Encounterlogs
Miless Odd Encounter Sr Leo 240130
Miles found himself alone in the dimly lit breakroom, deciding to alleviate his mounting stress with a brief nap, only to awaken in a darker, more ominous version of the room. The silence outside was unsettling, and the flickering lights failed him, leaving him engulfed in darkness. Attempts to illuminate the environment with his phone only heightened his fear as echoes of his own voice morphed into an unsettling mimicry, followed by the chilling sound of countless skittering legs. A creeping dread emerged as he discovered the horrifying source, The Brood That Walks— a monstrous entity cloaked in robes teeming with spiders and wielding a menacing sword, advancing upon him with echoes of desperate pleas from his colleagues.
In a panic, Miles fled from the creature, but the armory where salvation might lie was back past the haunting figure. Torn between the safety his car promised outside and the call of duty, Miles found resolve within to confront the abomination. Armed with nothing more than a broken mop stick, his return was marked by an ill-fated encounter with a trophy case. The shattering glass drew the creature closer, culminating in a ghastly attack that felt all too real. The Brood's sword pierced Miles, and as the spiders' whispers and bites engulfed him, he awoke in the breakroom, heart racing, only to face the raillery of his colleagues. Despite their laughter, a strange sense of validation washed over Miles, as a mysterious voice deemed him "worthy," and sinister clues of the ordeal manifested in spiders fleeing into the night.
(Miles's odd encounter(SRLeo):SRLeo)
[Mon Jan 29 2024]
In the breakroom
Dim, flickering light from the worn, overhead fixtures casts a subdued ambiance over this modest space, emphasizing the well-worn, mismatched furniture and the cluttered countertops that bear the traces of countless shared meals and brief respites. The distant murmur of casual conversations and the occasional clinking of ceramic mugs intermingle with the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the lingering scent of homemade meals, creating a comforting, communal atmosphere within the secluded enclave. The faded, peeling paint on the walls and the scuffed linoleum flooring speak to the room's humble origins.
It is night, about 30F(-1C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's snowing outside. There is a waning gibbous moon.
(A powerful witch in town has decided to test your character's worthiness by sending them into a dreamscape that represents their deepest fears. They must confront and overcome these fears to wake up and prove themselves to the witch.)
It'd been an interesting evening, at the least. After Miles had run into a coworker half-naked in the snow, the second underdressed woman in the cold in as many days, he'd made his way back to the Sherriff's office so helpfully hosted by the White Oak Campus. Sitting down in the breakroom, he sighs out and rubs at the back of his neck, easing some of the tension there.
Ahhh... that massage Miles gives himself is reaally what he needed after this evening. What an evening. Women, am I right? Regardless... as he rubs at the back of his neck... laying down doesn't seem like a bad idea. Just a short little nap. ...He drifts off into sleep... only for moments later to wake up with a jolt. The lights are dimmer than they should be. Flickering on and off.
It's not a great look, really, falling asleep on your second day of the job - thankfully, it's late enough that no one else seems to be around, and before he knows it Miles had drifted off on the surface of the table. The jolt of wakefulness serves to undo the attempt to massage away any tension, and twings his neck painfully, "Oh, come on.." The man mutters under his breath, only then noticing the dimming of the lights.
What's more is that the world outside has gone completely silent. No longer can he hear the hustle and bustle of his busy compatriots outside of the break-room. The lights continue to flicker for a little bit. Then they completely go off. Leaving Miles alone. In the dark.
Well, that's less than ideal, to the say the least. The man blinks several times, as if the sheer act of doing so might bring the lights back on, and obviously - this achieves little. "Hello?" Miles calls out then, sliding his chair back and raising to his feet as he fishes his phone out of his pocket and attempts to turn on the flashlight app.
"Hello?" "Helllo?" "Hello?" There's an echo. But the last echo... isn't an echo. There's an almost inhuman sound to it. Still in the sound of Miles's voice, but there's something uncanny about it. Something he can't quite put a finger on. Chittering noises can be heard. Legs... millions of them. Clicking around in the dark. He finds the flashlight app on his phone, easily enough. Shining it around would reveal no signs of life.
