Encounterlogs
Finns Odd Encounter Sr Novel 250110
In the heart of a meticulously kept apartment, where the normalcy of life unfolded under the glow of a typical afternoon, Lark and Evan found themselves enveloped in an ambiance far removed from their tranquil existence. The day, marked by a casual decision to forgo reading in favor of watching a movie together, spiraled into an eerie episode as an unnatural chill permeated the room. Haven, with its reputation for being a nexus of the supernatural, seemed to have breached the comforts of their living space. This sudden shift was personified by a malevolent spirit from Arkwright cemetery that possessed Lark, transforming her from a lively companion into an instrument of ancient evil. Her actions, now not her own, became deliberate and cold—her once familiar warmth replaced with an ice that threatened to engulf Evan.
As the shadows deepened and the temperature plunged, Evan was faced with the daunting task of confronting the spectral force that had taken hold of Lark. Her plea for help, a discordant echo of her true self, signaled a desperate fight for control. Despite the encroaching frost and sinister whispers of destruction, Evan mustered a response, his concern laced with determination. This marked a pivotal moment where the boundaries between the mundane and the paranormal were blurred, casting Evan and Lark into a struggle against forces that sought to extinguish their light. The outcome of this confrontation remained uncertain, leaving a chilling question hanging in the air: how could they possibly quell a spirit that had crossed from the grave into their very lives?
(Finn's odd encounter(SRNovel):SRNovel)
[Thu Jan 9 2025]
In a Cramped, White-Tiled Bathroom
The Bathroom has been recently renovated. A motif of gold and white encircles the room. There is not a single stain on any spot anywhere. All hygiene products have been neatly stowed away in ornate cabinets. There's a regal bathtube fit for a princess on the northern side of the room with floor attached piping and a soft pad beneath it for someone to kneel down on. There are small circular frosted windows on the walls to let the natural sunlight in. There's a tall grand mirror one can stand before to examine themselves. Of course there is also a frosted-glass shower, most for convenience.
It is morning, about -3F(-19C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(Your target receives an anonymous tip about a local gathering of The Black Flame in a secluded part of Haven. As they investigate, they discover a ritual in progress, aiming to summon an eldritch horror. The target and their allies must disrupt the ritual before it's too late, while also avoiding or overcoming the cultists who will do anything to protect their ceremony.)
(Your target is possessed by an angry spirit that is forcing them to act out and putting themselves and/or others at risk. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
Evan re-enters the apartment after leaving to say goodbye to a previous guest, "Reading time for you?" Evan asks Lark curiously.
Lark is lounging on the sectional, texting. She looks up from her phone and smiles at Evan. "I mean I should read-" There's an emphasis on the should, the kind of sly emphasis that implies that one won't. "But... I don't really feel like reading."
She reaches for the remote, switching on the television. "Maybe we can just take it easy until I head out to cheer practice," she suggests. "Watch a movie maybe?"
Evan accepts that suggestion with a smile, and settles into that comfortable sectionals sofa, cuddling up to Lark on it.
