Encounterlogs
Nicos Odd Encounter Sr Irma 241005
In a night shrouded by mystery and uncertainty, Nico finds himself waking up in a grim, underground storage room, handcuffed to a pipe. The environment is eerie, with a single dim light providing minimal visibility, and the air filled with the metallic scent of damp, rusting metal. Surrounded by the relics of abandonment, under the watchful eye of shadows cast by an unreliable light source, Nico struggles against his restraints. Realizing the pipe's fragility compared to the handcuffs, he decides to make his escape by breaking free. After a tense and determined effort, Nico finally manages to snap the pipe, ignoring the admonitions coming from a suddenly appeared old-time radio warning him against escaping. Despite the voice's protests, Nico chooses to flee, venturing down a dim corridor that leads him back to the streets of Haven, escaping the clutches of a mysterious captor who wished to keep him for some unknown game.
Meanwhile, Cherie, afflicted by the mundanity of her new life in Haven and in desperate need of coffee, sets off towards Rosie's diner. On her way, her curiosity is piqued by a strange gathering in the woods. Approaching the scene, she uncovers a group of cloaked figures enacting a chilling ritual around an ancient stone altar. At the heart of this ceremony lies a young girl, bound and gagged, with the cultists focused on a ritual involving the Sapphire Martyrs' symbol. Without consideration for her safety, Cherie decides to intervene, aiming to disrupt the ceremony and save the girl. Her plan to snatch the sapphire, the ritual's apparent focal point, goes awry when the gem remains immovable. Now, facing the immediate threat of the cultists armed with daggers and intent on incorporating Cherie into their dark ritual, the stakes escalate as she finds herself in a dire situation with the need for swift and decisive action.
(Nico's odd encounter(SRIrma):SRIrma)
[Fri Oct 4 2024]
In Rosie's Diner
Filled with nostalgia, this diner is a step into the past - to a time of swing and jive, and one would claim, simpler times. The walls are cream toned, letting the pink and turquoise neon striping along the ceiling give the space more vibrant coloring. Pieces of kitsch and memorabilia are posted here and there, providing character and retro style.
Behind the counter, cooks work the main line, allowing customers to watch as their meals are prepped. A soda fountain and a glass domed freezer is set away from the heat, where the soda jerk creates speciality floats, sundaes, malts and shakes.
Meanwhile, waitresses on roller skates gracefully take orders, their uniforms chock full of bling.
It is noon, about 58F(14C) degrees, and the sky is covered by grey clouds. The area is wreathed in mist.
(Your target is abducted in their sleep, waking up alone in a locked room. They need to either escape or draw attention to them so their allies can come and provide assistance.
)
Wherever Nico is supposed to be ... it's not here. When he wakes up he is groggy af, and there's the sensation of something on his wrist ... what is that? Is that handcuffs? Is he chained to a pipe? Yep, and OH NOPE. This is not a good situation, not at all.
Looking around, the underground storage room is dimly lit, with only a single flickering bulb casting long, distorted shadows across the damp concrete floor. The walls are lined with rusted metal pipes, some thick and others thin, twisting in and out of view like a network of veins. A constant, rhythmic dripping echoes throughout the space, the source unseen but growing louder with each step. The air is thick and cool, carrying the faint metallic smell of water and old iron. Patches of dark mold cling to the corners where the walls meet the floor, their shapes strange and unsettling. In the distance, a series of small, rusting shelves hold forgotten and dust-covered boxes, their contents hidden beneath layers of grime and neglect. Water pools in shallow puddles, reflecting the weak light as it drips from the pipes, creating a sound that seems almost too deliberate, too steady. The ceiling is low, with sections of the pipes running just overhead, occasionally groaning and creaking as if under pressure. Every sound is amplified in the stillness, from the dripping water to the occasional hiss of air escaping the pipes. The room feels abandoned but alive, as if something unseen is watching from the dark corners.
Nico comes to slowly, gradually, but tenses as he tries and fails to move his arms around. Glancing around slowly, trying not to give away his wakeful state, he lets out a quiet, almost inaudible sigh. Yep. Here the fuck we go again. Slowly, careful, he twists his wrists, trying to check the integrity of the cuffs. Meanwhile, his eyes peer around into the gloom, before rolling as his phone beeps.
