Encounterlogs
Epigrams Odd Encounter Sr Vindicta 241127
In the heart of Haven's twisted reality, Epigram finds herself ensnared in a chilling encounter. With the familiar landscape of the now-defunct Black Rose Book Store giving way to an unsettling deli, her sense of loss is palpable. This transformation ignites whispers of disapproval and threats of vandalism among the citizens, mourning the bookstore's demise. As Epigram navigates this unsettling change, her path intersects with a mysterious figure, whose conversation veers into the sinister. The man's persuasive attempt to incite her towards destruction, using psychic persuasion, signals a dark twist in her day. Despite her initial resistance, fear overtakes her, prompting a frenetic escape. The intensity of the situation escalates until a psychic backlash offers her a fleeting chance to break away, which she desperately takes, the trauma of the encounter lingering as she seeks solace a few blocks away.
Meanwhile, in another corner of Haven, the plot thickens as Ritsuka and Ceryn are drawn into a covert operation against the ominous Black Flame cult. The pair, guided by a mysterious text, find themselves united in purpose despite their differences. Their journey leads them to the dark underbelly of Haven, navigating the perilous sewers to disrupt a ritual summoning. With the cult's activities risking untold chaos, the duo's intervention becomes crucial. Armed with arcane knowledge and a makeshift firebomb, they launch a daring attack on the ritual site. The explosion, magnified by the volatile environment, marks a turning point, drawing out Albert Dredge and his aids to finish the job. In the aftermath, Venice's approval signals a temporary victory over the eldritch threat. As normalcy teeters on the brink in Haven, Ritsuka and Ceryn part ways, their fleeting alliance leaving a lasting impact amid the city's supernatural skirmishes.
(Epigram's odd encounter(SRVindicta):SRVindicta)
[Tue Nov 26 2024]
On Elm Street
It is morning, about 35F(1C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey clouds in the sky.
Epigram taps her phone and frowns. She holds it up in the air, waves it around. ".. shoot, "
(Your target has been mind controlled by another into acting as their agent in a crime, compelled to perform a robbery or assault for this other agent. It is up to their allies to arrive and stop the crime and try to uncover the criminal.
)
This morning in Haven is crisp and brisk, just on the cusp of freezing without touching the temperature required to create that familiar rime of frost on car windshields and building windows. Epigram's breath gusts warmly on the chilly air regardless, the familiar and yet not-so view of what was once the Black Rose Book Store haunting her vision. It is barely recognizable now, gutted as what once was a row of elegant bookshelves has been warped and tainted, their essence disrespected as they are replaced by rows and lines of coolers chock-full of processed meats and cheeses.
It is a shame. A landmark of Haven, a staple, fallen to ruin in favor of this sudden onslaught, this Italian invasion, but even they cannot be blamed for Vincenzo's cheap mockery of culture. People are want to walk by and murmur that Jersey Mike's would have been better than whatever this deli is, or is going to become. Whispers of boycotts, and more still, ever closer, murmurs of vandalism as retaliation for the bookstore's destruction.
Epigram puts her hands in her pockets. Her entire posture dejected. Looking like she Christmas was cancelled and she can't be bothered to try to save it. Best move on, get someplace warmer. Her coat isn't doing her any favors in this weather and her ears are turning cold. Still, she looks a little lost, like not sure where to go. The embers in her heart don't seem to burn with the same intensity that others in the crowd has, more like a lost puppy.
A sigh, a breath and she turns her back to walk away.. but her steps don't carry her far as she doesnt' seem to know where away even is.
Where is away? Where would the little bookworm go when her normal haunt is being destroyed? Perhaps to the White Oak library, though would it bring her the same satisfaction with its many restrictions on content? Where is the smut? The pulp fiction? The fantastical romance? Gone are the days where so many people would group together over coffee and muffins to chatter about the latest read that has stolen away their attention.
Perhaps gone, too, would be Epigram if she hadn't turned and immediately bumped into the chest of a far taller man who had been lingering nearby. Too close for comfort, really, but with his hands in his pockets, he seems to have been gazing at the bookstore-turned-deli in a similarly forlorn fashion. He doesn't seem to mind it when Epigram bumps into him, either, a sympathetic gaze offered to the female before he claims: "Shame, isn't it...? Makes you feel helpless to stop the rolling of time, the crumbling of society, the greed of capitalism..."
Epigram is just about to say excuse me when the man starts talking. She doesn't know him, so she's going to just stare up at him, silently while he waxes poetic. Eventually she just says, "Yeah." Ducking her head.
"I mean it's whatever." She manages, trying not to get drawn into whatever this is, it seems. She doesn't seem like the most poetic, despite being a fan of books.
"I mean.." she starts, possibly already regretting engaging, "I'll like, fine another book store or maybe a library, they've become kind of popular again I guess."
"But why?" he wonders, exhaling a long and deep breath before tilting his head- then leaning his body- to the side, attempting to interject himself into Epigram's path past, or her escape from conversation with him. It is equal parts subtlety and openness that have his right hand lifting up to the sunglasses he wears, slowly peeling them off of his face by way of drifting them down along the slope of his Eastern European nose.
"Why give up and find somewhere else to go when you could *punish* them for what they've done? Burn their money, set it ablaze," he intones, attempting to lock his eyes onto Epigram's own as he speaks to her in a low, rumbling growl. "Greed. Meet it with your Wrath." Those words, they almost start to feel warm within the pink-haired woman's chest, creeping up into her mind, like a call to battle for her. "Vengeance."
Epigram looks taken aback and way uncomfortable, growing more so by the moment. It's clear the intensity is overflowing her cup of tolerance fast. Will the spark turn into flame? So far it doesn't look like it. The way she backs up a few steps and nearly stumbles.
"Burn their money what do you even mean?" Epigram asks, though, it doesn't sound as a question so much as disbelief. "I don't know about any of that-." She tries to interject, seemingly lacking the spine for such things. "Really, I ah, mean like probably just go find a new haunt."
"Revolt," the man says more firmly as dizzyingly silver eyes meet Epigram's hazels, unnaturally milky in the way that those irises shift like molten metal within his gaze. "Why should you be the only one to suffer? Go in there, Epigram. Tear things apart. Upturn them, break, rip, shred, destroy." It's something strange. Something about his voice that makes his tongue as silver as his strange eyes.
It's a mental push into the darkest and thusly weakest recesses of Epigram's mind where he attempts to sow his seeds of discontent, using her own mourning as fertilizer for the field. It's nothing as elegant as hypnotism- it's more blunt and brute force. Psychic persuasion. And right now there is only one thing Epigram wants to do if she doesn't manage to fight back against it:
Tear things apart.
Epigram might not fight back, exactly, she looks like she is freaked out, getting more so as the time ticks on. "I didn't tell you my name..." Epigram manages, with a bit of a quake to her voice now. She starts to back up again. It's less resistance than just naked fear. Her eyes, her posture, everything says she is afraid.