As the afternoon sun begins its descent on Thursday, January 9th, 2025, the living area of the apartment is initially vibrant, awash in golden light filtering through the expansive western-facing windows. The polished concrete floors gleam, reflecting the warmth of the day. The sleek, L-shaped gray sectional, arranged with precision, faces the wall-mounted TV. The glass coffee table, perches atop the rug, anchoring the seating area, where Evan and Lark sit with an air of modernity, while the warm orange walls and contemporary art adds its touch of vitality to the space. But as the clock ticks toward the witching hour second-by-second, a sudden chill sweeps through the room, an unnatural cold that creeps in from the corners and envelops the space like a thick fog. The air, once filled with the glow of late afternoon warmth, turns frigid, causing Evan and Lark's breath to materialize visibly in the sudden eerie silence. The temperature plummets as if a spirit had passed through, leaving behind a palpable tension that clings to the walls. Outside, the township of Haven, infamous for its eerie intersections of the natural and supernatural, heralds haunting whispers of history through the streets, mingling with the palpable dread that seems to seep through the very fabric of the apartment. Each creak of the floorboards resonating as if the home itself were alive-- reacting to the drop in temperature, and the minimalist decor feeling increasingly sparse; stripped of warmth and comfort.The hallway to the southwest, darkens ominously, shadows pooling like ink. The door to the northeast, creaks as if beckoning a presence unseen. Even the bathroom door appears to tremble in the icy grip of the unknown-- Art that felt lively now presents as grotesque, twisting into unsettling forms that whisper secrets of the past. In this moment-- a convergence of the eerie and the unexplained envelops the living area, a chilling reminder that in Haven, the boundaries between the living and the spectral are thin. And then comes realisation: For without warning, that sensation-- That frigid, mysterious energy coalesces around Lark, the ripple of goose flesh birthing the crackle of ice as she feels another person within her. Something malicious, clawing. That which should never leave the Arkwright cemetery.
Cozied up to Evan while comfortably watching a movie, Lark suddenly shivers, pulling away from Evan. The thin, pale-pink satin kimono is pulled tighter as she hugs herself, her typically pale features becoming paler as the unwelcome feeling of cold blooms in her. "No, no, no, no." She draws her legs towards her chest, hugging them close, rocking back and forth on the sectional.
There's a confused look on Evan's face when Lark pulls away from him, and his gaze scans from the TV, to Lark immediately. "No?" he asks her, noticing the sudden reaction.
It takes a beat for things to begin to click into place for him.
"Baby?" he asks Lark, slowly, carefully, reaching a tentative hand out to place on her arm. "Are you okay?"
The air around Lark thickens shimmering with an unnatural chill that creeps through the room like a living thing. Crystalline frost begins to weave intricate patterns across the walls, delicate shards glistening in the dim light. The flickering television casts a stark contrast, its cheerful scenes of everyday life a cruel mockery to the growing darkness that envelops Lark. Without a word, she moves slowly, her body stiff and unyielding. Her gaze remaining fixed ahead, unseeing, as if a veil had descended over her consciousness. Her usual demeanor has vanished entirely now, replaced by an unsettling stillness. It is then that the sinister spirit, drawn from the depths of Arkwright cemetery, seizes control, whispering its malevolent desires into Lark's mind. Lark's smile twists into something alien-- A grin that feels wrong against the backdrop of those familiar features. She shivers, advancing toward Evan, her motions deliberate and cold, as the frost spreads further, inching toward Evan like a warning. The temperature plummets the air heavy with dread, while shadows coil and writhe in the corners of the room- Hungry for the warmth that was rapidly dissipating. With each slithering motion, the atmosphere grows more oppressive, the shadows deepening-- Threatening to swallow the flickering light of the television whole. Lark's movements are mechanical; Driven by forces beyond her control. The spirit's whispers echo through the stillness, urging Lark on, its desires intertwining with Lark's own. She reaches out, fingers outstretched, the frost curling around her hand like a snake ready to strike. The promise of destruction hangs heavy in the air, a palpable force that seems to thrum with anticipation. As Lark closes the distance between herself and Evan, someone breath becomes visible, fogging the air like a harbinger of dread. The once-familiar warmth of Lark's presence has vanished- Replaced by an icy doom that seeps into Evan's bones. Lark is merely a vessel-- A puppet for something ancient and malevolent. With one final, deliberate shift, Lark crosses the threshold of warmth, the frost wrapping around her like a shroud-- The shadows lunge forward, eager to envelop both her and Evan, their chilling whispers promising an end to the light. What then can Lark and Evan do to resolve this?
