Encounterlogs
Lorenzos Odd Encounter Sr Novel 250402
In a mysterious encounter at The Succubus Club, Lorenzo, a solitary figure immersed in his thoughts amidst the vibrant nightlife, unexpectedly becomes entangled in an urgent quest. Approached by a harried messenger, he learns of a civilian lost in the dense, mist-covered Devilwood. Intrigued by the challenge and the opportunity to inject excitement into his evening, Lorenzo, after some contemplation and another round of his dark, strong liquor, decides to take on the task. With only a blurry photo, GPS coordinates, and a call to action from a stranger on the phone directing him to the lost individual, Lorenzo mounts his motorcycle and ventures into the foreboding woods, his wit and readiness his only allies in the sinister, mist-shrouded darkness.
Deep in Devilwood, Lorenzo faces a supernatural adversary: a satyr, in the midst of attacking a young woman. Despite the dangerous clash and the beast's resilience against his gunfire, Lorenzo's wit and determination see him through. The satyr finally collapses, defeated, but the woman has vanished into the night. Reflecting on the strange and unexpected turn his night has taken, Lorenzo smirks at the notion of navigating such perils for the thrill of the hunt. His victory over the creature leaves him contemplating the oddities life throws his way, especially on nights when the darkness feels alive with more than just shadows. Riding back to civilization, Lorenzo is both triumphant and bemused, his curiosity about the murky depths of the night further piqued, ready for whatever odd encounters may come next in the enigmatic and shadowy world he navigates.
(Lorenzo's odd encounter(SRNovel):SRNovel)
[Fri Mar 28 2025]
At the Front Bar and Lounge of The Succubus Club
Though the thrum of club music greets visitors fresh in the door, the
sound is muted in this front partition bar, granting space for
conversational drinks and a place to request bottle service. The building
itself is a converted club warehouse, design sleek with the flash of modern
club setting and new renovation. Floating shelves with LED accent lighting
and a lit glass back drop lays scene for a multitude of liquor bottles
behind the bar, ranging from well club swills and beer displays to premium
bottles with prettier and pricier labels. The bar itself is long and topped
with smoked, sheened glass on the top surface, space for standing lounge
available toward the ends, past the available line of seating. A few pieces
of lounge furniture is on the other side of the room for more intimate
gathering away from the music and a smoking patio is visible through the
front doors when they open.
The bar area extends into a wide open dance floor ahead with waitress
service and wall lounge seating, the energy of the dance and trap music
compelling movement.
It is night, about 32F(0C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. Ankle high mist flows through the area. There is a waxing crescent moon.
(Your target's been contacted to help find a civilian who's become lost in the woods.
)
Leaning against the smooth curve of the smoked glass bar at The Succubus Club, Lorenzo swirls a glass of something dark and strong. The ambient light reflects off the liquid, casting a brief shimmer across his brooding features. He's a silhouette of solitude in the vibrant buzz of the club, the thud of bass a distant backdrop to his own simmering thoughts.
He takes a slow sip, the burn of the liquor less sharp than the sting of recent confrontations. "Well," he mutters to no one in particular, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "nothing like a little drama to make your drink taste better." His eyes, bright under the low lights of the bar, scan the crowd briefly, a silent observer to the revelry around him.
Sound softened oddly by the front bar, being absorbed and eaten up by the soft bodies that writhed around him and the plush seats, but then resonating harshly off the glass bar itself, resulting in a hum in every glass and every touch upon it where Lorenzo sat nursing his subtly vibrating drink. A casual glance might dismiss Lorenzo as another nightlife fixture, but the stride of someone who Did Not Belong beelining up towards Lorenzo on a mission was a sign of something else.
"Hey," Now this man didn't stand out at all. He looked like be belonged: A strange mixture of run-down waif with too much metal and too much leather mingling with a fine tie and finer clothes - and the occasional shift that revealed the two indented holes of bites on their neck. Someone working for someone else, and nibbled on often. The brown-eyed black-haired man had a vaguely harrunged, doglike appearance. Always in a rush, and his shoes were worn on the bottom, despite being fine tailored leather. "Lost lamb in the woods." Unaware. A photo - blurry. Someone who had been picked up and dropped, and a set of GPS coordinates. Depending on how much Lorenzo knows about local politics, he may realize they're a local student. An Arkwright - but nobody notable. "You know how things get. Local authorities are having trouble. Call if you accept." Someone might get screwed for this. There's a phone number on the back of the photo.
And then the messenger turns to leave, jogging on some other task they're bound to, not waiting to see if Lorenzo accepts. It's possible he's reached out to several people already.
Whether Lorenzo takes it is up to him.
Lorenzo tilts the photo towards the light, his fingertips tracing the edges as he examines the blurry image, eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in every detail. He turns the photo over to glance at the scribbled phone number on the back, his expression unreadable. The messenger's hurried departure barely registers in his peripheral vision; his focus remains locked on the task potentially at hand.
Leaning back against the bar, he knocks back the rest of his drink in one smooth motion, the clink of ice against glass punctuating the moment. His gaze drifts over the lively crowd, a stark contrast to the somber weight of the photo in his hand.
"You know," he murmurs to himself, a sardonic edge to his tone, "nothing like a missing person to add a little excitement to an otherwise dull evening." He tucks the photo into the inner pocket of his pants pocket, signaling the bartender for another pour.
With a slight shake of his head, Lorenzo pulls out his phone, punches in the number, and holds the device to his ear, a smirk playing on his lips. "Might as well see where this rabbit hole leads," he mutters, awaiting the ring that might tether him to yet another nocturnal adventure. As the bar buzzes around him, he feels the familiar thrill of the hunt begin to stir, mingling with the burn of the liquor in his veins.
The bartender, shapely and curvy and top-heavy and a winning, practiced smile, designed to get men - and the occasional woman - buying as many drinks as possible while enjoying the ambiance provides a chipper, "Of course, sir," As she smoothly swings by to get a rfeill on the liquor that Lorenzo has been imbibing. The fading tump-tumping steps of the man who left the message and disappears into the chill night.
The call connects after two rings. A voice filters through, static-laced but sharp. The static might be accidental. Or it might be deliberate, a voice changer to render someone neutral and difficult to contact. Probably some mixture of the two. A breath, then, brisk: "You got the photo. Good. We dont have much time." A brief pause. "The GPS coordinates are active - we believe theyre still moving. Alone. If youre in, youd best get going now. You know how the forest doesnt wait for anyone."
A moment of silence, save for the distant hum of music in the club. The voice on the line exhales, something between relief and resignation. "Straight west off of here - Devilwood, out into the woods. Straight road. Take a left at the fourth turn."
The operator stays on the line, murmuring a new line of coordinates occasionally, leading into mist-clad woods.
With a final nod to the bartender, whose charm seemed designed to keep patrons firmly anchored to their seats, Lorenzo pockets his phone after ending the call. He stands, tossing back the last of his drink, the sharp burn of alcohol a stark contrast to the chill that seeps in from the night outside. The ambiance of The Succubus Club, once a solace, now feels more like a sirens call luring him away from the task at hand. But tonight, the woods call louder.
Slipping through the crowd, Lorenzo exits the club. The night air hits him with a rush, cool and crisp, laced with the impending threat of a storm. He breathes it in, letting the familiar thrill of a chase settle into his bones. His stride is purposeful as he heads towards his motorcycle parked a short distance away. Mounting it, he revs the engine, the sound slicing through the quiet of the night like a promise.
As he rides towards Devilwood, the static voice continues to guide him through his earpiece, each direction a breadcrumb leading him deeper into mystery. The road stretches before him, flanked by the looming silhouettes of trees that whisper of secrets and dangers hidden in their depths. Lorenzo's lips curve into a smirk; whatever lurks in the woods tonight, it would find him ready. After all, what's a little danger to a man who dances with devils by night?
Lorenzo is already on Devilwood. In fact, The Succubus squats directly on it, the warm maw of it depositing directly into the street, and a dalliance upon it with a motorcycle through the rows of parked cars and people who have already broken themselves on the wheel of excess to end up in gutters or stumbling across the road. They're not too hard to swerve around.
And once off that east-west paved road that parallels seedy establishments on one side and the shipping yard on the other, there's only dirt roads leading further west into the woods as the untamed and untended backroads become bumpier and bumpier.
Thorough it all in Lorenzo's ear there's the hiss of static in his ear that might also be the take of a breath.
"Left here." It murmurs at some point, cutting through the noise of his own engine with precise, clipped words. It's sharper now, as if easier to hear out in the wilds with less coverage - or maybe there's just less interfering noise from the club.
"Right," They say again, guiding down a path. And then: There they are, in the mist-shrouded darkness. It's just quiet. There's nothing familiar about this stretch of road. "They're dead ahead of you."
The engine of Lorenzo's motorcycle cuts through the silence of the misty woods, its roar a stark contrast to the eerie quiet around him. The guidance from the mysterious voice on the other end of the line continues, each instruction leading him further into the heart of the forest. The cool night air is thick with fog, turning the landscape into a ghostly tableau, perfect for the kind of mysteries that Lorenzo finds himself drawn to.
As he rounds the final bend, the voice cuts in one last time, its tone now carrying a note of urgency. Lorenzo slows, his eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of the missing person or whatever fate might have befallen them. The bike's headlight slices through the fog, casting long, creeping shadows that play tricks on the eyes.