There's a moment where those silver eyes meet Epigram's hazel gaze with a burning intensity that it is possible the woman doesn't completely understand- his voice echoes in her mind more than it should, but her own moral compass, that resolve she has, that sense of self, pushes back even when she herself does not. Those words that attemptign to grip hold of her mind fade- shatter, even- before the man recoils, clutching at his eyes and forehead. "AGHH!!" he growls out, his too-perfectly white teeth gritted against one another as his breaths become hitched, like he's enduring a sudden brain freeze. It offers Epigram just enough time to flee from his presence if she so chose. To get away from his reach while he is focused on the pain in his mind. She, too, can feel it- the psychic backlash of something striking across her frontal lobe like a lash, but she doesn't have time to focus on that right now. Everything about this man, this place, this situation, screams danger. She needs to run, now or never.
Epigram does run, but she sucks at it. She stumbles and scurries into places that lack a good escape more than once, dead ends, people or trash cans blocking her way. It would be funny if not for the situation. She looks like a horror movie victim trying to get away from an imposing force.. which.. at least to her mind, she may well be exactly that.
At the very least Epigram manages to get far enough away from the epicenter of her panic that it finds no way to follow her, or perhaps it was simply a one-off incident, an attempt failed and a lesson learned on his behalf. The bookworm would find herself feeling somewhat weaker for a while, but otherwise with her mind, her *self*, intact.
Silence, apart from the usual hubbub of the sleepy town of Haven, as Epigram finds peace at last a few blocks away from where the demolitions take place. What, or who, that man was may well remain a mystery for a while. Perhaps forever. But what is important now is that she is safe, escaped from whatever it was that had just occurred, or attempted to. Now the rest of her day belongs to her, to take control of, to grab by the horns, or... Maybe to jsut settle down with and read a good book.
(A member of The Black Flame has been found dead under mysterious circumstances. Your target is asked to investigate the death, which leads them to a ritual site hidden in the town. The site is still active and they have to either shut it down or survive the eldritch horrors it has summoned until their allies can arrive and help.)
Ritsuka stretches out before she looks down to her phone with a new text messages. It's, of course, over a special line, a special app, all coded in Japanese just to put another hurdle to others trying to hack into it with how fragile text messages are in Haven-city. She brushes some of her hair behind an ear, and opens the app. There is something she reads on it, taps over on her phone, and she sends a message back to confirm. It doesn't take long and there is a few more text messages because she makes a hmm- and takes to glance around the pharmacy. Business was as usual, as far as one could claim that is in a place like Haven-city.
After a long day of yardwork and greeting the locals like usual, Ceryn finally took some time to himself. Sprawled out in a hanging bed, the bitter cold of winter was kept at bay by the numerous blankets and covers that had been swaddled around him. With his phone in hand, he idly hummed to himself as he flicked through messages and browsed a few online markets for what seemed to be furniture and space heaters.
In the Haven township, mysteries abound; They pervade minds bodies and souls. They drive people apart and together: The tides of fate ever in flux, ever driving forward towards the inevitable destiny that must simply not be ignored. Today is like no other. Ceryn and Ritsuka were living their lives independently of themselves. They had experienced the day-to-day life of Haven, but as it often does, the universe has conspired to bring them together. Ceryn from his home, Ritsuka from her work, but for two very different people, the worlds are about to shift. They are about to be drawn together, impacting like clashing rocks, and all because of a very simple thing; How curious then is it that the supernatural intranet has such access. Venice of course has its fingers in every single pie. They rule all-- They control all. And this is proven very simply when their prophets foresee something. Ceryn and Ritsuka have no context for this, of course. Venice is far away, and the interest they have in Haven is bound by the gates. But as with Venice, there are other beings conspiring. There are other factions. There are cults; Sapphire Martyrs, Golden Shadow, Destined Host and the subject in hand now. The Black Flame- Those villains who seek to draw their eldritch god-like masters from the darkest, deepest extents of the void. And so, Venice will inevitably act. Agents-- Supernatural mercenaries, any promicing targets they think have the ability to resolve their issues. And so, Ceryn and Ritsuka receive the same text message. Their phones flash with a priority notification- And Venice have elected to assign Ceryn and Ritsuka towards resolution. -- A member of the Black Flame was located dead under the city. Found in a state of decomposition that suggests the touch of the void; The corpse was unnaturally decaying. It was twisted and warped by the fell energies from outside the worlds, and the suspition is that the Black Flame are seeking to bring forth a horror from beyond. The task then: Ceryn and Ritsuka have to make their way towards Haven, enter the sewers and locate the Black Flame. They will be met by a crack strike force, but these agents do not know the city. They need locals that they can path too. (So for the story to progress, the participants have to make their way to Haven through emotes of how they travel.) -- The man they are to meet is the ancient vampire, Albert Dredge, who will explain the situation to the two chosen supernaturals.
As the messages ran through, Ceryn fumbled with his device a little, still not completely adept with the trappings of technological society. He managed to bring up a map, only to dismay at where he had to go and who had to meet, "Vampires, always vampires." The man mutters to himself as he kicks himself up and off the bed, setting it into a wide swing.
Without much ado, Ceryn clambers down from his tree, landing into the gravel path with a bounce in his step. If it wasn't for the frigid cold, this'd be quite the day. It only took a few minutes for him to navigate his way out from the grove, finding his motorcycle which had been chained to a nearby ashwood. "What kind of name is Dredge anyway?" He murmurs to himself as he pulls on his helmet and kicks a leg over the bike.
With a kick of the ignition, the engine roars into life, sending the wildling off and down the road, towards the local of this ancient vampire.
Ritsuka finds her important messaging interrupted by another message, this one of a higher priority and so, she glances over it, and finds that Venice, once more, involves her into yet another thing. There is a brief, but ever-present roll of her eyes- this she needs to allow for herself, for all that is right and fair, and a little sigh, too. This better had to be important, there were other plans to pursue, other affairs to tend to and other investments to make. But it will not be for all of today. She goes on to inform her staff that she has something to attend to - and as all business with Venice, she scarcely dares to do them unarmed or unarmored. That means the first trip is to make the way home. As often, she does not take her bow along, it is her katana that matters significantly more. As it has become tradition, when she retrieves the decorated blade, she part-draws it, and looks into her own, frozen eyes reflected in the metal of the blade.
There is still a responsibility that must be carried, one little thing, one weight that is her own, for which so many others have abandoned her for, betrayed her for. Someday, they will all pay. The saya is fully moved over the blade again, and she slides it into her backpack and then takes a moment to redress, placing the kevlar under her clothing.
It is only then that she drives out again, this time approaching the indicated location. And it is another very quick drive, but she will likely arrive after Ceryn.