The air around Lark thickens shimmering with an unnatural chill that creeps through the room like a living thing. Crystalline frost begins to weave intricate patterns across the walls, delicate shards glistening in the dim light. The flickering television casts a stark contrast, its cheerful scenes of everyday life a cruel mockery to the growing darkness that envelops Lark. Without a word, she moves slowly, her body stiff and unyielding. Her gaze remaining fixed ahead, unseeing, as if a veil had descended over her consciousness. Lark's usual demeanor has vanished entirely now, replaced by an unsettling stillness. It is then that the sinister spirit, drawn from the depths of Arkwright cemetery, seizes control, whispering its malevolent desires into Lark's mind. Lark's smile twists into something alien-- A grin that feels wrong against the backdrop of those familiar features. She shivers, advancing toward Evan, her motions deliberate and cold, as the frost spreads further, inching toward Evan like a warning. The temperature plummets the air heavy with dread, while shadows coil and writhe in the corners of the room- Hungry for the warmth that was rapidly dissipating. With each slithering motion, the atmosphere grows more oppressive, the shadows deepening-- Threatening to swallow the flickering light of the television whole. Lark's movements are mechanical; Driven by forces beyond her control. The spirit's whispers echo through the stillness, urging Lark on, its desires intertwining with Lark's own. She reaches out, fingers outstretched, the frost curling around her hand like a snake ready to strike. The promise of destruction hangs heavy in the air, a palpable force that seems to thrum with anticipation. As Lark closes the distance between herself and Evan, Lark's breath becomes visible, fogging the air like a harbinger of dread. The once-familiar warmth of Lark's presence has vanished- Replaced by an icy doom that seeps into Evan's bones. Lark is merely a vessel-- A puppet for something ancient and malevolent. With one final, deliberate shift, Lark crosses the threshold of warmth, the frost wrapping around her like a shroud-- The shadows lunge forward, eager to envelop both her and Evan, their chilling whispers promising an end to the light. What then can Lark and Evan do to resolve this?
"H-help me."
It's simple. These brief, pleading words, in the voice that Evan would find so familiar, and yet the words themselves are at odds with Lark's movements.
"P-please. L-leave us alone." A simple enough request. A pitiful one.
This is Haven. And anyone in the known stuff like this isn't uncommon, though it is frankly upsetting, and rather annoying when it happens.
Evan backs up a little bit, moving away from Lark slowly - doing his best to not get caught in that sudden wave of ice and frost. "Alright," he says, voice calm, but his body language gives away the worry he has for Lark. "What is it you want?"
Lilian(bengal) will come in after she's figured out what's happening.
As the shadows deepened and the temperature plunged, Evan was faced with the daunting task of confronting the spectral force that had taken hold of Lark. Her plea for help, a discordant echo of her true self, signaled a desperate fight for control. Despite the encroaching frost and sinister whispers of destruction, Evan mustered a response, his concern laced with determination. This marked a pivotal moment where the boundaries between the mundane and the paranormal were blurred, casting Evan and Lark into a struggle against forces that sought to extinguish their light. The outcome of this confrontation remained uncertain, leaving a chilling question hanging in the air: how could they possibly quell a spirit that had crossed from the grave into their very lives?
(Finn's odd encounter(SRNovel):SRNovel)
[Thu Jan 9 2025]
In a Cramped, White-Tiled Bathroom
The Bathroom has been recently renovated. A motif of gold and white encircles the room. There is not a single stain on any spot anywhere. All hygiene products have been neatly stowed away in ornate cabinets. There's a regal bathtube fit for a princess on the northern side of the room with floor attached piping and a soft pad beneath it for someone to kneel down on. There are small circular frosted windows on the walls to let the natural sunlight in. There's a tall grand mirror one can stand before to examine themselves. Of course there is also a frosted-glass shower, most for convenience.
It is morning, about -3F(-19C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(Your target receives an anonymous tip about a local gathering of The Black Flame in a secluded part of Haven. As they investigate, they discover a ritual in progress, aiming to summon an eldritch horror. The target and their allies must disrupt the ritual before it's too late, while also avoiding or overcoming the cultists who will do anything to protect their ceremony.)
