Encounterlogs
Ritsukas Odd Encounter Sr Illyana 250116
In the mystical realm of Haven, under a sky cloaked in dark clouds and the grip of winter, a peculiar situation unfolds that catapults an amateur paranormal investigator named Collin into a complex world of supernatural intrigue. Inside the Tsubaki Armory, where the air is perfumed with the scent of polished wood and metal, Ritsuka, a figure of authority and knowledge in the supernatural community, attends to her duties amid a collection of weapons that are more art than armament. The day takes an unexpected turn when Collin arrives, bearing claims and evidence that he mistakenly believes identifies Ritsuka as a were-panther. However, the encounter unfurls to reveal his true intentions: an earnest desire to infiltrate the supernatural world to unearth the truth behind his brother's death at the hands of a supposed vampire, and to protect others from the hidden dangers that claimed his sibling.
Ritsuka, initially amused by Collin's misconception, delves deeper into his motivations and discovers a shared interest in safeguarding the community from its more malevolent elements. Recognizing his potential utility and the purity of his quest, she proposes a compromise: Collin should work under her tutelage to gain a deeper understanding of the supernatural world, its societies, and its unspoken rules. This apprenticeship, she explains, would prepare him to legitimately join the ranks of the special deputies within the sheriff's department, a position that would allow him to pursue his goals without unwittingly endangering the community or himself. Throughout their discussion, the sharp line between naive enthusiasm and grim reality blurs as both parties come to an agreement, setting Collin on a path fraught with danger, discovery, and the potential for redemption. Through their newfound partnership, Collin embarks on a journey deeper into the supernatural underbelly of Haven, armed with Ritsuka's guidance and a resolve to protect, uncover truths, and possibly reconcile with the shadows cast by his brother's mysterious demise.
(Ritsuka's odd encounter(SRIllyana):SRIllyana)
[Wed Jan 15 2025]
In Tsubaki Armory - Weapons
The scent of polished wood and faint metallic tang fills the air. The polished
dark wood floors gleam under the warm light of intricately carved lanterns
hanging from the ceiling. The walls are adorned with weapons displayed like
works of art - gleaming katana, elegant naginata, and yumi bows rest most
prominently in lacquered mounts, each framed by silk banners bearing poetic
names and intricate camellia patterns.
In the center of the room, a circular dais displays the finest wares, each
weapon resting on velvet cushions as though awaiting the hand of a worthy
wielder. A low counter with a smooth stone top stands to one side, where
an attendant dressed in traditional garb greets visitors with a slight bow.
It is noon, about -11F(-23C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey clouds in the sky.
(An amateur paranormal investigator has stumbled onto the truth of the supernatural world and has evidence. Your target and their allies are tasked with containing the situation.
)
Ritsuka is spending time at the Tsubaki security building. There is work to do, today, that is filling in some of the weapons, specifically some prototype weapons, rifles, some thermal katanas, and of course the shotgun is the only not prototype weapon. There is some small conversation, too. About shields, and also some other equipment, armor, that came in and needs to be handled in one fashion or another.
The chill of January seeps into the very bones of Haven a quiet sentinel cloaked in a wintry embrace. Outside, Zubaki Avenue lay draped in a blanket of crisp white, the pavement glistening under the delicate touch of frost. A few dark grey clouds loom like silent watchers overhead, their presence hinting at the possibility of snow, but for now, the streets remain still, save for the faint crunch of boots on snow and an occasional gust that sends swirling flurries into the air.
Inside the building, warmth envelops Ritsuka like a comforting cloak. The scent of polished wood mingling with the faint metallic tang of weapons, creating an atmosphere steeped in tradition and purpose. The polished dark wood floors gleam under the warm glow of intricately carved lanterns that cast a gentle light over the room, illuminating the display of armaments that adorn the walls. Each weapon is a masterpiece, a testament to craftsmanship: gleaming katanas, elegant naginata, and finely crafted yumi bows resting gracefully in lacquered mounts, framed by silk banners that whisper stories of valor and artistry.
In the center of the room, a circular dais showcases the finest wares, each weapon cradled on plush velvet cushions as if awaiting a fateful encounter with a worthy wielder. The sight is both awe-inspiring and intimidating, a reminder of the power held within the delicate balance of beauty and danger. someone gaze lingers on the prototype rifles, their sleek lines promising innovation and lethal precision, while the thermal katanas shimmer with an otherworldly glow, hinting at the extraordinary capabilities they possesse.
A low counter with a smooth top stands to one side, where an attendant dressed in traditional garb greets visitors with a slight bow, their demeanor a blend of formality and warmth. The air is filled with the soft sound of muted conversation; someone colleagues discussing the intricacies of shields and the newly arrived armor that demands attention. Words flow like the gentle trickle of a stream, punctuated by laughter and the occasional clink of metal as they handl the gear with reverence.
Suddenly, the low rumble of a car engine brakes through the tranquility, pulling up outside the building. The sound of tires crunching over gravel and the quiet hush of the vehicle coming to a stop
The chill of January seeps into the very bones of Haven a quiet sentinel cloaked in a wintry embrace. Outside, Zubaki Avenue lay draped in a blanket of crisp white, the pavement glistening under the delicate touch of frost. A few dark grey clouds loom like silent watchers overhead, their presence hinting at the possibility of snow, but for now, the streets remain still, save for the faint crunch of boots on snow and an occasional gust that sends swirling flurries into the air.
Inside the building, warmth envelops Ritsuka like a comforting cloak. The scent of polished wood mingling with the faint metallic tang of weapons, creating an atmosphere steeped in tradition and purpose. The polished dark wood floors gleam under the warm glow of intricately carved lanterns that cast a gentle light over the room, illuminating the display of armaments that adorn the walls. Each weapon is a masterpiece, a testament to craftsmanship: gleaming katanas, elegant naginata, and finely crafted yumi bows resting gracefully in lacquered mounts, framed by silk banners that whisper stories of valor and artistry.
In the center of the room, a circular dais showcases the finest wares, each weapon cradled on plush velvet cushions as if awaiting a fateful encounter with a worthy wielder. The sight is both awe-inspiring and intimidating, a reminder of the power held within the delicate balance of beauty and danger. Ritsuka's gaze lingers on the prototype rifles, their sleek lines promising innovation and lethal precision, while the thermal katanas shimmer with an otherworldly glow, hinting at the extraordinary capabilities they possesse.
A low counter with a smooth top stands to one side, where an attendant dressed in traditional garb greets visitors with a slight bow, their demeanor a blend of formality and warmth. The air is filled with the soft sound of muted conversation; someone colleagues discussing the intricacies of shields and the newly arrived armor that demands attention. Words flow like the gentle trickle of a stream, punctuated by laughter and the occasional clink of metal as they handl the gear with reverence.