If Ritsuka and Ceryn were to check, they would find that Albert Dredge is a high ranking member of the Hand. Operating out of Boston propper- Known to be the chapter master of the charity shell group named the Helping Hand. He is a known business man working in textiles, and has lucrative ties with the shadey Vetr Group. A known close friend to Gidion Voss, Vetr's chairman, Albert is no /good/ man. He is unquestionably a monster, though as with the more commonly known information about the vampire lord, Ritsuka and Ceryn could easily find out that he donates plentifully to the pharmacy subcidiaries of the Hanshin group's american outreach programs, for affordable healthcare. More notable though-- And of far more import to Ceryn and Ritsuka, Albert is known to be an expert on the Black Flame and the void entities, and his squad are believed to be specialists in eldritch ritual magic. -- These connections are likely why Ritsuka and Ceryn were elected to meet the man. Ritsuka owns the Haven pharmacy and Ceryn is considered to be an up-and-coming figure in the arcane world. Upon arrival at the location-- An abandoned warehouse near Temple Steel, Albert greets Ceryn and Ritsuka professionally. With him are four shaven men in crisp suits with no visible weapons at hand. Ritsuka would note that the four are weaknesses for Albert, likely suggesting that they are thralls, or otherwise close personal aids for Albert Dredge. Though of more interest is likely the lack of vehicle with them, and the shimmering rent in the air that leads to the dark forest realm of the path. Albert pathed into Haven, specifically to this location at the exact time that Ceryn and Ritsuka arrived. That much alone suggests the power of the man-- And the lack of weapons, the tugging at Ceryn and Ritsuka's life force is yet another sign. -- Albert's lips draw into a thin line as he makes his greetings, appraising Ceryn and Ritsuka. He says nothing in that moment, likely considering what he has to work with. Then, finally, he tells the two what the plan is. "I have seen you now." he explains. "I have your scents. I can track you. So quite simply, you must enter the sewers, locate the cultists, inform me what you see, and we shall path to you to destroy their ritual before it will damage this town." Then he gestures, and two of the toughs step forward, lifting the cover from a manhole that descends into the seedy underbelly of Haven.
Barely managing to conceal his displeasure of being in the presence of the undead, Ceryn slips a light breath, pulls on a smile and politely introduces himself to Dredge. After a moment, his eyes flick over to Ritsuka, not quite sure what to make of her with the contrast between the two people. "This would be a lot easier with the right paints..." He murmurs under his breath, barely audible to the others as he squats down aside the manhole, peering in before back up to Ritsuka.
"This is going to be a tad bit out of my element." Ceryn explains as he rifles through his satchel to fish out a rather rustic looking oil lantern, "Anything I should know about you before we end up spelunking in a rather unpleasant hole?" He queries over to Ritsuka, tone measured and relaxed.
It is perhaps fortunate that Ritsuka is well protected, for the tugging is felt, but not lingered on, even less is staying bothered with. Still, she follows the proper greeting procedures, makes to bow to the vampire, and a slighter dip of her head is offered to Ceryn. She does introduce herself to him "Shimomi Ritsuka." Still, she keeps at a distance, as much as her task currently permits.
"I don't exactly look like someone that would crawl through them usually, mister." She answers, gesturing down to her own clothing and white hair. "It's going to be smelly, watch where you step, if you have acute senses for smell, you might suffer, get used to it slowly, can you see in the dark or do you need external light?" She goes down along as if it was a checklist, but then retrieves her phone anyway, starting to send a text message to one of her contacts to see if she can get building plans for the sewers down, rituals usually need enough space to do them. "Can't be in a corridor. Let me see if my connections can get us some sort of sewer plan."
Ceryn jangles his lantern, "I mean, I'm fairly human, more or less. So no senses outside the ordinary or vision for the dark." He sighs, answering the meticulous list as he thumbs through a hefty book, "What I /am/ though, is a practitioner of druidic magicks. Albeit... Still learning. It's why I said I'm pretty out of my element in the sewers, much prefer being out in the wilds." The man nods as he settles the tome at his hip.
As is only to be expected, the sewers, once Ceryn and Ritsuka enter with their lantern can best be described as shitty-- Figuratively, literally and by any other variable one might elect to establish. These tunnels are dark, dank and slippery, with the lantern light revealing prolific water damage from the many hazardous floods that have befallen Haven's township over the past few years. The supernatural really are a problem, especially those with weather manipulation. So too can Ceryn and Ritsuka note that there is fire damage: The pit looks to have run through the ringer, and how it remains operational is a supernatural feat in and of itself. The air is still, fetted and putrid, with the lingering remnants of not just human, but monster detritus scattered throughout. That reported corpse though is still here-- The sages from Venice apparently move very quickly when prompted, and the two can note the black robes with the flame insignia on the twisted figure. -- Barely even human, the corpse resembles less a man than a disgusting, discombobulating amalgamation of crustation, arthropod and amphibian with only the hint in its eradiated carcass that it was once human, its mutation seemingly having come on quickly and painfully-- Some might say fatally, with the present state of it. Yet, the corpse itself proves the validity of the Black Flame here. -- Ceryn and Ritsuka are able to step within the tunnels, and from some way down the tunnel, where the signage would suggest the deep well of a disused storm drain can be spotted, they can just hear what sounds like chanting. There's a faint light from far off and no one yet knows that Ceryn and Ritsuka are there.
Ritsuka glances to Ceryn "Can you light up? I am no arcanist. But we will need light if we venture in. Dark vision only helps so much." And then, it looks, they are at least provided a lantern, and that means, that in it goes. She tries to keep away from the main path of the extremities, and her figure is slim, her chest makes that a little more difficult. She does retrieve her blade and adjusts it to her side, too.
When they near the corpse, she does come to look down to it, examine it, but she is no forensics expert, but as one that has a fair bit of medical experience there is a simple diagnosis: Yeah, this definitely does not look right.
The next words are quiet, hushed to Ceryn who's name she still does not yet know. "Mister- I think they are just ahead. What would you like for us to do? Quick and loud or sudden and quiet?" She asks, her words drawing into something playful.
"Wrong sort of arcanist." Ceryn simply replies, happy to merely hook the lantern onto his belt with a quiet 'click'. "Everyone always uses the term 'arcanist', such a narrow view of what sorts of magic there are out there." He muses to himself as he approached the corpse, not quite a complaint, but plenty a note.
"Biomancy? Fleshforming? The latter seems a little arduous as a method to kill someone, unless they did it to himself." Ceryn questions, partially as a prod to Ritsuka and partially working through his own train of thought. "Ryn, by the way, 'mister' is a little formal." He easily responds in a light tone and a subtle smirk as he continues to look over the cadaver, "Considering how out-numbered we are... We should really just look at getting a count on the figures, maybe any objects of note, and then heading back. Pretty sure the biter just wants a report after all."
"Can't kill them, this is Haven and sanctuary stops that," Ritsuka quietly answer to Ceryn, and then, still whispered but with a more cheerful note. "Ryn is a very cute name. But okay, let's try and snoop closer, take a look, and then the strike team should theoretically smash in with their pathing. I might stay for dinner. I am kidding." She does place the hand down to her side, over the hilt of the katana, and the other hand on the top of the saya, close to where the katana is. And then, only then does she move a little closer to get a good look.
"Kill, dehabilitate, restrain, so on and so forth... Although if they killed this guy, would they even have sanctuary?" Ceryn prodded the question further, a smile pulling at his lips at the sly, aside compliment about his name, "So we just need to get close, yeah? Then the biter's thralls can show up to do all the heavy work. Sounds easy enough." He draws a breath, hand reaching under his coat to slip out a curved knife, "Should have brought Kesp with me, would have been perfect. Pretty sure the little fella can't smell all /this/ too."
As the two converse, the chanting grows in volume; From a whisper, it's transitioning into a full invocation. It is unnatural, and Ceryn can feel that. The air appears to almost shiver with anticipation and then there is a flash of incandescent light. The air grows uncommonly chill; It's uncomfortable, but it's not yet freezing. A building psychic pressure starts to set Ceryn and Ritsuka's teeth to buzzing, and each of you feel the slight pressure of a building headache-- It's the psychic feedback one might receive from a failed persuasion, or from the dissonance from a failed instruction, or compulsion-- And then the smells begin to filter through. It is like new leaves-- rotting meat-- chill air-- the most beautiful flowers-- And then, screaming. If Ceryn and Ritsuka were to move to get intel, this would be the time to do so. It's very likely the Black Flame cultists are distracted by what ever just happened.
