Encounterlogs
Emils Odd Encounter Sr Regan 241217
In a chilling encounter within his cramped cabin amidst a snowy landscape, Emil comes across a ghostly apparition emerging from the roof, seeking either closure or a confrontation. Initially unfazed by the eerie occurrences, like thumps and scrapes atop his cabin, Emil maintains his composure, smoking his cigarette with a calm demeanor. The atmosphere shifts when a faceless, ghastly figure begins to materialize, pushing against the ceiling's surface, its features grotesquely stretching and distorting. Despite the sinister visage and the creature's probing advances, Emil confronts it without fear, engaging in a bizarre and morbid curiosity towards the spectral entity.
The situation reaches a climax as Emil and the ghostly figure engage in a tense, almost intimate exchange, with the former commanding the presence to return to its realm, indicating his recognition of its otherworldly nature. Emil's reaction to the ghost - a mix of fascination and authoritative dismissal - underscores his unique position within the realm of the supernatural; his long life span of over two hundred years has evidently prepared him for such encounters. The resolution comes as Emil firmly instructs the creature to leave, hinting at a possible future meeting under different circumstances, thereby offering a peculiar sense of respect towards the entity. The ghost's hesitant violence and eventual withdrawal illustrate a moment of mutual, albeit bizarre, understanding between the realms of the living and the spectral.
(Emil's odd encounter(SRRegan):SRRegan)
[Mon Dec 16 2024]
In Cramped Cabin
This cabin is as cozy as it is cramped, having a small bed in one corner, a stove in another and small half-bathroom sectioned off with a tiny mid-waist wall in another corner.
There appears to be a small trapdoor going down.
It is afternoon, about 26F(-3C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds.
Staring out the window of his cramped little cabin, Emil fished out a cigarette from his front pocket, stuck it between his lips and lit it up.
(Your target encounters a ghost who's fixated on some past tragedy from their life, they need to either give the spirit some sense of closure, or send it on it's way through more violent means.
)
Below freezing, the snow outside of the window falls like pillowy soft tufts of shredded marshmallow from the sky. It's chilly in the cabin, naturally, though perhaps not overbearingly cold. The frost on the windows is a norm, perhaps, this time of year, and the crystalline patterns of ice that form upon the glass are something that Emil can enjoy as he relaxes in his home, cigarette in hand, then between lips.
December in Haven.
The nearby oceanic coast does nothing to warm the temperature, that's for certain. The constant spray of water in the air, while humidifying it, also forms specks of ice-cold that mingle upon the already biting winds that blow in from the sea. A layer of snow has form on the beach sand as much as the trees, and to prove such, there is a loud *thump* on the roof of the forestal home as a pad of it falls from an overhead branch.
It causes a miniature avalanche of the powdery fluff to cascade past the window and down towards the ground, a frozen waterfall of pure white to mesmerize the eye and steal the attention of any onlooker with its beauty and magnificence. But then there is another thump. A *thud*. No cascade of snow follows, not even a sprinkling, and then another thump, thump, thump, follows, like the slow and precise steps of someone walking, stalking, on the roof in heavy boots.
It's a bit too early for Santa Claus.
The crackling chuff of compacted snow and crackling ice resounds over head as the noise travels from the edge of the roof to the center, and then takes pause- directly above Emil's head, and the logs groan as though under the duress of a sudden, straining weight that causes them to bend, to buckle, to break, threatening to cave it in and bring it all down around him.
There were a few steps taken back from the pouring in on faux-snow past the window with Emil taking a drag of that sweet menthol ziggy and puffing out a plume of smoke to the side. The eyes seated behind his sunglasses flitted around and about, flicking their gaze wantonly to the cabin's structure and its groaning wooden bones. Given the situation, it seems that Emil was a bit too calm, as if going through the motions.
Thump, thump, thump, go those sounds on the roof once more, having lingered above Emil's head for quite some amount of time. Perhaps it was a passing fancy, the curiosity of an animal that had wandered too far out on a branch heavy-laden with snow. The simple breaking of wood from the weight would have caused it to fall upon the roof, and then meander away once it regained its bearings. After all, silence befalls the home once more, and Emil is left to indulge in the sickeningly minty stench of menthol-soaked tobacco on his lonesome.