Well, goals, right? Get out of handcuffs! They don't seem to be very high-quality, in someone' opinion. How expect is he in handcuffology? Well not really, but they seem rusted, and as they scrape along one of the pipes with what can only be described as an awful, attention-grabbing noise there's the sound of tortured metal.
That sound is really disturbing. If there's someone down here, it might draw their attention, but on the other hand it does seem like while the cuffs may not break ... the pipes might. There's a weak spot in the pipe that someone is chained to. If he was to just pull on it, hard, he might be able to snap it.
Well, goals, right? Get out of handcuffs! They don't seem to be very high-quality, in Nico's opinion. How expect is he in handcuffology? Well not really, but they seem rusted, and as they scrape along one of the pipes with what can only be described as an awful, attention-grabbing noise there's the sound of tortured metal.
That sound is really disturbing. If there's someone down here, it might draw their attention, but on the other hand it does seem like while the cuffs may not break ... the pipes might. There's a weak spot in the pipe that Nico is chained to. If he was to just pull on it, hard, he might be able to snap it.
Nico presses his lips together tightly, biding his time for the moment. Glancing around, he tries to peer through the gloom, searching for anything resembling a way out. A glimmer of light, a movement of air... Something. Seriously, tries to meet up with the same girl for a second time, and gets kidnapped *again*? So, when in doubt... Escape, evade, and get the fuck out.
Haven is fucked up, isn't it? The drip, drip, drip, drip ... it's maddening. It doesn't look like there's a lock and the door at least. That's something. They're trusting rusty handcuffs and a rustier pipe to keep Nico here.
Of course, that begs the big question, right? Why ... Why Nico What did he do? What does whoever put him here want?
As Nico searches the room with eyes (on account of hands still being tied to the pipe) something attracts his attention. It's an old radio, really out of place, like a wood-cabinet 1930s kind of thing. This is not something that he just overlooked before. One doesn't just overlook a 1930s wood cabinet radio. Nope: this wasn't there, and now it is there, and that is the sort of sudden, mysterious appearance that tends to trigger the roller-coaster drop of someone's stomach in their throat.
Nico presses his lips together, eying the radio warily. Yep, it's gonna be one of those days. Further heightening his resolve and drive to be better than what he is, just one more mark to convince him why he's making the right call. But, in the moment? When in doubt, run. So, flexing his arms, he attempts to bust the pipe and free himself.
The radio crackles to life. "Don't try to escape," comes a cheerio, almost twee voice like some old-time 1960s British television show. "The game is about to begin." Uh-oh. That doesn't seem good. "We'll have someone by to release you in just a tiff."
As Nico pulls on the pipe, it begins to squeal, but it's not breaking yet.
Nico casts a glance towards the radio, and more accurately the voice within, replying with a seemingly unimpressed drawl. "See, I wouldn't, but I've got to be honest with you? Being the one wearing cuffs really isn't my thing. Rather that be someone else, hey?" With that, he jerks on the pipe again, this time driving his bodyweight forward with it.
CRACK! There's a squeal of metal ... and then Nico is free! The pipe breaks, just like promised. The radio frazzles into view again. "What are you doing?" the voice demands, upset, but Nico can move, now, for the door. "Stop where you are! It's not time for the games to start!"
Nico weighs his options for the briefest of seconds. Listen to the strange radio voice who in his head sounds a little like the Radio Demon from Hazbin... Or run like hell, and hope for the best. The latter worked for him last time... So time for round two, electric boogaloo. When in doubt? Run like hell. He makes his way towards the door, searching for a handle and leaning against it in the same movement, trying to figure out if it's a push or a pull.
It's a pull ... pull, and then a dim corridor beyond. The sound of rushing waters suggests that Nico is near the channel of underground water that runs beneath Haven.
Nico could stop and consider, maybe trying to figure out exactly where he is? Sure... But, looping back to the overriding thought here, it's probably better to run. So, run he does, straight down the dim corridor, heedless of the risks.
And soon enough Nico is out ... he makes it out, into a familiar staircase to bring him up to Hart Avenue, not far away from Rosie's. Behind him, some plaintive voice ... "Why won't you play?"
(The characters stumble upon an eerie gathering in the woods. Cloaked figures stand in a circle around an ancient stone altar, lit by the cold light of the moon. They are chanting in an incomprehensible language, their voices blending into an eerie chorus that echoes through the silence of the night. Upon closer inspection, the characters recognize the symbol of the Sapphire Martyrs etched into the stone altar.)