A sinking feel takes root in the pit of Miles's stomach, until he manages to get the light on and flash it around himself revealing.. nothing. There's a weird sense of relief in this, but it's still tempered with concern. While he didn't exactly want to see some echo monster with far too many legs, the unknown of the whole situation still make it pretty unnerving, "Alright, if this is some hazing? It's very funny, well done. You've got me suitably freaked out."
"Freaked out." Repeats the whispers in the dark. "Freaked out." "Funny." Then silence. Followed by an ear-piecing shriek somewhere behind him. Turning around... turning around would reveal a humanoid figure, dressed in a long, tattered black robe. There's one problem, chief.
That ain't no human.
There are spiders. Hundreds of them. Thousands. Millions... it's hard to say. But they all shriek in the voices of Miles' companions: "Help us." "Save us!" "Get us out of here!" Things like that. Sometimes different sentences are said at the same time in a cacophony. Sometimes one thing is said all in one voice. All of the time it's the same sentiment: a cry for help. The Brood That Walks isn't just wielding robes and millions of tiny fangs and mandibles, no, in one hand... it wields a lengthy, wickedly shard long-sword. It cocks it's head as the spiders clamber around in the robes. Before starting to advance on Miles.
*wickedly sharp.
Oh.
Oh dear.
There's a split second that feels like an eternity as the visual feedback from Miles's eyes makes it's way through his grey matter. It takes a few miliseconds for it to quite click into place exactly what he's seeing. His eyes widen. His mouth opens. A strangled cry escapes him, and he reaches for a service weapon that he hasn't gotten around to collecting yet.
When he comes up empty, frozenness turns into movement as he turns and darts away - darting over the breakroom table and toward the door, "No, no! No!"
When in doubt. It's time to improv- oooooorr Miles can head for the door. As he leaves, the Brood That Walks Keeps Advancing, slowly, methodically. It's sword dragging along the ground as it lets out another shriek worthy of one of the Nazgul. Despairing words call out from within: "Don't leave us!" "Stay!" "Please, God, have mercy!"
But out the door Miles goes, to the world outside. Another shriek alerts Miles to the fact that the creature is gaining ground.
God is dead, and whatever this thing is clearly killed it.
Miles's bravely runs, and runs away as quick as he can! He darts down the corridors of the Institute, half-lost in his blind panic. Anything that he passes is tossed back and weaponized as he tries to slow the approaching creature, "Help! Help! Fucking jesus!" The Commonwealthian blurts out, voice screeching. I mean, sure, he's a deputy Sheriff, but there's a big difference between handling a drunk driver and a robe full of Nazgul spiders.
Alas. Nothing that Miles finds can quite function as a weapon. Damn those super strict Christians. Luckily... the Sheriff's Department's armory is somewhere in here... and when Miles hits a certain crossroads... it's gone eerily silent. No more shrieking. No more screams for help. Just the dark and Miles. And nobody to answer his own screams.
Silence.
As he studies the signs pointing out which rooms are where, there's a building dread in the pits of his stomach. The armory... is back there. With that creature.
It takes Miles a few moments to realize that he isn't being chased anymore, and he leans against a wall to catch his breath. The man sucks in air as his eyes dart about, and eventually land upon the signs. The dawning realization has him cursing internally once more. "Oh come on, man. Come on." He further complains, plucking up his phone and trying one last vain time to call for help.
With the line mostly dead, Miles has little choice but to- well, actually. He pauses to glance over towards the other door. I mean, he could just leave. Wander out, his car is right there..
..but alas, he came to this town to help confront monsters not to only run from them. Though, running is definitely allowed from time to time. He tries to steel himself, slowling his breathing and setting his jaw as he turns back the way he'd come, and starts to creep slowly closer.
Miles could totally get out the door. It's right there. Safety. He hears the noises outside of the street cars whizzing buy. People chattering.
Meanwhile... somewhere deep within the darkness. The Brood That Walks waits. He can hear the chitters, and the clicking of millions of feet. Beckoning him further within. Taunting him.
"Ah, christ. Ah, Jesus. Ah, christ." Nearly every one of Miles's footfalls is accompanied by a muttering under his breath as he creeps back towards the terrible sounds. And they really are terrible. They put his hair on end, making the skin at the back of his neck itch and twitch. Yet, he forces himself forward, step after step, peering around corners carefully as he moves towards the armory.