Smoke, too, clouds the air. Not just rising from the cancer stick itself, but exhaled in soft plums from Emil's lungs as it drifts like a fog through the frigid atmosphere. An animal, surely, yes. For all is quiet now, and the world has returned to normal in the forests rimming Haven's north, west, and southern borders. The sound of snow speckling against the window is heard more clearly now in the quiet, crackling faintly as it melts, like the fires of fairies, as all grows calm.
Until it isn't. The noises upon the roof return, this time like large claws scraping across the wooden logs that make up the roof. It's a whine like metal upon metal, and then its the sound of wood being pulled apart like the furry flesh of a coconut from its rock-hard interior. A ripping and tearing of fibrous meat, and then again it falls still, only for the ceiling above to ripple an wave as though it were merely the still surface of a lake- disturbed by the wanton blowing of a gust of wind. A portion of it becomes shimmering and reflective as the miniature waves flow over its surface, and then it begins to stretch like rubber, or like intestinal lining, as the vague features of a face push against it like elastic stretched thin by the pressure, contouring into a humanoid, but featureless, expression.
What a rollercoaster this was of emotions, had Emil not just acted like it was all some boring joyride instead, turning his head slowly towards any wayward noise that was heard. The man paced across the cabin to try and catch a glimpse through the window of whatever might be out there, craning his neck and mulling over the cigarette on the side of his lips. All was quiet on the eastern front it seems, if only for a short moment.
He'd have to be deaf to not hear what was going on right above him, with Emil turning to look up at the ceiling that now turned into a tumescent rubbery lake with a featureless face stretched into it. The cigarette is fished out and a puff of smoke is blown directly upward alongside the words "A bit early for Christmas, don't you think, Krampus?"
Like a silvery nylon glove, the ceiling continues to stretch and distort, and distend, taking on the full shape of some androgynous, sharp-cheeked face with wide open eye sockets and an angular chin. At first it is simply a press, like the face is merely testing the elasticity of the surface before retracting slightly. Then it pushes again, and in the span of the blink of an eye, the utterly neutral expression upon the visage snaps.
It warps and it contorts, the mouth shifting from nonchalant to grinning from ear to ear in an instant. Slowly dragging itself slowly then across the rubbery surface, the head turns to the side, then ticks somewhat at an angle towards the left as those hollow eye sockets somehow find Emil. And they stare in silence, pushing even more firmly against the surface of his ceiling.
A staring match it wanted and a staring match it got, Emil reaching up to remove his sunglasses and stash them in his shirt's front pocket, Emil' ardent red irises staring directly at the creature. His cigarette was drawing to the end of its lifespan, the little burning thing held in between two fingers while Emil tried to see if he could spot his reflection in the odd creature now pushing the surface of his ceiling. "Come on, you're so close, just lean in a bit closer."
Devilish red eyes stare back at Emil from the shimmering surface of that escaping face, distorted by the angular contours it sports: his own reflection. Cleanshaven and blond, handsome to a fault, and statuesque by design of his blood. The figure pushes closer at his bidding, too long of a neck toiling away to stretch and stretch and stretch at his ceiling until clawed hands follow suit. They, too, push at the rubbery surface with sharp points that threaten to pierce it and yet don't, until half of the body and no more of this vaguely feminine beastie has tried and failed ti breach past its barrier. Its visage hovers now, empty sockets where eyes should be staring blanky into Emil's lucurious red irises, that horrid smile ever present until, again, the head ticks to the side in a jerky, questioning fashion. It seems both curious and malicious in its mannerisms, questing and curious, but also lingering on the edge of violence in its silence.
With what was left of his cigarette flicked off towards his desk, Emil couldn't take his eyes off the creature now trying to reach out to him from his ceiling. His hands extended out towards it, keeping their distance yet prodding at it. Fingers twitched and curled inward while Emil drank in the creature's visage with his eyes, his tongue peaking out between his lips to lick across it. Thoughts of sinking his thumbs into the female creature's eyesockets and splitting the face in half, of bitting and ripping at it like a rabid animal and worse. A bevy of obscenely grotesque and violent thoughts reflected in his eyes. "Can you scream?" He asked with morbid curiosity.
It does have some semblance of a mouth, which parts wide in that eerie grin as though to answer his question, lips parting before Emil in the shape of a scream, and yet the only sound that reaches his ears is a raspy, gurgled inhale of breath as though taken through a constricted throat. Its cheekbones become even sharper, hardening with a more 'genuine' grin afterwards that still remains partly agape.