Killing the engine, Lorenzo steps off the bike, his boots crunching softly on the gravel. The silence that follows is almost suffocating. He moves forward cautiously, senses heightened, every shadow and every rustle of leaves underfoot scrutinized. His hand rests casually near the weapon concealed beneath his shirt, ready for whatever might come.
"This is like finding a needle in a haunted haystack," Lorenzo mutters to himself, the humor dry in his voice. He didnt expect a clear path, not in his line of work, not with the sort of night that calls for meetings with shadows and whispers. But that's just fine; ambiguity is a game he's well versed in. The thrill of the unknown, the challenge it presents.
Silence. Mist clad-silence. Not a disturbance in the trees, a stir of the figures. Even the birds aren't chirping, though there's the occasional snap and crunch of a branch or rustle of the leaves. Stray cat? Wild animals? Birds? Hard to say out here. Maybe Lorenzo was brought to the wrong place? But there's nothing here. Just him, the mists, and the empty-ass dirt road in back. And then there's the suddeny, sharp, breathless scream. The THUNK of stone hitting flesh. The braying of a goat that might also be guttural laughter extending off into the darkness. Rustling, crunching. Movement. What he was going to do through the dense foliage, Lorenzo better act fast.
And the darkness parts for the Lorenzo when he peers closer: A satyr, chasing down a college-aged girl, the whirl of a sling and a SLAM as it knocks into flesh again, knocking her down and over, the creature bounding over towards her.
The sudden cacophony shatters the eerie silence, sharpening Lorenzo's focus to a razor's edge. He pulls his Glock 19, the familiar weight of the gun a cold comfort in his hand. His other hand grips the Ka-bar knife, ready for whatever comes hurtling out of the mist.
"Sounds like someones throwing a party without me," Lorenzo quips to the empty woods, his voice a mix of sarcasm and alert readiness. The scream, the unnatural laughter, the unsettling noises of movement, they paint a clear picture of chaos just beyond the visible, and he's all too familiar with chaos.
He moves silently, sneakers barely making a sound on the forest floor, eyes scanning through the dense fog. His every sense is heightened, attuned to the slightest whisper of threat. As he advances, the mist seems to swirl conspiratorially, as if it, too, is part of the night's macabre dance.
"Hey! Lorenzo shouts out, leveling his glock at the satyr and firing off a few rounds."
The sudden cacophony shatters the eerie silence, sharpening Lorenzo's focus to a razor's edge. He pulls his Glock 19, the familiar weight of the gun a cold comfort in his hand. His other hand grips the Ka-bar knife, ready for whatever comes hurtling out of the mist.
"Sounds like someones throwing a party without me," Lorenzo quips to the empty woods, his voice a mix of sarcasm and alert readiness. The scream, the unnatural laughter, the unsettling noises of movement, they paint a clear picture of chaos just beyond the visible, and he's all too familiar with chaos.
He moves silently, sneakers barely making a sound on the forest floor, eyes scanning through the dense fog. His every sense is heightened, attuned to the slightest whisper of threat. As he advances, the mist seems to swirl conspiratorially, as if it, too, is part of the night's macabre dance.
"Hey!" Lorenzo shouts out, leveling his glock at the satyr and firing off a few rounds. (fixed)
Mundane might meets supernatural magic - and the accuracy of the pistol scores true, causing the creature to recoil in pain. Though it hardly slows him - as all satyrs are - as he bounds after the woman, those nostrils flaring and the red eyes narrowed in confusion before alighting on Lorenzo. There's a raise of an obscenely muscled arm as the creature adjust his angle, cloven feet thudding across the grass and leaves of the floor, limb winding up as there's a windup and then a stone fired like a shotput over towards Lorenzo, the rock having enough force to slam into a tree and cause it to fracture around, forcing a duck - or some other supernatural defense as it calls out a threatening cry.
"Baaa-aaaah!"
Well, for a Satyr, at least.
Lorenzo As the stone smashes into the tree with enough force to splinter wood, Lorenzo ducks swiftly behind his woody cover, a smirk tugging at his lips despite the danger. "Really? Goat puns? You're kidding me," he mutters under his breath, the humor dark as he sizes up his opponent.
The forest around them becomes a primal arena, leaves rustling like the audience of some ancient, forgotten theatre. With his back pressed against the rough bark, Lorenzo peeks around, firing off another couple of shots aimed to kill, head, heart, anything to turn the things pronouns into was and were.
"Next time you want to rock and roll, hit a concert, not my head," he quips loudly, hoping to distract the satyr with his words as much as his bullets. He knows the creature is confused; its supernatural resilience meeting an unexpectedly armed and witty human, or well, vampire, but who's counting species at a time like this?
Lorenzo waits for the reaction, ready to move, his body tensed for either further attack or a swift evasion. The night air is thick with the musk of battle and the sharp scent of adrenaline, both his and the creature's.
Fortunately, someone has some sense. It's the woman. She has no quips, instead waiting for the goatman to get distracted by Lorenzo - and then promptly bouncing up and BOOKING it to the road. The creature darts his gaze between Lorenzo and her and finally deciding on the former while his arm and the stone whips around, bleeding already from several wounds - but the damn thing does still not go down, as the next stone catches Lorenzo in the shoulder with a CRACK. No broken bones, at least.
And the next bullet through the chest, causing a blooming wound, raising up his arm to hurl another terrible stone upon Lorenzo - only to suddenly collapse as adrenaline loses against organ failure, thumping into a heap.
The woman, sadly, is long gone, and this was a lone wastrel hoping to get a quick kidnapping here in the wilds. Or perhaps lost. Either way, Lorenzo stands the victor, and the night is his.
As the hulking form of the satyr crumples into the underbrush, Lorenzo winces, rubbing his bruised shoulder with a grimace. He casts a wary glance around the dimly lit forest, the mist parting like a curtain after the final act of a play. "All that for a night out in the woods," he murmurs sardonically, his tone dripping with a mix of relief and annoyance.
He steps away from the tree, holstering his gun and tucking the knife back into its sheath, his movements methodical and precise. Shaking his head slightly, Lorenzo mutters under his breath, "What, No thank you!? Next time, I'm sticking to the bar."
With one last dismissive glance at the fallen creature, he turns on his heel and makes his way back towards the road, the gravel crunching under his sneakers breaking the eerie silence of the night. The promise of civilization and a stiff drink propelling him forward, Lorenzo leaves the chaos of the forest behind, a smirk playing on his lips as he contemplates the absurdity of his "wild night out."
(Your target receives an anonymous tip about a secret meeting taking place between The Golden Shadow and a powerful demon. They are expected to infiltrate the meeting without being detected to gather information about their upcoming plans. They must be careful not to alert the group of their presence, as The Golden Shadow are not only ruthless, but they also possess powerful allies within the supernatural community. The encounter will test their stealth and deception skills, and they may even have to resort to combat if they are discovered.)
Seamus watches as Beth slinks out of the room and crosses his arms watching her go before looking back to Lilian, "She is going to wait by the car. She doesn't like to think about...." He waves his hand broadly, "All of this."
"Sure." Lilian comments with a sigh as she sinks down onto the couch, putting her feet out infront of her. "I just... I don't know I'm a bit disappointed.. Whim can possess you at any time you know? Watch you doing whatever.. seeing who you're texting."
"And who do I text? You, Lilah, Beth, and Siofra," Seamus says with a wave of his hand through the air. "Yeah yeah be disappointed in me, everyone else is," he says in a huff as he sits down next to Lilian.
"How important are these things anyway? But if you want me to not come around anymore, I guess that is just that," Seamus says defensively.
"No Seamus." Lilian murmurs, turning to rest a hand on his on the couch between them, "You're my friend. It's just... I don't know I wasn't expecting you to look for a cult... Or I would've invited you to mine. I don't usually deal with cults and such but given Malcolm is probably trying to kick me out of school I kindof have to to keep my sanctuary."
"I thought you were already suspended," Seamus says to Lilian with a slight squint. "I thought your cult was all the girls. Trix, Lenore, Ashe..." He shrugs, "Then found out that Ashe and Lenore are in a band." He shakes his head, "Yeah you need your sanctuary. Especially if Cas has something against you."
"I'll tell Kaven he's such a girlfriend." Lilian tells Seamus with a small tilt at the corner of her lips, "I just.. I don't know.. The Eidolon usually works closely with the leader... so for example if there were a full moon party.. Siofra would quickly know who is there as long as it slips into you... Can watch everything that happens.. And even affect people and speak to them. We'll just have to um.. blindfold you every full moon." She snorts softly at the idea.
"Yeah," Seamus says with a roll of his eyes. "I mean... I could have been bitten by a wolf. That would have arguably been worse." He purses his lips a moment then shrugs, "I don't know, Lily."
Lilian sighs softly as she places her hands in her lap, "I don't know either Seamus. I don't want to stop being your friend or having you over... but I will get... very upset if that leads to people around us getting hurt because Whim can see what's happening.."
"I thought everyone had Sanctuary though?" Seamus asks with a tilt of his head. "Like I can't kill you." He back peddles a moment, "I mean... you know what I mean. And you can't kill me. That is just the rules of living here right?" He pauses then and adds, "Yeah, yeah I get it."