Miles is as quiet as an elephant tromping about on a floor made of glass. Speaking of glass... Miles bumps into a mop with enough force to send it crashing into a trophy case. Which makes an even louder noise than Miles himself has been making. A beat passes by... two... three... four...
Miles freezes in place, eyes widen, mouth thinned into a line. He barely breathes. He barely moves. He just waits to see if anything heard.
Then there's that sound of the sword dragging along the walls. Sshhhhhiiiiiing. But Miles just can't see where the creature is coming from yet. It echoes, so it's hard to tell. Little girls' voices break out from the Brood That Walks: Ring around the rosy... ashes... ashes... we all... fall...
As if the spider-robe-monster wasn't scary enough, now there are children singing. Miles mutters a string of curses under his breath before scooping up the mop and breaking the, well, mop-end off of it. At least he's got a stick now. With that sound dragging across the floor and through the man's ears he breaks into a tittering little jog once more, darting closer and closer toward the armory with building anxiety.
Miles continues his advance, stick in hand... the voices having stopped suddenly. When he feels cold steel hitting him from behind. No armor. Nothing to stop it. The metal going straight through his chest, lifting him up off of his feet. The little girl's voice right in his ear as the chittering of the swarm-song. "...Down." Then they're all upon him, erupting in a cloud, biting. Stinging. Feasting.
Only for Miles to wake back up. Safe and sound in the breakroom, with one of the deputies shaking Miles awake. "Hey, c'mon, new guy. So unprofessional."
Miles doesn't wake up with a stoic jerk, no, he wakes up with a scream of terror - rolling backwards in his chair, even as the other deputy shakes him awake. Arms and legs jolt out, scrambling this way and that until he tumbles backwards onto the floor with a crash! "AAaaah!" The man blurts out, flinching and raising his arms protectively - until his brain starts to catch up, and embarrassment sinks in.
"Christ!" The deputy jumps a little. Before letting out a short laugh. "This is our new special deputy, people." Shaking his head, the man turns around, while the other cops laugh to themselves. But for all of that terror. Mockery. Miles feels... strengthened: A woman's voice entering his head: "Worthy." But that had to be his imagination, right?
Meanwhile. In the Nightmare... a spider falls from the back of Miles' head. Then another... and another, all of them skittering off into the darkness.
In a panic, Miles fled from the creature, but the armory where salvation might lie was back past the haunting figure. Torn between the safety his car promised outside and the call of duty, Miles found resolve within to confront the abomination. Armed with nothing more than a broken mop stick, his return was marked by an ill-fated encounter with a trophy case. The shattering glass drew the creature closer, culminating in a ghastly attack that felt all too real. The Brood's sword pierced Miles, and as the spiders' whispers and bites engulfed him, he awoke in the breakroom, heart racing, only to face the raillery of his colleagues. Despite their laughter, a strange sense of validation washed over Miles, as a mysterious voice deemed him "worthy," and sinister clues of the ordeal manifested in spiders fleeing into the night.
(Miles's odd encounter(SRLeo):SRLeo)
[Mon Jan 29 2024]
In the breakroom
Dim, flickering light from the worn, overhead fixtures casts a subdued ambiance over this modest space, emphasizing the well-worn, mismatched furniture and the cluttered countertops that bear the traces of countless shared meals and brief respites. The distant murmur of casual conversations and the occasional clinking of ceramic mugs intermingle with the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the lingering scent of homemade meals, creating a comforting, communal atmosphere within the secluded enclave. The faded, peeling paint on the walls and the scuffed linoleum flooring speak to the room's humble origins.
It is night, about 30F(-1C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's snowing outside. There is a waning gibbous moon.
(A powerful witch in town has decided to test your character's worthiness by sending them into a dreamscape that represents their deepest fears. They must confront and overcome these fears to wake up and prove themselves to the witch.)
It'd been an interesting evening, at the least. After Miles had run into a coworker half-naked in the snow, the second underdressed woman in the cold in as many days, he'd made his way back to the Sherriff's office so helpfully hosted by the White Oak Campus. Sitting down in the breakroom, he sighs out and rubs at the back of his neck, easing some of the tension there.
