Encounterlogs
Loralias Odd Encounter Sr Lanaeis 250503
The unsettling tranquility of Loralia's drug-induced journey takes a dark turn when her curious exploration leads her into the heart of a dilapidated building, revealing a scene both macabre and inexplicably magnetic. She stumbles upon a covert ritual carried out by the remnants of The Black Flame, a cult hellbent on bringing about a doomsday prophecy. Loralia's initial euphoria is pierced by the gravity of her discovery: three chained, malnourished figures surrounded by eerie candlelight and presided over by a grotesquely scarred woman. Despite the haze of intoxication numbing her senses, Loralia's inherent empathy and a lingering sense of right pierce through, compelling her deeper into the shadowy embrace of the cult's lair, her resolve hardened by the sight of innocent lives in peril.
The climax unfurls with a desperate struggle between Loralia and the cult leader, a battle underscored by a frenzy of chants and the summoning of shadowy entities. The dilapidated room, once a benign relic of a family's past, now plays host to a confrontation that could tip the scales of fate for both the captives and Loralia herself. With quick thinking and a dash of reckless bravery, Loralia engages the grotesque woman and her shadow minions, wielding her weapons with a blend of fear and determination. In the end, Loralia's actions disrupt the ritual, offering a glimmer of hope to the captives and thwarting, at least momentarily, the dark ambitions of The Black Flame. Her ordeal leaves an indelible mark, a palpable shift from the drug-fueled haze that led her to the cult's doorstep, suggesting that even in the most unlikely heroes, the will to fight darkness persists.
(Loralia's odd encounter(SRLanaeis):SRLanaeis)
[Fri May 2 2025]
In a Cozy Apartment, bedroom
The walls of this room are enveloped in a rich burgundy, and taken up by a collection of rock and metal band posters spanning late 20th and early 20 first century. They include Breaking Benjamin, Nirvana, Black Sabbath, Led zeppelin, and others. A cove ceiling painted in a lighter champagne curves overhead, while The tiled floor is taken up by a mauve rug. A queen-sized platform bed with a polished oak frame sits against the main wall, and is set with vintage red sheets, a fluffy mulberry duvet, and a collection of pillows in deep purple and red hues. Floating oak nightstands set with slim drawers are to either side of the bed, while large bay windows are framed by champagne hued curtains. A tall wardrobe with mirrored panels takes up the western wall beside a dresser, while a fully equipped computer is on the eastern side.
It is afternoon, about 67F(19C) degrees,
(Your target and their allies discover an abandoned house in Haven. Inside they find remnants of rituals and symbols belonging to The Black Flame. Suddenly, they are ambushed by cult members who believe the characters are trying to interfere with their doomsday plans. The characters need to either fight their way out, convince the cult members they are not a threat, or find a way to secretly alert authorities or their other allies to their location. The encounter should reveal more about The Black Flame's plans, adding another layer of danger to Haven's paranormal landscape.)
as she walks along a darkenned street, a feint glow clings to Loralia's skin, just enough so she can see by, but feint enough for passerbys to mistake it as a flashlight. blue eyes, with the pupils blown wide open take in her surroundings without any particular care for the shadows cast through the mouths of the narrow alleys branch off the street. through the twitchy mannerisms, and the flush to her cheeks, it is highly that she is high on something.
