Encounterlogs
Eloras Odd Encounter Sr Lucy 241128
Elora's morning veiled in supernatural stealth quickly turns precarious as a vampire dispatched by the Sapphire Martyrs seeks her out. Despite her invisible guise, the vampire, a deft being with a mission, penetrates her illusion and delivers an ultimatum tied to Earth's looming destruction: to join, to fight, or to convince him otherwise. Elora, wrapped in her illusions and psychic prowess, attempts to sway the vampire's resolve with disappointment. Her efforts seem vain as he, undeterred and meticulously tracking her, demands a decision—his presence a stark contrast to the quiet mundane of Warden's Way. Their confrontation is charged, a battle of conviction against fear, of visions for the future colliding.
Elora, in a defiant act, steps from her van, discarding her phone in a symbolic refusal of the vampire's offer. Her attempt to flee or fight embodies the tense, unpredictable nature of their interaction. The vampire, an emblem of unwavering conviction, is momentarily fooled by illusions but remains focused on his mission. Their dance is a strategic one, with Elora leveraging her command over spirits and the environment to navigate the encounter. In the climactic confrontation in an alley, where power and ideology clash, Elora chooses confrontation over evasion. Despite her skill and determination, the battle concludes with her physical defeat but not without marking the vampire, a testament to her resistance. She awakens in the aftermath, bruised but alive, the vampire gone, leaving the tension unresolved, a silent acknowledgment of their conflicting paths in a world on the brink.
(Elora's odd encounter(SRLucy):SRLucy)
[Wed Nov 27 2024]
On Warden's Way
Smooth asphalt roads continue through this part of town, bordered on either side by well maintained concrete sidewalks. Where the street is widest small median islands appear with old twisted trees planted in them. The buildings that line the street seem quaint, but well maintained.
It is morning, about 36F(2C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(The Sapphire Martyrs have identified your target as a key player in their plans for Earth's destruction. They send one of their members, a disillusioned vampire with an eerie calmness and unwavering conviction, to either recruit or eliminate the target. The target must either convince the vampire to abandon their mission, fight them off until help arrives, or even join the Sapphire Martyrs if they choose. The encounter challenges the target's beliefs and forces them to question the drastic measures the Sapphire Martyrs are willing to take to 'save' the other worlds.)
Elora was a cautious person on the best of days and terribly paranoid on the worst. She had been in her van that morning, covered in an illusion, invisible. Texting on her phone, idly, with her apprentice and a squire from the Knights.
Despite Elora's masterful stealth and the illusion, it seems like she's not gone unnoticed by someone able to see through the deception. The man approches Elora's van and rasps his knuckles on the driver's window, his movements slow, deliberate, and almost soundless, but he did not seem to notice the darkness.
"Elora." The slick middle aged man greets, his voice smooth and steady, as if speaking to an old friend rather than a marked target. He stopped a few paces away, his head tilting just enough to catch the dim light on his pale, angular features, "The Sapphire Martyrs have taken an interest in you. And I have come to offer a choice."
Elora reaches out psychically while staying in hiding, tugging at the man's emotion, making him to feel disappointment, while staying hidden beneath her glamour.
The man's gaze flicked down to the faint glow of his phone screen, his thumb brushing across a sleek interface that pulsed faintly, a tracking device as he tracks Elora's phone, it's signal narrowing. His jaw tightened as the signal stabilized. Lifting his head, his brow furrows. Even as he moves, his other hand remains anchored against the cold side of the van, fingers splayed as though the connection steadied him, "I know what you're capable of." he says, his voice a low rasp that carried over the rhythmic patter, "Enough of the games." His fingers curled briefly against the metal, as though the van itself could anchor his conviction, "Decide, Elora. Show me what you really are."
He seems to be alone. Bold move, if he truly knows as much about Elora as he claims to.
Elora reaches to the latch of the door to her van, opening it and stepping out. She drops her phone.
Elora then begins to stomp on the phone, again, and again, and again, and again, furious angry stomping. "Stupid thing. Horrible, stupid thing." Her eyes light on the phone on the man who tracked her.