Ahhh... that massage Miles gives himself is reaally what he needed after this evening. What an evening. Women, am I right? Regardless... as he rubs at the back of his neck... laying down doesn't seem like a bad idea. Just a short little nap. ...He drifts off into sleep... only for moments later to wake up with a jolt. The lights are dimmer than they should be. Flickering on and off.
It's not a great look, really, falling asleep on your second day of the job - thankfully, it's late enough that no one else seems to be around, and before he knows it Miles had drifted off on the surface of the table. The jolt of wakefulness serves to undo the attempt to massage away any tension, and twings his neck painfully, "Oh, come on.." The man mutters under his breath, only then noticing the dimming of the lights.
What's more is that the world outside has gone completely silent. No longer can he hear the hustle and bustle of his busy compatriots outside of the break-room. The lights continue to flicker for a little bit. Then they completely go off. Leaving Miles alone. In the dark.
Well, that's less than ideal, to the say the least. The man blinks several times, as if the sheer act of doing so might bring the lights back on, and obviously - this achieves little. "Hello?" Miles calls out then, sliding his chair back and raising to his feet as he fishes his phone out of his pocket and attempts to turn on the flashlight app.
"Hello?" "Helllo?" "Hello?" There's an echo. But the last echo... isn't an echo. There's an almost inhuman sound to it. Still in the sound of Miles's voice, but there's something uncanny about it. Something he can't quite put a finger on. Chittering noises can be heard. Legs... millions of them. Clicking around in the dark. He finds the flashlight app on his phone, easily enough. Shining it around would reveal no signs of life.
A sinking feel takes root in the pit of Miles's stomach, until he manages to get the light on and flash it around himself revealing.. nothing. There's a weird sense of relief in this, but it's still tempered with concern. While he didn't exactly want to see some echo monster with far too many legs, the unknown of the whole situation still make it pretty unnerving, "Alright, if this is some hazing? It's very funny, well done. You've got me suitably freaked out."
"Freaked out." Repeats the whispers in the dark. "Freaked out." "Funny." Then silence. Followed by an ear-piecing shriek somewhere behind him. Turning around... turning around would reveal a humanoid figure, dressed in a long, tattered black robe. There's one problem, chief.
That ain't no human.
There are spiders. Hundreds of them. Thousands. Millions... it's hard to say. But they all shriek in the voices of Miles' companions: "Help us." "Save us!" "Get us out of here!" Things like that. Sometimes different sentences are said at the same time in a cacophony. Sometimes one thing is said all in one voice. All of the time it's the same sentiment: a cry for help. The Brood That Walks isn't just wielding robes and millions of tiny fangs and mandibles, no, in one hand... it wields a lengthy, wickedly shard long-sword. It cocks it's head as the spiders clamber around in the robes. Before starting to advance on Miles.
*wickedly sharp.
Oh.
Oh dear.
There's a split second that feels like an eternity as the visual feedback from Miles's eyes makes it's way through his grey matter. It takes a few miliseconds for it to quite click into place exactly what he's seeing. His eyes widen. His mouth opens. A strangled cry escapes him, and he reaches for a service weapon that he hasn't gotten around to collecting yet.
When he comes up empty, frozenness turns into movement as he turns and darts away - darting over the breakroom table and toward the door, "No, no! No!"
When in doubt. It's time to improv- oooooorr Miles can head for the door. As he leaves, the Brood That Walks Keeps Advancing, slowly, methodically. It's sword dragging along the ground as it lets out another shriek worthy of one of the Nazgul. Despairing words call out from within: "Don't leave us!" "Stay!" "Please, God, have mercy!"
But out the door Miles goes, to the world outside. Another shriek alerts Miles to the fact that the creature is gaining ground.
God is dead, and whatever this thing is clearly killed it.
Miles's bravely runs, and runs away as quick as he can! He darts down the corridors of the Institute, half-lost in his blind panic. Anything that he passes is tossed back and weaponized as he tries to slow the approaching creature, "Help! Help! Fucking jesus!" The Commonwealthian blurts out, voice screeching. I mean, sure, he's a deputy Sheriff, but there's a big difference between handling a drunk driver and a robe full of Nazgul spiders.