"No... Humans get sanctuary because Venice pays for it but supernaturals must buy sanctuary. Wether it is from being in an organisation or a cult. And werewolves on full moons can severe injure people because their lunacy lets them tear through sanctuary...because they're not thinking correctly.." Lilian comments with a lift of her shoulder, "No doubt any gossip or stuff said infront of you if Whim is possessing you will feed itself straighttt back to Malcolm's ears too.."
"The only good thing I can see when Whim is possessing you. So I know he? She? It? isn't possessing you right now." Lilian adds softly.
"Huh. How can you tell when I am being posessed?" Seamus says with a shrug. "And She. Little kid. Weird little faeling."
"I can see when eiodolons and ghosts are around. Whim slid into you last night.. when I was in the shower.." Lilian comments softly, "That's how I knew you joined them.."
Seamus nods and swings his feet a minute falling silent. "Well," he says after a minute. "I should go reassure Beth that you didn't rip my spleen out through my nose, and that we are cool. And feel free to kick me out whenever." He pauses and looks around, perhaps intentionally breaking the fourth wall, "Unless there is anything else...."
"Seamus..." Lilian starts when Seamus gets to his feet and Lilian sighs, "You're my friend. I will accept you joining any cult it's just... I will not be happy if whim gets to spy on me for Malcolm alright?" Lilian looks down sadly for a moment.
"Lilian," Seamus says using her full name for maybe the first time in their relationship. "I get it. Honestly I think Malcolm just wants to be left alone, but, that isn't my circus to figure out. I'll do my best to make sure the streams don't cross."
"Seamusabery." Lilian tells Seamus with a tilt of her head, "I also want to be left alone by Malcolm. I'm not the one sending emails to the entire school about him. And my name is Lily." Lilian tells him with a flick of those violet lashes.
"I know," Seamus says with a grin. He falls slient a moment then looks around, slipping into detective mode, "Here is what I am trying to figure out though. You know I can't stand lose threads and I got two big lose threads from last night. Which do you want to talk through first? You or this job you voluntold me for that you missed?"
"Tell me about the job that I missed that I voluntold you about. I was honestly planning to go." Lilian tells Seamus with a sigh, "I really wish we had gathered earlier so I missed the operation to be honest." She adds ruefully crossing her ankles infront of her as she leans back, "What was it all about anyways? All I knew was a contact told me there was weird.. stuff on TV. Something something sadism porn that wasn't supposed to be there attached to some church?"
"That is one word," Seamus says with a roll of his eye. "First of Lanaeis and some chick were there. She seemed nice, but also Lorenzo. He gives me the creeps." He pauses and adds, "Definitely vampire. Anyway we get there and the whole town is just fucky like... Do you know your Milton?"
"Yes he is definitely a vampire. I believe Edith called him uh... wet behind the ears." Lilian comments as if not impressed, "He certainly seemed rather high when he came to visit us at the girls dorm the other day. Seeing things that weren't happening and weren't there." A shoulder is lifted, "I have no idea what Milton is... is that the town?"
"When I see things I assemble a team of the finest minds," Seamus says with a wag of his finger but then continues. "John Milton. Like the English Dante... We get there and this town looks like it someone read Milton before bed and had fever dream. People digging in pits, people eating so much they explod. Usual sin and punishment shit."
"Huh.... people having so much sex they have a heart attack from orgasms?" Lilian asks Seamus about the most obvious sin that everyone should induldge in. "Did you see many of those? Anyways.. and then?"
"We made our way to the church which was like the only place not covered in filth," Seamus says as he takes out his cigarettes and pats one into his hand. "Once inside it was like... Well... It was like a demon or vampire's wet dream. Blood everywhere. Bones everywhere. People having shat themselves in the pews and stuck there, dead."
"I'm surprised venice wasn't all over this." Lilian comments as she glances over at Seamus's cigerette but doesn't protest him lighting up. "What did you guys end up having to do?"
"Ah sorry. Forgot it will get in the cushions," Seamus says slipping the smoke behind his ear. "We got to the front of the church and opened a trap door jumped in."
He falls silent then as he considers all of what happened on that trip. "We all saw something different. I can tell you what I saw but it won't make sense. Barely makes sense to me." He purses his lips, "Then I passed out and woke up on the beach. If I hadn't been coming from that side I wouldn't have stumbled across you."
"Oh did you didn't defeat the eldritch horror that lives in the basement?" Lilian asks with a lift of her eyebrows towards Seamus, reaching out to pat his hand gently, "Thanks. I would've thought that alleyway would be more populated but I guess it was the dead of the night. I yelled help for a while but no one seemed to be able to hear." She sighs softly her lashes fluttering over those sapphire eyes.
Lilian says "What a town we live in huh?"
Seamus looks at his watch, "I need to go Lil." He says with a heavy sigh, "It's late." He frowns, "I am glad you are feeling better yeah?"
"You're alright. Thanks for bringing me home. And finding me yesterday." Lilian murmurs as she leans over and gives Seamus a big hug.
Seamus gives Lilian a big hug back, "Alright don't be a stranger yeah? We'll talk soon."
"Okay Seamus.. See you later." Lilian comments with a small smile.
The sky is a vast, endless black, empty of light, empty of comfort. The new moon hangs invisible above the world, its absence a hollow space in the heavens. The stars burn cold and distant, their pale glow offering no warmth against the deep winter night.
The air is sharp, biting with a frost that clings to every surface, turning breath to mist and ice to glass. The wind is still, yet the cold is relentless, seeping into bone, settling in the spaces between. Without the moon, the night feels heavier, deeperlike a void stretching over the earth, pressing down on everything beneath it.
Somewhere in the distance, a tree groans under the weight of ice. The sound is hollow, brittle, swallowed almost instantly by the vast and waiting dark.
The fire in the living room burns low, its embers pulsing like a dying heartbeat against the deep mahogany walls. The air is thick with the scent of jasmine and smoldering wood, a warmth that does little to chase away the chill seeping through the apartment. Outside, the March night presses against the windows, vast and unbroken, the moon casting pale light over the frost-laced glass.
The house is still, save for the occasional groan of settling wood, the quiet murmur of a draft slipping through unseen cracks after Seamus leaves. Most of its presumed other occupants have long since retired, seeking comfort beneath heavy blankets, but the lounge remains occupiedits solitude disturbed by the presence of a single figure. someone
Somewhere in the distance, beyond the walls of the house, a sound breaks the silencea soft rustling, a whisper of movement in the frozen dark. It is nothing, perhaps. Just the wind. Just the house.
Lilian's phone beeps - A long message sent through an encrypted chat by one of her contacts. Jonathon Kong.
I dont know where you are right now, but you need to hear this. I intercepted a transmission about the Golden Shadow. It wasnt easywhoever sent it was using high-level encryption, but I managed to grab a fragment before they wiped the signal. Devilwood Drive. Tonight. 1:27 AM. There is a meeting. The message contained a single phrase: "The Shadow will rise again. The cycle must complete." That sounds like initiation talk, maybe a ceremony or a transfer of power. Either way, theyre planning something, and soon.
I haven't heard anything from your brother yet.. but this might be your opportunity. JK.
The message ends there as the fire continues to crackle in the hearth.
The sky is a vast, endless black, empty of light, empty of comfort. The new moon hangs invisible above the world, its absence a hollow space in the heavens. The stars burn cold and distant, their pale glow offering no warmth against the deep winter night. The air is sharp, biting with a frost that clings to every surface, turning breath to mist and ice to glass. The wind is still, yet the cold is relentless, seeping into bone, settling in the spaces between. Without the moon, the night feels heavier, deeperlike a void stretching over the earth, pressing down on everything beneath it. Somewhere in the distance, a tree groans under the weight of ice. The sound is hollow, brittle, swallowed almost instantly by the vast and waiting dark. The fire in the living room burns low, its embers pulsing like a dying heartbeat against the deep mahogany walls. The air is thick with the scent of jasmine and smoldering wood, a warmth that does little to chase away the chill seeping through the apartment. Outside, the March night presses against the windows, vast and unbroken, the moon casting pale light over the frost-laced glass. The house is still, save for the occasional groan of settling wood, the quiet murmur of a draft slipping through unseen cracks after Seamus leaves. Most of its presumed other occupants have long since retired, seeking comfort beneath heavy blankets, but the lounge remains occupiedits solitude disturbed by the presence of a single figure. Somewhere in the distance, beyond the walls of the house, a sound breaks the silencea soft rustling, a whisper of movement in the frozen dark. It is nothing, perhaps. Just the wind. Just the house. Lilian's phone beeps - A long message sent through an encrypted chat by one of her contacts. Jonathon Kong. I dont know where you are right now, but you need to hear this. I intercepted a transmission about the Golden Shadow. It wasnt easywhoever sent it was using high-level encryption, but I managed to grab a fragment before they wiped the signal. Devilwood Drive. Tonight. 1:27 AM. There is a meeting. The message contained a single phrase: "The Shadow will rise again. The cycle must complete." That sounds like initiation talk, maybe a ceremony or a transfer of power. Either way, theyre planning something, and soon. I haven't heard anything from your brother yet.. but this might be your opportunity. JK. The message ends there as the fire continues to crackle in the hearth.