It's Emil's turn to answer his own question it seems, the malice of his gaze reflected back at him as one of those ghastly hands uplifts, spiked fingers curling as though to clench around his face, and yet they refrain. Instead one of those needle-sharp fingertips creeps towards his mouth, pointing at it at first, only to change course and instead wander towards his red right eye, the motion seeming eager to pluck it free of its socket in a similar fashion to which the ghostly visage has had its own eyes removed. Yet, no violence befalls the red-eyed male, and instead that rubbery, stretched-out head deigns it necessary to cant itself in the opposing direction with an expression of inquiry writ upon its vague features, the long neck extending even further until the monstrosity is nearly touching nose-to-nose with the demon-blooded man while it queries over his ocular oddity.
Emil' eyes tracked the creature's motions with his eyes, fingers reaching out to dance across the surface of the extended out spiked fingers, pinching at their surface. Emil presses the creature's hands against his face, taking in a sharp breath and squeezing tighter against those spiked fingers. "What an exquisite creature you are. What nightmare did you crawl out, you beautiful monstrosity." He commented, loud noises and painful screams echoing in his head as his imagination went wild.
Here there is a pause where violence and malice become a quiet calm as Emil presses the haunting's cold, clawed fingers against his face. It becomes apparent that the creature had expected many, many reactions to her presence, her motions, her encroachment, and yet this was not one of them. Its fingers curl further, some amalgamation of feminine and masculine features, though leaning towards the former, contorting into a snarl as those claws threaten to pierce the man's flesh and tear away at his face.
And yet they don't. There's a measure of hesitance behind the motion, as though the simple kindness, or perhaps interest in its existence, were something it had not encountered before, and the change of pace gives the beast pause as its features linger so closely to his own. That does not stop the gurgled and broken growl that ripples through its form as an audible threat of destruction, but it does halt the act, the uncontrollable craving to rip and tear and shred and maul and mutilate. The growl dispels into a murr, upper lip trembling as it fights between snarl and smile once more.
The expression almost seems to inquire what measure of madman Emil is, to so eagerly welcome in the grip of certain death without fear.
It was curiosity that drove him further to examine this creature, his lips parting to say "More than two hundred years I've been alive and things still find a way to impress me. But you don't belong here." With those final words, Emil peeled the fingers away from his face and shook his head, still gazing at his own reflection into the creature's surface. "So go back to where you came from, and wait for the day that we meet on the same plane of existence."
The situation reaches a climax as Emil and the ghostly figure engage in a tense, almost intimate exchange, with the former commanding the presence to return to its realm, indicating his recognition of its otherworldly nature. Emil's reaction to the ghost - a mix of fascination and authoritative dismissal - underscores his unique position within the realm of the supernatural; his long life span of over two hundred years has evidently prepared him for such encounters. The resolution comes as Emil firmly instructs the creature to leave, hinting at a possible future meeting under different circumstances, thereby offering a peculiar sense of respect towards the entity. The ghost's hesitant violence and eventual withdrawal illustrate a moment of mutual, albeit bizarre, understanding between the realms of the living and the spectral.
(Emil's odd encounter(SRRegan):SRRegan)
[Mon Dec 16 2024]
In Cramped Cabin
This cabin is as cozy as it is cramped, having a small bed in one corner, a stove in another and small half-bathroom sectioned off with a tiny mid-waist wall in another corner.
There appears to be a small trapdoor going down.
It is afternoon, about 26F(-3C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds.
Staring out the window of his cramped little cabin, Emil fished out a cigarette from his front pocket, stuck it between his lips and lit it up.
(Your target encounters a ghost who's fixated on some past tragedy from their life, they need to either give the spirit some sense of closure, or send it on it's way through more violent means.
)
Below freezing, the snow outside of the window falls like pillowy soft tufts of shredded marshmallow from the sky. It's chilly in the cabin, naturally, though perhaps not overbearingly cold. The frost on the windows is a norm, perhaps, this time of year, and the crystalline patterns of ice that form upon the glass are something that Emil can enjoy as he relaxes in his home, cigarette in hand, then between lips.
December in Haven.