Cherie has a lightly bleary-eyed, distant expression on her face as she walks the sidewalks away from the trailer park towards Rosie's diner. She hasn't bought a new coffee maker since arriving in Haven, and so Rosie's is the only source of life for the woman. Cheap, and not the worst coffee for miles. Rubbing her temples, she murmurs to herself. "Just a mile, Cherise. Then you can be a person, proper."
To the outside world, Haven is a sleepy town on the shore of the Atlantic Ocean, a town where not much happens at all. The weather of this afternoon is starting to cool down as fall is well on its way. Thin wisps of clouds drift overhead leaving it an overall nice day. Traffic and the bustle of the town just a few roads to the east can be heard as people go to and from work as many towns have. All of this is normal, but in this town normal is never normal for long. Missing several meals during this day, Cherie's stomach grumbles as the day starts progressing towards the time for an early dinner. The diner almost within view if it were not for the intervening structures of the trailer park.
As Cherie works her way down the sidewalk. At first something catches her ear, enough to get her to stop and look off to the west. When she does, she sees robed men doing something within the tree line. Is this some kind of cosplay or LARPing group? Something seems off about them, something strangely alluring about it all. Does curiosity carry Cherie off to investigate what is going on so close to the place where she sleeps in this town?
Cherie has had experiences with the supernatural, and in fact, belongs to that category, but a bloodline doesn't come with innate training or understanding. Curiousity and ignorance mix in the woman as she eyes that tree line, approaching slowly as she steps off the path. Though not sneaking, she doesn't make an effort to call out as the tries to get a better view of the group. Perhaps theres a fair she missed happening in the local newspaper? She curses her choice of pumps as she makes her way through the grass, choosing to slip them off.
There is the White Oak College not far from here and they could possibly find it interesting to try out rituals they found in some wiccan book or something from a roleplaying game, but inherently, this doesn't feel that like. As Cherie draws closer and closer to them, they are all dressed in black robes surrounding a stone alter that seems like it might have been here for a long time. Has it always been here and without Cherie's interest being drawn to it, she has never noticed it? Perhaps it was covered under moss and debris and was recently cleaned off? No matter where it came from, one of the most obvious thing about it is, there seems to be a very young teenage girl chained to it and gagged. She struggles against the bindings as the robed figures around her, chanting in some language that seems very exotic and alien to Cherie. Whatever the case, it seems like the thirteen, fourteen year old girl is in a lot of trouble. Upon the alter is set in it a fractured, tear-shaped blue sapphire, depicting the Sapphire Martyrs if Cherie knows anything of them.
Cherie stares, taking several seconds to comprehend the situation. She has no clue what the cultists are wanting to do with the girl, but the angel-born is all too familiar with victimized women. someone slips behind a tree and considers her options. She's not the least bit competent in martial arts, and she has no weapons on hand. Sneaking past the group of them isn't in her skill set. She bites her bottom lip in a nervous tic as she wracks her brain. At this rate, she'll be caught, or the girl will be sacrificed to some weird gem thing-. Realization hits her. She can't pry the girl from the stone. But if the girl is material in a ritual, she doesn't need to. She just needs to prevent the ritual from going forward, and bring the authorities attention to it. She takes a deep breath, and steps out from behind the tree. Then, she does the one thing she knows herself to be confident in, and sprints towards the jewel, barefoot, attempting to nab it from the altar before anyone can react.
Cherie stares, taking several seconds to comprehend the situation. She has no clue what the cultists are wanting to do with the girl, but the angel-born is all too familiar with victimized women. She slips behind a tree and considers her options. She's not the least bit competent in martial arts, and she has no weapons on hand. Sneaking past the group of them isn't in her skill set. She bites her bottom lip in a nervous tic as she wracks her brain. At this rate, she'll be caught, or the girl will be sacrificed to some weird gem thing-. Realization hits her. She can't pry the girl from the stone. But if the girl is material in a ritual, she doesn't need to. She just needs to prevent the ritual from going forward, and bring the authorities attention to it. She takes a deep breath, and steps out from behind the tree. Then, she does the one thing she knows herself to be confident in, and sprints towards the jewel, barefoot, attempting to nab it from the altar before anyone can react.