"Urg... Johnn." Lilian mutters as she looks down at her phone, setting it to one side while rubbing the back of her neck, "I don't think I can tonight." She shakes her head as she grabs it to send another text. "Sorry. Too busy." She sends the text to the man.
someone phone buzzes again. 'Lili
someone phone buzzes again. 'Lili
Lilian phone buzzes again. 'Lili
Lilian phone buzzes again. "Lili You dont get to walk away from this. Not this time. I know you think it can wait. I get ityoure tired, its late, and maybe you're done chasing ghosts. But I need you to really hear me now. That message I intercepted about the Golden Shadow? It wasnt noise. It was a live signal, layered with encryption Ive only seen on black-budget operationsdeep arcane masking, timed to self-wipe on transmission. I barely caught a scrap of it, and what I did catch "The Shadow will rise again. The cycle must complete. The vessel is ready. Revka holds the spark. All thats left is to sever the anchor. That phrase"sever the anchor"should mean nothing. But I saw your name flash across the back of my mind the moment I read it. Not your real one. His. I dont know if theyre talking about your brother. I want to be wrong. But I dont think I am. This isnt just a strategy meeting. Its ceremonial. Operative. Possibly a rite of passageor worse, a ritual transfer of power. That phrase, the cycle must complete, has the weight of doctrine. Cult language. Indoctrination, maybe. You know the kind. and this isnt just anyone. Its the Golden Shadow. You and I both know what that means. If theyre moving now, something is changing. Quietly. Permanently. No one else is watching them closely enough to see it. but you can. You were always the one who stayed five seconds longer in the fire than the rest of us. The one who didnt flinch at things others couldnt even look at. If theres even a sliver of truth in thisif your brother is caught up in whats happening tonightdont you want to know? You dont have to charge in, guns blazing. Im not asking you to fight. Just go. Watch. Listen. Get close enough to understand what theyre doing and why. We may not get another window like this. Ive embedded the coordinates in the original packet. Devilwood Drive. Black iron gate. Passphrase is Anima. Say it, and theyll open the door. If they dont improvise. Ive seen you do it before. Ill stay on a silent tap. If things go south, Ill be your shadow. But this has to be your call. Just dont tell me too busy. Not tonight. Not when this might be your only chance to bring the truth into the light. Please.
Sighing heavily as Lilian gets the message, Lilian reads it a few times before responding 'Fine'. Putting her phone into her bag, she leaves her apartment before turning into a raven. Black, glossy, the raven takes to the dark night sky, gliding the air currents as she flies towards devilwood drive.
Devilwood Drive lies silent beneath the weight of the moonless sky.@line@lineThe street is barely litonly one flickering lamppost casts a thin golden haze over the crooked sidewalks. The houses here are older, their bones creaking behind ivy-covered fences and windows gone to dust. There is no wind, yet the branches overhead seem to twitch and sway, as if disturbed by something unseen.@line@lineAt the far southern end of the street, where the pavement gives way to damp earth and tangled roots, stands a gate. Wrought iron, tall and intricate, its bars twisted into looping, almost thorn-like patterns. Black frost clings to itdarker than snow, more like soot frozen mid-sigh.@line@lineOn the gates surface, just above the rusted lock, a word has been burned into the iron in looping, scorched script:@line@lineAnima.@line@lineBeyond the gate, a narrow path winds into the woods, choked with mist and shadow. No lights. No sound. Only the faint scent of burning jasmine and something older, something buried.@line@lineThe moment Lilian draws near, the frost ripples.@line@lineNot meltingshivering. A ward senses her presence. Waiting. A breath held beneath the trees.@line@lineIt wants her to speak.
Lilian(corvus) is a bird. A raven. So she speaks in the only way she knows how. With a caw cawww. As she doesn't even bother stopping. The ward isn't stopping other animals is it? She glides around to figure it out, trying to clip the ward with her wings.
The air just beyond the gate isnt quite airit resists, like pushing against a thick curtain of heatless water. As Lilians wingtip brushes the boundary, something shivers.
Not a crack, not a breakjust a sudden, spectral ripple that flows out like a breath held too long.
The ward pulses once. Cold. Then warm. Then still.
It doesn't react violently. No alarm, no flare of arcane light. But the moment her feathers clip its edge, the mist on the other side begins to coil tighterlike a muscle flexing beneath the skin of the world.
Shes not stopped. Not repelled.@line@lineBut... shes felt.
The caw echoes sharper than it should, bouncing off the bare trees and fading into silence far too quickly, like the sound was swallowed rather than lost.
A heartbeat later, the gate creaks open behind herslowly, deliberately, though no hands touch it.
Ahead, the path curves into the fog. The smell of jasmine grows stronger, laced now with iron and ash.
Something has invited her in.
The raven caws softly at the invitation, her wings cutting through the fog as she flies down towards the house, staying to the shadows with her stealth and her size. Lilian(corvus) is after all, very small, light and rather stealthy. Moving around the house she tries to find a open window of some sort.
The fog curls around Lilians wings like reaching hands, clinging to her feathers as she weaves between bare branches and broken chimneys. The house ahead rises slowly out of the misttall, old, wrong in the way only forgotten places are. Its wood is blackened with rot, though no storm has touched it. Shutters hang half-closed like slitted eyes. The whole structure feels like it wants to be overlooked.
She circles in silence, shadow on shadow, until she finds ita window on the second floor, slightly cracked. No glow spills from within, no flicker of candle or hearth. But the scent hits her like a memory: jasmine, smoldering wood... and blood.
Landing on the ledge, the ravens claws find purchase on cold, damp stone. Peering in, she sees only darkness at firstbut her vision adjusts, bird-sharp, picking out outlines.
A parlor. Or something like it. Velvet-draped, ancient, choked with stillness. Figures move inside, slow and deliberate. At least threemaybe more. They wear cloaks that breathe like smoke. Their faces are hidden, but they lean over something on a central table, murmuring words that dont sound like any language she's heard spoken aloudwords that taste like ash and metal and distant thunder.
One of them stops suddenly. Turns. As if catching a scent.
They dont look at the window.
But Lilian feels the moment land in her chest like a stone: someone inside just became aware that something has entered the perimeter.
They dont know its her.
Not yet.
Being a vampire, Lilian(corvus) has no scent. Lilian(corvus) doesn't even breath. So the tiny raven stays still as a statue as she simply sits to listen to them, doing her best not to draw any attention to her as she hides in the bushes just underneath.
The stillness stretches. The window above remains slightly cracked, and the fog curls along the sill like its listening too. No movement. No breath. Only the quiet pulse of something dark and deliberate unfolding within.
Below, the raven waits. Motionless. Hidden. The mist doesnt seem to notice her now, and the wards breath has grown still.
Inside, voices risenot loud, but clearer now. A cadence more than a conversation. A chant spoken in turns by three distinct tones: one smooth as oil, one cracked with age, and one cold enough to frost glass.
The vessel remains intact.
The mark accepted the seal.
The line is thinning.
We are close.
A pause. Then another voicenot one of the three. This one whispers. Soft, feminine, unsettlingly familiar.
And what of the anchor?
Silence follows, heavy and long. Then the older voice answers: He drifts. Still dreaming. Still... resisting.
A shape passes the windowa tall figure cloaked in dark velvet, the edge of their mask glinting like bone. They do not look out.
The whispering voice returns, gentler now, almost amused: He wont wake. Not until she calls him.
A rustle of fabric. The scrape of something sharp dragged along wood. A scent of scorched flowers rides the air for an instant.
Then she must be allowed to call.
Somewhere deep in the house, a bell chimes once. Hollow. Faint. As if from another roomor another dream.
Inside the parlor, the gathering begins to move.
Raven's can't frown. But if Lilian(corvus) could, Lilian(corvus) would be. Hopping high uper on the bush she's on, Lilian(corvus) chances a peek into the parlbor
Raven's can't frown. But if Lilian(corvus) could, Lilian(corvus) would be. Hopping high uper on the bush she's on, Lilian(corvus) chances a peek into the parlor to see where everyone was moving to.
The figures are no longer seated. They move in practiced silence, gliding across the parlor like shadows drawn toward gravity. One by one, they vanish through a narrow door set into the back wallpreviously hidden behind a bookcase, now open just wide enough to glimpse stairs descending into deeper dark.
The air changes. Thicker. Older.
One of them pauses at the threshold. Turns. The hood slips just slightly.
Its a woman. Pale, severe. Her features are unfamiliaruntil Lilian sees the charm dangling from her wrist. A woven silver band. The same one her brother wore before he disappeared.
The woman looks toward the window. Not at Lilian, not exactly. But near enough.
Her lips dont move. But Lilian hears a whisper, laced with rust and jasmine:
Youre already part of this.
Then the door swings shut.
The room beyond goes black.
A heartbeat later, a slow pulse of power ripples through the foundation of the houseso subtle it could almost be imagined. And then... nothing.
Only the creak of old wood, and the hiss of a fire that no longer burns.
Frowning given the ring on her brothers finger.. she got with his ashes..@me waits for a few minutes to see if anything else happens..
The house does not stir again. No sound from the stairs. No flicker of light from the parlor.
But the fog presses closer, soft and insistent, curling like a whisper around the edges of the window frame.
Something shifts.
For a momentjust one, breathless instantthe charm on the woman's wrist reappears in Lilians memory. Only this time, it's not woven silver. It's black. Braided hair. A thread of violet stone at its center.
The same charm Lilian buried with her brother. The one that shouldnt exist anymore.
A single drop of condensation slides down the glass. It traces a long curve, then branches at the endsplitting like a root. Or a vein.
