Encounterlogs
Katlyns Odd Encounter Sr Simon 240313
Katlyn experiences a harrowing awakening, handcuffed to a rusted bed in a decrepit room, the setting of her unwanted odyssey. Her surroundings are detailed with the trappings of horror: a ritual circle smeared in red, torture instruments primed for malevolent purpose, and the oppressive weight of solitary captivity. Despite the lethargy induced by her predicament and the lingering effects of drugs, Katlyn's resolve to escape intensifies upon the realization of her grim potential fate. Through a mixture of fear-fueled adrenaline and a desperate desire for freedom, she engages in a frenzied struggle against her bindings, the room echoing with the sounds of her efforts. Yet, the cuffs remain unyielding, a testament to her captor's expectation of a docile prisoner. The arrival of a storm provides a brief distraction, offering both a challenge and an unwitting aid as lightning reveals a potential tool for her escape—the saw.
Determined, Katlyn's survival instincts take over as she ingeniously uses her feet in a grueling attempt to grasp the saw, a testament to human resilience in the face of despair. She engages in a perilous dance with danger, manipulating the saw to cut through her cuffs despite the physical toll it exacts on her. Bloodied but undeterred, she finally breaks free, spurred on by the realization that her captor might soon return. In a race against time and with the echoes of the storm masking her desperate bid for freedom, Katlyn manages to pry open a window and escape into the tempestuous night. Her escape is a desperate blend of stealth, speed, and sheer willpower as she navigates the threatening wilderness, the pursuing robed figure a constant threat looming in the darkness behind her. Freedom, when it comes, is bittersweet; safety remains a distant promise as she ventures deeper into the unknown, leaving behind the confines of her captivity but stepping into a world fraught with unknown dangers.
(Katlyn's odd encounter(SRSimon):SRSimon)
[Tue Mar 12 2024]
In Room Three
It is night, about 22F(-5C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's hailing outside. There is a waxing crescent moon.
(Your target is abducted in their sleep, waking up alone in a locked room. They need to either escape or draw attention to them so their allies can come and provide assistance.
)
Is there any better or more appropriate welcome to Haven than waking up suddenly and in a different place than where you were when you went to sleep? Perhaps not.
That's how Katlyn's morning starts, as consciousness slowly bleeds into her cramped, and awkwardly placed body - while she's cuffed to a rusty, dilapidated bed in a rundown room.
Not much of a morning person, Katlyn is rarely pleased to wake up. This situation does little to change her disposition on the matter. Her face is scrunched up in a sour expression as she groggily wakes and blinks her eyes open to the alarmingly unfamiliar room. "Hello?" She whispers quietly and hopes that she is alone. She tests her position, if bound, or incapacitated in some way, while searching the room for clues to her whereabouts and a way out.
It's a small mercy, in a way, she appears to be alone. For now, at the very least. He voice croaks out, thick and unnatural, almost sounding alien to her in it's dryness. They must've hit her with a gas, or something of that effect. That, or she'd been throwing up in her sleep.
A quick check of the stained mattress beside her would alleviate her of that concern, though it may spawn others as blood stains, and other fluids are caked into the thing. This isn't the first time someone has woken up bound in this room.
It's little more than a shack, likely made by hand. The pre-dawn dark can be seen in cracks in the wood that make up the walls, though the single window is sprayed over with black spraypaint. A bulb hangs from the roof, orange and dim, casting wane attempts at light about, that barely manage to push the dark back, and often falter as the light flickers.
There's one more lovely feature here, and it really ties the room together. A ritual circle on the ground. Blood red, of course. A pentagram, -of course-.
Beside it and the bed both, is a kit of tools. Terrible tools for terrible deeds. Flaying instruments, knives. Surgical saws. These aren't tools for building, they're for breakng, and sacrificing.
As for her position? It's clear that whomever grabbed her didn't expect she'd wake up so soon. She's left lying on the bed, like a sack of potatoes, only a sack of potatoes that has both hands cuffed to the frame of the rusty bed.
Katlyn tests the cuffs against the frame by pulling with all her strength. She doesn't have much of it and she gives the cuffs a shake before she strains to pull her hands through the cuffs. Her fingers begin to turn a purplish-red as she puts all her effort into breaking free. She isn't about to let a bunch of twisted cultists turn her into a sacrifice. The thought of her body being reduced to bloodied chunks merely reinforces her determination to free herself and panic sets in. Her heart thumps rapidly as her brain releases adrenaline while her fight or flight takes over. Soon she is like a rapid animal thrashing and flailing on the rusty bed, filling the torture chamber with metallic squeaks and grunts of effort.