Suddenly, the low rumble of a car engine brakes through the tranquility, pulling up outside the building. The sound of tires crunching over gravel and the quiet hush of the vehicle coming to a stop
The chill of January seeps into the very bones of Haven a quiet sentinel cloaked in a wintry embrace. Outside, Zubaki Avenue lay draped in a blanket of crisp white, the pavement glistening under the delicate touch of frost. A few dark grey clouds loom like silent watchers overhead, their presence hinting at the possibility of snow, but for now, the streets remain still, save for the faint crunch of boots on snow and an occasional gust that sends swirling flurries into the air. Inside the building, warmth envelops Ritsuka like a comforting cloak. The scent of polished wood mingling with the faint metallic tang of weapons, creating an atmosphere steeped in tradition and purpose. The polished dark wood floors gleam under the warm glow of intricately carved lanterns that cast a gentle light over the room, illuminating the display of armaments that adorn the walls. Each weapon is a masterpiece, a testament to craftsmanship: gleaming katanas, elegant naginata, and finely crafted yumi bows resting gracefully in lacquered mounts, framed by silk banners that whisper stories of valor and artistry. In the center of the room, a circular dais showcases the finest wares, each weapon cradled on plush velvet cushions as if awaiting a fateful encounter with a worthy wielder. The sight is both awe-inspiring and intimidating, a reminder of the power held within the delicate balance of beauty and danger. Ritsuka's gaze lingers on the prototype rifles, their sleek lines promising innovation and lethal precision, while the thermal katanas shimmer with an otherworldly glow, hinting at the extraordinary capabilities they possesse. A low counter with a smooth top stands to one side, where an attendant dressed in traditional garb greets visitors with a slight bow, their demeanor a blend of formality and warmth. The air is filled with the soft sound of muted conversation; Ritsuka's colleagues discussing the intricacies of shields and the newly arrived armor that demands attention. Words flow like the gentle trickle of a stream, punctuated by laughter and the occasional clink of metal as they handl the gear with reverence.
Suddenly, the low rumble of a car engine brakes through the tranquility, pulling up outside the building. The sound of tires crunching over gravel and the quiet hush of the vehicle coming to a stop. Ritsuka hears a radio turned off; The gentle sound of pop music cutting out, then a door opens, and assumedly, a figure steps from within.
All things considered, this was not just the place to purchase weaponry and armor at, but also the central building for security purposes. In the room east of here stands one lone sentinel watching over Forest view drive and the traffic that crosses over it, while to the northwest of this central room lies yet another post, with a man that keeps an eye at the corner of Tsubaki Avenue. Neither so far has appeared, and whomever the figure is, had unknowingly walked into the very center of the Iron Camellia.
There is a little sigh that escapes from her, as she does glance to the visitor. The place is not yet set to be available in a sense, it can be entered, the door is not locked, why should it be? But there has not been the all too frequent traffic that might someday be perhaps expected. There is also the need for a lot of blood, but this is something she will pose and bring up to others later. For the entire plaza should someday be dedicated. Plans for later; it is there that Ritsuka turns her gaze towards the figure and looks them over. Eyes carry something curious, a small break perhaps between the work.
The door creaks open, revealing the armory room that is steeped in the muted tones of winter. A dark-haired man stepps inside, his silhouette framed by the cold glow from the street outside. He wears a long winter coat, its fabric a deep charcoal that seems to absorb the light rather than reflect it. The coat hangs loosely on his frame, as if it had been borrowed from a stranger, lending him an air of transient uncertainty. In his right hand, he gripps a briefcase-- unassuming in its design, yet the very presence of it hints at purpose. As he crosses the threshold, a chill gust of air follows him, swirling around the room with a whisper of frost. He pauses for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the space, catching the attention of the sentinels stationed nearby. Their watchful eyes scannning him, but their posture remaining relaxed, an unspoken acknowledgment that he poses Ritsuka no immediate threat. Yet, Ritsuka feels a disquieting sense about him; an impression, more than an observable fact, that this man is out of his depth, adrift in a world that demands a keener awareness of the supernatural. Around his neck, a bone charm dangles its texture worn and smooth, evoking a sense of the macabre. It glints softly in the low light, a talisman that opens one upto access to the nightmare that could easily haunt the unprepared. On his finger, a small silver ring gleames; a key to the goblin market, unmistakably familiar to those who traverse the hidden, supernatural paths of this world. Despite the symbols of knowledge he wears, there is an aura of naivety about him, as if he were unaware of the true significance of these tokens, but simply wearing them to seem as though he were more cognisant than he is. The room itself is a hub of quiet tension, with the faint hum of activity filtering in from the outer plaza. The air feels thick with anticipation, as if the walls bore witness to countless whispered secrets and deals struck in shadows. The lone sentinel standing guard over Forest View Drive remains vigilant, while another keeps watch over Tsubaki Avenue, but neither seems inclined to intervene in this moment. Ritsuka's curiosity flares as she studies the man-- the way he hesitates, the slight furrow of his brow. He is an anomaly here, a misplaced piece in a larger puzzle that hints at a deeper narrative yet to unfold. Then, he speaks. "Ritsuka Shimomi." he asks, looking Ritsuka over. "You are a were panther, and I have evidence."
Ritsuka has to suddenly laugh. A WERE panther? Oh no. The laugh ends at a sigh, it is yet another one of those. Fortunately, most here, are aware enough. Maybe not the lowest of lowest of the Tsubaki, the Camellia, but many know, if only by requirement that they can better defend and protect and help the women here. Some pacted, some imprisoned in other circumstance. But it is then that she takes her sweet sweet time going through the whole process mentally before she stretches out. "It is Shimomi Ritsuka, mister. Japanese have family names before the given name and I am not a panther, I am a fox, minus the were. It should be very obvious if you look at me?" She flutters her eyelashes a little bit, though there is nothing that obviously tells that she would be.
"How are you liking my pink hair? I am sometimes forgetting that I dyed it softly pink." Ah and then she draws the attention he may be actually wanting from her. "You came all the way out here just to tell me, mister. So you got to have a reason for it? What are you hoping to get?"