The wind doesnt move. But the silence feels aware.
Watching. Waiting. As if whatever lies below the house is listening, now that Lilian has lingered too long.
And then
The charm is gone again. Just a trick of the eye. Just fog and memory.
The parlor remains still. Utterly, impossibly still.
Trying away with a flutter of her wings, Lilian heads towards the college, soft caws floating through the air as she contemplates what she had just seen.
Deep in Devilwood, Lorenzo faces a supernatural adversary: a satyr, in the midst of attacking a young woman. Despite the dangerous clash and the beast's resilience against his gunfire, Lorenzo's wit and determination see him through. The satyr finally collapses, defeated, but the woman has vanished into the night. Reflecting on the strange and unexpected turn his night has taken, Lorenzo smirks at the notion of navigating such perils for the thrill of the hunt. His victory over the creature leaves him contemplating the oddities life throws his way, especially on nights when the darkness feels alive with more than just shadows. Riding back to civilization, Lorenzo is both triumphant and bemused, his curiosity about the murky depths of the night further piqued, ready for whatever odd encounters may come next in the enigmatic and shadowy world he navigates.
(Lorenzo's odd encounter(SRNovel):SRNovel)
[Fri Mar 28 2025]
At the Front Bar and Lounge of The Succubus Club
Though the thrum of club music greets visitors fresh in the door, the
sound is muted in this front partition bar, granting space for
conversational drinks and a place to request bottle service. The building
itself is a converted club warehouse, design sleek with the flash of modern
club setting and new renovation. Floating shelves with LED accent lighting
and a lit glass back drop lays scene for a multitude of liquor bottles
behind the bar, ranging from well club swills and beer displays to premium
bottles with prettier and pricier labels. The bar itself is long and topped
with smoked, sheened glass on the top surface, space for standing lounge
available toward the ends, past the available line of seating. A few pieces
of lounge furniture is on the other side of the room for more intimate
gathering away from the music and a smoking patio is visible through the
front doors when they open.
The bar area extends into a wide open dance floor ahead with waitress
service and wall lounge seating, the energy of the dance and trap music
compelling movement.
It is night, about 32F(0C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. Ankle high mist flows through the area. There is a waxing crescent moon.
(Your target's been contacted to help find a civilian who's become lost in the woods.
)
Leaning against the smooth curve of the smoked glass bar at The Succubus Club, Lorenzo swirls a glass of something dark and strong. The ambient light reflects off the liquid, casting a brief shimmer across his brooding features. He's a silhouette of solitude in the vibrant buzz of the club, the thud of bass a distant backdrop to his own simmering thoughts.
He takes a slow sip, the burn of the liquor less sharp than the sting of recent confrontations. "Well," he mutters to no one in particular, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "nothing like a little drama to make your drink taste better." His eyes, bright under the low lights of the bar, scan the crowd briefly, a silent observer to the revelry around him.
Sound softened oddly by the front bar, being absorbed and eaten up by the soft bodies that writhed around him and the plush seats, but then resonating harshly off the glass bar itself, resulting in a hum in every glass and every touch upon it where Lorenzo sat nursing his subtly vibrating drink. A casual glance might dismiss Lorenzo as another nightlife fixture, but the stride of someone who Did Not Belong beelining up towards Lorenzo on a mission was a sign of something else.
"Hey," Now this man didn't stand out at all. He looked like be belonged: A strange mixture of run-down waif with too much metal and too much leather mingling with a fine tie and finer clothes - and the occasional shift that revealed the two indented holes of bites on their neck. Someone working for someone else, and nibbled on often. The brown-eyed black-haired man had a vaguely harrunged, doglike appearance. Always in a rush, and his shoes were worn on the bottom, despite being fine tailored leather. "Lost lamb in the woods." Unaware. A photo - blurry. Someone who had been picked up and dropped, and a set of GPS coordinates. Depending on how much Lorenzo knows about local politics, he may realize they're a local student. An Arkwright - but nobody notable. "You know how things get. Local authorities are having trouble. Call if you accept." Someone might get screwed for this. There's a phone number on the back of the photo.
And then the messenger turns to leave, jogging on some other task they're bound to, not waiting to see if Lorenzo accepts. It's possible he's reached out to several people already.
Whether Lorenzo takes it is up to him.
Lorenzo tilts the photo towards the light, his fingertips tracing the edges as he examines the blurry image, eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in every detail. He turns the photo over to glance at the scribbled phone number on the back, his expression unreadable. The messenger's hurried departure barely registers in his peripheral vision; his focus remains locked on the task potentially at hand.
Leaning back against the bar, he knocks back the rest of his drink in one smooth motion, the clink of ice against glass punctuating the moment. His gaze drifts over the lively crowd, a stark contrast to the somber weight of the photo in his hand.
"You know," he murmurs to himself, a sardonic edge to his tone, "nothing like a missing person to add a little excitement to an otherwise dull evening." He tucks the photo into the inner pocket of his pants pocket, signaling the bartender for another pour.
With a slight shake of his head, Lorenzo pulls out his phone, punches in the number, and holds the device to his ear, a smirk playing on his lips. "Might as well see where this rabbit hole leads," he mutters, awaiting the ring that might tether him to yet another nocturnal adventure. As the bar buzzes around him, he feels the familiar thrill of the hunt begin to stir, mingling with the burn of the liquor in his veins.
The bartender, shapely and curvy and top-heavy and a winning, practiced smile, designed to get men - and the occasional woman - buying as many drinks as possible while enjoying the ambiance provides a chipper, "Of course, sir," As she smoothly swings by to get a rfeill on the liquor that Lorenzo has been imbibing. The fading tump-tumping steps of the man who left the message and disappears into the chill night.
The call connects after two rings. A voice filters through, static-laced but sharp. The static might be accidental. Or it might be deliberate, a voice changer to render someone neutral and difficult to contact. Probably some mixture of the two. A breath, then, brisk: "You got the photo. Good. We dont have much time." A brief pause. "The GPS coordinates are active - we believe theyre still moving. Alone. If youre in, youd best get going now. You know how the forest doesnt wait for anyone."
A moment of silence, save for the distant hum of music in the club. The voice on the line exhales, something between relief and resignation. "Straight west off of here - Devilwood, out into the woods. Straight road. Take a left at the fourth turn."
The operator stays on the line, murmuring a new line of coordinates occasionally, leading into mist-clad woods.
With a final nod to the bartender, whose charm seemed designed to keep patrons firmly anchored to their seats, Lorenzo pockets his phone after ending the call. He stands, tossing back the last of his drink, the sharp burn of alcohol a stark contrast to the chill that seeps in from the night outside. The ambiance of The Succubus Club, once a solace, now feels more like a sirens call luring him away from the task at hand. But tonight, the woods call louder.
Slipping through the crowd, Lorenzo exits the club. The night air hits him with a rush, cool and crisp, laced with the impending threat of a storm. He breathes it in, letting the familiar thrill of a chase settle into his bones. His stride is purposeful as he heads towards his motorcycle parked a short distance away. Mounting it, he revs the engine, the sound slicing through the quiet of the night like a promise.
As he rides towards Devilwood, the static voice continues to guide him through his earpiece, each direction a breadcrumb leading him deeper into mystery. The road stretches before him, flanked by the looming silhouettes of trees that whisper of secrets and dangers hidden in their depths. Lorenzo's lips curve into a smirk; whatever lurks in the woods tonight, it would find him ready. After all, what's a little danger to a man who dances with devils by night?
Lorenzo is already on Devilwood. In fact, The Succubus squats directly on it, the warm maw of it depositing directly into the street, and a dalliance upon it with a motorcycle through the rows of parked cars and people who have already broken themselves on the wheel of excess to end up in gutters or stumbling across the road. They're not too hard to swerve around.
And once off that east-west paved road that parallels seedy establishments on one side and the shipping yard on the other, there's only dirt roads leading further west into the woods as the untamed and untended backroads become bumpier and bumpier.
Thorough it all in Lorenzo's ear there's the hiss of static in his ear that might also be the take of a breath.
"Left here." It murmurs at some point, cutting through the noise of his own engine with precise, clipped words. It's sharper now, as if easier to hear out in the wilds with less coverage - or maybe there's just less interfering noise from the club.
"Right," They say again, guiding down a path. And then: There they are, in the mist-shrouded darkness. It's just quiet. There's nothing familiar about this stretch of road. "They're dead ahead of you."
The engine of Lorenzo's motorcycle cuts through the silence of the misty woods, its roar a stark contrast to the eerie quiet around him. The guidance from the mysterious voice on the other end of the line continues, each instruction leading him further into the heart of the forest. The cool night air is thick with fog, turning the landscape into a ghostly tableau, perfect for the kind of mysteries that Lorenzo finds himself drawn to.
As he rounds the final bend, the voice cuts in one last time, its tone now carrying a note of urgency. Lorenzo slows, his eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of the missing person or whatever fate might have befallen them. The bike's headlight slices through the fog, casting long, creeping shadows that play tricks on the eyes.
Killing the engine, Lorenzo steps off the bike, his boots crunching softly on the gravel. The silence that follows is almost suffocating. He moves forward cautiously, senses heightened, every shadow and every rustle of leaves underfoot scrutinized. His hand rests casually near the weapon concealed beneath his shirt, ready for whatever might come.