While Cherie might not be well educated in matters of the occult, she seems to be good at deduction and slippery enough that she might just pull this off. Bursting through the trees suddenly, the cultists seem to be caught off guard by the angelborn woman appearing seemingly out of thin air. What she does not account for is that the gem doesn't budge, stopping her in her tracks as she keeps moving, but the gem doesn't, almost knocking her off her feel, but her cat-like agility keeps her from falling. The cultists now however, figure out what she is up too. Ritual daggers already within their sleeves as they pull them out, the four cultists start approaching Cherie, "Come here, the end is coming, but not all have to die. Some must be martyred for the rest to remain."
Meanwhile, Cherie, afflicted by the mundanity of her new life in Haven and in desperate need of coffee, sets off towards Rosie's diner. On her way, her curiosity is piqued by a strange gathering in the woods. Approaching the scene, she uncovers a group of cloaked figures enacting a chilling ritual around an ancient stone altar. At the heart of this ceremony lies a young girl, bound and gagged, with the cultists focused on a ritual involving the Sapphire Martyrs' symbol. Without consideration for her safety, Cherie decides to intervene, aiming to disrupt the ceremony and save the girl. Her plan to snatch the sapphire, the ritual's apparent focal point, goes awry when the gem remains immovable. Now, facing the immediate threat of the cultists armed with daggers and intent on incorporating Cherie into their dark ritual, the stakes escalate as she finds herself in a dire situation with the need for swift and decisive action.
(Nico's odd encounter(SRIrma):SRIrma)
[Fri Oct 4 2024]
In Rosie's Diner
Filled with nostalgia, this diner is a step into the past - to a time of swing and jive, and one would claim, simpler times. The walls are cream toned, letting the pink and turquoise neon striping along the ceiling give the space more vibrant coloring. Pieces of kitsch and memorabilia are posted here and there, providing character and retro style.
Behind the counter, cooks work the main line, allowing customers to watch as their meals are prepped. A soda fountain and a glass domed freezer is set away from the heat, where the soda jerk creates speciality floats, sundaes, malts and shakes.
Meanwhile, waitresses on roller skates gracefully take orders, their uniforms chock full of bling.
It is noon, about 58F(14C) degrees, and the sky is covered by grey clouds. The area is wreathed in mist.
(Your target is abducted in their sleep, waking up alone in a locked room. They need to either escape or draw attention to them so their allies can come and provide assistance.
)
Wherever Nico is supposed to be ... it's not here. When he wakes up he is groggy af, and there's the sensation of something on his wrist ... what is that? Is that handcuffs? Is he chained to a pipe? Yep, and OH NOPE. This is not a good situation, not at all.
Looking around, the underground storage room is dimly lit, with only a single flickering bulb casting long, distorted shadows across the damp concrete floor. The walls are lined with rusted metal pipes, some thick and others thin, twisting in and out of view like a network of veins. A constant, rhythmic dripping echoes throughout the space, the source unseen but growing louder with each step. The air is thick and cool, carrying the faint metallic smell of water and old iron. Patches of dark mold cling to the corners where the walls meet the floor, their shapes strange and unsettling. In the distance, a series of small, rusting shelves hold forgotten and dust-covered boxes, their contents hidden beneath layers of grime and neglect. Water pools in shallow puddles, reflecting the weak light as it drips from the pipes, creating a sound that seems almost too deliberate, too steady. The ceiling is low, with sections of the pipes running just overhead, occasionally groaning and creaking as if under pressure. Every sound is amplified in the stillness, from the dripping water to the occasional hiss of air escaping the pipes. The room feels abandoned but alive, as if something unseen is watching from the dark corners.
Nico comes to slowly, gradually, but tenses as he tries and fails to move his arms around. Glancing around slowly, trying not to give away his wakeful state, he lets out a quiet, almost inaudible sigh. Yep. Here the fuck we go again. Slowly, careful, he twists his wrists, trying to check the integrity of the cuffs. Meanwhile, his eyes peer around into the gloom, before rolling as his phone beeps.
Well, goals, right? Get out of handcuffs! They don't seem to be very high-quality, in someone' opinion. How expect is he in handcuffology? Well not really, but they seem rusted, and as they scrape along one of the pipes with what can only be described as an awful, attention-grabbing noise there's the sound of tortured metal.
That sound is really disturbing. If there's someone down here, it might draw their attention, but on the other hand it does seem like while the cuffs may not break ... the pipes might. There's a weak spot in the pipe that someone is chained to. If he was to just pull on it, hard, he might be able to snap it.