Too fast for anything mortal, the man chases after the illusion, his movements blurring. In a heartbeat, he was on the illusion, his hand darting out like a striking viper. His fingers meet nothing, passing seamlessly through the false projection. He stops abruptly, standing still as the remnants of the illusion dissolves into the air.
His jaw clenches, the faintest hint of irritation flashing across his otherwise stoic face. With a sharp motion, he retrieves his phone, the glow of its screen reflecting in his storm-gray eyes. The signal was gone. Predictable, perhaps, but clearly not the outcome he wanted.
He turns, but doesn't see the van. The frustration etched on his face was an opportunity-perhaps fleeting, but undeniable- for Elora to slip away unnoticed into the shadows as he calls, "Running won't change what's coming. Talk to me. You know what's at stake. You know what they'll do if I walk away empty-handed."
He doesn't have sanctuary. He's clearly a supernatural, and not a part of any venice approved societies.
Elora looks about the parking lot in front of White Oak, the hospital so nearby, the school just past it, the shops on the other end, including a distant and under construction shop, closed to the public, where wedding supplies are sold.
Despite the transformation, the man stood unmoved, his posture steady, his expression calm as though he'd seen such manifestations a thousand times before. He calls toward the gloom, his voice firm but not unkind, "This." he says, gesturing slightly to the strange, dreamlike illusions taking shape around him, "This is the power that could save worlds, Elora."
His tone softens, almost imploring now, though it held no desperation, only conviction. "I'm not your enemy. You're not mine. Not unless you choose to be."
The man's shoulders droop ever so slightly, a subtle shift in his posture that betrayed the faintest hint of resignation. His gaze swep over, searching the shadows, but after a moment, he seemed to accept the silence. Without another word, he turns, his boots clicking sharply on the wet pavement as he moved toward a nearby side alley. The alleyway was narrow, tucked out of view from the main street. Here, away from the eyes of the public, he pauses, his back against a brick wall. He doesn'tt speak, but his presence was palpable, he's clearly waiting, or even hoping, for Elora to follow.
Elora opens up the side door to her van as the man moves away. Within it is a duffel bag as well as the lazy form of a snoozing fox. For those with eyes that can see spirits, the fox has two tails. Moreover, superimposed over it and above it is a woman clothed in grave cloth. The black haired girl has a shround over her head, but its translucent enough to reveal that her eyes have been gouged out, cruel iron stakes driven down into her eyes instead. "Envy," Elora tells the spirit. "To the alley. Entertain the crowd while I was prepare."
Elora lets the fox jump down past her, grimacing slightly as the necessary cost to compel the spirit drains from her.
Elora unzips her duffel bag, revealing glimmering chainmail armor, a rapier, and a bow.
Elora shuts the door behind her, sliding it closed with a thunk.
Elora gets changed into her armor.
Elora hides from the passing family.
"Elora." Says the middle-aged man in the alleyway, perhaps anticipating an attack, "I'm disappointed. I thought we could have a conversation, perhaps even find common ground, but it seems you're more interested in hiding from the truth." He spreads his arms wide, the motion fluid, deliberate. The illusionary mist swirls around him, but he remains unshaken, "If you're going to make your choice." He continues, his voice hardening, "Then you'd better be prepared to see it through. To the bitter end." He turns slowly, his eyes gleaming, as if daring her to make her move. "There's no turning back, Elora. Not for you. Not for me."
With a burst of speed, the fox spirit leaps at the vampire, it's claws raking across his chest in a vicious swipe. For a moment, he staggers back, the sharp pain momentarily cutting through his otherwise steady composure. But the vampire recovers quickly, his hand shoots out, fingers curling around it's head with inhuman strength. In a single, fluid motion, he lifts the fox by it's skull and slams the fox's head into the brick wall with a sickening crack. The force of the blow echoes down the alley as the spirit's form began to flicker and distort, its ethereal body losing shape with each impact. Again and again, the vampire drove the fox's head into the hard stone, his expression unchanged, as the spirit's form gradually dissipates into nothingness.