"This is like finding a needle in a haunted haystack," Lorenzo mutters to himself, the humor dry in his voice. He didnt expect a clear path, not in his line of work, not with the sort of night that calls for meetings with shadows and whispers. But that's just fine; ambiguity is a game he's well versed in. The thrill of the unknown, the challenge it presents.
Silence. Mist clad-silence. Not a disturbance in the trees, a stir of the figures. Even the birds aren't chirping, though there's the occasional snap and crunch of a branch or rustle of the leaves. Stray cat? Wild animals? Birds? Hard to say out here. Maybe Lorenzo was brought to the wrong place? But there's nothing here. Just him, the mists, and the empty-ass dirt road in back. And then there's the suddeny, sharp, breathless scream. The THUNK of stone hitting flesh. The braying of a goat that might also be guttural laughter extending off into the darkness. Rustling, crunching. Movement. What he was going to do through the dense foliage, Lorenzo better act fast.
And the darkness parts for the Lorenzo when he peers closer: A satyr, chasing down a college-aged girl, the whirl of a sling and a SLAM as it knocks into flesh again, knocking her down and over, the creature bounding over towards her.
The sudden cacophony shatters the eerie silence, sharpening Lorenzo's focus to a razor's edge. He pulls his Glock 19, the familiar weight of the gun a cold comfort in his hand. His other hand grips the Ka-bar knife, ready for whatever comes hurtling out of the mist.
"Sounds like someones throwing a party without me," Lorenzo quips to the empty woods, his voice a mix of sarcasm and alert readiness. The scream, the unnatural laughter, the unsettling noises of movement, they paint a clear picture of chaos just beyond the visible, and he's all too familiar with chaos.
He moves silently, sneakers barely making a sound on the forest floor, eyes scanning through the dense fog. His every sense is heightened, attuned to the slightest whisper of threat. As he advances, the mist seems to swirl conspiratorially, as if it, too, is part of the night's macabre dance.
"Hey! Lorenzo shouts out, leveling his glock at the satyr and firing off a few rounds."
The sudden cacophony shatters the eerie silence, sharpening Lorenzo's focus to a razor's edge. He pulls his Glock 19, the familiar weight of the gun a cold comfort in his hand. His other hand grips the Ka-bar knife, ready for whatever comes hurtling out of the mist.
"Sounds like someones throwing a party without me," Lorenzo quips to the empty woods, his voice a mix of sarcasm and alert readiness. The scream, the unnatural laughter, the unsettling noises of movement, they paint a clear picture of chaos just beyond the visible, and he's all too familiar with chaos.
He moves silently, sneakers barely making a sound on the forest floor, eyes scanning through the dense fog. His every sense is heightened, attuned to the slightest whisper of threat. As he advances, the mist seems to swirl conspiratorially, as if it, too, is part of the night's macabre dance.
"Hey!" Lorenzo shouts out, leveling his glock at the satyr and firing off a few rounds. (fixed)
Mundane might meets supernatural magic - and the accuracy of the pistol scores true, causing the creature to recoil in pain. Though it hardly slows him - as all satyrs are - as he bounds after the woman, those nostrils flaring and the red eyes narrowed in confusion before alighting on Lorenzo. There's a raise of an obscenely muscled arm as the creature adjust his angle, cloven feet thudding across the grass and leaves of the floor, limb winding up as there's a windup and then a stone fired like a shotput over towards Lorenzo, the rock having enough force to slam into a tree and cause it to fracture around, forcing a duck - or some other supernatural defense as it calls out a threatening cry.
"Baaa-aaaah!"
Well, for a Satyr, at least.
Lorenzo As the stone smashes into the tree with enough force to splinter wood, Lorenzo ducks swiftly behind his woody cover, a smirk tugging at his lips despite the danger. "Really? Goat puns? You're kidding me," he mutters under his breath, the humor dark as he sizes up his opponent.
The forest around them becomes a primal arena, leaves rustling like the audience of some ancient, forgotten theatre. With his back pressed against the rough bark, Lorenzo peeks around, firing off another couple of shots aimed to kill, head, heart, anything to turn the things pronouns into was and were.
"Next time you want to rock and roll, hit a concert, not my head," he quips loudly, hoping to distract the satyr with his words as much as his bullets. He knows the creature is confused; its supernatural resilience meeting an unexpectedly armed and witty human, or well, vampire, but who's counting species at a time like this?
Lorenzo waits for the reaction, ready to move, his body tensed for either further attack or a swift evasion. The night air is thick with the musk of battle and the sharp scent of adrenaline, both his and the creature's.
Fortunately, someone has some sense. It's the woman. She has no quips, instead waiting for the goatman to get distracted by Lorenzo - and then promptly bouncing up and BOOKING it to the road. The creature darts his gaze between Lorenzo and her and finally deciding on the former while his arm and the stone whips around, bleeding already from several wounds - but the damn thing does still not go down, as the next stone catches Lorenzo in the shoulder with a CRACK. No broken bones, at least.
And the next bullet through the chest, causing a blooming wound, raising up his arm to hurl another terrible stone upon Lorenzo - only to suddenly collapse as adrenaline loses against organ failure, thumping into a heap.
The woman, sadly, is long gone, and this was a lone wastrel hoping to get a quick kidnapping here in the wilds. Or perhaps lost. Either way, Lorenzo stands the victor, and the night is his.
As the hulking form of the satyr crumples into the underbrush, Lorenzo winces, rubbing his bruised shoulder with a grimace. He casts a wary glance around the dimly lit forest, the mist parting like a curtain after the final act of a play. "All that for a night out in the woods," he murmurs sardonically, his tone dripping with a mix of relief and annoyance.
He steps away from the tree, holstering his gun and tucking the knife back into its sheath, his movements methodical and precise. Shaking his head slightly, Lorenzo mutters under his breath, "What, No thank you!? Next time, I'm sticking to the bar."
With one last dismissive glance at the fallen creature, he turns on his heel and makes his way back towards the road, the gravel crunching under his sneakers breaking the eerie silence of the night. The promise of civilization and a stiff drink propelling him forward, Lorenzo leaves the chaos of the forest behind, a smirk playing on his lips as he contemplates the absurdity of his "wild night out."
(Your target receives an anonymous tip about a secret meeting taking place between The Golden Shadow and a powerful demon. They are expected to infiltrate the meeting without being detected to gather information about their upcoming plans. They must be careful not to alert the group of their presence, as The Golden Shadow are not only ruthless, but they also possess powerful allies within the supernatural community. The encounter will test their stealth and deception skills, and they may even have to resort to combat if they are discovered.)
Seamus watches as Beth slinks out of the room and crosses his arms watching her go before looking back to Lilian, "She is going to wait by the car. She doesn't like to think about...." He waves his hand broadly, "All of this."
"Sure." Lilian comments with a sigh as she sinks down onto the couch, putting her feet out infront of her. "I just... I don't know I'm a bit disappointed.. Whim can possess you at any time you know? Watch you doing whatever.. seeing who you're texting."
"And who do I text? You, Lilah, Beth, and Siofra," Seamus says with a wave of his hand through the air. "Yeah yeah be disappointed in me, everyone else is," he says in a huff as he sits down next to Lilian.
"How important are these things anyway? But if you want me to not come around anymore, I guess that is just that," Seamus says defensively.
"No Seamus." Lilian murmurs, turning to rest a hand on his on the couch between them, "You're my friend. It's just... I don't know I wasn't expecting you to look for a cult... Or I would've invited you to mine. I don't usually deal with cults and such but given Malcolm is probably trying to kick me out of school I kindof have to to keep my sanctuary."
"I thought you were already suspended," Seamus says to Lilian with a slight squint. "I thought your cult was all the girls. Trix, Lenore, Ashe..." He shrugs, "Then found out that Ashe and Lenore are in a band." He shakes his head, "Yeah you need your sanctuary. Especially if Cas has something against you."
"I'll tell Kaven he's such a girlfriend." Lilian tells Seamus with a small tilt at the corner of her lips, "I just.. I don't know.. The Eidolon usually works closely with the leader... so for example if there were a full moon party.. Siofra would quickly know who is there as long as it slips into you... Can watch everything that happens.. And even affect people and speak to them. We'll just have to um.. blindfold you every full moon." She snorts softly at the idea.
"Yeah," Seamus says with a roll of his eyes. "I mean... I could have been bitten by a wolf. That would have arguably been worse." He purses his lips a moment then shrugs, "I don't know, Lily."
Lilian sighs softly as she places her hands in her lap, "I don't know either Seamus. I don't want to stop being your friend or having you over... but I will get... very upset if that leads to people around us getting hurt because Whim can see what's happening.."
"I thought everyone had Sanctuary though?" Seamus asks with a tilt of his head. "Like I can't kill you." He back peddles a moment, "I mean... you know what I mean. And you can't kill me. That is just the rules of living here right?" He pauses then and adds, "Yeah, yeah I get it."
"No... Humans get sanctuary because Venice pays for it but supernaturals must buy sanctuary. Wether it is from being in an organisation or a cult. And werewolves on full moons can severe injure people because their lunacy lets them tear through sanctuary...because they're not thinking correctly.." Lilian comments with a lift of her shoulder, "No doubt any gossip or stuff said infront of you if Whim is possessing you will feed itself straighttt back to Malcolm's ears too.."
"The only good thing I can see when Whim is possessing you. So I know he? She? It? isn't possessing you right now." Lilian adds softly.