"Sanctuary does not protect us from monsters," Ritsuka answers before she does start on to rush over. The headache hits, but at this point, what Havenite is not accustomed to compulsive headaches? She can fix it later. Now? Now the two need that intelligence, and then probably interrupt what is going on. She looks for a safe space to hide behind to peer out to collect the information and looks to Ceryn "Can you sense how far along they are into the ritual? Do we need to intervene?"
"I think people around here say 'this is greek to me', or something along those lines." Ceryn grumbled through gritted teeth, the thumping in his mind leaving his balance unsteady as he unslung a bow from over his shoulder, "Probably best to at least give them a moment of pause, gives the biter a good time to send his folks in. I'd rather not take the chance, especially when we're near whatever is going on, aye?" He conspired alongside Ritsuka as he ran alongside her, arrow knocked onto the rest of his bow.
Ritsuka's movements go unnoticed and the light flares, dims and flashes out. Pressing hrself against the side of the tunnel, Ritsuka peers around the corner-- It is indeed an active ritual sight, and there are 6 figures chanting, with a seventh in the center of the storm drain's deep bason. That figure seems to be mid transformation, the being bubbling and slithering unnaturally, the figure not a person any longer, but something that almost resembles an ilithid (Or a mindflayer if you're feeling nasty). Ceryn can tell that the ritual is still in its inffancy, and it's very likely that from the context clues-- Transformations, air pressure, unnatural temperatures and psionics, that this is a working that will take some time. The cultists need to actually find a successful focus first, and judging by the corpse some way off, they're struggling to do that. And that's when the central figure's eyes begin to glow and it spreads its arms and... quite suddenly bursts into an explosion of light flame and sound. There's a curious "POP!" as it discorporates, but the cultists don't stop their chanting. Their voices raise, and another of their number steps into the center of the circle from somewhere unseen, willingly passing the six who form the ritual circle. -- They'll likely be at this for quite some time, though unfortunately for Ceryn and Ritsuka, the visuals are far too clear, the callousness of the cultists in full swing as two more figures step from where the adventurers cannot spot, dragging the corpse towards the run-off and into the filth stream where it sluggishly begins to miander through the sludge towards Ceryn and Ritsuka. Fortunately, they still have not been noticed, and they may not spot a flying arrow if Ceryn and Ritsuka were fast enough to hit and run-- Though of course, they might, and it is Ceryn and Ritsuka's choice as to if they will engage to distract or run back now. It could go either way.
Pulling the drawstring taut, Ceryn glances over to Ritsuka, "Pretty sure you have seniority on me." He murmurs in a hush tone, "Do I put an arrow in or?.." Glancing down to his lantern, he considers an idea, "If you have a spare light, could use this as a makeshift firebomb." A click of his tongue follows as time begins to slip, not giving the two much room to decide, "Fairly sure we're /more/ than close enough for that damn parasite to send his folks down here."
Ritsuka glances back to Ceryn and makes a shrug of her shoulders as she looks back to Ceryn. The suggestion of a firebomb has her lips turn into a smile and then into a glee as something monstrously playful sparkles into her eyes. She reaches around, into her satchel and pups out a little lighter. There was not a need for words, of course, but she covers the flame as she lights it, holding the flame out for Ceryn, and shares, with something excited and hushed "Boom!"
Drawing a breath, he unhooks the oil lantern, twirling it by it's ringlet, "Alright... Although, it might explode a little bigger than I expect. The fumes in the sewers will see to it." Ceryn murmurs, drawing a breath as he gives the thing a few practice swings. Then, just as the moment he feels is right snaps into place, he tosses the light source in the direction of the ritual circle, causing the thing to smash on impact and splatter kerosene in all directions with the wicker still lit.
The firebomb, as it turns out was a great idea; What ever the cultists are doing, it's made the area exceptionally unstable, and once it leaves Ceryn's hand, crossing the unseen boundry into the stormdrain and sails clear over the heads of the Black Flame's -- ... Well, they're likely not the best, and they're obviously not the brightest if they're so slavishly loyal to the cause that they'd sacrifice themselves to become exploding fish guts-- But their agents, at least, the resounding explosion proves the volitility of the area-- There's likely some aid from the natural ambiance. The combined eldritch, alchemical and arcane chemicles blending with the pockets of refuse to generate a cacophonic blast that flattens Ceryn and Ritsuka, and flat out immolates the six ritualists and their willing sacrifice before the remains of the insendiary clatters and smashes to the ground. -- The Black flame though don't even react past the screaming. Their chants stop, their limbs fly, but somehow, there are more of them: These cultists are like rats- And another six robed figures, this time slightly singed step in to begin the ritual a new, a woman as the sacrifice. The kerosene-- That which hadn't already gone up in flames splatters like rain, the entire group flaring into blazing pyres. Still, they chant- This must be eimportant. And that's when the air shimmers. Albert and his four aids step out of the air; That sound must have carried, and the vampire looks into the storm drain, nods to Ceryn and Ritsuka, gives a few snapped orders in an unknown language, and the battle begins. For his part, Albert doesn't take part; He observes from the sidelines, offering a hand to each Ritsuka and Ceryn to help them stand. "Messy." he comments, though if this is a statement of the result of their work, or the state of the sewer is anyone's guess. Elemental magic flashes, and methodically, the four men make short business of the cultists that remain. -- At a final count, there were twelve left, so it is likely for the best that Ritsuka and Ceryn did not go in all guns blazing.
Ceryn flinches the moment the wave of heat reaches him, the gore and viscera not quite taking him aback as much as the stench of burning flesh that intermingled with the fetid scent of the sewers. "Ugh." He merely mutters, watching the thralls step through the shimmering veil and into the fray. "I suppose that's our part done." The comment is aside as he observes the onslaught, eyes darting over to Ritsuka, "I think I'll have a long, thorough bath after this at the very least..." He sighs, only for the breath to suck in a little more than he bargained for, causing him to gag and grasp at his mouth.
Ritsuka gets plummeted a little bit! No help for fast reflexes, but she can't help on a single thing - a little giggle that she can't contain, somewhere between gleeful and seductive just before the makeshift bomb goes kaboom! Definitely creepy, but hey, it was effective, and she accepts the vampire's hand without much of a care. On the messy, she just says, light-hearted "But very effective." She does not dirty her hands either, but there is a playful note to Ceryn. "Guess they had no sanctuary after all. Congratulations, Ryn-san- You are a murderer. SHHH best don't tell anyone else like the Order if you want to pretend to be a good person!" She makes a light wink, and then looks back to as the four thralls finish the last cultists. "Hai, a bath would be very nice. I think I might go hide at home and then head back out again. It was nice to play with you Ryn!"
"I wouldn't really call it murder." Ceryn responds as he pulls himself up straight, tone still wretching from the taste lingering in his mouth, "And sure, maybe I'll see you around." He tacks on, not quite contemplating her tone of voice nor the joy at such wanton slaughter.