The nearby oceanic coast does nothing to warm the temperature, that's for certain. The constant spray of water in the air, while humidifying it, also forms specks of ice-cold that mingle upon the already biting winds that blow in from the sea. A layer of snow has form on the beach sand as much as the trees, and to prove such, there is a loud *thump* on the roof of the forestal home as a pad of it falls from an overhead branch.
It causes a miniature avalanche of the powdery fluff to cascade past the window and down towards the ground, a frozen waterfall of pure white to mesmerize the eye and steal the attention of any onlooker with its beauty and magnificence. But then there is another thump. A *thud*. No cascade of snow follows, not even a sprinkling, and then another thump, thump, thump, follows, like the slow and precise steps of someone walking, stalking, on the roof in heavy boots.
It's a bit too early for Santa Claus.
The crackling chuff of compacted snow and crackling ice resounds over head as the noise travels from the edge of the roof to the center, and then takes pause- directly above Emil's head, and the logs groan as though under the duress of a sudden, straining weight that causes them to bend, to buckle, to break, threatening to cave it in and bring it all down around him.
There were a few steps taken back from the pouring in on faux-snow past the window with Emil taking a drag of that sweet menthol ziggy and puffing out a plume of smoke to the side. The eyes seated behind his sunglasses flitted around and about, flicking their gaze wantonly to the cabin's structure and its groaning wooden bones. Given the situation, it seems that Emil was a bit too calm, as if going through the motions.
Thump, thump, thump, go those sounds on the roof once more, having lingered above Emil's head for quite some amount of time. Perhaps it was a passing fancy, the curiosity of an animal that had wandered too far out on a branch heavy-laden with snow. The simple breaking of wood from the weight would have caused it to fall upon the roof, and then meander away once it regained its bearings. After all, silence befalls the home once more, and Emil is left to indulge in the sickeningly minty stench of menthol-soaked tobacco on his lonesome.
Smoke, too, clouds the air. Not just rising from the cancer stick itself, but exhaled in soft plums from Emil's lungs as it drifts like a fog through the frigid atmosphere. An animal, surely, yes. For all is quiet now, and the world has returned to normal in the forests rimming Haven's north, west, and southern borders. The sound of snow speckling against the window is heard more clearly now in the quiet, crackling faintly as it melts, like the fires of fairies, as all grows calm.
Until it isn't. The noises upon the roof return, this time like large claws scraping across the wooden logs that make up the roof. It's a whine like metal upon metal, and then its the sound of wood being pulled apart like the furry flesh of a coconut from its rock-hard interior. A ripping and tearing of fibrous meat, and then again it falls still, only for the ceiling above to ripple an wave as though it were merely the still surface of a lake- disturbed by the wanton blowing of a gust of wind. A portion of it becomes shimmering and reflective as the miniature waves flow over its surface, and then it begins to stretch like rubber, or like intestinal lining, as the vague features of a face push against it like elastic stretched thin by the pressure, contouring into a humanoid, but featureless, expression.
What a rollercoaster this was of emotions, had Emil not just acted like it was all some boring joyride instead, turning his head slowly towards any wayward noise that was heard. The man paced across the cabin to try and catch a glimpse through the window of whatever might be out there, craning his neck and mulling over the cigarette on the side of his lips. All was quiet on the eastern front it seems, if only for a short moment.
He'd have to be deaf to not hear what was going on right above him, with Emil turning to look up at the ceiling that now turned into a tumescent rubbery lake with a featureless face stretched into it. The cigarette is fished out and a puff of smoke is blown directly upward alongside the words "A bit early for Christmas, don't you think, Krampus?"
Like a silvery nylon glove, the ceiling continues to stretch and distort, and distend, taking on the full shape of some androgynous, sharp-cheeked face with wide open eye sockets and an angular chin. At first it is simply a press, like the face is merely testing the elasticity of the surface before retracting slightly. Then it pushes again, and in the span of the blink of an eye, the utterly neutral expression upon the visage snaps.
It warps and it contorts, the mouth shifting from nonchalant to grinning from ear to ear in an instant. Slowly dragging itself slowly then across the rubbery surface, the head turns to the side, then ticks somewhat at an angle towards the left as those hollow eye sockets somehow find Emil. And they stare in silence, pushing even more firmly against the surface of his ceiling.