The light of the armory casts a shadow over the man, who introduces himself as Colin Everyman as he leans against the door jam, his dark hair contrasting sharply with the charcoal coat that hugs his frame. The fabric seems to absorb the light around him, enhancing the air of mystery that surrounds him. His sunglasses, dark and reflective, conceal his eyes, a barrier between him and the outside world, a shield against the probing gaze of the supernatural. He exudes an aura of confidence mixed with an unsettling intensity, as if he was both predator and prey in a dance of hidden truths. In front of him stands Ritsuka, a striking figure with her pink-dyed hair framing her doll-like complexion and delicate features. Her slender form is accentuated by the sunglasses she wears, a playful yet deliberate choice that obscures her eyes and adds an air of nonchalance to the tense atmosphere. The juxtaposition of Ritsuka's vibrant appearance against the muted backdrop of Collin creates a surreal tableau-- two worlds colliding, one cloaked in shadows and the other splashed with bright hues. Colins gaze roames over Ritsuka, taking in the way the sunlight catches the edges of her sunglasses, reflecting fragments of the world back at Collin. He notes her demeanor, a calmness that belies the storm brewing between them. There is something ethereal about Ritsuka, a hint of the uncanny that both intrigues and unnerves the man. He adjusts his briefcase, its leather surface worn, and raises it slightly as he prepares to unveil the contents. Inside, he begins, his voice steady and measured, is my evidence. The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. He can almost feel the tension crackling between him and Ritsuka, an electric current running through the space. Collin knows what lays inside: photographs documenting Ritsuka's transformation, captured moments of her in a large feline form, prowling through the forest. He has images of her with William and Lenore outside the Starlight Lounge, ghostly memories of that day lingering in the frame. There are also shots taken inside the Elmstreet Apartments, where Ritsuka had led Kiernan to Novel's home. As Ritsuka stands silently, Colin understands the stakes. He is acutely aware that the evidence he holds could easily be dismissed as hearsay or a product of digital manipulation. Yet, in the depths of his mind, he feels the weight of truth, an undeniable force that could tip the balance of the confrontation.
"And yet you still walked into- how do Americans say? Isogeba maware, rushing through a shortcut too quickly. I think Americans talk about walking into the Lion's den, or here, into the foxes?" Ritsuka playfully plays to Collin, as her eyes do browse over the evidence with her attention only very lightly over it. She allows Collin to finish, allows him to continue on and on and on, and she does cross her arms at one point, but it is her waiting for him to finish.
Once Collin does come to a finish, she opens the palm of a hand, and watches as the golden flame of her heart comes to manifest in it. Her head tilts a little bit, briefly giving sight to the golden gaze of her eyes. "Collin-san, are you a secret admirer?" The question is, of course, purposefully that. He still has not said to her about what he exactly wants from her, which, in truth, will determine on whether or not she will wipe his memories with a beautiful little syringe.
Collin leans against the fresh new wall of the armory, his dark sunglasses glinting in the dim light as Ritsuka conjures that soul fire in her palm. The flame dances, casting flickering shadows across Collins chiseled features, but he remains unfazed. A slight nod is all he offeres, a silent acknowledgment of the spectacle before him. This isn't the first time hed encountered the supernatural; hed made it his business to seek out the extraordinary in the shadows of Haven. "Im not here to admire your tricks, Shimomi Ritsuka," he says, his voice steady and devoid of awe. "Im a paranormal investigator." He shifts slightly, the fabric of his charcoal winter coat rustling softly, and continues. "Im trying to get into the Haven Sheriffs Department's supernatural division." Ritsuka's fire flickeres on, but Collins dark eyes remained focused, unwavering behind the lenses of his sunglasses. "I need evidence; photographic and video proof of supernatural occurrences to make my case. And you, my supernatural shapeshifting friend, are a goldmine." He gesturs subtly towards the flame, his expression serious. "I want to follow in my brothers footsteps, serve as a special deputy. Protect the people of Haven from the things that took him away from me." A shadow passes over Collin's face as he mentiones his brother, a flicker of pain barely contained. "His death was covered up," he adds, voice low, almost a whisper. "I suspect it was a vampire. There were marks on his neck, Miss Shimomi-- fang marks." The conviction in his tone is palpable, an urgent need for answers driving him forward. "I came to you because I thought... I thought you might know someone who can help me get in touch with the special deputies. Someone who can confirm what I suspect." He stepps closer, the firelight illuminating the determination etched into his features. "I want to expose the truth. I want to protect others from falling victim to whatever darkness took my brother." His gaze locks onto Ritsuka's, an unspoken plea hidden beneath the surface. "If you can help me, I promise Ill make it worth your while. This isnt just about me; its about justice for all the victims, including my brother." The weight of his words hang in the air, thick with desperation and resolve. Collin awaits Ritsuka's response, knowing that their paths had crossed for a reason. The fire in Ritsuka's palm is just the beginning; together, they could unravel the mysteries of Havens dark underbelly.
Ritsuka raises her hands and shrugs, the flame disappears. "I would have the means to. But the moment that you were to try to expose anything to the general public - those special deputies would be putting you to execution at worst, inject a special little alchemical substance into you at best." She glances around the shop, turning a little bit away from Collin. "There is people far more powerful than any you can imagine that pull all the strings in the background, and creating such chaos when many are worried with the prophesied end of the world, there is very little that can be won out of it. Among those stronger, it needs a little army to fight them. The consequence of exposure are far more reaching, and I could put you into contact with them, but they would know that your intend is exposure and not safekeeping people." She looks back to Collin, and there is a sympathetic look. "I am sorry for your loss, Collin-san. But it is not a simple matter like black and white where an answer is not a mix of gray. There are many people, mainly women, here, that had been victims in their own ways. The cost of being good is very high when the dark side of the world is full of people who can see humans as nothing other than cattle."