Alas. Nothing that Miles finds can quite function as a weapon. Damn those super strict Christians. Luckily... the Sheriff's Department's armory is somewhere in here... and when Miles hits a certain crossroads... it's gone eerily silent. No more shrieking. No more screams for help. Just the dark and Miles. And nobody to answer his own screams.
Silence.
As he studies the signs pointing out which rooms are where, there's a building dread in the pits of his stomach. The armory... is back there. With that creature.
It takes Miles a few moments to realize that he isn't being chased anymore, and he leans against a wall to catch his breath. The man sucks in air as his eyes dart about, and eventually land upon the signs. The dawning realization has him cursing internally once more. "Oh come on, man. Come on." He further complains, plucking up his phone and trying one last vain time to call for help.
With the line mostly dead, Miles has little choice but to- well, actually. He pauses to glance over towards the other door. I mean, he could just leave. Wander out, his car is right there..
..but alas, he came to this town to help confront monsters not to only run from them. Though, running is definitely allowed from time to time. He tries to steel himself, slowling his breathing and setting his jaw as he turns back the way he'd come, and starts to creep slowly closer.
Miles could totally get out the door. It's right there. Safety. He hears the noises outside of the street cars whizzing buy. People chattering.
Meanwhile... somewhere deep within the darkness. The Brood That Walks waits. He can hear the chitters, and the clicking of millions of feet. Beckoning him further within. Taunting him.
"Ah, christ. Ah, Jesus. Ah, christ." Nearly every one of Miles's footfalls is accompanied by a muttering under his breath as he creeps back towards the terrible sounds. And they really are terrible. They put his hair on end, making the skin at the back of his neck itch and twitch. Yet, he forces himself forward, step after step, peering around corners carefully as he moves towards the armory.
Miles is as quiet as an elephant tromping about on a floor made of glass. Speaking of glass... Miles bumps into a mop with enough force to send it crashing into a trophy case. Which makes an even louder noise than Miles himself has been making. A beat passes by... two... three... four...
Miles freezes in place, eyes widen, mouth thinned into a line. He barely breathes. He barely moves. He just waits to see if anything heard.
Then there's that sound of the sword dragging along the walls. Sshhhhhiiiiiing. But Miles just can't see where the creature is coming from yet. It echoes, so it's hard to tell. Little girls' voices break out from the Brood That Walks: Ring around the rosy... ashes... ashes... we all... fall...
As if the spider-robe-monster wasn't scary enough, now there are children singing. Miles mutters a string of curses under his breath before scooping up the mop and breaking the, well, mop-end off of it. At least he's got a stick now. With that sound dragging across the floor and through the man's ears he breaks into a tittering little jog once more, darting closer and closer toward the armory with building anxiety.
Miles continues his advance, stick in hand... the voices having stopped suddenly. When he feels cold steel hitting him from behind. No armor. Nothing to stop it. The metal going straight through his chest, lifting him up off of his feet. The little girl's voice right in his ear as the chittering of the swarm-song. "...Down." Then they're all upon him, erupting in a cloud, biting. Stinging. Feasting.
Only for Miles to wake back up. Safe and sound in the breakroom, with one of the deputies shaking Miles awake. "Hey, c'mon, new guy. So unprofessional."
Miles doesn't wake up with a stoic jerk, no, he wakes up with a scream of terror - rolling backwards in his chair, even as the other deputy shakes him awake. Arms and legs jolt out, scrambling this way and that until he tumbles backwards onto the floor with a crash! "AAaaah!" The man blurts out, flinching and raising his arms protectively - until his brain starts to catch up, and embarrassment sinks in.
"Christ!" The deputy jumps a little. Before letting out a short laugh. "This is our new special deputy, people." Shaking his head, the man turns around, while the other cops laugh to themselves. But for all of that terror. Mockery. Miles feels... strengthened: A woman's voice entering his head: "Worthy." But that had to be his imagination, right?
Meanwhile. In the Nightmare... a spider falls from the back of Miles' head. Then another... and another, all of them skittering off into the darkness.