon does, from here. With the beast distracted and now running a little more confused, Deacon kneels down to pick up a rock or an empty beer can perhaps - and he chucks it down the street and toward the beach with a careful aim. Wouldn't do to have it merely hit the sand, no. He wants it to bounce off of the concrete or street somewhere down there and then he's grabbing at the dog-tags around his neck and letting himself shift sideways in that strange, soul-twisting manner that sees him now walking through the penumbral shadows of that mirror-realm.
As the can hits the concrete, the ring of metal can be heard, causing the wolf to perk its ears and twist on its feet right as Deacon disappears into the nightmare. From the nightmare, Deacon can see the confused creature look around for its target, then run out of the store, towards those manicured sands. Likely, her target isn't quite so okay - bleeding as he was in the store. But he is, and perhaps, tonight, that's all that matters in Haven as the uncontrolled menace looks for its next target - or rather, its previous one, that it's likely to be replacing by something else.
But at least something else would be further from the main throughways in the town itself. Seeming margainally satisfied, Deacon turns and lets himself trot back off into the night with little more thought about it, other than a note to himself to ensure that he's got the reenforcements added to the door of his shop before the next full moon.
And as such this night ends, with a werewolf on the loose - who would soon find themselves caught by the HSD, no doubt, now that it is out in the open - and Deacon save as can be. The man in the store died, bled out from his wounds before help got to him and the wolf found another target, out on the beach. Some poor teen who was talking to her boyfriend on the phone. An animal attack, it would be called in the news. A large dog, stray. But it could have been worse, more could have died, deeper in town. More could have seen the unnatural creature, and possibly noticed it's not quite a normal wolf. That, too, can be considered a success in a town like this.
His attempts to placate the werewolf are met with hostility, and when the creature launches into an attack, Deacon’s quick reflexes shine as he teleports across the street, evading imminent death. He cleverly distracts the wolf, throwing an object, and swiftly escapes into a shadowy mirror-realm to ensure his safety. Meanwhile, the werewolf gives chase to the noise, vacating the area and allowing the potential for more chaos on the beach, away from the central town. Eventually subdued by the Hand, the werewolf's rampage concludes, but not without a casualty—the man in the shop, whose life ebbed away due to his wounds. News later reports the attack as a large dog incident, downplaying the supernatural reality. Despite the tragedy, Deacon's intervention prevents further loss of life in the heart of Haven.
(Deacon's odd encounter(SRSarah):SRSarah)
[Fri Dec 15 2023]
In the back office of Savage Style
It is night, about 20F(-6C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's snowing outside. There is a waxing crescent moon.
Deacon appears to be rummaging about in the back office of the newly coined 'savage style' clothing store, putting together little packages or Christmas stockings.
(Your target crosses paths with a rogue werewolf who lost control under the full moon. The werewolf is not necessarily evil, but is dangerous and unpredictable in its current state. The target must navigate the encounter either by subduing the werewolf, escaping, or finding a way to help the werewolf regain control.)
As Deacon rummages through the back office on this cold winter's night, something can be heard outside, a loud CRASH! as voices can be heard. Footsteps running away. Whatever it is, it likely isn't a good thing.
"Hrm?" There's a sound of confusion as Deacon's head pops up at the sound of a loud crash! He stands up from his desk and moves around it and through the store. "Better not have crashed into the fucking .." he's muttering and grumbling as he moves through the main area of the store, and potentially through the front door and outside into the cold weather to see what all the ruckus is about.
His store has been spared, for now, thankfully for Deacon. But outside is a different story - a door lies flat before his store, a trail of blood running towards the store besides his. Inside, voices can be heard, desperate. "P-Please! I-I Am s-s-s-s-sorry! Please god please!" someone begs of another, only answered by a deep, guttural snarl. Anger. In any other town, one might assume some sort of wild animal wandered in from the forest. But this is Haven, and in Haven - when something's snarling in town, the source tends to be clear. And pretty bad news.
A furrow of the brow comes down over Deacon's eyes and he purses his lips with a frown. Eyes follow the trail of the blood that leads through next door and he hears that snarl. With a glance upward, he gauges the light, as little as it is from the moon, is fairly well covered and with a tilt of his head ... he decides to investigate. He checks his pocket, his knife is there sure but that's not gonna do himself a whole lot of good if this goes south. Still the man's known to put himself on the line for the sake of the gamble and so with a quiet step he moves toward the sound of that voice crying out in fear. Granted, that fear doesn't make him move any more urgently, prioritizing his own safety over whoever's the unfortunate one around the corner.
"D-D-Don-" A final plea, a scream of pain and horror follows. As Deacon reaches the door, he can see the scene ahead. Racks of goods haphazardly thrown over, patches of black fur on the ground and... its source. A massive black wolf, biting at the shoulder of some passed out man, who is in turn bleeding quickly - not good. The wolf seems to have no real connection to reality, stuck in a mindless rage, their clothes - hers, going by what she's wearing - ripped and left besides her. Tail swishing with the familiar flick of a very, very angry canine.