Once the mess is cleaned up, Ritsuka and Ceryn are unneededly pinged on their phones; Venice have concluded this to be a success. Likewise, the phone in Albert's suit jacket pocket vibrates and he nods. He could leave the two in the sewer, but instead, he paths the two back to Haven, into a location that best befits them. Surely, Ceryn will get his long bath with no interuptions now, and Ritsuka can do likewise, should she wish, and all returns (for Haven) to normality.
"Me neither, but the Order does, try not to get into trouble with them," Ritsuka says, raising a hand to wave - as the shadows then do begin to crawl around her - and then pull her into them. For then, she was gone.
Meanwhile, in another corner of Haven, the plot thickens as Ritsuka and Ceryn are drawn into a covert operation against the ominous Black Flame cult. The pair, guided by a mysterious text, find themselves united in purpose despite their differences. Their journey leads them to the dark underbelly of Haven, navigating the perilous sewers to disrupt a ritual summoning. With the cult's activities risking untold chaos, the duo's intervention becomes crucial. Armed with arcane knowledge and a makeshift firebomb, they launch a daring attack on the ritual site. The explosion, magnified by the volatile environment, marks a turning point, drawing out Albert Dredge and his aids to finish the job. In the aftermath, Venice's approval signals a temporary victory over the eldritch threat. As normalcy teeters on the brink in Haven, Ritsuka and Ceryn part ways, their fleeting alliance leaving a lasting impact amid the city's supernatural skirmishes.
(Epigram's odd encounter(SRVindicta):SRVindicta)
[Tue Nov 26 2024]
On Elm Street
It is morning, about 35F(1C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey clouds in the sky.
Epigram taps her phone and frowns. She holds it up in the air, waves it around. ".. shoot, "
(Your target has been mind controlled by another into acting as their agent in a crime, compelled to perform a robbery or assault for this other agent. It is up to their allies to arrive and stop the crime and try to uncover the criminal.
)
This morning in Haven is crisp and brisk, just on the cusp of freezing without touching the temperature required to create that familiar rime of frost on car windshields and building windows. Epigram's breath gusts warmly on the chilly air regardless, the familiar and yet not-so view of what was once the Black Rose Book Store haunting her vision. It is barely recognizable now, gutted as what once was a row of elegant bookshelves has been warped and tainted, their essence disrespected as they are replaced by rows and lines of coolers chock-full of processed meats and cheeses.
It is a shame. A landmark of Haven, a staple, fallen to ruin in favor of this sudden onslaught, this Italian invasion, but even they cannot be blamed for Vincenzo's cheap mockery of culture. People are want to walk by and murmur that Jersey Mike's would have been better than whatever this deli is, or is going to become. Whispers of boycotts, and more still, ever closer, murmurs of vandalism as retaliation for the bookstore's destruction.
Epigram puts her hands in her pockets. Her entire posture dejected. Looking like she Christmas was cancelled and she can't be bothered to try to save it. Best move on, get someplace warmer. Her coat isn't doing her any favors in this weather and her ears are turning cold. Still, she looks a little lost, like not sure where to go. The embers in her heart don't seem to burn with the same intensity that others in the crowd has, more like a lost puppy.
A sigh, a breath and she turns her back to walk away.. but her steps don't carry her far as she doesnt' seem to know where away even is.
Where is away? Where would the little bookworm go when her normal haunt is being destroyed? Perhaps to the White Oak library, though would it bring her the same satisfaction with its many restrictions on content? Where is the smut? The pulp fiction? The fantastical romance? Gone are the days where so many people would group together over coffee and muffins to chatter about the latest read that has stolen away their attention.
Perhaps gone, too, would be Epigram if she hadn't turned and immediately bumped into the chest of a far taller man who had been lingering nearby. Too close for comfort, really, but with his hands in his pockets, he seems to have been gazing at the bookstore-turned-deli in a similarly forlorn fashion. He doesn't seem to mind it when Epigram bumps into him, either, a sympathetic gaze offered to the female before he claims: "Shame, isn't it...? Makes you feel helpless to stop the rolling of time, the crumbling of society, the greed of capitalism..."
Epigram is just about to say excuse me when the man starts talking. She doesn't know him, so she's going to just stare up at him, silently while he waxes poetic. Eventually she just says, "Yeah." Ducking her head.
"I mean it's whatever." She manages, trying not to get drawn into whatever this is, it seems. She doesn't seem like the most poetic, despite being a fan of books.
"I mean.." she starts, possibly already regretting engaging, "I'll like, fine another book store or maybe a library, they've become kind of popular again I guess."
"But why?" he wonders, exhaling a long and deep breath before tilting his head- then leaning his body- to the side, attempting to interject himself into Epigram's path past, or her escape from conversation with him. It is equal parts subtlety and openness that have his right hand lifting up to the sunglasses he wears, slowly peeling them off of his face by way of drifting them down along the slope of his Eastern European nose.
"Why give up and find somewhere else to go when you could *punish* them for what they've done? Burn their money, set it ablaze," he intones, attempting to lock his eyes onto Epigram's own as he speaks to her in a low, rumbling growl. "Greed. Meet it with your Wrath." Those words, they almost start to feel warm within the pink-haired woman's chest, creeping up into her mind, like a call to battle for her. "Vengeance."
Epigram looks taken aback and way uncomfortable, growing more so by the moment. It's clear the intensity is overflowing her cup of tolerance fast. Will the spark turn into flame? So far it doesn't look like it. The way she backs up a few steps and nearly stumbles.
"Burn their money what do you even mean?" Epigram asks, though, it doesn't sound as a question so much as disbelief. "I don't know about any of that-." She tries to interject, seemingly lacking the spine for such things. "Really, I ah, mean like probably just go find a new haunt."
"Revolt," the man says more firmly as dizzyingly silver eyes meet Epigram's hazels, unnaturally milky in the way that those irises shift like molten metal within his gaze. "Why should you be the only one to suffer? Go in there, Epigram. Tear things apart. Upturn them, break, rip, shred, destroy." It's something strange. Something about his voice that makes his tongue as silver as his strange eyes.
It's a mental push into the darkest and thusly weakest recesses of Epigram's mind where he attempts to sow his seeds of discontent, using her own mourning as fertilizer for the field. It's nothing as elegant as hypnotism- it's more blunt and brute force. Psychic persuasion. And right now there is only one thing Epigram wants to do if she doesn't manage to fight back against it:
Tear things apart.
Epigram might not fight back, exactly, she looks like she is freaked out, getting more so as the time ticks on. "I didn't tell you my name..." Epigram manages, with a bit of a quake to her voice now. She starts to back up again. It's less resistance than just naked fear. Her eyes, her posture, everything says she is afraid.
There's a moment where those silver eyes meet Epigram's hazel gaze with a burning intensity that it is possible the woman doesn't completely understand- his voice echoes in her mind more than it should, but her own moral compass, that resolve she has, that sense of self, pushes back even when she herself does not. Those words that attemptign to grip hold of her mind fade- shatter, even- before the man recoils, clutching at his eyes and forehead. "AGHH!!" he growls out, his too-perfectly white teeth gritted against one another as his breaths become hitched, like he's enduring a sudden brain freeze. It offers Epigram just enough time to flee from his presence if she so chose. To get away from his reach while he is focused on the pain in his mind. She, too, can feel it- the psychic backlash of something striking across her frontal lobe like a lash, but she doesn't have time to focus on that right now. Everything about this man, this place, this situation, screams danger. She needs to run, now or never.