Outside, the hot sun bakes the sidewalk, turning once vibrant flowers in small garden plots to shriveled, sad crisps in the heat. The blinding glare from above dares any brave soul to step into its wrath, and that includes Loralia. As others are sweating, breathing heavily, and trudging miserably along, Loralia finds none of this a problem, for there are colors and shapes all about. Whispers of "Tweaked out of her mind..." and "Druggy..." follow as parents give her disapproving glares and children gawk at the apparent lack of care for the sun and its violent fury. Loralia notices none of this. Steps guiding her through the town, as alley walls rise up around her, there is not a thing in the world that could bring her down today. A blue caterpillar morphs into a butterfly in seconds before her eyes, purple wings fluttering as it lands on her nose. Twisting, twirling figures dance about, and a black cloaked figure crawls in through the window of an old, rundown building. Wait... What? Loralia is drawn up short, a barbed wire fence blocking her path forward. On the other side, a weed choked yard bakes under the sun, grass dried out and dead, even with its untamed height. A scraggly tree grows in one corner, and what looks like the top of a bicycle is poking up out of the grass which appears to have swallowed the rest of the metal contraption. A porch, with steps long rotted away and now little more than cracked planks clinging to rusted nails, leads to a door. Once, perhaps a glass window blocked the outside's path into the house, but now, shards of that glass litter the old planks of the porch. A chair, cracked in half from some unknown force, is leaning against the railing, which barely supports its weight, the other half having crashed straight through the porch, and now just barely poking up. The sunlight, no matter its efforts, can't penetrate the darkness behind the vacant hole in that door, which has warped to stick in its frame. Next to Loralia, an empty maw of a window gapes, the glass all smashed in to now lie on the floor inside. The crunch of this glass reaches Loralia's ears, as someone, or something, passes over it, followed by creaking and groaning from the old boards of the house. The flutter of black cloth vanishes round a corner, and out of sight of the window. As the sun continues to beat down, Loralia's drug induced euphoria fades a bit in the face of this pathetic old building, and its new inhabitants...
"Wait, a black cloak?" the thought is brief, fleeting, as the euforia although faded, is still there. the house is nothing new from ones that Loralia has seen in Brooklyn's ghetto, primarily for the reason for places like these being a bolt whole for druggies with nothing to lose. Loralia hasn't gone that far, not yet. floating in the cloud of her own high, she saunters through the window, a hand tucked within the folds of her dress to brush against the hidden kattar tucked there.
The crunch and crackle of broken glass announces Loralia's entrance, the crack of wood underfoot signaling every step Loralia takes. The room, normally dark, is cast in gentle lighting from Loralia's skin, revealing old, worn boards. This appears to have been a dining room once, with a table, which at some point in the past broke through the floor and slammed down to now only reveal the top, sits in the center of this room. On the table, cracked plates and rusted silverware lay discarded, along with some that was thrown off in that fall some time in the past. The plates have some congealed substances, which might have once been food? Maybe? On one side stands a fireplace, though the bricks have long since become the home of vermin, spider webbing creating a curtain from the crumbling mantle above. The dining room opens up towards the other door leading out to the yard to Loralia's left, and a kitchen to the right. Straight ahead lies the hallway that figure went down. The floor is marred by several holes where the wood has rotted through, revealing a void of darkness just underfoot. The impression is not at all helped by the groaning and sagging wood beneath Loralia. Surprisingly, there are no signs of typical drug bolthole debris. In fact, the way to the hallway has several new, and clearly sturdy, boards placed over it to reinforce the walkway, which begins about five feet ahead of Loralia.
survival instincts honed through the streets of Brooklyn make take Loralia take note of the oddities. the rundown elements are typical of a house in such disrepair as this, but the walkway sticks out like a soar thumb. as jinjorly as she can, Loralia barely avoids the rotted floorboards before she steps on to the reenforced walkway. She has her trustee kattar, a few used hypodermics from sludgefukk. Poisons are prefferrable to one of those, if rumors are to be believed. The intense focus and elevated energy from meth remains, but the euforia devolves to a faded memory.
Avoiding the rotted portions of the floor is a relatively easy task, and, soon, Loralia finds her feet on... well, perhaps not solid, but its at least not sagging or collapsing beneath her. The walkway leads down a short hallway, which turns sharply to the right, before ending at a door which hangs off one hinge, leaning against the wall. Of course, there is more to the house, but Loralia takes note of this particular door because this is where the walkway leads... and the black cloth fluttering behind a shadowy figure as they descend the stairs beyond to the underbelly of the house. Hanging crookedly on the walls around Loralia are faded, barely visible photos, nearly destroyed by water and time. One photo, which has miraculously stayed in decent condition, displays a small family. A man, a woman, and two young children, one a toddler, and one that appears to be about ten, smiling out from behind dusty glass. The backdrop shows a quaint little dining room, sunlight pooling in from a window behind the family, with an unlit fireplace in the exact place of the fireplace behind Loralia. In fact, it is the house she is in that is on display in the photo, just from a time that has long passed.
stiffening ever so, Loralia slips the kattar out of her dress. she should turn back, which would be the most sensible thing to do. but sheer curiosity propels her onward. momentarily, she glances at the photo, and the mixture of envy, longing, it is so strong, that she haults momentarily, before tearing her gaze away with a shake of her head. given the state of the house, the members of the family are either dead or moved away. all irrelevent details. she slips fully into the room, looking around through the glow of her skin.