Elora could slip away, fade into the mist and shadows with barely a sound, leaving the vampire behind. But just as easily, she could turn and give him the fight he seems to be expecting.
Elora touches her scarf.
Elora swallows nervously once she has armored herself.
Elora approaches the alley rapier in hand, moving at a quick pace.
"It's a shame." The vampire says quietly, his voice carrying with an almost mournful undertone, "You could have been happy, in another world." He tilts his head slightly, a subtle motion that he was picking up on Elora's approaching footsteps, no matter how quiet. Then, without a glance in her direction, he simply waits, patient, unwavering. The next move was hers as he countinues to talk at the air, "Are you really going to continue existing in this doomed world, Elora? Is this the future you're choosing?"
Elora finds her illusion melting away from her from the motion, cloak fading. Now having joined the vampire in the alley she spares a glance for the twitching corpse that was once her fox. There is no compassion in her eyes for it. Instead they move up to the horrible spirit dragging its way from the body. "To the cabin with you," Elora orders.
Her eyes move toward the vampire then, not meeting its eyes. Her rapier comes free of its sheath.
"Likely not. Too many seem intent on watching me for to know peace or joy or to live very long. Is it so hard to tell that I wish to go without attention?" Elora's teal eyes are cold things. As she speaks, her choker begins to glow faintly. The illusion she waves upon the man is a simple thing. When he attacks, he will see the fox again, attacking him in the same motion. Just a distraction, really, something to keep him from using his full force.
Elora bares her teeth, forcing a smile
"You've been unhappy for so long, Elora." Coos the vamprie to Elora, his tone soft, almost as if he were speaking to a child who had forgotten what it meant to smile, "You've forgotten what happiness even feels like. But I understand." His eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of recognition in his gaze, "You're still in denial. That's how it starts. You're afraid to face what's real." He took a step closer to Elora, and from the folds of his coat, he drew out a simple business card for a charity called "Global Outreach Division"
Without a word, he flicks it toward her, the card landing by her bott, "Call me when you're ready." he says, his voice now tinged with finality, "We only have twelve years left. And we're running out of time." He doesn't wait for a response, his eyes lingering on Elora's for a moment longer, before then he turns, as if simply intending to walk away and leave it at that.
Elora attacks.
Elora darts forward, rapier in hand. Teal eyes, determined, baring teeth more in a rictus than a smile. Attacking, even though she expects to lose, given the fate of her fox. She is faster and stronger than a woman her size has any right to be and she's well trained in the use of her rapier. So she moves in a classical pose: body angled to minimize itself, rapier extended in front of her, as a fencer ought to move, rather than in a wild charge. "You do not get to follow me against my will and leave without consequence."
The rapier slices through the someone' back with a sharp, searing force, the blade sinking deep into his flesh. For most supernaturals, such a strike would have been fatal, but the vampire's unnatural durability seemed to defy the laws of mortality. Instead of crumpling, he gasps, pain flaring across his face as he turned with a speed that blurs the air. His eyes, burning with rage, locked onto Elora.
Before Elora could react, his fist slammed into her chest with a force that felt like being hit by a freight train. The blow was so fast, so vicious, that she barely saw it coming before it landed. Another punch followed, then another, each one faster than the last, each strike leaving her vision spinning, her legs buckled, and the world around her darkened, the edges of reality slipping away as her consciousness shattered.
When Elora finally awoke, she was lying in the same alley. Her body ached, bruises forming. But the vampire was gone.
The rapier slices through the vampire's back with a sharp, searing force, the blade sinking deep into his flesh. For most supernaturals, such a strike would have been fatal, but the vampire's unnatural durability seemed to defy the laws of mortality. Instead of crumpling, he gasps, pain flaring across his face as he turned with a speed that blurs the air. His eyes, burning with rage, locked onto Elora.