Epigram does run, but she sucks at it. She stumbles and scurries into places that lack a good escape more than once, dead ends, people or trash cans blocking her way. It would be funny if not for the situation. She looks like a horror movie victim trying to get away from an imposing force.. which.. at least to her mind, she may well be exactly that.
At the very least Epigram manages to get far enough away from the epicenter of her panic that it finds no way to follow her, or perhaps it was simply a one-off incident, an attempt failed and a lesson learned on his behalf. The bookworm would find herself feeling somewhat weaker for a while, but otherwise with her mind, her *self*, intact.
Silence, apart from the usual hubbub of the sleepy town of Haven, as Epigram finds peace at last a few blocks away from where the demolitions take place. What, or who, that man was may well remain a mystery for a while. Perhaps forever. But what is important now is that she is safe, escaped from whatever it was that had just occurred, or attempted to. Now the rest of her day belongs to her, to take control of, to grab by the horns, or... Maybe to jsut settle down with and read a good book.
(A member of The Black Flame has been found dead under mysterious circumstances. Your target is asked to investigate the death, which leads them to a ritual site hidden in the town. The site is still active and they have to either shut it down or survive the eldritch horrors it has summoned until their allies can arrive and help.)
Ritsuka stretches out before she looks down to her phone with a new text messages. It's, of course, over a special line, a special app, all coded in Japanese just to put another hurdle to others trying to hack into it with how fragile text messages are in Haven-city. She brushes some of her hair behind an ear, and opens the app. There is something she reads on it, taps over on her phone, and she sends a message back to confirm. It doesn't take long and there is a few more text messages because she makes a hmm- and takes to glance around the pharmacy. Business was as usual, as far as one could claim that is in a place like Haven-city.
After a long day of yardwork and greeting the locals like usual, Ceryn finally took some time to himself. Sprawled out in a hanging bed, the bitter cold of winter was kept at bay by the numerous blankets and covers that had been swaddled around him. With his phone in hand, he idly hummed to himself as he flicked through messages and browsed a few online markets for what seemed to be furniture and space heaters.
In the Haven township, mysteries abound; They pervade minds bodies and souls. They drive people apart and together: The tides of fate ever in flux, ever driving forward towards the inevitable destiny that must simply not be ignored. Today is like no other. Ceryn and Ritsuka were living their lives independently of themselves. They had experienced the day-to-day life of Haven, but as it often does, the universe has conspired to bring them together. Ceryn from his home, Ritsuka from her work, but for two very different people, the worlds are about to shift. They are about to be drawn together, impacting like clashing rocks, and all because of a very simple thing; How curious then is it that the supernatural intranet has such access. Venice of course has its fingers in every single pie. They rule all-- They control all. And this is proven very simply when their prophets foresee something. Ceryn and Ritsuka have no context for this, of course. Venice is far away, and the interest they have in Haven is bound by the gates. But as with Venice, there are other beings conspiring. There are other factions. There are cults; Sapphire Martyrs, Golden Shadow, Destined Host and the subject in hand now. The Black Flame- Those villains who seek to draw their eldritch god-like masters from the darkest, deepest extents of the void. And so, Venice will inevitably act. Agents-- Supernatural mercenaries, any promicing targets they think have the ability to resolve their issues. And so, Ceryn and Ritsuka receive the same text message. Their phones flash with a priority notification- And Venice have elected to assign Ceryn and Ritsuka towards resolution. -- A member of the Black Flame was located dead under the city. Found in a state of decomposition that suggests the touch of the void; The corpse was unnaturally decaying. It was twisted and warped by the fell energies from outside the worlds, and the suspition is that the Black Flame are seeking to bring forth a horror from beyond. The task then: Ceryn and Ritsuka have to make their way towards Haven, enter the sewers and locate the Black Flame. They will be met by a crack strike force, but these agents do not know the city. They need locals that they can path too. (So for the story to progress, the participants have to make their way to Haven through emotes of how they travel.) -- The man they are to meet is the ancient vampire, Albert Dredge, who will explain the situation to the two chosen supernaturals.
As the messages ran through, Ceryn fumbled with his device a little, still not completely adept with the trappings of technological society. He managed to bring up a map, only to dismay at where he had to go and who had to meet, "Vampires, always vampires." The man mutters to himself as he kicks himself up and off the bed, setting it into a wide swing.
Without much ado, Ceryn clambers down from his tree, landing into the gravel path with a bounce in his step. If it wasn't for the frigid cold, this'd be quite the day. It only took a few minutes for him to navigate his way out from the grove, finding his motorcycle which had been chained to a nearby ashwood. "What kind of name is Dredge anyway?" He murmurs to himself as he pulls on his helmet and kicks a leg over the bike.
With a kick of the ignition, the engine roars into life, sending the wildling off and down the road, towards the local of this ancient vampire.
Ritsuka finds her important messaging interrupted by another message, this one of a higher priority and so, she glances over it, and finds that Venice, once more, involves her into yet another thing. There is a brief, but ever-present roll of her eyes- this she needs to allow for herself, for all that is right and fair, and a little sigh, too. This better had to be important, there were other plans to pursue, other affairs to tend to and other investments to make. But it will not be for all of today. She goes on to inform her staff that she has something to attend to - and as all business with Venice, she scarcely dares to do them unarmed or unarmored. That means the first trip is to make the way home. As often, she does not take her bow along, it is her katana that matters significantly more. As it has become tradition, when she retrieves the decorated blade, she part-draws it, and looks into her own, frozen eyes reflected in the metal of the blade.
There is still a responsibility that must be carried, one little thing, one weight that is her own, for which so many others have abandoned her for, betrayed her for. Someday, they will all pay. The saya is fully moved over the blade again, and she slides it into her backpack and then takes a moment to redress, placing the kevlar under her clothing.
It is only then that she drives out again, this time approaching the indicated location. And it is another very quick drive, but she will likely arrive after Ceryn.
If Ritsuka and Ceryn were to check, they would find that Albert Dredge is a high ranking member of the Hand. Operating out of Boston propper- Known to be the chapter master of the charity shell group named the Helping Hand. He is a known business man working in textiles, and has lucrative ties with the shadey Vetr Group. A known close friend to Gidion Voss, Vetr's chairman, Albert is no /good/ man. He is unquestionably a monster, though as with the more commonly known information about the vampire lord, Ritsuka and Ceryn could easily find out that he donates plentifully to the pharmacy subcidiaries of the Hanshin group's american outreach programs, for affordable healthcare. More notable though-- And of far more import to Ceryn and Ritsuka, Albert is known to be an expert on the Black Flame and the void entities, and his squad are believed to be specialists in eldritch ritual magic. -- These connections are likely why Ritsuka and Ceryn were elected to meet the man. Ritsuka owns the Haven pharmacy and Ceryn is considered to be an up-and-coming figure in the arcane world. Upon arrival at the location-- An abandoned warehouse near Temple Steel, Albert greets Ceryn and Ritsuka professionally. With him are four shaven men in crisp suits with no visible weapons at hand. Ritsuka would note that the four are weaknesses for Albert, likely suggesting that they are thralls, or otherwise close personal aids for Albert Dredge. Though of more interest is likely the lack of vehicle with them, and the shimmering rent in the air that leads to the dark forest realm of the path. Albert pathed into Haven, specifically to this location at the exact time that Ceryn and Ritsuka arrived. That much alone suggests the power of the man-- And the lack of weapons, the tugging at Ceryn and Ritsuka's life force is yet another sign. -- Albert's lips draw into a thin line as he makes his greetings, appraising Ceryn and Ritsuka. He says nothing in that moment, likely considering what he has to work with. Then, finally, he tells the two what the plan is. "I have seen you now." he explains. "I have your scents. I can track you. So quite simply, you must enter the sewers, locate the cultists, inform me what you see, and we shall path to you to destroy their ritual before it will damage this town." Then he gestures, and two of the toughs step forward, lifting the cover from a manhole that descends into the seedy underbelly of Haven.