The stairs wind down, and, from where Loralia stands at the top, she can see the concrete room below. And the sight leaves a sour taste indeed... Below, the black cloaked figure paces before three chained people. Dirty, malnourished, and several years older than those in the photo above. Chained to rings in the floor are three people. A man, a young boy, and a girl in her teenage years. All of them are gagged, bound in place by manacles, and positioned in a large circle. The cloaked figure is circling along its edge, a low, mumbling voice reaching up to Loralia as they place candles around the trio of hopeless captives. Their clothing might have been lose, if they hadn't lost so much weight... The room is surprisingly cleared of rubble from above, save, of course, that table, which hangs down just above the circle. The stairs down to the floor are reinforced with wood as well, making the trek far less dangerous than it otherwise would have been. But... there is something strange. If these three are here... what happened to the woman in the photo? As Loralia draws her knife, one of the prisoners, the little boy, seems to catch sight of something, looking up towards Loralia. Bleak eyes fix on her, before squinting closed in her light. The boy begins to move sluggishly, a hoarse moan coming from his gagged mouth as the chains rattle.
"Fuck. fuckfuckfuck." out of everything, Loralia hadn't expected to walk into a ritualistic hideout, whatever this was, a realization that finally manages to clear the drug haze. she holds the boy's gaze, angelborn empathy instinctively attempting to parse any desires, if there are any left. She has no words for what keeps her rooted to the spot, or why she does not run, despite having seen enough to qualify as trouble if not dealt with.
The boy begins to struggle harder, though not much harder. Captivity has caused any strength to flee, and soon the rattling settles down. The mumbling chant continues unabated, the figure apparently ignoring the boy's desperation. A ring of candles has now been placed, and the figure begins the process of lighting them. Light begins to fill the room, casting ghastly, unnatural shadows that seem to crawl along the walls. Ghostly creatures... Horible monsters. They surround the room, just beneath the dark film of shadow. But Loralia can see, she can see, oh god she can see... But... wait... No. No no no, this is no room of horrors. Just shadows. Just, shadows. Right? Right? It has to be just shadows.
makes to turn for the stairs, she could escape, the figure hasn't noticed her yet, but something draws her deeper into the room. "It fucking has to be." Loralia brands that into her mind as she creeps along, sticking to the walls, her kattar and a needle gripped into a hand each. she has to get just one of them into the figure to make the situation more manageable.
Slipping down the stairs, Loralia has just made it to the ground when... Creeeeeeak! A board gives slightly under her foot, wailing its pain into the room like a tormented soul... And the figure begins to turn slowly. Beneath the hood is a bony, filthy face. Aged by ill conditions, this woman might have been beautiful once, but now, she is a shadow of herself. Scarred by burns and cuts that leave her skin patterned with horible markings, she barely even looks human beneath her cloak. A black knife glitters ominously in one hand, and in the other, a burning brand. Oddly, she wears a single piece of jewelry. A ring, carved from some strange black metal and set with a jagged chunk of black and red stone. The edges look sharp enough to cut the skin, and within, a small glow can be seen, like something is trapped within the depths of the stone. Cracked, dry lips part, and a hoarse, raspy voice emerges, along with the sight of rotting teeth and a fetid smell that hits Loralia even from where she stands. "Who... in the name of the Hellish Saviors... are you?"
Loralia keeps the panic under control, freezing ever so at the creek. but, she is a smart ass, even in situations that are deadly. "Just a plug, I offer free, Y see." she drawls, before in a lightning quick motion, she aims that dagger and needle at the woman, while her eyes rapidly take in her surroundings. obsticals, covers, anything.
"You foolish bi---" And then the needle digs into the woman, followed by a slash from the dagger as Loralia clears the space between herself and the horifically scarred woman. Staggering back, the woman screeches, the sound enough to make Loralia's ears ring as she moves to place the prisoners between herself and Loralia. "No! You will not disrupt the ritual! Kill her! Kill her that our Dark Lord may enter this world and save us!" As she slashes open her wrist, movements sluggish from the filth now in her system, a pair of the shadows detach from the wall, rushing forward towards Loralia under her command...