"Huh. How can you tell when I am being posessed?" Seamus says with a shrug. "And She. Little kid. Weird little faeling."
"I can see when eiodolons and ghosts are around. Whim slid into you last night.. when I was in the shower.." Lilian comments softly, "That's how I knew you joined them.."
Seamus nods and swings his feet a minute falling silent. "Well," he says after a minute. "I should go reassure Beth that you didn't rip my spleen out through my nose, and that we are cool. And feel free to kick me out whenever." He pauses and looks around, perhaps intentionally breaking the fourth wall, "Unless there is anything else...."
"Seamus..." Lilian starts when Seamus gets to his feet and Lilian sighs, "You're my friend. I will accept you joining any cult it's just... I will not be happy if whim gets to spy on me for Malcolm alright?" Lilian looks down sadly for a moment.
"Lilian," Seamus says using her full name for maybe the first time in their relationship. "I get it. Honestly I think Malcolm just wants to be left alone, but, that isn't my circus to figure out. I'll do my best to make sure the streams don't cross."
"Seamusabery." Lilian tells Seamus with a tilt of her head, "I also want to be left alone by Malcolm. I'm not the one sending emails to the entire school about him. And my name is Lily." Lilian tells him with a flick of those violet lashes.
"I know," Seamus says with a grin. He falls slient a moment then looks around, slipping into detective mode, "Here is what I am trying to figure out though. You know I can't stand lose threads and I got two big lose threads from last night. Which do you want to talk through first? You or this job you voluntold me for that you missed?"
"Tell me about the job that I missed that I voluntold you about. I was honestly planning to go." Lilian tells Seamus with a sigh, "I really wish we had gathered earlier so I missed the operation to be honest." She adds ruefully crossing her ankles infront of her as she leans back, "What was it all about anyways? All I knew was a contact told me there was weird.. stuff on TV. Something something sadism porn that wasn't supposed to be there attached to some church?"
"That is one word," Seamus says with a roll of his eye. "First of Lanaeis and some chick were there. She seemed nice, but also Lorenzo. He gives me the creeps." He pauses and adds, "Definitely vampire. Anyway we get there and the whole town is just fucky like... Do you know your Milton?"
"Yes he is definitely a vampire. I believe Edith called him uh... wet behind the ears." Lilian comments as if not impressed, "He certainly seemed rather high when he came to visit us at the girls dorm the other day. Seeing things that weren't happening and weren't there." A shoulder is lifted, "I have no idea what Milton is... is that the town?"
"When I see things I assemble a team of the finest minds," Seamus says with a wag of his finger but then continues. "John Milton. Like the English Dante... We get there and this town looks like it someone read Milton before bed and had fever dream. People digging in pits, people eating so much they explod. Usual sin and punishment shit."
"Huh.... people having so much sex they have a heart attack from orgasms?" Lilian asks Seamus about the most obvious sin that everyone should induldge in. "Did you see many of those? Anyways.. and then?"
"We made our way to the church which was like the only place not covered in filth," Seamus says as he takes out his cigarettes and pats one into his hand. "Once inside it was like... Well... It was like a demon or vampire's wet dream. Blood everywhere. Bones everywhere. People having shat themselves in the pews and stuck there, dead."
"I'm surprised venice wasn't all over this." Lilian comments as she glances over at Seamus's cigerette but doesn't protest him lighting up. "What did you guys end up having to do?"
"Ah sorry. Forgot it will get in the cushions," Seamus says slipping the smoke behind his ear. "We got to the front of the church and opened a trap door jumped in."
He falls silent then as he considers all of what happened on that trip. "We all saw something different. I can tell you what I saw but it won't make sense. Barely makes sense to me." He purses his lips, "Then I passed out and woke up on the beach. If I hadn't been coming from that side I wouldn't have stumbled across you."
"Oh did you didn't defeat the eldritch horror that lives in the basement?" Lilian asks with a lift of her eyebrows towards Seamus, reaching out to pat his hand gently, "Thanks. I would've thought that alleyway would be more populated but I guess it was the dead of the night. I yelled help for a while but no one seemed to be able to hear." She sighs softly her lashes fluttering over those sapphire eyes.
Lilian says "What a town we live in huh?"
Seamus looks at his watch, "I need to go Lil." He says with a heavy sigh, "It's late." He frowns, "I am glad you are feeling better yeah?"
"You're alright. Thanks for bringing me home. And finding me yesterday." Lilian murmurs as she leans over and gives Seamus a big hug.
Seamus gives Lilian a big hug back, "Alright don't be a stranger yeah? We'll talk soon."
"Okay Seamus.. See you later." Lilian comments with a small smile.
The sky is a vast, endless black, empty of light, empty of comfort. The new moon hangs invisible above the world, its absence a hollow space in the heavens. The stars burn cold and distant, their pale glow offering no warmth against the deep winter night.
The air is sharp, biting with a frost that clings to every surface, turning breath to mist and ice to glass. The wind is still, yet the cold is relentless, seeping into bone, settling in the spaces between. Without the moon, the night feels heavier, deeperlike a void stretching over the earth, pressing down on everything beneath it.
Somewhere in the distance, a tree groans under the weight of ice. The sound is hollow, brittle, swallowed almost instantly by the vast and waiting dark.
The fire in the living room burns low, its embers pulsing like a dying heartbeat against the deep mahogany walls. The air is thick with the scent of jasmine and smoldering wood, a warmth that does little to chase away the chill seeping through the apartment. Outside, the March night presses against the windows, vast and unbroken, the moon casting pale light over the frost-laced glass.
The house is still, save for the occasional groan of settling wood, the quiet murmur of a draft slipping through unseen cracks after Seamus leaves. Most of its presumed other occupants have long since retired, seeking comfort beneath heavy blankets, but the lounge remains occupiedits solitude disturbed by the presence of a single figure. someone
Somewhere in the distance, beyond the walls of the house, a sound breaks the silencea soft rustling, a whisper of movement in the frozen dark. It is nothing, perhaps. Just the wind. Just the house.
Lilian's phone beeps - A long message sent through an encrypted chat by one of her contacts. Jonathon Kong.
I dont know where you are right now, but you need to hear this. I intercepted a transmission about the Golden Shadow. It wasnt easywhoever sent it was using high-level encryption, but I managed to grab a fragment before they wiped the signal. Devilwood Drive. Tonight. 1:27 AM. There is a meeting. The message contained a single phrase: "The Shadow will rise again. The cycle must complete." That sounds like initiation talk, maybe a ceremony or a transfer of power. Either way, theyre planning something, and soon.
I haven't heard anything from your brother yet.. but this might be your opportunity. JK.
The message ends there as the fire continues to crackle in the hearth.
The sky is a vast, endless black, empty of light, empty of comfort. The new moon hangs invisible above the world, its absence a hollow space in the heavens. The stars burn cold and distant, their pale glow offering no warmth against the deep winter night. The air is sharp, biting with a frost that clings to every surface, turning breath to mist and ice to glass. The wind is still, yet the cold is relentless, seeping into bone, settling in the spaces between. Without the moon, the night feels heavier, deeperlike a void stretching over the earth, pressing down on everything beneath it. Somewhere in the distance, a tree groans under the weight of ice. The sound is hollow, brittle, swallowed almost instantly by the vast and waiting dark. The fire in the living room burns low, its embers pulsing like a dying heartbeat against the deep mahogany walls. The air is thick with the scent of jasmine and smoldering wood, a warmth that does little to chase away the chill seeping through the apartment. Outside, the March night presses against the windows, vast and unbroken, the moon casting pale light over the frost-laced glass. The house is still, save for the occasional groan of settling wood, the quiet murmur of a draft slipping through unseen cracks after Seamus leaves. Most of its presumed other occupants have long since retired, seeking comfort beneath heavy blankets, but the lounge remains occupiedits solitude disturbed by the presence of a single figure. Somewhere in the distance, beyond the walls of the house, a sound breaks the silencea soft rustling, a whisper of movement in the frozen dark. It is nothing, perhaps. Just the wind. Just the house. Lilian's phone beeps - A long message sent through an encrypted chat by one of her contacts. Jonathon Kong. I dont know where you are right now, but you need to hear this. I intercepted a transmission about the Golden Shadow. It wasnt easywhoever sent it was using high-level encryption, but I managed to grab a fragment before they wiped the signal. Devilwood Drive. Tonight. 1:27 AM. There is a meeting. The message contained a single phrase: "The Shadow will rise again. The cycle must complete." That sounds like initiation talk, maybe a ceremony or a transfer of power. Either way, theyre planning something, and soon. I haven't heard anything from your brother yet.. but this might be your opportunity. JK. The message ends there as the fire continues to crackle in the hearth.