Before Elora could react, his fist slammed into her chest with a force that felt like being hit by a freight train. The blow was so fast, so vicious, that she barely saw it coming before it landed. Another punch followed, then another, each one faster than the last, each strike leaving her vision spinning, her legs buckled, and the world around her darkened, the edges of reality slipping away as her consciousness shattered.
When Elora finally awoke, she was lying in the same alley. Her body ached, bruises forming. But the vampire was gone.
Elora, in a defiant act, steps from her van, discarding her phone in a symbolic refusal of the vampire's offer. Her attempt to flee or fight embodies the tense, unpredictable nature of their interaction. The vampire, an emblem of unwavering conviction, is momentarily fooled by illusions but remains focused on his mission. Their dance is a strategic one, with Elora leveraging her command over spirits and the environment to navigate the encounter. In the climactic confrontation in an alley, where power and ideology clash, Elora chooses confrontation over evasion. Despite her skill and determination, the battle concludes with her physical defeat but not without marking the vampire, a testament to her resistance. She awakens in the aftermath, bruised but alive, the vampire gone, leaving the tension unresolved, a silent acknowledgment of their conflicting paths in a world on the brink.
(Elora's odd encounter(SRLucy):SRLucy)
[Wed Nov 27 2024]
On Warden's Way
Smooth asphalt roads continue through this part of town, bordered on either side by well maintained concrete sidewalks. Where the street is widest small median islands appear with old twisted trees planted in them. The buildings that line the street seem quaint, but well maintained.
It is morning, about 36F(2C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(The Sapphire Martyrs have identified your target as a key player in their plans for Earth's destruction. They send one of their members, a disillusioned vampire with an eerie calmness and unwavering conviction, to either recruit or eliminate the target. The target must either convince the vampire to abandon their mission, fight them off until help arrives, or even join the Sapphire Martyrs if they choose. The encounter challenges the target's beliefs and forces them to question the drastic measures the Sapphire Martyrs are willing to take to 'save' the other worlds.)
Elora was a cautious person on the best of days and terribly paranoid on the worst. She had been in her van that morning, covered in an illusion, invisible. Texting on her phone, idly, with her apprentice and a squire from the Knights.
Despite Elora's masterful stealth and the illusion, it seems like she's not gone unnoticed by someone able to see through the deception. The man approches Elora's van and rasps his knuckles on the driver's window, his movements slow, deliberate, and almost soundless, but he did not seem to notice the darkness.
"Elora." The slick middle aged man greets, his voice smooth and steady, as if speaking to an old friend rather than a marked target. He stopped a few paces away, his head tilting just enough to catch the dim light on his pale, angular features, "The Sapphire Martyrs have taken an interest in you. And I have come to offer a choice."
Elora reaches out psychically while staying in hiding, tugging at the man's emotion, making him to feel disappointment, while staying hidden beneath her glamour.
The man's gaze flicked down to the faint glow of his phone screen, his thumb brushing across a sleek interface that pulsed faintly, a tracking device as he tracks Elora's phone, it's signal narrowing. His jaw tightened as the signal stabilized. Lifting his head, his brow furrows. Even as he moves, his other hand remains anchored against the cold side of the van, fingers splayed as though the connection steadied him, "I know what you're capable of." he says, his voice a low rasp that carried over the rhythmic patter, "Enough of the games." His fingers curled briefly against the metal, as though the van itself could anchor his conviction, "Decide, Elora. Show me what you really are."
He seems to be alone. Bold move, if he truly knows as much about Elora as he claims to.
Elora reaches to the latch of the door to her van, opening it and stepping out. She drops her phone.
Elora then begins to stomp on the phone, again, and again, and again, and again, furious angry stomping. "Stupid thing. Horrible, stupid thing." Her eyes light on the phone on the man who tracked her.
Too fast for anything mortal, the man chases after the illusion, his movements blurring. In a heartbeat, he was on the illusion, his hand darting out like a striking viper. His fingers meet nothing, passing seamlessly through the false projection. He stops abruptly, standing still as the remnants of the illusion dissolves into the air.