Well, goals, right? Get out of handcuffs! They don't seem to be very high-quality, in Nico's opinion. How expect is he in handcuffology? Well not really, but they seem rusted, and as they scrape along one of the pipes with what can only be described as an awful, attention-grabbing noise there's the sound of tortured metal.
That sound is really disturbing. If there's someone down here, it might draw their attention, but on the other hand it does seem like while the cuffs may not break ... the pipes might. There's a weak spot in the pipe that Nico is chained to. If he was to just pull on it, hard, he might be able to snap it.
Nico presses his lips together tightly, biding his time for the moment. Glancing around, he tries to peer through the gloom, searching for anything resembling a way out. A glimmer of light, a movement of air... Something. Seriously, tries to meet up with the same girl for a second time, and gets kidnapped *again*? So, when in doubt... Escape, evade, and get the fuck out.
Haven is fucked up, isn't it? The drip, drip, drip, drip ... it's maddening. It doesn't look like there's a lock and the door at least. That's something. They're trusting rusty handcuffs and a rustier pipe to keep Nico here.
Of course, that begs the big question, right? Why ... Why Nico What did he do? What does whoever put him here want?
As Nico searches the room with eyes (on account of hands still being tied to the pipe) something attracts his attention. It's an old radio, really out of place, like a wood-cabinet 1930s kind of thing. This is not something that he just overlooked before. One doesn't just overlook a 1930s wood cabinet radio. Nope: this wasn't there, and now it is there, and that is the sort of sudden, mysterious appearance that tends to trigger the roller-coaster drop of someone's stomach in their throat.
Nico presses his lips together, eying the radio warily. Yep, it's gonna be one of those days. Further heightening his resolve and drive to be better than what he is, just one more mark to convince him why he's making the right call. But, in the moment? When in doubt, run. So, flexing his arms, he attempts to bust the pipe and free himself.
The radio crackles to life. "Don't try to escape," comes a cheerio, almost twee voice like some old-time 1960s British television show. "The game is about to begin." Uh-oh. That doesn't seem good. "We'll have someone by to release you in just a tiff."
As Nico pulls on the pipe, it begins to squeal, but it's not breaking yet.
Nico casts a glance towards the radio, and more accurately the voice within, replying with a seemingly unimpressed drawl. "See, I wouldn't, but I've got to be honest with you? Being the one wearing cuffs really isn't my thing. Rather that be someone else, hey?" With that, he jerks on the pipe again, this time driving his bodyweight forward with it.
CRACK! There's a squeal of metal ... and then Nico is free! The pipe breaks, just like promised. The radio frazzles into view again. "What are you doing?" the voice demands, upset, but Nico can move, now, for the door. "Stop where you are! It's not time for the games to start!"
Nico weighs his options for the briefest of seconds. Listen to the strange radio voice who in his head sounds a little like the Radio Demon from Hazbin... Or run like hell, and hope for the best. The latter worked for him last time... So time for round two, electric boogaloo. When in doubt? Run like hell. He makes his way towards the door, searching for a handle and leaning against it in the same movement, trying to figure out if it's a push or a pull.
It's a pull ... pull, and then a dim corridor beyond. The sound of rushing waters suggests that Nico is near the channel of underground water that runs beneath Haven.
Nico could stop and consider, maybe trying to figure out exactly where he is? Sure... But, looping back to the overriding thought here, it's probably better to run. So, run he does, straight down the dim corridor, heedless of the risks.
And soon enough Nico is out ... he makes it out, into a familiar staircase to bring him up to Hart Avenue, not far away from Rosie's. Behind him, some plaintive voice ... "Why won't you play?"
(The characters stumble upon an eerie gathering in the woods. Cloaked figures stand in a circle around an ancient stone altar, lit by the cold light of the moon. They are chanting in an incomprehensible language, their voices blending into an eerie chorus that echoes through the silence of the night. Upon closer inspection, the characters recognize the symbol of the Sapphire Martyrs etched into the stone altar.)
Cherie has a lightly bleary-eyed, distant expression on her face as she walks the sidewalks away from the trailer park towards Rosie's diner. She hasn't bought a new coffee maker since arriving in Haven, and so Rosie's is the only source of life for the woman. Cheap, and not the worst coffee for miles. Rubbing her temples, she murmurs to herself. "Just a mile, Cherise. Then you can be a person, proper."