A staring match it wanted and a staring match it got, Emil reaching up to remove his sunglasses and stash them in his shirt's front pocket, Emil' ardent red irises staring directly at the creature. His cigarette was drawing to the end of its lifespan, the little burning thing held in between two fingers while Emil tried to see if he could spot his reflection in the odd creature now pushing the surface of his ceiling. "Come on, you're so close, just lean in a bit closer."
Devilish red eyes stare back at Emil from the shimmering surface of that escaping face, distorted by the angular contours it sports: his own reflection. Cleanshaven and blond, handsome to a fault, and statuesque by design of his blood. The figure pushes closer at his bidding, too long of a neck toiling away to stretch and stretch and stretch at his ceiling until clawed hands follow suit. They, too, push at the rubbery surface with sharp points that threaten to pierce it and yet don't, until half of the body and no more of this vaguely feminine beastie has tried and failed ti breach past its barrier. Its visage hovers now, empty sockets where eyes should be staring blanky into Emil's lucurious red irises, that horrid smile ever present until, again, the head ticks to the side in a jerky, questioning fashion. It seems both curious and malicious in its mannerisms, questing and curious, but also lingering on the edge of violence in its silence.
With what was left of his cigarette flicked off towards his desk, Emil couldn't take his eyes off the creature now trying to reach out to him from his ceiling. His hands extended out towards it, keeping their distance yet prodding at it. Fingers twitched and curled inward while Emil drank in the creature's visage with his eyes, his tongue peaking out between his lips to lick across it. Thoughts of sinking his thumbs into the female creature's eyesockets and splitting the face in half, of bitting and ripping at it like a rabid animal and worse. A bevy of obscenely grotesque and violent thoughts reflected in his eyes. "Can you scream?" He asked with morbid curiosity.
It does have some semblance of a mouth, which parts wide in that eerie grin as though to answer his question, lips parting before Emil in the shape of a scream, and yet the only sound that reaches his ears is a raspy, gurgled inhale of breath as though taken through a constricted throat. Its cheekbones become even sharper, hardening with a more 'genuine' grin afterwards that still remains partly agape.
It's Emil's turn to answer his own question it seems, the malice of his gaze reflected back at him as one of those ghastly hands uplifts, spiked fingers curling as though to clench around his face, and yet they refrain. Instead one of those needle-sharp fingertips creeps towards his mouth, pointing at it at first, only to change course and instead wander towards his red right eye, the motion seeming eager to pluck it free of its socket in a similar fashion to which the ghostly visage has had its own eyes removed. Yet, no violence befalls the red-eyed male, and instead that rubbery, stretched-out head deigns it necessary to cant itself in the opposing direction with an expression of inquiry writ upon its vague features, the long neck extending even further until the monstrosity is nearly touching nose-to-nose with the demon-blooded man while it queries over his ocular oddity.
Emil' eyes tracked the creature's motions with his eyes, fingers reaching out to dance across the surface of the extended out spiked fingers, pinching at their surface. Emil presses the creature's hands against his face, taking in a sharp breath and squeezing tighter against those spiked fingers. "What an exquisite creature you are. What nightmare did you crawl out, you beautiful monstrosity." He commented, loud noises and painful screams echoing in his head as his imagination went wild.
Here there is a pause where violence and malice become a quiet calm as Emil presses the haunting's cold, clawed fingers against his face. It becomes apparent that the creature had expected many, many reactions to her presence, her motions, her encroachment, and yet this was not one of them. Its fingers curl further, some amalgamation of feminine and masculine features, though leaning towards the former, contorting into a snarl as those claws threaten to pierce the man's flesh and tear away at his face.
And yet they don't. There's a measure of hesitance behind the motion, as though the simple kindness, or perhaps interest in its existence, were something it had not encountered before, and the change of pace gives the beast pause as its features linger so closely to his own. That does not stop the gurgled and broken growl that ripples through its form as an audible threat of destruction, but it does halt the act, the uncontrollable craving to rip and tear and shred and maul and mutilate. The growl dispels into a murr, upper lip trembling as it fights between snarl and smile once more.
The expression almost seems to inquire what measure of madman Emil is, to so eagerly welcome in the grip of certain death without fear.
It was curiosity that drove him further to examine this creature, his lips parting to say "More than two hundred years I've been alive and things still find a way to impress me. But you don't belong here." With those final words, Emil peeled the fingers away from his face and shook his head, still gazing at his own reflection into the creature's surface. "So go back to where you came from, and wait for the day that we meet on the same plane of existence."