Loralia says "ooc 0, after DF."
As her shadows engage Loralia, the woman frantically begins slicing into her wrists, letting her blood flow out as she chants. The captives in the circle, trembling and with wide eyes, stare at the impossible scene before them as Loralia fights off the pair of shadows.
Loralia hastily abandons the used needle for another one, which she jabs at the woman, before returning to fighting the shadows.
The climax unfurls with a desperate struggle between Loralia and the cult leader, a battle underscored by a frenzy of chants and the summoning of shadowy entities. The dilapidated room, once a benign relic of a family's past, now plays host to a confrontation that could tip the scales of fate for both the captives and Loralia herself. With quick thinking and a dash of reckless bravery, Loralia engages the grotesque woman and her shadow minions, wielding her weapons with a blend of fear and determination. In the end, Loralia's actions disrupt the ritual, offering a glimmer of hope to the captives and thwarting, at least momentarily, the dark ambitions of The Black Flame. Her ordeal leaves an indelible mark, a palpable shift from the drug-fueled haze that led her to the cult's doorstep, suggesting that even in the most unlikely heroes, the will to fight darkness persists.
(Loralia's odd encounter(SRLanaeis):SRLanaeis)
[Fri May 2 2025]
In a Cozy Apartment, bedroom
The walls of this room are enveloped in a rich burgundy, and taken up by a collection of rock and metal band posters spanning late 20th and early 20 first century. They include Breaking Benjamin, Nirvana, Black Sabbath, Led zeppelin, and others. A cove ceiling painted in a lighter champagne curves overhead, while The tiled floor is taken up by a mauve rug. A queen-sized platform bed with a polished oak frame sits against the main wall, and is set with vintage red sheets, a fluffy mulberry duvet, and a collection of pillows in deep purple and red hues. Floating oak nightstands set with slim drawers are to either side of the bed, while large bay windows are framed by champagne hued curtains. A tall wardrobe with mirrored panels takes up the western wall beside a dresser, while a fully equipped computer is on the eastern side.
It is afternoon, about 67F(19C) degrees,
(Your target and their allies discover an abandoned house in Haven. Inside they find remnants of rituals and symbols belonging to The Black Flame. Suddenly, they are ambushed by cult members who believe the characters are trying to interfere with their doomsday plans. The characters need to either fight their way out, convince the cult members they are not a threat, or find a way to secretly alert authorities or their other allies to their location. The encounter should reveal more about The Black Flame's plans, adding another layer of danger to Haven's paranormal landscape.)
as she walks along a darkenned street, a feint glow clings to Loralia's skin, just enough so she can see by, but feint enough for passerbys to mistake it as a flashlight. blue eyes, with the pupils blown wide open take in her surroundings without any particular care for the shadows cast through the mouths of the narrow alleys branch off the street. through the twitchy mannerisms, and the flush to her cheeks, it is highly that she is high on something.
Outside, the hot sun bakes the sidewalk, turning once vibrant flowers in small garden plots to shriveled, sad crisps in the heat. The blinding glare from above dares any brave soul to step into its wrath, and that includes Loralia. As others are sweating, breathing heavily, and trudging miserably along, Loralia finds none of this a problem, for there are colors and shapes all about. Whispers of "Tweaked out of her mind..." and "Druggy..." follow as parents give her disapproving glares and children gawk at the apparent lack of care for the sun and its violent fury. Loralia notices none of this. Steps guiding her through the town, as alley walls rise up around her, there is not a thing in the world that could bring her down today. A blue caterpillar morphs into a butterfly in seconds before her eyes, purple wings fluttering as it lands on her nose. Twisting, twirling figures dance about, and a black cloaked figure crawls in through the window of an old, rundown building. Wait... What? Loralia is drawn up short, a barbed wire fence blocking her path forward. On the other side, a weed choked yard bakes under the sun, grass dried out and dead, even with its untamed height. A scraggly tree grows in one corner, and what looks like the top of a bicycle is poking up out of the grass which appears to have swallowed the rest of the metal contraption. A porch, with steps long rotted away and now little more than cracked planks clinging to rusted nails, leads to a door. Once, perhaps a glass window blocked the outside's path into the house, but now, shards of that glass litter the old planks of the porch. A chair, cracked in half from some unknown force, is leaning against the railing, which barely supports its weight, the other half having crashed straight through the porch, and now just barely poking up. The sunlight, no matter its efforts, can't penetrate the darkness behind the vacant hole in that door, which has warped to stick in its frame. Next to Loralia, an empty maw of a window gapes, the glass all smashed in to now lie on the floor inside. The crunch of this glass reaches Loralia's ears, as someone, or something, passes over it, followed by creaking and groaning from the old boards of the house. The flutter of black cloth vanishes round a corner, and out of sight of the window. As the sun continues to beat down, Loralia's drug induced euphoria fades a bit in the face of this pathetic old building, and its new inhabitants...