His jaw clenches, the faintest hint of irritation flashing across his otherwise stoic face. With a sharp motion, he retrieves his phone, the glow of its screen reflecting in his storm-gray eyes. The signal was gone. Predictable, perhaps, but clearly not the outcome he wanted.
He turns, but doesn't see the van. The frustration etched on his face was an opportunity-perhaps fleeting, but undeniable- for Elora to slip away unnoticed into the shadows as he calls, "Running won't change what's coming. Talk to me. You know what's at stake. You know what they'll do if I walk away empty-handed."
He doesn't have sanctuary. He's clearly a supernatural, and not a part of any venice approved societies.
Elora looks about the parking lot in front of White Oak, the hospital so nearby, the school just past it, the shops on the other end, including a distant and under construction shop, closed to the public, where wedding supplies are sold.
Despite the transformation, the man stood unmoved, his posture steady, his expression calm as though he'd seen such manifestations a thousand times before. He calls toward the gloom, his voice firm but not unkind, "This." he says, gesturing slightly to the strange, dreamlike illusions taking shape around him, "This is the power that could save worlds, Elora."
His tone softens, almost imploring now, though it held no desperation, only conviction. "I'm not your enemy. You're not mine. Not unless you choose to be."
The man's shoulders droop ever so slightly, a subtle shift in his posture that betrayed the faintest hint of resignation. His gaze swep over, searching the shadows, but after a moment, he seemed to accept the silence. Without another word, he turns, his boots clicking sharply on the wet pavement as he moved toward a nearby side alley. The alleyway was narrow, tucked out of view from the main street. Here, away from the eyes of the public, he pauses, his back against a brick wall. He doesn'tt speak, but his presence was palpable, he's clearly waiting, or even hoping, for Elora to follow.
Elora opens up the side door to her van as the man moves away. Within it is a duffel bag as well as the lazy form of a snoozing fox. For those with eyes that can see spirits, the fox has two tails. Moreover, superimposed over it and above it is a woman clothed in grave cloth. The black haired girl has a shround over her head, but its translucent enough to reveal that her eyes have been gouged out, cruel iron stakes driven down into her eyes instead. "Envy," Elora tells the spirit. "To the alley. Entertain the crowd while I was prepare."
Elora lets the fox jump down past her, grimacing slightly as the necessary cost to compel the spirit drains from her.
Elora unzips her duffel bag, revealing glimmering chainmail armor, a rapier, and a bow.
Elora shuts the door behind her, sliding it closed with a thunk.
Elora gets changed into her armor.
Elora hides from the passing family.
"Elora." Says the middle-aged man in the alleyway, perhaps anticipating an attack, "I'm disappointed. I thought we could have a conversation, perhaps even find common ground, but it seems you're more interested in hiding from the truth." He spreads his arms wide, the motion fluid, deliberate. The illusionary mist swirls around him, but he remains unshaken, "If you're going to make your choice." He continues, his voice hardening, "Then you'd better be prepared to see it through. To the bitter end." He turns slowly, his eyes gleaming, as if daring her to make her move. "There's no turning back, Elora. Not for you. Not for me."
With a burst of speed, the fox spirit leaps at the vampire, it's claws raking across his chest in a vicious swipe. For a moment, he staggers back, the sharp pain momentarily cutting through his otherwise steady composure. But the vampire recovers quickly, his hand shoots out, fingers curling around it's head with inhuman strength. In a single, fluid motion, he lifts the fox by it's skull and slams the fox's head into the brick wall with a sickening crack. The force of the blow echoes down the alley as the spirit's form began to flicker and distort, its ethereal body losing shape with each impact. Again and again, the vampire drove the fox's head into the hard stone, his expression unchanged, as the spirit's form gradually dissipates into nothingness.
Elora could slip away, fade into the mist and shadows with barely a sound, leaving the vampire behind. But just as easily, she could turn and give him the fight he seems to be expecting.
Elora touches her scarf.
Elora swallows nervously once she has armored herself.