The sound of grunting, gasping and squeaking metal soon fills the small room, and Katlyn manages to work up a sweat, largely in vain, it seems. The rabid little animal just doesn't have the strength to tear the frame apart, especially not with her limbs deadened as they are by the lingering drugs. The cuffs too remain unbroken by her efforts, though she gets awfully close to breaking a thumb, or cutting herself in some manner or another as she struggles with them.
There's a flash of lightning from outside the room, causing it to illuminate further through the gaps in the walls, and roof. The boom of thunder trails in a few moments after, drowning her out. It's this flash of light that further illuminates the medical saw on that torture rack. There's no way she's going to reach it with her hands, given their cuffed state, but maybe she could try something else?
Now bruised and bloodied from her efforts, Katlyn is goes to take a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself, but the blasted flash of lighting followed by booming crackles of thunder jars her senses. Her eyes are wide and large as she catches the glint of devices on the torture rack and she stares at the saw in thought. It takes her a moment between the effects of drugs and waking conciousness to produce even an inkling of an idea of survival and she stretches a leg out to use the toe of her boot in an attempt to catch an edge of the saw and manuever it closer. If this doesn't prove to work, she shuffles her feet to remove a boot and expose her mangy lint covered toes in an attempt to monkey-grapple at the handle of the saw.
Gross. Even from here Katlyn can smell her feet. Clearly she'd been sweating in her sleep.
When her efforts to grabble the saw with booted toe fail, her shoes drop to the floor. Doof. Doof.
It's still quite a stretch to reach the saw, and there's a good chance that she might catch her toes upon another instrument of torture as she stretches. The handcuffs cut into her wrists, the flesh turning purple and bruising under the pressure but she's so close! It's start to shift, starting to move closer toward the edge- and then..
It falls, and clatters to the floor. Closer, but no less awkward to reach.
Wincing and grimacing during the effort of stretching beyond what the cuffs would allow, Katlyn pauses her movements with bated breath as the instrument teeters on the edge before clattering to the floor. She lets out a frustrated growl through gritted teeth and bites into her lower lip with sweat beading on her brow as her blood runs hot with furious desperation. The placement of cuffs is adjusted as she shifts her hands to grip the chains and stretches her foot once more to toe-grip the handle of that damn saw.
The gross, sweaty, lint-covered, goblin-like feet of Katlyn take several tries to quite get the grip she's after, the first few efforts failing spectacularly. The pressure on her body is building in this postion, and she's almost definitely pulled a muscle or two, and those cufflinks are just straight up cutting into her now, but finally- she manages to monkey-toe-grip the saw, and bend at the waist in order to work it up from the floor and toward her torso.
Once the saw rests on her torso, Katlyn breathes heavily with her chest rising and falling rapidly. She had been holding her breath during the painful dance of linty toes and saw. At least the lint absorbed the sweat of her feet to create a less slippery grasp. Unaware of how long she had been drugged out and how long her captor has been gone, she focuses on haste and uses both feet to lift the saw toward the bed frame securing those cuffs. The jagged blade slides precariously close to her reddened face while frustrated tears threaten her resolve as they escape past dark lashes. The blade is tested against the rusty frame as she figures it could break and bend and then she can slide the cuffs free. Rust flakes and metal scrapes.
The frame is thick, though rusty, and once Katlyn has passed the saw up her body with some impressive acrobatics, she gets to work on sawing at it. Flecks of rust are produced, as well as steel shavings, and they fall across her face, and features, threatening to get in her eyes. It's an awkward angle too, but she's making progress. Slow progress. Too slow progress. There's another boom of thunder and lightning from outside of the shack, causing the walls to shake and shudder, and the window flex in it's frame.
Katlyn sputters angrily as bits of rust and steel shavings dust across her face and she blows air at her eyes in an attempt to keep them debris free. She soon realizes that sawing the frame isn't ideal and she shifts to hold the cuffs tight and saw at the links of it instead. Frustration and panic edge around her in a dance that urges her to continue.
It's a dangerous idea, and an even worse angle, but Katlyn is definitely making more progress doing this. The sheer awkwardness of the situation causes the blade of the saw to skip at times, bouncing over the link of the cuff and catching against her wrist, or hand. It isn't long before there's a little blood running down her forearm, and beneath the cuff, tainting the blade with her lifesblood.
Outside the lightning flashes again, and the boom of thunder follows. Only, it follows a second time. Which is strange. Strange is bad. It may take Katlyn a moment or two, in her panic, but eventually her brain would reparse that second sound. Reconsider it. That wasn't thunder. That was a truck door closing.