"Wait, a black cloak?" the thought is brief, fleeting, as the euforia although faded, is still there. the house is nothing new from ones that Loralia has seen in Brooklyn's ghetto, primarily for the reason for places like these being a bolt whole for druggies with nothing to lose. Loralia hasn't gone that far, not yet. floating in the cloud of her own high, she saunters through the window, a hand tucked within the folds of her dress to brush against the hidden kattar tucked there.
The crunch and crackle of broken glass announces Loralia's entrance, the crack of wood underfoot signaling every step Loralia takes. The room, normally dark, is cast in gentle lighting from Loralia's skin, revealing old, worn boards. This appears to have been a dining room once, with a table, which at some point in the past broke through the floor and slammed down to now only reveal the top, sits in the center of this room. On the table, cracked plates and rusted silverware lay discarded, along with some that was thrown off in that fall some time in the past. The plates have some congealed substances, which might have once been food? Maybe? On one side stands a fireplace, though the bricks have long since become the home of vermin, spider webbing creating a curtain from the crumbling mantle above. The dining room opens up towards the other door leading out to the yard to Loralia's left, and a kitchen to the right. Straight ahead lies the hallway that figure went down. The floor is marred by several holes where the wood has rotted through, revealing a void of darkness just underfoot. The impression is not at all helped by the groaning and sagging wood beneath Loralia. Surprisingly, there are no signs of typical drug bolthole debris. In fact, the way to the hallway has several new, and clearly sturdy, boards placed over it to reinforce the walkway, which begins about five feet ahead of Loralia.
survival instincts honed through the streets of Brooklyn make take Loralia take note of the oddities. the rundown elements are typical of a house in such disrepair as this, but the walkway sticks out like a soar thumb. as jinjorly as she can, Loralia barely avoids the rotted floorboards before she steps on to the reenforced walkway. She has her trustee kattar, a few used hypodermics from sludgefukk. Poisons are prefferrable to one of those, if rumors are to be believed. The intense focus and elevated energy from meth remains, but the euforia devolves to a faded memory.
Avoiding the rotted portions of the floor is a relatively easy task, and, soon, Loralia finds her feet on... well, perhaps not solid, but its at least not sagging or collapsing beneath her. The walkway leads down a short hallway, which turns sharply to the right, before ending at a door which hangs off one hinge, leaning against the wall. Of course, there is more to the house, but Loralia takes note of this particular door because this is where the walkway leads... and the black cloth fluttering behind a shadowy figure as they descend the stairs beyond to the underbelly of the house. Hanging crookedly on the walls around Loralia are faded, barely visible photos, nearly destroyed by water and time. One photo, which has miraculously stayed in decent condition, displays a small family. A man, a woman, and two young children, one a toddler, and one that appears to be about ten, smiling out from behind dusty glass. The backdrop shows a quaint little dining room, sunlight pooling in from a window behind the family, with an unlit fireplace in the exact place of the fireplace behind Loralia. In fact, it is the house she is in that is on display in the photo, just from a time that has long passed.
stiffening ever so, Loralia slips the kattar out of her dress. she should turn back, which would be the most sensible thing to do. but sheer curiosity propels her onward. momentarily, she glances at the photo, and the mixture of envy, longing, it is so strong, that she haults momentarily, before tearing her gaze away with a shake of her head. given the state of the house, the members of the family are either dead or moved away. all irrelevent details. she slips fully into the room, looking around through the glow of her skin.