(Your target is possessed by an angry spirit that is forcing them to act out and putting themselves and/or others at risk. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
Evan re-enters the apartment after leaving to say goodbye to a previous guest, "Reading time for you?" Evan asks Lark curiously.
Lark is lounging on the sectional, texting. She looks up from her phone and smiles at Evan. "I mean I should read-" There's an emphasis on the should, the kind of sly emphasis that implies that one won't. "But... I don't really feel like reading."
She reaches for the remote, switching on the television. "Maybe we can just take it easy until I head out to cheer practice," she suggests. "Watch a movie maybe?"
Evan accepts that suggestion with a smile, and settles into that comfortable sectionals sofa, cuddling up to Lark on it.
As the afternoon sun begins its descent on Thursday, January 9th, 2025, the living area of the apartment is initially vibrant, awash in golden light filtering through the expansive western-facing windows. The polished concrete floors gleam, reflecting the warmth of the day. The sleek, L-shaped gray sectional, arranged with precision, faces the wall-mounted TV. The glass coffee table, perches atop the rug, anchoring the seating area, where Evan and Lark sit with an air of modernity, while the warm orange walls and contemporary art adds its touch of vitality to the space. But as the clock ticks toward the witching hour second-by-second, a sudden chill sweeps through the room, an unnatural cold that creeps in from the corners and envelops the space like a thick fog. The air, once filled with the glow of late afternoon warmth, turns frigid, causing Evan and Lark's breath to materialize visibly in the sudden eerie silence. The temperature plummets as if a spirit had passed through, leaving behind a palpable tension that clings to the walls. Outside, the township of Haven, infamous for its eerie intersections of the natural and supernatural, heralds haunting whispers of history through the streets, mingling with the palpable dread that seems to seep through the very fabric of the apartment. Each creak of the floorboards resonating as if the home itself were alive-- reacting to the drop in temperature, and the minimalist decor feeling increasingly sparse; stripped of warmth and comfort.The hallway to the southwest, darkens ominously, shadows pooling like ink. The door to the northeast, creaks as if beckoning a presence unseen. Even the bathroom door appears to tremble in the icy grip of the unknown-- Art that felt lively now presents as grotesque, twisting into unsettling forms that whisper secrets of the past. In this moment-- a convergence of the eerie and the unexplained envelops the living area, a chilling reminder that in Haven, the boundaries between the living and the spectral are thin. And then comes realisation: For without warning, that sensation-- That frigid, mysterious energy coalesces around Lark, the ripple of goose flesh birthing the crackle of ice as she feels another person within her. Something malicious, clawing. That which should never leave the Arkwright cemetery.
Cozied up to Evan while comfortably watching a movie, Lark suddenly shivers, pulling away from Evan. The thin, pale-pink satin kimono is pulled tighter as she hugs herself, her typically pale features becoming paler as the unwelcome feeling of cold blooms in her. "No, no, no, no." She draws her legs towards her chest, hugging them close, rocking back and forth on the sectional.
There's a confused look on Evan's face when Lark pulls away from him, and his gaze scans from the TV, to Lark immediately. "No?" he asks her, noticing the sudden reaction.
It takes a beat for things to begin to click into place for him.
"Baby?" he asks Lark, slowly, carefully, reaching a tentative hand out to place on her arm. "Are you okay?"