Collin's heart sinks further as Ritsuka speaks, her words heavy with the weight of a harsh reality that Collin had only begun to grasp. He looked down at his briefcase, fingers tightening around the worn leather, feeling the evidence of the injustices he had witnessed pressing against his palms. The flickering flame that had briefly illuminated Ritsuka and Collin's conversation extinguishes, leaving only the dim light of the shop to cast shadows on Collin's features. Execution? he echoes, his voice barely above a whisper, the gravity of Ritsuka's warning settling in. The thought of being silenced for seeking justice is terrifying, but even more so is the idea that those powerful beings, hidden behind the curtain of Collin's understanding, are willing to treat lives like mere pawns in a game he doesn't even know he is playing. Collin nodds slowly, absorbing someone sympathetic gaze. The chaos she describes feels overwhelming, a tangled web of danger and darkness that threatens to suffocate any flicker of hope he clings to, Collin's unspoken prayers being only to find justice in the back of Ritsuka's mind. Yet, deep down, he feels a spark ignite; the desire to act, to make a difference, however small. But I cant just stand by, he says, determination creeping into his voice. There has to be a way to help those who are suffering. Good supernaturals exist, and they need someone to stand with them. I want to be that person." Ritsuka's shrug and the way she turns away, as if needing a moment to gather her thoughts, makes Collin feel vulnerable. He understands the risks, the complexity of the situation, but his resolve is still unwavering. I dont want to expose the supernatural world, he continues, his voice steadying. I want to protect it. If there are victims; people who need help- I cant just abandon them. I have skills, knowledge; I can be useful." Collin takes a deep breath, searching Ritsuka's face for any hint of possibility. If theres an army, then let me be a soldier for the right cause. Im willing to fight for those who cant fight for themselves. I need to know-- what choices do I have? How can I connect with these good supernatural beings? I want to be part of this world, not as a threat, but as a guardian." Collins voice trembles slightly with the weight of his plea, the yearning to make a meaningful impact in a world so marred by darkness. He feels a flicker of hope amidst his dejection. "
Collin's heart sinks further as Ritsuka speaks, her words heavy with the weight of a harsh reality that Collin had only begun to grasp. He looks down at his briefcase, fingers tightening around the worn leather, feeling the evidence of the injustices he had witnessed pressing against his palms. The flickering flame that had briefly illuminated Ritsuka and Collin's conversation extinguishes, leaving only the dim light of the shop to cast shadows on Collin's features. Execution? he echoes, his voice barely above a whisper, the gravity of Ritsuka's warning settling in. The thought of being silenced for seeking justice is terrifying, but even more so is the idea that those powerful beings, hidden behind the curtain of Collin's understanding, are willing to treat lives like mere pawns in a game he doesn't even know he is playing. Collin nodds slowly, absorbing Ritsuka's sympathetic gaze. The chaos she describes feels overwhelming, a tangled web of danger and darkness that threatens to suffocate any flicker of hope he clings to, Collin's unspoken prayers being only to find justice in the back of Ritsuka's mind. Yet, deep down, he feels a spark ignite; the desire to act, to make a difference, however small. But I cant just stand by, he says, determination creeping into his voice. There has to be a way to help those who are suffering. Good supernaturals exist, and they need someone to stand with them. I want to be that person." Ritsuka's shrug and the way she turns away, as if needing a moment to gather her thoughts, makes Collin feel vulnerable. He understands the risks, the complexity of the situation, but his resolve is still unwavering. I dont want to expose the supernatural world, he continues, his voice steadying. I want to protect it. If there are victims; people who need help- I cant just abandon them. I have skills, knowledge; I can be useful." Collin takes a deep breath, searching Ritsuka's face for any hint of possibility. If theres an army, then let me be a soldier for the right cause. Im willing to fight for those who cant fight for themselves. I need to know-- what choices do I have? How can I connect with these good supernatural beings? I want to be part of this world, not as a threat, but as a guardian." Collins voice trembles slightly with the weight of his plea, the yearning to make a meaningful impact in a world so marred by darkness. He feels a flicker of hope amidst his dejection. "
Ritsuka makes a small hmm. "You can work for me for a while. To learn about what you do not know about now. What the charm symbolizes and where the ring goes. And when you are ready we can introduce you to the Sheriff department. It might take a year or two, maybe less, but you will need to establish yourself in the Yokai world. Understand what you work with." Of course, she intends to make him loyal if he proves to be bad. But her words are all the same true, you need to belong, to have the support, safety and recommendation of a society, for a mere human to not be put under the crown.
Collin Everyman stands across from Ritsuka in the armor shop. The low hum of conversation forms a backdrop to their discussion, but it feels like they were in their own world. As Ritsuka lays out the situation, her words flow with urgency and conviction. Collin listens intently, his expression unchanging, absorbing the details of the complexities of the societies at play. When Ritsuka finishes, he leans back slightly, his calm presence offering a stark contrast to the tension of their conversation. "Im in," Collin stats simply, the weight of his agreement hanging in the air. There is no hesitation in his voice; only a quiet resolve that spoke volumes. He reaches for his briefcase, the leather surface worn but polished, a testament to years of diligent work. With a practiced motion, he unlatches it and opens it to reveal meticulously organized files, notes, and a small stack of documents. From within, he retrieves a sleek pen drive, its surface glinting under the light of the shop. He hands it to Ritsuka with a slight nod, a gesture of goodwill that feels momentous in the context of their newfound partnership. "This contains everything I've gathered about your situation," he says, his tone even. "Consider it a start." Curiosity sparks in his eyes as he leans forward, his fingers steepling thoughtfully. "Can you tell me more about the societies involved? Understanding their dynamics could be crucial." His analytical mind is already racing, envisioning the connections he could uncover. Ritsuka explains and with each detail, Collin's interest deepened. He is no stranger to obscure truths, and the supernatural world intrigues him. As their conversation unfoldes Collins steadfast demeanor begins to shift subtly; his excitement for the challenge ahead is palpable. "Ive always prided myself on being a hard worker," he assures Ritsuka. "With my investigative skills, I can navigate this world and help you." The ambiance seems to brighten as optimism infuses the air. Ritsuka smiles. Together, they can tackle the unknown, and for Collin Everyman, the unaware paranormal investigator, this is simply the beginning of a journey into a world he had only ever brushed against in his wildest dreams.
The end. Give me a couple of minutes to return you home
(Your target and their allies have been tasked with stealing a vital piece of intelligence from a subject by delving into their mind with dream invading to try to tease out the secret.
)
It was a day just like any other in Haven, or well, at this point more night than day- The darkness already settling and, even if still not quite there, dusk was slowly giving way to what came next. Dark clouds covering the sky only helping to ensure this sensation of the residents of the small town.
It had been extremely cold for the last two months, the winter letting itself be known, and the cloudy sky contributing reinforce this fact, deprived of what little sunlight might have been remaining, and leaving the citizens on their own, to shield themselves against the freezing sensation either with clothes or central heating...
But outside of the usual rough weather, nothing seemed to be going wrong tonight. Which might be odd in and out of itself for Haven- Calm wasn't something that lasted for too long, at least not for a fraction of the residents- Those Aware lived a life full of adventures and chaos if not every day, every couple of them, while the Unware lived in the shadows, denied of all this information- For them, tonight might have been just like any other day- But Rowan, Rowan is aware. And the moments of peace and quite could only last so long.
To her, it presents itself in the form of a text message, popping up on her phone- It doesn't seem directed to her in particular, it is rather a call for aid, from some unknown sender. Normally these things aren't to be opened, usually suspected to be spam or some sort of virus ready to infect your device, no one would blame the girl for just missing it and going without reading- Or straight up trashing it. But were she to read it's contents, it speaks of a kidnapped supernatural, in the hands of a pair of templars.
There is a brief description of the assault, walking into the Wilds, traversing the path westwards and suddenly being assaulted in the middle of the road, caught by surprise and bound, the captive, apparently named James, was taken away into the darkness of the night, and back through the gates into Haven. The partner of this James, seemingly the one sending the call for help, presumably called Vanessa, tells the story of using her sense of smell to track them down after they were gone, locating a single apartment near the town hall of the town where they would have ended up- But there, one of the templars parted ways with the other, and the track of scent was lost.