Barely managing to conceal his displeasure of being in the presence of the undead, Ceryn slips a light breath, pulls on a smile and politely introduces himself to Dredge. After a moment, his eyes flick over to Ritsuka, not quite sure what to make of her with the contrast between the two people. "This would be a lot easier with the right paints..." He murmurs under his breath, barely audible to the others as he squats down aside the manhole, peering in before back up to Ritsuka.
"This is going to be a tad bit out of my element." Ceryn explains as he rifles through his satchel to fish out a rather rustic looking oil lantern, "Anything I should know about you before we end up spelunking in a rather unpleasant hole?" He queries over to Ritsuka, tone measured and relaxed.
It is perhaps fortunate that Ritsuka is well protected, for the tugging is felt, but not lingered on, even less is staying bothered with. Still, she follows the proper greeting procedures, makes to bow to the vampire, and a slighter dip of her head is offered to Ceryn. She does introduce herself to him "Shimomi Ritsuka." Still, she keeps at a distance, as much as her task currently permits.
"I don't exactly look like someone that would crawl through them usually, mister." She answers, gesturing down to her own clothing and white hair. "It's going to be smelly, watch where you step, if you have acute senses for smell, you might suffer, get used to it slowly, can you see in the dark or do you need external light?" She goes down along as if it was a checklist, but then retrieves her phone anyway, starting to send a text message to one of her contacts to see if she can get building plans for the sewers down, rituals usually need enough space to do them. "Can't be in a corridor. Let me see if my connections can get us some sort of sewer plan."
Ceryn jangles his lantern, "I mean, I'm fairly human, more or less. So no senses outside the ordinary or vision for the dark." He sighs, answering the meticulous list as he thumbs through a hefty book, "What I /am/ though, is a practitioner of druidic magicks. Albeit... Still learning. It's why I said I'm pretty out of my element in the sewers, much prefer being out in the wilds." The man nods as he settles the tome at his hip.
As is only to be expected, the sewers, once Ceryn and Ritsuka enter with their lantern can best be described as shitty-- Figuratively, literally and by any other variable one might elect to establish. These tunnels are dark, dank and slippery, with the lantern light revealing prolific water damage from the many hazardous floods that have befallen Haven's township over the past few years. The supernatural really are a problem, especially those with weather manipulation. So too can Ceryn and Ritsuka note that there is fire damage: The pit looks to have run through the ringer, and how it remains operational is a supernatural feat in and of itself. The air is still, fetted and putrid, with the lingering remnants of not just human, but monster detritus scattered throughout. That reported corpse though is still here-- The sages from Venice apparently move very quickly when prompted, and the two can note the black robes with the flame insignia on the twisted figure. -- Barely even human, the corpse resembles less a man than a disgusting, discombobulating amalgamation of crustation, arthropod and amphibian with only the hint in its eradiated carcass that it was once human, its mutation seemingly having come on quickly and painfully-- Some might say fatally, with the present state of it. Yet, the corpse itself proves the validity of the Black Flame here. -- Ceryn and Ritsuka are able to step within the tunnels, and from some way down the tunnel, where the signage would suggest the deep well of a disused storm drain can be spotted, they can just hear what sounds like chanting. There's a faint light from far off and no one yet knows that Ceryn and Ritsuka are there.
Ritsuka glances to Ceryn "Can you light up? I am no arcanist. But we will need light if we venture in. Dark vision only helps so much." And then, it looks, they are at least provided a lantern, and that means, that in it goes. She tries to keep away from the main path of the extremities, and her figure is slim, her chest makes that a little more difficult. She does retrieve her blade and adjusts it to her side, too.
When they near the corpse, she does come to look down to it, examine it, but she is no forensics expert, but as one that has a fair bit of medical experience there is a simple diagnosis: Yeah, this definitely does not look right.
The next words are quiet, hushed to Ceryn who's name she still does not yet know. "Mister- I think they are just ahead. What would you like for us to do? Quick and loud or sudden and quiet?" She asks, her words drawing into something playful.
"Wrong sort of arcanist." Ceryn simply replies, happy to merely hook the lantern onto his belt with a quiet 'click'. "Everyone always uses the term 'arcanist', such a narrow view of what sorts of magic there are out there." He muses to himself as he approached the corpse, not quite a complaint, but plenty a note.
"Biomancy? Fleshforming? The latter seems a little arduous as a method to kill someone, unless they did it to himself." Ceryn questions, partially as a prod to Ritsuka and partially working through his own train of thought. "Ryn, by the way, 'mister' is a little formal." He easily responds in a light tone and a subtle smirk as he continues to look over the cadaver, "Considering how out-numbered we are... We should really just look at getting a count on the figures, maybe any objects of note, and then heading back. Pretty sure the biter just wants a report after all."
"Can't kill them, this is Haven and sanctuary stops that," Ritsuka quietly answer to Ceryn, and then, still whispered but with a more cheerful note. "Ryn is a very cute name. But okay, let's try and snoop closer, take a look, and then the strike team should theoretically smash in with their pathing. I might stay for dinner. I am kidding." She does place the hand down to her side, over the hilt of the katana, and the other hand on the top of the saya, close to where the katana is. And then, only then does she move a little closer to get a good look.
"Kill, dehabilitate, restrain, so on and so forth... Although if they killed this guy, would they even have sanctuary?" Ceryn prodded the question further, a smile pulling at his lips at the sly, aside compliment about his name, "So we just need to get close, yeah? Then the biter's thralls can show up to do all the heavy work. Sounds easy enough." He draws a breath, hand reaching under his coat to slip out a curved knife, "Should have brought Kesp with me, would have been perfect. Pretty sure the little fella can't smell all /this/ too."
As the two converse, the chanting grows in volume; From a whisper, it's transitioning into a full invocation. It is unnatural, and Ceryn can feel that. The air appears to almost shiver with anticipation and then there is a flash of incandescent light. The air grows uncommonly chill; It's uncomfortable, but it's not yet freezing. A building psychic pressure starts to set Ceryn and Ritsuka's teeth to buzzing, and each of you feel the slight pressure of a building headache-- It's the psychic feedback one might receive from a failed persuasion, or from the dissonance from a failed instruction, or compulsion-- And then the smells begin to filter through. It is like new leaves-- rotting meat-- chill air-- the most beautiful flowers-- And then, screaming. If Ceryn and Ritsuka were to move to get intel, this would be the time to do so. It's very likely the Black Flame cultists are distracted by what ever just happened.
"Sanctuary does not protect us from monsters," Ritsuka answers before she does start on to rush over. The headache hits, but at this point, what Havenite is not accustomed to compulsive headaches? She can fix it later. Now? Now the two need that intelligence, and then probably interrupt what is going on. She looks for a safe space to hide behind to peer out to collect the information and looks to Ceryn "Can you sense how far along they are into the ritual? Do we need to intervene?"