"Urg... Johnn." Lilian mutters as she looks down at her phone, setting it to one side while rubbing the back of her neck, "I don't think I can tonight." She shakes her head as she grabs it to send another text. "Sorry. Too busy." She sends the text to the man.
someone phone buzzes again. 'Lili
someone phone buzzes again. 'Lili
Lilian phone buzzes again. 'Lili
Lilian phone buzzes again. "Lili You dont get to walk away from this. Not this time. I know you think it can wait. I get ityoure tired, its late, and maybe you're done chasing ghosts. But I need you to really hear me now. That message I intercepted about the Golden Shadow? It wasnt noise. It was a live signal, layered with encryption Ive only seen on black-budget operationsdeep arcane masking, timed to self-wipe on transmission. I barely caught a scrap of it, and what I did catch "The Shadow will rise again. The cycle must complete. The vessel is ready. Revka holds the spark. All thats left is to sever the anchor. That phrase"sever the anchor"should mean nothing. But I saw your name flash across the back of my mind the moment I read it. Not your real one. His. I dont know if theyre talking about your brother. I want to be wrong. But I dont think I am. This isnt just a strategy meeting. Its ceremonial. Operative. Possibly a rite of passageor worse, a ritual transfer of power. That phrase, the cycle must complete, has the weight of doctrine. Cult language. Indoctrination, maybe. You know the kind. and this isnt just anyone. Its the Golden Shadow. You and I both know what that means. If theyre moving now, something is changing. Quietly. Permanently. No one else is watching them closely enough to see it. but you can. You were always the one who stayed five seconds longer in the fire than the rest of us. The one who didnt flinch at things others couldnt even look at. If theres even a sliver of truth in thisif your brother is caught up in whats happening tonightdont you want to know? You dont have to charge in, guns blazing. Im not asking you to fight. Just go. Watch. Listen. Get close enough to understand what theyre doing and why. We may not get another window like this. Ive embedded the coordinates in the original packet. Devilwood Drive. Black iron gate. Passphrase is Anima. Say it, and theyll open the door. If they dont improvise. Ive seen you do it before. Ill stay on a silent tap. If things go south, Ill be your shadow. But this has to be your call. Just dont tell me too busy. Not tonight. Not when this might be your only chance to bring the truth into the light. Please.
Sighing heavily as Lilian gets the message, Lilian reads it a few times before responding 'Fine'. Putting her phone into her bag, she leaves her apartment before turning into a raven. Black, glossy, the raven takes to the dark night sky, gliding the air currents as she flies towards devilwood drive.
Devilwood Drive lies silent beneath the weight of the moonless sky.@line@lineThe street is barely litonly one flickering lamppost casts a thin golden haze over the crooked sidewalks. The houses here are older, their bones creaking behind ivy-covered fences and windows gone to dust. There is no wind, yet the branches overhead seem to twitch and sway, as if disturbed by something unseen.@line@lineAt the far southern end of the street, where the pavement gives way to damp earth and tangled roots, stands a gate. Wrought iron, tall and intricate, its bars twisted into looping, almost thorn-like patterns. Black frost clings to itdarker than snow, more like soot frozen mid-sigh.@line@lineOn the gates surface, just above the rusted lock, a word has been burned into the iron in looping, scorched script:@line@lineAnima.@line@lineBeyond the gate, a narrow path winds into the woods, choked with mist and shadow. No lights. No sound. Only the faint scent of burning jasmine and something older, something buried.@line@lineThe moment Lilian draws near, the frost ripples.@line@lineNot meltingshivering. A ward senses her presence. Waiting. A breath held beneath the trees.@line@lineIt wants her to speak.
Lilian(corvus) is a bird. A raven. So she speaks in the only way she knows how. With a caw cawww. As she doesn't even bother stopping. The ward isn't stopping other animals is it? She glides around to figure it out, trying to clip the ward with her wings.
The air just beyond the gate isnt quite airit resists, like pushing against a thick curtain of heatless water. As Lilians wingtip brushes the boundary, something shivers.
Not a crack, not a breakjust a sudden, spectral ripple that flows out like a breath held too long.
The ward pulses once. Cold. Then warm. Then still.
It doesn't react violently. No alarm, no flare of arcane light. But the moment her feathers clip its edge, the mist on the other side begins to coil tighterlike a muscle flexing beneath the skin of the world.
Shes not stopped. Not repelled.@line@lineBut... shes felt.
The caw echoes sharper than it should, bouncing off the bare trees and fading into silence far too quickly, like the sound was swallowed rather than lost.
A heartbeat later, the gate creaks open behind herslowly, deliberately, though no hands touch it.
Ahead, the path curves into the fog. The smell of jasmine grows stronger, laced now with iron and ash.
Something has invited her in.
The raven caws softly at the invitation, her wings cutting through the fog as she flies down towards the house, staying to the shadows with her stealth and her size. Lilian(corvus) is after all, very small, light and rather stealthy. Moving around the house she tries to find a open window of some sort.
The fog curls around Lilians wings like reaching hands, clinging to her feathers as she weaves between bare branches and broken chimneys. The house ahead rises slowly out of the misttall, old, wrong in the way only forgotten places are. Its wood is blackened with rot, though no storm has touched it. Shutters hang half-closed like slitted eyes. The whole structure feels like it wants to be overlooked.
She circles in silence, shadow on shadow, until she finds ita window on the second floor, slightly cracked. No glow spills from within, no flicker of candle or hearth. But the scent hits her like a memory: jasmine, smoldering wood... and blood.
Landing on the ledge, the ravens claws find purchase on cold, damp stone. Peering in, she sees only darkness at firstbut her vision adjusts, bird-sharp, picking out outlines.
A parlor. Or something like it. Velvet-draped, ancient, choked with stillness. Figures move inside, slow and deliberate. At least threemaybe more. They wear cloaks that breathe like smoke. Their faces are hidden, but they lean over something on a central table, murmuring words that dont sound like any language she's heard spoken aloudwords that taste like ash and metal and distant thunder.
One of them stops suddenly. Turns. As if catching a scent.
They dont look at the window.
But Lilian feels the moment land in her chest like a stone: someone inside just became aware that something has entered the perimeter.
They dont know its her.
Not yet.
Being a vampire, Lilian(corvus) has no scent. Lilian(corvus) doesn't even breath. So the tiny raven stays still as a statue as she simply sits to listen to them, doing her best not to draw any attention to her as she hides in the bushes just underneath.
The stillness stretches. The window above remains slightly cracked, and the fog curls along the sill like its listening too. No movement. No breath. Only the quiet pulse of something dark and deliberate unfolding within.
Below, the raven waits. Motionless. Hidden. The mist doesnt seem to notice her now, and the wards breath has grown still.
Inside, voices risenot loud, but clearer now. A cadence more than a conversation. A chant spoken in turns by three distinct tones: one smooth as oil, one cracked with age, and one cold enough to frost glass.
The vessel remains intact.
The mark accepted the seal.
The line is thinning.
We are close.
A pause. Then another voicenot one of the three. This one whispers. Soft, feminine, unsettlingly familiar.
And what of the anchor?
Silence follows, heavy and long. Then the older voice answers: He drifts. Still dreaming. Still... resisting.
A shape passes the windowa tall figure cloaked in dark velvet, the edge of their mask glinting like bone. They do not look out.
The whispering voice returns, gentler now, almost amused: He wont wake. Not until she calls him.
A rustle of fabric. The scrape of something sharp dragged along wood. A scent of scorched flowers rides the air for an instant.
Then she must be allowed to call.
Somewhere deep in the house, a bell chimes once. Hollow. Faint. As if from another roomor another dream.
Inside the parlor, the gathering begins to move.
Raven's can't frown. But if Lilian(corvus) could, Lilian(corvus) would be. Hopping high uper on the bush she's on, Lilian(corvus) chances a peek into the parlbor
Raven's can't frown. But if Lilian(corvus) could, Lilian(corvus) would be. Hopping high uper on the bush she's on, Lilian(corvus) chances a peek into the parlor to see where everyone was moving to.
The figures are no longer seated. They move in practiced silence, gliding across the parlor like shadows drawn toward gravity. One by one, they vanish through a narrow door set into the back wallpreviously hidden behind a bookcase, now open just wide enough to glimpse stairs descending into deeper dark.
The air changes. Thicker. Older.
One of them pauses at the threshold. Turns. The hood slips just slightly.
Its a woman. Pale, severe. Her features are unfamiliaruntil Lilian sees the charm dangling from her wrist. A woven silver band. The same one her brother wore before he disappeared.
The woman looks toward the window. Not at Lilian, not exactly. But near enough.
Her lips dont move. But Lilian hears a whisper, laced with rust and jasmine:
Youre already part of this.
Then the door swings shut.
The room beyond goes black.
A heartbeat later, a slow pulse of power ripples through the foundation of the houseso subtle it could almost be imagined. And then... nothing.
Only the creak of old wood, and the hiss of a fire that no longer burns.
Frowning given the ring on her brothers finger.. she got with his ashes..@me waits for a few minutes to see if anything else happens..
The house does not stir again. No sound from the stairs. No flicker of light from the parlor.
But the fog presses closer, soft and insistent, curling like a whisper around the edges of the window frame.
Something shifts.
For a momentjust one, breathless instantthe charm on the woman's wrist reappears in Lilians memory. Only this time, it's not woven silver. It's black. Braided hair. A thread of violet stone at its center.
The same charm Lilian buried with her brother. The one that shouldnt exist anymore.
A single drop of condensation slides down the glass. It traces a long curve, then branches at the endsplitting like a root. Or a vein.
The wind doesnt move. But the silence feels aware.
Watching. Waiting. As if whatever lies below the house is listening, now that Lilian has lingered too long.
And then
The charm is gone again. Just a trick of the eye. Just fog and memory.
The parlor remains still. Utterly, impossibly still.
Trying away with a flutter of her wings, Lilian heads towards the college, soft caws floating through the air as she contemplates what she had just seen.