While Vanessa claims to be capable as a fighter, her skills to gather information aren't that useful, and she is requesting of everyone kind enough to respond, to sneak into that apartment and somehow get access to that information, so that she's able to find out where they took her friend, and hopefully rescue him from whatever fate the Temple has ready for him.
Ritsuka, initially amused by Collin's misconception, delves deeper into his motivations and discovers a shared interest in safeguarding the community from its more malevolent elements. Recognizing his potential utility and the purity of his quest, she proposes a compromise: Collin should work under her tutelage to gain a deeper understanding of the supernatural world, its societies, and its unspoken rules. This apprenticeship, she explains, would prepare him to legitimately join the ranks of the special deputies within the sheriff's department, a position that would allow him to pursue his goals without unwittingly endangering the community or himself. Throughout their discussion, the sharp line between naive enthusiasm and grim reality blurs as both parties come to an agreement, setting Collin on a path fraught with danger, discovery, and the potential for redemption. Through their newfound partnership, Collin embarks on a journey deeper into the supernatural underbelly of Haven, armed with Ritsuka's guidance and a resolve to protect, uncover truths, and possibly reconcile with the shadows cast by his brother's mysterious demise.
(Ritsuka's odd encounter(SRIllyana):SRIllyana)
[Wed Jan 15 2025]
In Tsubaki Armory - Weapons
The scent of polished wood and faint metallic tang fills the air. The polished
dark wood floors gleam under the warm light of intricately carved lanterns
hanging from the ceiling. The walls are adorned with weapons displayed like
works of art - gleaming katana, elegant naginata, and yumi bows rest most
prominently in lacquered mounts, each framed by silk banners bearing poetic
names and intricate camellia patterns.
In the center of the room, a circular dais displays the finest wares, each
weapon resting on velvet cushions as though awaiting the hand of a worthy
wielder. A low counter with a smooth stone top stands to one side, where
an attendant dressed in traditional garb greets visitors with a slight bow.
It is noon, about -11F(-23C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey clouds in the sky.
(An amateur paranormal investigator has stumbled onto the truth of the supernatural world and has evidence. Your target and their allies are tasked with containing the situation.
)
Ritsuka is spending time at the Tsubaki security building. There is work to do, today, that is filling in some of the weapons, specifically some prototype weapons, rifles, some thermal katanas, and of course the shotgun is the only not prototype weapon. There is some small conversation, too. About shields, and also some other equipment, armor, that came in and needs to be handled in one fashion or another.
The chill of January seeps into the very bones of Haven a quiet sentinel cloaked in a wintry embrace. Outside, Zubaki Avenue lay draped in a blanket of crisp white, the pavement glistening under the delicate touch of frost. A few dark grey clouds loom like silent watchers overhead, their presence hinting at the possibility of snow, but for now, the streets remain still, save for the faint crunch of boots on snow and an occasional gust that sends swirling flurries into the air.
Inside the building, warmth envelops Ritsuka like a comforting cloak. The scent of polished wood mingling with the faint metallic tang of weapons, creating an atmosphere steeped in tradition and purpose. The polished dark wood floors gleam under the warm glow of intricately carved lanterns that cast a gentle light over the room, illuminating the display of armaments that adorn the walls. Each weapon is a masterpiece, a testament to craftsmanship: gleaming katanas, elegant naginata, and finely crafted yumi bows resting gracefully in lacquered mounts, framed by silk banners that whisper stories of valor and artistry.
In the center of the room, a circular dais showcases the finest wares, each weapon cradled on plush velvet cushions as if awaiting a fateful encounter with a worthy wielder. The sight is both awe-inspiring and intimidating, a reminder of the power held within the delicate balance of beauty and danger. someone gaze lingers on the prototype rifles, their sleek lines promising innovation and lethal precision, while the thermal katanas shimmer with an otherworldly glow, hinting at the extraordinary capabilities they possesse.
A low counter with a smooth top stands to one side, where an attendant dressed in traditional garb greets visitors with a slight bow, their demeanor a blend of formality and warmth. The air is filled with the soft sound of muted conversation; someone colleagues discussing the intricacies of shields and the newly arrived armor that demands attention. Words flow like the gentle trickle of a stream, punctuated by laughter and the occasional clink of metal as they handl the gear with reverence.
Suddenly, the low rumble of a car engine brakes through the tranquility, pulling up outside the building. The sound of tires crunching over gravel and the quiet hush of the vehicle coming to a stop
The chill of January seeps into the very bones of Haven a quiet sentinel cloaked in a wintry embrace. Outside, Zubaki Avenue lay draped in a blanket of crisp white, the pavement glistening under the delicate touch of frost. A few dark grey clouds loom like silent watchers overhead, their presence hinting at the possibility of snow, but for now, the streets remain still, save for the faint crunch of boots on snow and an occasional gust that sends swirling flurries into the air.
Inside the building, warmth envelops Ritsuka like a comforting cloak. The scent of polished wood mingling with the faint metallic tang of weapons, creating an atmosphere steeped in tradition and purpose. The polished dark wood floors gleam under the warm glow of intricately carved lanterns that cast a gentle light over the room, illuminating the display of armaments that adorn the walls. Each weapon is a masterpiece, a testament to craftsmanship: gleaming katanas, elegant naginata, and finely crafted yumi bows resting gracefully in lacquered mounts, framed by silk banners that whisper stories of valor and artistry.
In the center of the room, a circular dais showcases the finest wares, each weapon cradled on plush velvet cushions as if awaiting a fateful encounter with a worthy wielder. The sight is both awe-inspiring and intimidating, a reminder of the power held within the delicate balance of beauty and danger. Ritsuka's gaze lingers on the prototype rifles, their sleek lines promising innovation and lethal precision, while the thermal katanas shimmer with an otherworldly glow, hinting at the extraordinary capabilities they possesse.
A low counter with a smooth top stands to one side, where an attendant dressed in traditional garb greets visitors with a slight bow, their demeanor a blend of formality and warmth. The air is filled with the soft sound of muted conversation; someone colleagues discussing the intricacies of shields and the newly arrived armor that demands attention. Words flow like the gentle trickle of a stream, punctuated by laughter and the occasional clink of metal as they handl the gear with reverence.