"I think people around here say 'this is greek to me', or something along those lines." Ceryn grumbled through gritted teeth, the thumping in his mind leaving his balance unsteady as he unslung a bow from over his shoulder, "Probably best to at least give them a moment of pause, gives the biter a good time to send his folks in. I'd rather not take the chance, especially when we're near whatever is going on, aye?" He conspired alongside Ritsuka as he ran alongside her, arrow knocked onto the rest of his bow.
Ritsuka's movements go unnoticed and the light flares, dims and flashes out. Pressing hrself against the side of the tunnel, Ritsuka peers around the corner-- It is indeed an active ritual sight, and there are 6 figures chanting, with a seventh in the center of the storm drain's deep bason. That figure seems to be mid transformation, the being bubbling and slithering unnaturally, the figure not a person any longer, but something that almost resembles an ilithid (Or a mindflayer if you're feeling nasty). Ceryn can tell that the ritual is still in its inffancy, and it's very likely that from the context clues-- Transformations, air pressure, unnatural temperatures and psionics, that this is a working that will take some time. The cultists need to actually find a successful focus first, and judging by the corpse some way off, they're struggling to do that. And that's when the central figure's eyes begin to glow and it spreads its arms and... quite suddenly bursts into an explosion of light flame and sound. There's a curious "POP!" as it discorporates, but the cultists don't stop their chanting. Their voices raise, and another of their number steps into the center of the circle from somewhere unseen, willingly passing the six who form the ritual circle. -- They'll likely be at this for quite some time, though unfortunately for Ceryn and Ritsuka, the visuals are far too clear, the callousness of the cultists in full swing as two more figures step from where the adventurers cannot spot, dragging the corpse towards the run-off and into the filth stream where it sluggishly begins to miander through the sludge towards Ceryn and Ritsuka. Fortunately, they still have not been noticed, and they may not spot a flying arrow if Ceryn and Ritsuka were fast enough to hit and run-- Though of course, they might, and it is Ceryn and Ritsuka's choice as to if they will engage to distract or run back now. It could go either way.
Pulling the drawstring taut, Ceryn glances over to Ritsuka, "Pretty sure you have seniority on me." He murmurs in a hush tone, "Do I put an arrow in or?.." Glancing down to his lantern, he considers an idea, "If you have a spare light, could use this as a makeshift firebomb." A click of his tongue follows as time begins to slip, not giving the two much room to decide, "Fairly sure we're /more/ than close enough for that damn parasite to send his folks down here."
Ritsuka glances back to Ceryn and makes a shrug of her shoulders as she looks back to Ceryn. The suggestion of a firebomb has her lips turn into a smile and then into a glee as something monstrously playful sparkles into her eyes. She reaches around, into her satchel and pups out a little lighter. There was not a need for words, of course, but she covers the flame as she lights it, holding the flame out for Ceryn, and shares, with something excited and hushed "Boom!"
Drawing a breath, he unhooks the oil lantern, twirling it by it's ringlet, "Alright... Although, it might explode a little bigger than I expect. The fumes in the sewers will see to it." Ceryn murmurs, drawing a breath as he gives the thing a few practice swings. Then, just as the moment he feels is right snaps into place, he tosses the light source in the direction of the ritual circle, causing the thing to smash on impact and splatter kerosene in all directions with the wicker still lit.
The firebomb, as it turns out was a great idea; What ever the cultists are doing, it's made the area exceptionally unstable, and once it leaves Ceryn's hand, crossing the unseen boundry into the stormdrain and sails clear over the heads of the Black Flame's -- ... Well, they're likely not the best, and they're obviously not the brightest if they're so slavishly loyal to the cause that they'd sacrifice themselves to become exploding fish guts-- But their agents, at least, the resounding explosion proves the volitility of the area-- There's likely some aid from the natural ambiance. The combined eldritch, alchemical and arcane chemicles blending with the pockets of refuse to generate a cacophonic blast that flattens Ceryn and Ritsuka, and flat out immolates the six ritualists and their willing sacrifice before the remains of the insendiary clatters and smashes to the ground. -- The Black flame though don't even react past the screaming. Their chants stop, their limbs fly, but somehow, there are more of them: These cultists are like rats- And another six robed figures, this time slightly singed step in to begin the ritual a new, a woman as the sacrifice. The kerosene-- That which hadn't already gone up in flames splatters like rain, the entire group flaring into blazing pyres. Still, they chant- This must be eimportant. And that's when the air shimmers. Albert and his four aids step out of the air; That sound must have carried, and the vampire looks into the storm drain, nods to Ceryn and Ritsuka, gives a few snapped orders in an unknown language, and the battle begins. For his part, Albert doesn't take part; He observes from the sidelines, offering a hand to each Ritsuka and Ceryn to help them stand. "Messy." he comments, though if this is a statement of the result of their work, or the state of the sewer is anyone's guess. Elemental magic flashes, and methodically, the four men make short business of the cultists that remain. -- At a final count, there were twelve left, so it is likely for the best that Ritsuka and Ceryn did not go in all guns blazing.
Ceryn flinches the moment the wave of heat reaches him, the gore and viscera not quite taking him aback as much as the stench of burning flesh that intermingled with the fetid scent of the sewers. "Ugh." He merely mutters, watching the thralls step through the shimmering veil and into the fray. "I suppose that's our part done." The comment is aside as he observes the onslaught, eyes darting over to Ritsuka, "I think I'll have a long, thorough bath after this at the very least..." He sighs, only for the breath to suck in a little more than he bargained for, causing him to gag and grasp at his mouth.
Ritsuka gets plummeted a little bit! No help for fast reflexes, but she can't help on a single thing - a little giggle that she can't contain, somewhere between gleeful and seductive just before the makeshift bomb goes kaboom! Definitely creepy, but hey, it was effective, and she accepts the vampire's hand without much of a care. On the messy, she just says, light-hearted "But very effective." She does not dirty her hands either, but there is a playful note to Ceryn. "Guess they had no sanctuary after all. Congratulations, Ryn-san- You are a murderer. SHHH best don't tell anyone else like the Order if you want to pretend to be a good person!" She makes a light wink, and then looks back to as the four thralls finish the last cultists. "Hai, a bath would be very nice. I think I might go hide at home and then head back out again. It was nice to play with you Ryn!"
"I wouldn't really call it murder." Ceryn responds as he pulls himself up straight, tone still wretching from the taste lingering in his mouth, "And sure, maybe I'll see you around." He tacks on, not quite contemplating her tone of voice nor the joy at such wanton slaughter.
Once the mess is cleaned up, Ritsuka and Ceryn are unneededly pinged on their phones; Venice have concluded this to be a success. Likewise, the phone in Albert's suit jacket pocket vibrates and he nods. He could leave the two in the sewer, but instead, he paths the two back to Haven, into a location that best befits them. Surely, Ceryn will get his long bath with no interuptions now, and Ritsuka can do likewise, should she wish, and all returns (for Haven) to normality.
"Me neither, but the Order does, try not to get into trouble with them," Ritsuka says, raising a hand to wave - as the shadows then do begin to crawl around her - and then pull her into them. For then, she was gone.