The air around Lark thickens shimmering with an unnatural chill that creeps through the room like a living thing. Crystalline frost begins to weave intricate patterns across the walls, delicate shards glistening in the dim light. The flickering television casts a stark contrast, its cheerful scenes of everyday life a cruel mockery to the growing darkness that envelops Lark. Without a word, she moves slowly, her body stiff and unyielding. Her gaze remaining fixed ahead, unseeing, as if a veil had descended over her consciousness. Her usual demeanor has vanished entirely now, replaced by an unsettling stillness. It is then that the sinister spirit, drawn from the depths of Arkwright cemetery, seizes control, whispering its malevolent desires into Lark's mind. Lark's smile twists into something alien-- A grin that feels wrong against the backdrop of those familiar features. She shivers, advancing toward Evan, her motions deliberate and cold, as the frost spreads further, inching toward Evan like a warning. The temperature plummets the air heavy with dread, while shadows coil and writhe in the corners of the room- Hungry for the warmth that was rapidly dissipating. With each slithering motion, the atmosphere grows more oppressive, the shadows deepening-- Threatening to swallow the flickering light of the television whole. Lark's movements are mechanical; Driven by forces beyond her control. The spirit's whispers echo through the stillness, urging Lark on, its desires intertwining with Lark's own. She reaches out, fingers outstretched, the frost curling around her hand like a snake ready to strike. The promise of destruction hangs heavy in the air, a palpable force that seems to thrum with anticipation. As Lark closes the distance between herself and Evan, someone breath becomes visible, fogging the air like a harbinger of dread. The once-familiar warmth of Lark's presence has vanished- Replaced by an icy doom that seeps into Evan's bones. Lark is merely a vessel-- A puppet for something ancient and malevolent. With one final, deliberate shift, Lark crosses the threshold of warmth, the frost wrapping around her like a shroud-- The shadows lunge forward, eager to envelop both her and Evan, their chilling whispers promising an end to the light. What then can Lark and Evan do to resolve this?
The air around Lark thickens shimmering with an unnatural chill that creeps through the room like a living thing. Crystalline frost begins to weave intricate patterns across the walls, delicate shards glistening in the dim light. The flickering television casts a stark contrast, its cheerful scenes of everyday life a cruel mockery to the growing darkness that envelops Lark. Without a word, she moves slowly, her body stiff and unyielding. Her gaze remaining fixed ahead, unseeing, as if a veil had descended over her consciousness. Lark's usual demeanor has vanished entirely now, replaced by an unsettling stillness. It is then that the sinister spirit, drawn from the depths of Arkwright cemetery, seizes control, whispering its malevolent desires into Lark's mind. Lark's smile twists into something alien-- A grin that feels wrong against the backdrop of those familiar features. She shivers, advancing toward Evan, her motions deliberate and cold, as the frost spreads further, inching toward Evan like a warning. The temperature plummets the air heavy with dread, while shadows coil and writhe in the corners of the room- Hungry for the warmth that was rapidly dissipating. With each slithering motion, the atmosphere grows more oppressive, the shadows deepening-- Threatening to swallow the flickering light of the television whole. Lark's movements are mechanical; Driven by forces beyond her control. The spirit's whispers echo through the stillness, urging Lark on, its desires intertwining with Lark's own. She reaches out, fingers outstretched, the frost curling around her hand like a snake ready to strike. The promise of destruction hangs heavy in the air, a palpable force that seems to thrum with anticipation. As Lark closes the distance between herself and Evan, Lark's breath becomes visible, fogging the air like a harbinger of dread. The once-familiar warmth of Lark's presence has vanished- Replaced by an icy doom that seeps into Evan's bones. Lark is merely a vessel-- A puppet for something ancient and malevolent. With one final, deliberate shift, Lark crosses the threshold of warmth, the frost wrapping around her like a shroud-- The shadows lunge forward, eager to envelop both her and Evan, their chilling whispers promising an end to the light. What then can Lark and Evan do to resolve this?
"H-help me."
It's simple. These brief, pleading words, in the voice that Evan would find so familiar, and yet the words themselves are at odds with Lark's movements.
"P-please. L-leave us alone." A simple enough request. A pitiful one.
This is Haven. And anyone in the known stuff like this isn't uncommon, though it is frankly upsetting, and rather annoying when it happens.
Evan backs up a little bit, moving away from Lark slowly - doing his best to not get caught in that sudden wave of ice and frost. "Alright," he says, voice calm, but his body language gives away the worry he has for Lark. "What is it you want?"
Lilian(bengal) will come in after she's figured out what's happening.