Thankfully, however, the links are giving beneath her efforts! Just a bit more..
Blood stains her pale skin and she jerks her hands in an attempt to further weaken the links and break free. Katlyn's panic rises as the sound of the truck door burgeons past the thumping of blood in her ears. She tilts her head up to check the door of the room and once the links are fully broken, she scrambles to grab her boots and slip behind the door, so that if it bursts open, she would be behind it. At least out of sight momentarily.
There's nowhere to hide, certainly not behind that door. It opens straight into the wall, she'd be found immediately. There's a crack, followed by another, as something in Katlyn's hand is fractured, and then the chain supporting the cuffs break. Now she's got two mostly pieces of jewellry, and bloody hands.
While there may be nowhere to hide, there is, at least, a window that could be opened. Plenty of fun tools around the place to try and assist with this too.
Another flash of lightning, another rumble of thunder. That sound is followed by the crunch of boots on gravel, cutting through the storm. They're close.
Katlyn does indeed use a tool to help leverage the window open during the rumble of thunder. She carefully lifts that window just enough to climb out with her boots in hand. The tool is quietly set aside and as she climbs out, she leaves a smear of blood on the sill. Then she sneaks along the edge of the building while searching for clearance to make a full, tail-tucked-between-legs, run into the woods or into a clearing with reception to call for rescue. Barefeet be damned, she would blind herself to the pain of rough ground, rocks, and twigs before feeling safe enough to shove her dirty feet into the protection of her boots.
Flash. Boom. Creak.
Lightning. Thunder. Door.
It swings open while the poor katnapped girl is halfway through the window, revealing the form of a larger looking man wearing a stark, dark black robe. His cruel, cold gaze flicks from the bed, and toward the window, and lingers upon the woman for a moment or two there. Time streches on, and on, until the building tension breaks the standstill and he charges toward her, "Hey! Get here!" The man snarls out, surging at the window and just missing grabbing at her as she slips out!
Katlyn is so fast! The snowfall begins to cover any tracks left behind, but will reveal her path as she ventures further away from the torture chamber. When she is able to make contact with Temple, she calls for reinforcements to decimate the ritualist and any who may be with him.
Katlyn flees into the dark, and the storm, and the snow. Branches of the malevolent woods surrounding her clutch and grab at her as she runs, as if the very woods themselves were trying to prevent her escape. The man gives chase, and she can hear him in his pursuit. When the lightning flashes she can even see him, huffing and puffing and snarling behind her. It's a race for safety, but eventually, Katlyn manages to outpace the man, though only god knows when. She may not even notice that she's left him behind for some time, but eventually, when her lungs burn too much, and the acid build up in stressed muscles overcomes her, she's gotten away. Not safe, but free, at least.
For now.
Determined, Katlyn's survival instincts take over as she ingeniously uses her feet in a grueling attempt to grasp the saw, a testament to human resilience in the face of despair. She engages in a perilous dance with danger, manipulating the saw to cut through her cuffs despite the physical toll it exacts on her. Bloodied but undeterred, she finally breaks free, spurred on by the realization that her captor might soon return. In a race against time and with the echoes of the storm masking her desperate bid for freedom, Katlyn manages to pry open a window and escape into the tempestuous night. Her escape is a desperate blend of stealth, speed, and sheer willpower as she navigates the threatening wilderness, the pursuing robed figure a constant threat looming in the darkness behind her. Freedom, when it comes, is bittersweet; safety remains a distant promise as she ventures deeper into the unknown, leaving behind the confines of her captivity but stepping into a world fraught with unknown dangers.
(Katlyn's odd encounter(SRSimon):SRSimon)
[Tue Mar 12 2024]
In Room Three
It is night, about 22F(-5C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's hailing outside. There is a waxing crescent moon.
(Your target is abducted in their sleep, waking up alone in a locked room. They need to either escape or draw attention to them so their allies can come and provide assistance.
)
Is there any better or more appropriate welcome to Haven than waking up suddenly and in a different place than where you were when you went to sleep? Perhaps not.
That's how Katlyn's morning starts, as consciousness slowly bleeds into her cramped, and awkwardly placed body - while she's cuffed to a rusty, dilapidated bed in a rundown room.
Not much of a morning person, Katlyn is rarely pleased to wake up. This situation does little to change her disposition on the matter. Her face is scrunched up in a sour expression as she groggily wakes and blinks her eyes open to the alarmingly unfamiliar room. "Hello?" She whispers quietly and hopes that she is alone. She tests her position, if bound, or incapacitated in some way, while searching the room for clues to her whereabouts and a way out.