No armor to be had, no real weapon either ... this is going to be tricky. Does he just let the man die, and call it a night without concern for his well-being? More interestingly, Deacon seems curious as to the agitated nature of the wolf itself. Maybe it's a relationship thing, but he's not gonna risk it. With a grunt, he realizes he'll have to do -something-. Can't just leave it for the news to pick up on in the morning. Reaching quietly for his phone, he's pulling up the App for business activitives and contact with the back office as these things go, trying to move swiftly now yet slowly enough to keep the edge of surprise; the wind could shift at any moment! A 911 call, and an a request for the Hand's version of 'animal control' are his attempted communications before he's giving a low-pitched whistle from his place around the corner! "Oy!"
Clever, really, of Deacon to call both, the Hand and 911. The Hand responds immediately - they'll disperse some of their people. When convenient. 911 will 'send an officer over'. Usually code speak for 'There's enough trouble in town, we'll pick up the corpse.'. Seems he's on his own for now, until either of them free up. As the man whistles, the werewolf's ears perk up and twitch, a most dog-like behavior, if coming from a monster of legends instead. It pauses its bloody meal, then draws around, slowly. Eyes like black coal fixated on the tall man. Blood-stained lips draw away from teeth and it snarls at him, rage filling her eyes. Not out-right attacking, yet, but certainly in quite a mood right now as massive pearly fangs reveal themselves, the red liquid dripping off of them, onto the floor.
"Easy, now. I don't know what he did to you, but I didn't, hrm?" The words don't matter as much as the calm and easy tone that Deacon tries to effect as best he can. He chooses his words carefully anyway, in case some of those faculties remain there, buried down if not behind the wheel right now of the over-sized beast in front of him. Drooling jowels and gleaming teeth are met by glittering viridian orbs that watch the massive black creature with every ounce of focus they can muster. Waiting .. watching. He doesn't move too quickly, now just trying to buy the man bleeding out time where the beast isn't actively chewing on him. "C'mon ..." he murmurs, talking to both wolf and his hopeful backup.
The monster does not seem particularly talkative, or understanding. There is the slightest flicker of recognition in those words, sure. A small, small relaxation in those ears, a slow of its flicking tail, but it doesn't stop it from stalking Deacon, starting to circle him, her eyes flicking almost constantly to his neck. Hungry. Then, it jumps onto a wall, bouncing off of it to redirect its aim straight for the man's throat in a vicious attack. However, compared to the man with piercing eyes, the monster is a slow one. Laughingly slow, almost, despite the ferocity behind its attack. One that could for sure be reacted to.
Even moreso than his speed, it's something else that Deacon relies upon here for now. As the wolf launches itself toward him, Deacon turns his attention behind him as he spies some random person making their late-night walk back from one of the places still serving up here, or along Paine avenue perhaps. That's unlucky for them maybe in a few moments, but there's a moment where it seems like the wolf is going to make it's kill and then Deacon disappears from sight only to reappear across the street nearby that late-night stumbler. Moving through the shadows in the blink of an eyes to avoid those teeth he's whistling again all the while shoving that poor soul on by the shoulder. "Best you get on now" he says cheerfully, putting some holiday cheer into his voice while keeping an eye on this creature in the store-front the other side of the asphalt.
"Huh?" - If wolves could talk, that would be what the strange noise would most likely be. The wolf looks utterly confused at the sudden disappearance of its prey, left biting at air. It looks around itself, turning as if expecting an attack. From behind. From above it. Looking strangely disgusted the entire time. It seems to be too distracted by the enemy it expects to be 'up close' to notice Deacon from afar right now, biting the air over and over, clawing at the shop's remaining stands as if expecting the man to be invisible, or hiding. A perfect opportunity to escape, perhaps. Could let the police handle it when they feel like it. Or the Hand.
And that's exactly what Deacon does, from here. With the beast distracted and now running a little more confused, Deacon kneels down to pick up a rock or an empty beer can perhaps - and he chucks it down the street and toward the beach with a careful aim. Wouldn't do to have it merely hit the sand, no. He wants it to bounce off of the concrete or street somewhere down there and then he's grabbing at the dog-tags around his neck and letting himself shift sideways in that strange, soul-twisting manner that sees him now walking through the penumbral shadows of that mirror-realm.
As the can hits the concrete, the ring of metal can be heard, causing the wolf to perk its ears and twist on its feet right as Deacon disappears into the nightmare. From the nightmare, Deacon can see the confused creature look around for its target, then run out of the store, towards those manicured sands. Likely, her target isn't quite so okay - bleeding as he was in the store. But he is, and perhaps, tonight, that's all that matters in Haven as the uncontrolled menace looks for its next target - or rather, its previous one, that it's likely to be replacing by something else.
But at least something else would be further from the main throughways in the town itself. Seeming margainally satisfied, Deacon turns and lets himself trot back off into the night with little more thought about it, other than a note to himself to ensure that he's got the reenforcements added to the door of his shop before the next full moon.
And as such this night ends, with a werewolf on the loose - who would soon find themselves caught by the HSD, no doubt, now that it is out in the open - and Deacon save as can be. The man in the store died, bled out from his wounds before help got to him and the wolf found another target, out on the beach. Some poor teen who was talking to her boyfriend on the phone. An animal attack, it would be called in the news. A large dog, stray. But it could have been worse, more could have died, deeper in town. More could have seen the unnatural creature, and possibly noticed it's not quite a normal wolf. That, too, can be considered a success in a town like this.