Suddenly, the low rumble of a car engine brakes through the tranquility, pulling up outside the building. The sound of tires crunching over gravel and the quiet hush of the vehicle coming to a stop
The chill of January seeps into the very bones of Haven a quiet sentinel cloaked in a wintry embrace. Outside, Zubaki Avenue lay draped in a blanket of crisp white, the pavement glistening under the delicate touch of frost. A few dark grey clouds loom like silent watchers overhead, their presence hinting at the possibility of snow, but for now, the streets remain still, save for the faint crunch of boots on snow and an occasional gust that sends swirling flurries into the air. Inside the building, warmth envelops Ritsuka like a comforting cloak. The scent of polished wood mingling with the faint metallic tang of weapons, creating an atmosphere steeped in tradition and purpose. The polished dark wood floors gleam under the warm glow of intricately carved lanterns that cast a gentle light over the room, illuminating the display of armaments that adorn the walls. Each weapon is a masterpiece, a testament to craftsmanship: gleaming katanas, elegant naginata, and finely crafted yumi bows resting gracefully in lacquered mounts, framed by silk banners that whisper stories of valor and artistry. In the center of the room, a circular dais showcases the finest wares, each weapon cradled on plush velvet cushions as if awaiting a fateful encounter with a worthy wielder. The sight is both awe-inspiring and intimidating, a reminder of the power held within the delicate balance of beauty and danger. Ritsuka's gaze lingers on the prototype rifles, their sleek lines promising innovation and lethal precision, while the thermal katanas shimmer with an otherworldly glow, hinting at the extraordinary capabilities they possesse. A low counter with a smooth top stands to one side, where an attendant dressed in traditional garb greets visitors with a slight bow, their demeanor a blend of formality and warmth. The air is filled with the soft sound of muted conversation; Ritsuka's colleagues discussing the intricacies of shields and the newly arrived armor that demands attention. Words flow like the gentle trickle of a stream, punctuated by laughter and the occasional clink of metal as they handl the gear with reverence.
Suddenly, the low rumble of a car engine brakes through the tranquility, pulling up outside the building. The sound of tires crunching over gravel and the quiet hush of the vehicle coming to a stop. Ritsuka hears a radio turned off; The gentle sound of pop music cutting out, then a door opens, and assumedly, a figure steps from within.
All things considered, this was not just the place to purchase weaponry and armor at, but also the central building for security purposes. In the room east of here stands one lone sentinel watching over Forest view drive and the traffic that crosses over it, while to the northwest of this central room lies yet another post, with a man that keeps an eye at the corner of Tsubaki Avenue. Neither so far has appeared, and whomever the figure is, had unknowingly walked into the very center of the Iron Camellia.
There is a little sigh that escapes from her, as she does glance to the visitor. The place is not yet set to be available in a sense, it can be entered, the door is not locked, why should it be? But there has not been the all too frequent traffic that might someday be perhaps expected. There is also the need for a lot of blood, but this is something she will pose and bring up to others later. For the entire plaza should someday be dedicated. Plans for later; it is there that Ritsuka turns her gaze towards the figure and looks them over. Eyes carry something curious, a small break perhaps between the work.
The door creaks open, revealing the armory room that is steeped in the muted tones of winter. A dark-haired man stepps inside, his silhouette framed by the cold glow from the street outside. He wears a long winter coat, its fabric a deep charcoal that seems to absorb the light rather than reflect it. The coat hangs loosely on his frame, as if it had been borrowed from a stranger, lending him an air of transient uncertainty. In his right hand, he gripps a briefcase-- unassuming in its design, yet the very presence of it hints at purpose. As he crosses the threshold, a chill gust of air follows him, swirling around the room with a whisper of frost. He pauses for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the space, catching the attention of the sentinels stationed nearby. Their watchful eyes scannning him, but their posture remaining relaxed, an unspoken acknowledgment that he poses Ritsuka no immediate threat. Yet, Ritsuka feels a disquieting sense about him; an impression, more than an observable fact, that this man is out of his depth, adrift in a world that demands a keener awareness of the supernatural. Around his neck, a bone charm dangles its texture worn and smooth, evoking a sense of the macabre. It glints softly in the low light, a talisman that opens one upto access to the nightmare that could easily haunt the unprepared. On his finger, a small silver ring gleames; a key to the goblin market, unmistakably familiar to those who traverse the hidden, supernatural paths of this world. Despite the symbols of knowledge he wears, there is an aura of naivety about him, as if he were unaware of the true significance of these tokens, but simply wearing them to seem as though he were more cognisant than he is. The room itself is a hub of quiet tension, with the faint hum of activity filtering in from the outer plaza. The air feels thick with anticipation, as if the walls bore witness to countless whispered secrets and deals struck in shadows. The lone sentinel standing guard over Forest View Drive remains vigilant, while another keeps watch over Tsubaki Avenue, but neither seems inclined to intervene in this moment. Ritsuka's curiosity flares as she studies the man-- the way he hesitates, the slight furrow of his brow. He is an anomaly here, a misplaced piece in a larger puzzle that hints at a deeper narrative yet to unfold. Then, he speaks. "Ritsuka Shimomi." he asks, looking Ritsuka over. "You are a were panther, and I have evidence."
Ritsuka has to suddenly laugh. A WERE panther? Oh no. The laugh ends at a sigh, it is yet another one of those. Fortunately, most here, are aware enough. Maybe not the lowest of lowest of the Tsubaki, the Camellia, but many know, if only by requirement that they can better defend and protect and help the women here. Some pacted, some imprisoned in other circumstance. But it is then that she takes her sweet sweet time going through the whole process mentally before she stretches out. "It is Shimomi Ritsuka, mister. Japanese have family names before the given name and I am not a panther, I am a fox, minus the were. It should be very obvious if you look at me?" She flutters her eyelashes a little bit, though there is nothing that obviously tells that she would be.
"How are you liking my pink hair? I am sometimes forgetting that I dyed it softly pink." Ah and then she draws the attention he may be actually wanting from her. "You came all the way out here just to tell me, mister. So you got to have a reason for it? What are you hoping to get?"