It's a small mercy, in a way, she appears to be alone. For now, at the very least. He voice croaks out, thick and unnatural, almost sounding alien to her in it's dryness. They must've hit her with a gas, or something of that effect. That, or she'd been throwing up in her sleep.
A quick check of the stained mattress beside her would alleviate her of that concern, though it may spawn others as blood stains, and other fluids are caked into the thing. This isn't the first time someone has woken up bound in this room.
It's little more than a shack, likely made by hand. The pre-dawn dark can be seen in cracks in the wood that make up the walls, though the single window is sprayed over with black spraypaint. A bulb hangs from the roof, orange and dim, casting wane attempts at light about, that barely manage to push the dark back, and often falter as the light flickers.
There's one more lovely feature here, and it really ties the room together. A ritual circle on the ground. Blood red, of course. A pentagram, -of course-.
Beside it and the bed both, is a kit of tools. Terrible tools for terrible deeds. Flaying instruments, knives. Surgical saws. These aren't tools for building, they're for breakng, and sacrificing.
As for her position? It's clear that whomever grabbed her didn't expect she'd wake up so soon. She's left lying on the bed, like a sack of potatoes, only a sack of potatoes that has both hands cuffed to the frame of the rusty bed.
Katlyn tests the cuffs against the frame by pulling with all her strength. She doesn't have much of it and she gives the cuffs a shake before she strains to pull her hands through the cuffs. Her fingers begin to turn a purplish-red as she puts all her effort into breaking free. She isn't about to let a bunch of twisted cultists turn her into a sacrifice. The thought of her body being reduced to bloodied chunks merely reinforces her determination to free herself and panic sets in. Her heart thumps rapidly as her brain releases adrenaline while her fight or flight takes over. Soon she is like a rapid animal thrashing and flailing on the rusty bed, filling the torture chamber with metallic squeaks and grunts of effort.
The sound of grunting, gasping and squeaking metal soon fills the small room, and Katlyn manages to work up a sweat, largely in vain, it seems. The rabid little animal just doesn't have the strength to tear the frame apart, especially not with her limbs deadened as they are by the lingering drugs. The cuffs too remain unbroken by her efforts, though she gets awfully close to breaking a thumb, or cutting herself in some manner or another as she struggles with them.
There's a flash of lightning from outside the room, causing it to illuminate further through the gaps in the walls, and roof. The boom of thunder trails in a few moments after, drowning her out. It's this flash of light that further illuminates the medical saw on that torture rack. There's no way she's going to reach it with her hands, given their cuffed state, but maybe she could try something else?
Now bruised and bloodied from her efforts, Katlyn is goes to take a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself, but the blasted flash of lighting followed by booming crackles of thunder jars her senses. Her eyes are wide and large as she catches the glint of devices on the torture rack and she stares at the saw in thought. It takes her a moment between the effects of drugs and waking conciousness to produce even an inkling of an idea of survival and she stretches a leg out to use the toe of her boot in an attempt to catch an edge of the saw and manuever it closer. If this doesn't prove to work, she shuffles her feet to remove a boot and expose her mangy lint covered toes in an attempt to monkey-grapple at the handle of the saw.
Gross. Even from here Katlyn can smell her feet. Clearly she'd been sweating in her sleep.
When her efforts to grabble the saw with booted toe fail, her shoes drop to the floor. Doof. Doof.
It's still quite a stretch to reach the saw, and there's a good chance that she might catch her toes upon another instrument of torture as she stretches. The handcuffs cut into her wrists, the flesh turning purple and bruising under the pressure but she's so close! It's start to shift, starting to move closer toward the edge- and then..
It falls, and clatters to the floor. Closer, but no less awkward to reach.
Wincing and grimacing during the effort of stretching beyond what the cuffs would allow, Katlyn pauses her movements with bated breath as the instrument teeters on the edge before clattering to the floor. She lets out a frustrated growl through gritted teeth and bites into her lower lip with sweat beading on her brow as her blood runs hot with furious desperation. The placement of cuffs is adjusted as she shifts her hands to grip the chains and stretches her foot once more to toe-grip the handle of that damn saw.
The gross, sweaty, lint-covered, goblin-like feet of Katlyn take several tries to quite get the grip she's after, the first few efforts failing spectacularly. The pressure on her body is building in this postion, and she's almost definitely pulled a muscle or two, and those cufflinks are just straight up cutting into her now, but finally- she manages to monkey-toe-grip the saw, and bend at the waist in order to work it up from the floor and toward her torso.