The stairs wind down, and, from where Loralia stands at the top, she can see the concrete room below. And the sight leaves a sour taste indeed... Below, the black cloaked figure paces before three chained people. Dirty, malnourished, and several years older than those in the photo above. Chained to rings in the floor are three people. A man, a young boy, and a girl in her teenage years. All of them are gagged, bound in place by manacles, and positioned in a large circle. The cloaked figure is circling along its edge, a low, mumbling voice reaching up to Loralia as they place candles around the trio of hopeless captives. Their clothing might have been lose, if they hadn't lost so much weight... The room is surprisingly cleared of rubble from above, save, of course, that table, which hangs down just above the circle. The stairs down to the floor are reinforced with wood as well, making the trek far less dangerous than it otherwise would have been. But... there is something strange. If these three are here... what happened to the woman in the photo? As Loralia draws her knife, one of the prisoners, the little boy, seems to catch sight of something, looking up towards Loralia. Bleak eyes fix on her, before squinting closed in her light. The boy begins to move sluggishly, a hoarse moan coming from his gagged mouth as the chains rattle.
"Fuck. fuckfuckfuck." out of everything, Loralia hadn't expected to walk into a ritualistic hideout, whatever this was, a realization that finally manages to clear the drug haze. she holds the boy's gaze, angelborn empathy instinctively attempting to parse any desires, if there are any left. She has no words for what keeps her rooted to the spot, or why she does not run, despite having seen enough to qualify as trouble if not dealt with.
The boy begins to struggle harder, though not much harder. Captivity has caused any strength to flee, and soon the rattling settles down. The mumbling chant continues unabated, the figure apparently ignoring the boy's desperation. A ring of candles has now been placed, and the figure begins the process of lighting them. Light begins to fill the room, casting ghastly, unnatural shadows that seem to crawl along the walls. Ghostly creatures... Horible monsters. They surround the room, just beneath the dark film of shadow. But Loralia can see, she can see, oh god she can see... But... wait... No. No no no, this is no room of horrors. Just shadows. Just, shadows. Right? Right? It has to be just shadows.
makes to turn for the stairs, she could escape, the figure hasn't noticed her yet, but something draws her deeper into the room. "It fucking has to be." Loralia brands that into her mind as she creeps along, sticking to the walls, her kattar and a needle gripped into a hand each. she has to get just one of them into the figure to make the situation more manageable.
Slipping down the stairs, Loralia has just made it to the ground when... Creeeeeeak! A board gives slightly under her foot, wailing its pain into the room like a tormented soul... And the figure begins to turn slowly. Beneath the hood is a bony, filthy face. Aged by ill conditions, this woman might have been beautiful once, but now, she is a shadow of herself. Scarred by burns and cuts that leave her skin patterned with horible markings, she barely even looks human beneath her cloak. A black knife glitters ominously in one hand, and in the other, a burning brand. Oddly, she wears a single piece of jewelry. A ring, carved from some strange black metal and set with a jagged chunk of black and red stone. The edges look sharp enough to cut the skin, and within, a small glow can be seen, like something is trapped within the depths of the stone. Cracked, dry lips part, and a hoarse, raspy voice emerges, along with the sight of rotting teeth and a fetid smell that hits Loralia even from where she stands. "Who... in the name of the Hellish Saviors... are you?"
Loralia keeps the panic under control, freezing ever so at the creek. but, she is a smart ass, even in situations that are deadly. "Just a plug, I offer free, Y see." she drawls, before in a lightning quick motion, she aims that dagger and needle at the woman, while her eyes rapidly take in her surroundings. obsticals, covers, anything.
"You foolish bi---" And then the needle digs into the woman, followed by a slash from the dagger as Loralia clears the space between herself and the horifically scarred woman. Staggering back, the woman screeches, the sound enough to make Loralia's ears ring as she moves to place the prisoners between herself and Loralia. "No! You will not disrupt the ritual! Kill her! Kill her that our Dark Lord may enter this world and save us!" As she slashes open her wrist, movements sluggish from the filth now in her system, a pair of the shadows detach from the wall, rushing forward towards Loralia under her command...
Loralia says "ooc 0, after DF."
As her shadows engage Loralia, the woman frantically begins slicing into her wrists, letting her blood flow out as she chants. The captives in the circle, trembling and with wide eyes, stare at the impossible scene before them as Loralia fights off the pair of shadows.
Loralia hastily abandons the used needle for another one, which she jabs at the woman, before returning to fighting the shadows.