Elora approaches the alley rapier in hand, moving at a quick pace.
"It's a shame." The vampire says quietly, his voice carrying with an almost mournful undertone, "You could have been happy, in another world." He tilts his head slightly, a subtle motion that he was picking up on Elora's approaching footsteps, no matter how quiet. Then, without a glance in her direction, he simply waits, patient, unwavering. The next move was hers as he countinues to talk at the air, "Are you really going to continue existing in this doomed world, Elora? Is this the future you're choosing?"
Elora finds her illusion melting away from her from the motion, cloak fading. Now having joined the vampire in the alley she spares a glance for the twitching corpse that was once her fox. There is no compassion in her eyes for it. Instead they move up to the horrible spirit dragging its way from the body. "To the cabin with you," Elora orders.
Her eyes move toward the vampire then, not meeting its eyes. Her rapier comes free of its sheath.
"Likely not. Too many seem intent on watching me for to know peace or joy or to live very long. Is it so hard to tell that I wish to go without attention?" Elora's teal eyes are cold things. As she speaks, her choker begins to glow faintly. The illusion she waves upon the man is a simple thing. When he attacks, he will see the fox again, attacking him in the same motion. Just a distraction, really, something to keep him from using his full force.
Elora bares her teeth, forcing a smile
"You've been unhappy for so long, Elora." Coos the vamprie to Elora, his tone soft, almost as if he were speaking to a child who had forgotten what it meant to smile, "You've forgotten what happiness even feels like. But I understand." His eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of recognition in his gaze, "You're still in denial. That's how it starts. You're afraid to face what's real." He took a step closer to Elora, and from the folds of his coat, he drew out a simple business card for a charity called "Global Outreach Division"
Without a word, he flicks it toward her, the card landing by her bott, "Call me when you're ready." he says, his voice now tinged with finality, "We only have twelve years left. And we're running out of time." He doesn't wait for a response, his eyes lingering on Elora's for a moment longer, before then he turns, as if simply intending to walk away and leave it at that.
Elora attacks.
Elora darts forward, rapier in hand. Teal eyes, determined, baring teeth more in a rictus than a smile. Attacking, even though she expects to lose, given the fate of her fox. She is faster and stronger than a woman her size has any right to be and she's well trained in the use of her rapier. So she moves in a classical pose: body angled to minimize itself, rapier extended in front of her, as a fencer ought to move, rather than in a wild charge. "You do not get to follow me against my will and leave without consequence."
The rapier slices through the someone' back with a sharp, searing force, the blade sinking deep into his flesh. For most supernaturals, such a strike would have been fatal, but the vampire's unnatural durability seemed to defy the laws of mortality. Instead of crumpling, he gasps, pain flaring across his face as he turned with a speed that blurs the air. His eyes, burning with rage, locked onto Elora.
Before Elora could react, his fist slammed into her chest with a force that felt like being hit by a freight train. The blow was so fast, so vicious, that she barely saw it coming before it landed. Another punch followed, then another, each one faster than the last, each strike leaving her vision spinning, her legs buckled, and the world around her darkened, the edges of reality slipping away as her consciousness shattered.
When Elora finally awoke, she was lying in the same alley. Her body ached, bruises forming. But the vampire was gone.
The rapier slices through the vampire's back with a sharp, searing force, the blade sinking deep into his flesh. For most supernaturals, such a strike would have been fatal, but the vampire's unnatural durability seemed to defy the laws of mortality. Instead of crumpling, he gasps, pain flaring across his face as he turned with a speed that blurs the air. His eyes, burning with rage, locked onto Elora.
Before Elora could react, his fist slammed into her chest with a force that felt like being hit by a freight train. The blow was so fast, so vicious, that she barely saw it coming before it landed. Another punch followed, then another, each one faster than the last, each strike leaving her vision spinning, her legs buckled, and the world around her darkened, the edges of reality slipping away as her consciousness shattered.
When Elora finally awoke, she was lying in the same alley. Her body ached, bruises forming. But the vampire was gone.