The light of the armory casts a shadow over the man, who introduces himself as Colin Everyman as he leans against the door jam, his dark hair contrasting sharply with the charcoal coat that hugs his frame. The fabric seems to absorb the light around him, enhancing the air of mystery that surrounds him. His sunglasses, dark and reflective, conceal his eyes, a barrier between him and the outside world, a shield against the probing gaze of the supernatural. He exudes an aura of confidence mixed with an unsettling intensity, as if he was both predator and prey in a dance of hidden truths. In front of him stands Ritsuka, a striking figure with her pink-dyed hair framing her doll-like complexion and delicate features. Her slender form is accentuated by the sunglasses she wears, a playful yet deliberate choice that obscures her eyes and adds an air of nonchalance to the tense atmosphere. The juxtaposition of Ritsuka's vibrant appearance against the muted backdrop of Collin creates a surreal tableau-- two worlds colliding, one cloaked in shadows and the other splashed with bright hues. Colins gaze roames over Ritsuka, taking in the way the sunlight catches the edges of her sunglasses, reflecting fragments of the world back at Collin. He notes her demeanor, a calmness that belies the storm brewing between them. There is something ethereal about Ritsuka, a hint of the uncanny that both intrigues and unnerves the man. He adjusts his briefcase, its leather surface worn, and raises it slightly as he prepares to unveil the contents. Inside, he begins, his voice steady and measured, is my evidence. The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. He can almost feel the tension crackling between him and Ritsuka, an electric current running through the space. Collin knows what lays inside: photographs documenting Ritsuka's transformation, captured moments of her in a large feline form, prowling through the forest. He has images of her with William and Lenore outside the Starlight Lounge, ghostly memories of that day lingering in the frame. There are also shots taken inside the Elmstreet Apartments, where Ritsuka had led Kiernan to Novel's home. As Ritsuka stands silently, Colin understands the stakes. He is acutely aware that the evidence he holds could easily be dismissed as hearsay or a product of digital manipulation. Yet, in the depths of his mind, he feels the weight of truth, an undeniable force that could tip the balance of the confrontation.
"And yet you still walked into- how do Americans say? Isogeba maware, rushing through a shortcut too quickly. I think Americans talk about walking into the Lion's den, or here, into the foxes?" Ritsuka playfully plays to Collin, as her eyes do browse over the evidence with her attention only very lightly over it. She allows Collin to finish, allows him to continue on and on and on, and she does cross her arms at one point, but it is her waiting for him to finish.
Once Collin does come to a finish, she opens the palm of a hand, and watches as the golden flame of her heart comes to manifest in it. Her head tilts a little bit, briefly giving sight to the golden gaze of her eyes. "Collin-san, are you a secret admirer?" The question is, of course, purposefully that. He still has not said to her about what he exactly wants from her, which, in truth, will determine on whether or not she will wipe his memories with a beautiful little syringe.
Collin leans against the fresh new wall of the armory, his dark sunglasses glinting in the dim light as Ritsuka conjures that soul fire in her palm. The flame dances, casting flickering shadows across Collins chiseled features, but he remains unfazed. A slight nod is all he offeres, a silent acknowledgment of the spectacle before him. This isn't the first time hed encountered the supernatural; hed made it his business to seek out the extraordinary in the shadows of Haven. "Im not here to admire your tricks, Shimomi Ritsuka," he says, his voice steady and devoid of awe. "Im a paranormal investigator." He shifts slightly, the fabric of his charcoal winter coat rustling softly, and continues. "Im trying to get into the Haven Sheriffs Department's supernatural division." Ritsuka's fire flickeres on, but Collins dark eyes remained focused, unwavering behind the lenses of his sunglasses. "I need evidence; photographic and video proof of supernatural occurrences to make my case. And you, my supernatural shapeshifting friend, are a goldmine." He gesturs subtly towards the flame, his expression serious. "I want to follow in my brothers footsteps, serve as a special deputy. Protect the people of Haven from the things that took him away from me." A shadow passes over Collin's face as he mentiones his brother, a flicker of pain barely contained. "His death was covered up," he adds, voice low, almost a whisper. "I suspect it was a vampire. There were marks on his neck, Miss Shimomi-- fang marks." The conviction in his tone is palpable, an urgent need for answers driving him forward. "I came to you because I thought... I thought you might know someone who can help me get in touch with the special deputies. Someone who can confirm what I suspect." He stepps closer, the firelight illuminating the determination etched into his features. "I want to expose the truth. I want to protect others from falling victim to whatever darkness took my brother." His gaze locks onto Ritsuka's, an unspoken plea hidden beneath the surface. "If you can help me, I promise Ill make it worth your while. This isnt just about me; its about justice for all the victims, including my brother." The weight of his words hang in the air, thick with desperation and resolve. Collin awaits Ritsuka's response, knowing that their paths had crossed for a reason. The fire in Ritsuka's palm is just the beginning; together, they could unravel the mysteries of Havens dark underbelly.
Ritsuka raises her hands and shrugs, the flame disappears. "I would have the means to. But the moment that you were to try to expose anything to the general public - those special deputies would be putting you to execution at worst, inject a special little alchemical substance into you at best." She glances around the shop, turning a little bit away from Collin. "There is people far more powerful than any you can imagine that pull all the strings in the background, and creating such chaos when many are worried with the prophesied end of the world, there is very little that can be won out of it. Among those stronger, it needs a little army to fight them. The consequence of exposure are far more reaching, and I could put you into contact with them, but they would know that your intend is exposure and not safekeeping people." She looks back to Collin, and there is a sympathetic look. "I am sorry for your loss, Collin-san. But it is not a simple matter like black and white where an answer is not a mix of gray. There are many people, mainly women, here, that had been victims in their own ways. The cost of being good is very high when the dark side of the world is full of people who can see humans as nothing other than cattle."