To the outside world, Haven is a sleepy town on the shore of the Atlantic Ocean, a town where not much happens at all. The weather of this afternoon is starting to cool down as fall is well on its way. Thin wisps of clouds drift overhead leaving it an overall nice day. Traffic and the bustle of the town just a few roads to the east can be heard as people go to and from work as many towns have. All of this is normal, but in this town normal is never normal for long. Missing several meals during this day, Cherie's stomach grumbles as the day starts progressing towards the time for an early dinner. The diner almost within view if it were not for the intervening structures of the trailer park.
As Cherie works her way down the sidewalk. At first something catches her ear, enough to get her to stop and look off to the west. When she does, she sees robed men doing something within the tree line. Is this some kind of cosplay or LARPing group? Something seems off about them, something strangely alluring about it all. Does curiosity carry Cherie off to investigate what is going on so close to the place where she sleeps in this town?
Cherie has had experiences with the supernatural, and in fact, belongs to that category, but a bloodline doesn't come with innate training or understanding. Curiousity and ignorance mix in the woman as she eyes that tree line, approaching slowly as she steps off the path. Though not sneaking, she doesn't make an effort to call out as the tries to get a better view of the group. Perhaps theres a fair she missed happening in the local newspaper? She curses her choice of pumps as she makes her way through the grass, choosing to slip them off.
There is the White Oak College not far from here and they could possibly find it interesting to try out rituals they found in some wiccan book or something from a roleplaying game, but inherently, this doesn't feel that like. As Cherie draws closer and closer to them, they are all dressed in black robes surrounding a stone alter that seems like it might have been here for a long time. Has it always been here and without Cherie's interest being drawn to it, she has never noticed it? Perhaps it was covered under moss and debris and was recently cleaned off? No matter where it came from, one of the most obvious thing about it is, there seems to be a very young teenage girl chained to it and gagged. She struggles against the bindings as the robed figures around her, chanting in some language that seems very exotic and alien to Cherie. Whatever the case, it seems like the thirteen, fourteen year old girl is in a lot of trouble. Upon the alter is set in it a fractured, tear-shaped blue sapphire, depicting the Sapphire Martyrs if Cherie knows anything of them.
Cherie stares, taking several seconds to comprehend the situation. She has no clue what the cultists are wanting to do with the girl, but the angel-born is all too familiar with victimized women. someone slips behind a tree and considers her options. She's not the least bit competent in martial arts, and she has no weapons on hand. Sneaking past the group of them isn't in her skill set. She bites her bottom lip in a nervous tic as she wracks her brain. At this rate, she'll be caught, or the girl will be sacrificed to some weird gem thing-. Realization hits her. She can't pry the girl from the stone. But if the girl is material in a ritual, she doesn't need to. She just needs to prevent the ritual from going forward, and bring the authorities attention to it. She takes a deep breath, and steps out from behind the tree. Then, she does the one thing she knows herself to be confident in, and sprints towards the jewel, barefoot, attempting to nab it from the altar before anyone can react.
Cherie stares, taking several seconds to comprehend the situation. She has no clue what the cultists are wanting to do with the girl, but the angel-born is all too familiar with victimized women. She slips behind a tree and considers her options. She's not the least bit competent in martial arts, and she has no weapons on hand. Sneaking past the group of them isn't in her skill set. She bites her bottom lip in a nervous tic as she wracks her brain. At this rate, she'll be caught, or the girl will be sacrificed to some weird gem thing-. Realization hits her. She can't pry the girl from the stone. But if the girl is material in a ritual, she doesn't need to. She just needs to prevent the ritual from going forward, and bring the authorities attention to it. She takes a deep breath, and steps out from behind the tree. Then, she does the one thing she knows herself to be confident in, and sprints towards the jewel, barefoot, attempting to nab it from the altar before anyone can react.
While Cherie might not be well educated in matters of the occult, she seems to be good at deduction and slippery enough that she might just pull this off. Bursting through the trees suddenly, the cultists seem to be caught off guard by the angelborn woman appearing seemingly out of thin air. What she does not account for is that the gem doesn't budge, stopping her in her tracks as she keeps moving, but the gem doesn't, almost knocking her off her feel, but her cat-like agility keeps her from falling. The cultists now however, figure out what she is up too. Ritual daggers already within their sleeves as they pull them out, the four cultists start approaching Cherie, "Come here, the end is coming, but not all have to die. Some must be martyred for the rest to remain."