Once the saw rests on her torso, Katlyn breathes heavily with her chest rising and falling rapidly. She had been holding her breath during the painful dance of linty toes and saw. At least the lint absorbed the sweat of her feet to create a less slippery grasp. Unaware of how long she had been drugged out and how long her captor has been gone, she focuses on haste and uses both feet to lift the saw toward the bed frame securing those cuffs. The jagged blade slides precariously close to her reddened face while frustrated tears threaten her resolve as they escape past dark lashes. The blade is tested against the rusty frame as she figures it could break and bend and then she can slide the cuffs free. Rust flakes and metal scrapes.
The frame is thick, though rusty, and once Katlyn has passed the saw up her body with some impressive acrobatics, she gets to work on sawing at it. Flecks of rust are produced, as well as steel shavings, and they fall across her face, and features, threatening to get in her eyes. It's an awkward angle too, but she's making progress. Slow progress. Too slow progress. There's another boom of thunder and lightning from outside of the shack, causing the walls to shake and shudder, and the window flex in it's frame.
Katlyn sputters angrily as bits of rust and steel shavings dust across her face and she blows air at her eyes in an attempt to keep them debris free. She soon realizes that sawing the frame isn't ideal and she shifts to hold the cuffs tight and saw at the links of it instead. Frustration and panic edge around her in a dance that urges her to continue.
It's a dangerous idea, and an even worse angle, but Katlyn is definitely making more progress doing this. The sheer awkwardness of the situation causes the blade of the saw to skip at times, bouncing over the link of the cuff and catching against her wrist, or hand. It isn't long before there's a little blood running down her forearm, and beneath the cuff, tainting the blade with her lifesblood.
Outside the lightning flashes again, and the boom of thunder follows. Only, it follows a second time. Which is strange. Strange is bad. It may take Katlyn a moment or two, in her panic, but eventually her brain would reparse that second sound. Reconsider it. That wasn't thunder. That was a truck door closing.
Thankfully, however, the links are giving beneath her efforts! Just a bit more..
Blood stains her pale skin and she jerks her hands in an attempt to further weaken the links and break free. Katlyn's panic rises as the sound of the truck door burgeons past the thumping of blood in her ears. She tilts her head up to check the door of the room and once the links are fully broken, she scrambles to grab her boots and slip behind the door, so that if it bursts open, she would be behind it. At least out of sight momentarily.
There's nowhere to hide, certainly not behind that door. It opens straight into the wall, she'd be found immediately. There's a crack, followed by another, as something in Katlyn's hand is fractured, and then the chain supporting the cuffs break. Now she's got two mostly pieces of jewellry, and bloody hands.
While there may be nowhere to hide, there is, at least, a window that could be opened. Plenty of fun tools around the place to try and assist with this too.
Another flash of lightning, another rumble of thunder. That sound is followed by the crunch of boots on gravel, cutting through the storm. They're close.
Katlyn does indeed use a tool to help leverage the window open during the rumble of thunder. She carefully lifts that window just enough to climb out with her boots in hand. The tool is quietly set aside and as she climbs out, she leaves a smear of blood on the sill. Then she sneaks along the edge of the building while searching for clearance to make a full, tail-tucked-between-legs, run into the woods or into a clearing with reception to call for rescue. Barefeet be damned, she would blind herself to the pain of rough ground, rocks, and twigs before feeling safe enough to shove her dirty feet into the protection of her boots.
Flash. Boom. Creak.
Lightning. Thunder. Door.
It swings open while the poor katnapped girl is halfway through the window, revealing the form of a larger looking man wearing a stark, dark black robe. His cruel, cold gaze flicks from the bed, and toward the window, and lingers upon the woman for a moment or two there. Time streches on, and on, until the building tension breaks the standstill and he charges toward her, "Hey! Get here!" The man snarls out, surging at the window and just missing grabbing at her as she slips out!
Katlyn is so fast! The snowfall begins to cover any tracks left behind, but will reveal her path as she ventures further away from the torture chamber. When she is able to make contact with Temple, she calls for reinforcements to decimate the ritualist and any who may be with him.
Katlyn flees into the dark, and the storm, and the snow. Branches of the malevolent woods surrounding her clutch and grab at her as she runs, as if the very woods themselves were trying to prevent her escape. The man gives chase, and she can hear him in his pursuit. When the lightning flashes she can even see him, huffing and puffing and snarling behind her. It's a race for safety, but eventually, Katlyn manages to outpace the man, though only god knows when. She may not even notice that she's left him behind for some time, but eventually, when her lungs burn too much, and the acid build up in stressed muscles overcomes her, she's gotten away. Not safe, but free, at least.
For now.