Collin's heart sinks further as Ritsuka speaks, her words heavy with the weight of a harsh reality that Collin had only begun to grasp. He looked down at his briefcase, fingers tightening around the worn leather, feeling the evidence of the injustices he had witnessed pressing against his palms. The flickering flame that had briefly illuminated Ritsuka and Collin's conversation extinguishes, leaving only the dim light of the shop to cast shadows on Collin's features. Execution? he echoes, his voice barely above a whisper, the gravity of Ritsuka's warning settling in. The thought of being silenced for seeking justice is terrifying, but even more so is the idea that those powerful beings, hidden behind the curtain of Collin's understanding, are willing to treat lives like mere pawns in a game he doesn't even know he is playing. Collin nodds slowly, absorbing someone sympathetic gaze. The chaos she describes feels overwhelming, a tangled web of danger and darkness that threatens to suffocate any flicker of hope he clings to, Collin's unspoken prayers being only to find justice in the back of Ritsuka's mind. Yet, deep down, he feels a spark ignite; the desire to act, to make a difference, however small. But I cant just stand by, he says, determination creeping into his voice. There has to be a way to help those who are suffering. Good supernaturals exist, and they need someone to stand with them. I want to be that person." Ritsuka's shrug and the way she turns away, as if needing a moment to gather her thoughts, makes Collin feel vulnerable. He understands the risks, the complexity of the situation, but his resolve is still unwavering. I dont want to expose the supernatural world, he continues, his voice steadying. I want to protect it. If there are victims; people who need help- I cant just abandon them. I have skills, knowledge; I can be useful." Collin takes a deep breath, searching Ritsuka's face for any hint of possibility. If theres an army, then let me be a soldier for the right cause. Im willing to fight for those who cant fight for themselves. I need to know-- what choices do I have? How can I connect with these good supernatural beings? I want to be part of this world, not as a threat, but as a guardian." Collins voice trembles slightly with the weight of his plea, the yearning to make a meaningful impact in a world so marred by darkness. He feels a flicker of hope amidst his dejection. "
Collin's heart sinks further as Ritsuka speaks, her words heavy with the weight of a harsh reality that Collin had only begun to grasp. He looks down at his briefcase, fingers tightening around the worn leather, feeling the evidence of the injustices he had witnessed pressing against his palms. The flickering flame that had briefly illuminated Ritsuka and Collin's conversation extinguishes, leaving only the dim light of the shop to cast shadows on Collin's features. Execution? he echoes, his voice barely above a whisper, the gravity of Ritsuka's warning settling in. The thought of being silenced for seeking justice is terrifying, but even more so is the idea that those powerful beings, hidden behind the curtain of Collin's understanding, are willing to treat lives like mere pawns in a game he doesn't even know he is playing. Collin nodds slowly, absorbing Ritsuka's sympathetic gaze. The chaos she describes feels overwhelming, a tangled web of danger and darkness that threatens to suffocate any flicker of hope he clings to, Collin's unspoken prayers being only to find justice in the back of Ritsuka's mind. Yet, deep down, he feels a spark ignite; the desire to act, to make a difference, however small. But I cant just stand by, he says, determination creeping into his voice. There has to be a way to help those who are suffering. Good supernaturals exist, and they need someone to stand with them. I want to be that person." Ritsuka's shrug and the way she turns away, as if needing a moment to gather her thoughts, makes Collin feel vulnerable. He understands the risks, the complexity of the situation, but his resolve is still unwavering. I dont want to expose the supernatural world, he continues, his voice steadying. I want to protect it. If there are victims; people who need help- I cant just abandon them. I have skills, knowledge; I can be useful." Collin takes a deep breath, searching Ritsuka's face for any hint of possibility. If theres an army, then let me be a soldier for the right cause. Im willing to fight for those who cant fight for themselves. I need to know-- what choices do I have? How can I connect with these good supernatural beings? I want to be part of this world, not as a threat, but as a guardian." Collins voice trembles slightly with the weight of his plea, the yearning to make a meaningful impact in a world so marred by darkness. He feels a flicker of hope amidst his dejection. "
Ritsuka makes a small hmm. "You can work for me for a while. To learn about what you do not know about now. What the charm symbolizes and where the ring goes. And when you are ready we can introduce you to the Sheriff department. It might take a year or two, maybe less, but you will need to establish yourself in the Yokai world. Understand what you work with." Of course, she intends to make him loyal if he proves to be bad. But her words are all the same true, you need to belong, to have the support, safety and recommendation of a society, for a mere human to not be put under the crown.
Collin Everyman stands across from Ritsuka in the armor shop. The low hum of conversation forms a backdrop to their discussion, but it feels like they were in their own world. As Ritsuka lays out the situation, her words flow with urgency and conviction. Collin listens intently, his expression unchanging, absorbing the details of the complexities of the societies at play. When Ritsuka finishes, he leans back slightly, his calm presence offering a stark contrast to the tension of their conversation. "Im in," Collin stats simply, the weight of his agreement hanging in the air. There is no hesitation in his voice; only a quiet resolve that spoke volumes. He reaches for his briefcase, the leather surface worn but polished, a testament to years of diligent work. With a practiced motion, he unlatches it and opens it to reveal meticulously organized files, notes, and a small stack of documents. From within, he retrieves a sleek pen drive, its surface glinting under the light of the shop. He hands it to Ritsuka with a slight nod, a gesture of goodwill that feels momentous in the context of their newfound partnership. "This contains everything I've gathered about your situation," he says, his tone even. "Consider it a start." Curiosity sparks in his eyes as he leans forward, his fingers steepling thoughtfully. "Can you tell me more about the societies involved? Understanding their dynamics could be crucial." His analytical mind is already racing, envisioning the connections he could uncover. Ritsuka explains and with each detail, Collin's interest deepened. He is no stranger to obscure truths, and the supernatural world intrigues him. As their conversation unfoldes Collins steadfast demeanor begins to shift subtly; his excitement for the challenge ahead is palpable. "Ive always prided myself on being a hard worker," he assures Ritsuka. "With my investigative skills, I can navigate this world and help you." The ambiance seems to brighten as optimism infuses the air. Ritsuka smiles. Together, they can tackle the unknown, and for Collin Everyman, the unaware paranormal investigator, this is simply the beginning of a journey into a world he had only ever brushed against in his wildest dreams.
The end. Give me a couple of minutes to return you home
(Your target and their allies have been tasked with stealing a vital piece of intelligence from a subject by delving into their mind with dream invading to try to tease out the secret.
)
It was a day just like any other in Haven, or well, at this point more night than day- The darkness already settling and, even if still not quite there, dusk was slowly giving way to what came next. Dark clouds covering the sky only helping to ensure this sensation of the residents of the small town.
It had been extremely cold for the last two months, the winter letting itself be known, and the cloudy sky contributing reinforce this fact, deprived of what little sunlight might have been remaining, and leaving the citizens on their own, to shield themselves against the freezing sensation either with clothes or central heating...
But outside of the usual rough weather, nothing seemed to be going wrong tonight. Which might be odd in and out of itself for Haven- Calm wasn't something that lasted for too long, at least not for a fraction of the residents- Those Aware lived a life full of adventures and chaos if not every day, every couple of them, while the Unware lived in the shadows, denied of all this information- For them, tonight might have been just like any other day- But Rowan, Rowan is aware. And the moments of peace and quite could only last so long.
To her, it presents itself in the form of a text message, popping up on her phone- It doesn't seem directed to her in particular, it is rather a call for aid, from some unknown sender. Normally these things aren't to be opened, usually suspected to be spam or some sort of virus ready to infect your device, no one would blame the girl for just missing it and going without reading- Or straight up trashing it. But were she to read it's contents, it speaks of a kidnapped supernatural, in the hands of a pair of templars.
There is a brief description of the assault, walking into the Wilds, traversing the path westwards and suddenly being assaulted in the middle of the road, caught by surprise and bound, the captive, apparently named James, was taken away into the darkness of the night, and back through the gates into Haven. The partner of this James, seemingly the one sending the call for help, presumably called Vanessa, tells the story of using her sense of smell to track them down after they were gone, locating a single apartment near the town hall of the town where they would have ended up- But there, one of the templars parted ways with the other, and the track of scent was lost.
While Vanessa claims to be capable as a fighter, her skills to gather information aren't that useful, and she is requesting of everyone kind enough to respond, to sneak into that apartment and somehow get access to that information, so that she's able to find out where they took her friend, and hopefully rescue him from whatever fate the Temple has ready for him.