Encounterlogs
Sams Odd Encounter Sr Iris 241213
Sam and his friend Eric find themselves at The Trove Barcade, a place of nostalgia mixed with the scent of vintage arcade games and alcohol. Their ordinary afternoon takes a turn when they begin to hear mysterious whispers that no one else seems to notice. Investigating the source, they encounter a frightened salaryman in the restroom, who is inexplicably paired with a floating statue of a Greek bust playing 70s soft rock. With a mix of disbelief and irritation, they engage with the surreal scene, concluding that they're trapped in a Nightmare world. By breaking the statue, they not only manage to silence the music but also help the salaryman escape this bizarre dimension. The ordeal appears to be resolved with a mix of practicality and brute force, emphasizing the unpredictable nature of their reality.
Later, the narrative shifts to a seemingly typical evening where Sam, now tending bar, encounters a group of visitors whispering about a ritual. This curiosity piqued, he learns they are members of The Black Flame cult, a group heralding the apocalypse and seeking to cleanse the Earth. The cultists, mistaking Sam's intrigue for genuine interest, propose to show him the "truth" of their mission. He plays along, agreeing to meet them in the alley behind the bar to learn more. This decision leaves Sam in a precarious position, oscillating between the roles of an observer and a potential participant in the cult's mysterious plans. The evening that was once quiet now teeters on the brink of unfathomable revelations, illustrating how quickly the veil of normalcy can be lifted in Haven.
(Sam's odd encounter(SRIris):SRIris)
[Thu Dec 12 2024]
At The Trove Barcade
This room is dominated by a sprawling, weathered bar. The bar's surface, polished to a high sheen, is inlaid with a mosaic of colorful sea glass, glinting in the dim, lantern-like lighting.
The walls, painted a deep, oceanic blue, are adorned with an eclectic assortment of nautical paraphernalia. Aged maps, and faded flags are interspersed with vintage arcade game marquees. The ceiling, draped with tattered sails and thick, knotted ropes, gives the impression of being below deck on a ship.
In the corners of the room, clusters of arcade games flicker and beep, their colorful screens casting a kaleidoscope of light onto the wooden floorboards. The air is filled with the clatter of pinball machines, the electronic melodies of video games, and the occasional thud of an axe hitting its target.
Behind the bar, a vast array of bottles is displayed, their contents ranging from craft beers to exotic rums. The bartenders, dressed in pirate garb, deftly mix cocktails, their movements punctuated by the clink of glass and the hiss of a freshly opened beer.
North/South: Restrooms
Northeast: Games
East: Axe Throwing
Southeast: Competitive Games
Down: Laser Tag
It is afternoon, about 35F(1C) degrees, and the sky is partly covered by dark grey stormclouds.
(Your target encounters a human who's become stuck in the nightmare, lost and frightened.
)
The barcade's usual bleeps and bloops worked in tandem with the clinking of glasses and chatter to craft the perfect nostalgic atmosphere. Vintage arcade carpet aroma usually mixed in well with the alcoholic, malty atmosphere to weave one hell of a scent.
CLINK went a couple of glasses raised up in some toast by two patrons celebrating some anniversary in one corner, all while some lady was telling another one about the six of her fishing catch last night. It was an average afternoon where Sam and Eric were just bro-ing it out, or at least appeared to be so. "Heeeellooo..." was a confused whisper that ran past both of their ears, somehow ringing between them.
"What the? Dude, did you see that?" Asked a man, pointing at his glass and raising an eyebrow. "You just drank too much, you fool." answered another, the first interjecting with "I could've sworn I saw some dude in the reflection that's not there, dude..."
Eric has an usual spot at the bar, where he can rest an elbow on it for support, where he can slouch a bit and take it easy, where he can talk shit with Sam and comment on people's poor gaming skills when they fuck up something easy. All seems well, all seems fine, and Eric only frowns a little when a strange whisper seems to draw between Sam and he all oddly. ".. That you, fam?" It just might've been, if not for a similar thought on Sam's end. ".. Right, well. Guess not. In that case.." He sweeps his eyes along the place, grumbling, "Who the /fuck/ then?"
Another whisper flies across the room, visiting Eric's and Sam's ears, carrying the words "Anyy-eeee-one out there..." The voice seems to trail towards the Restroom, though it sounds like whatever was making these noises wasn't getting any kind of rest. The usually wretched nostril-wrenching stench that would accompany a bar's shitters seemed to be replaced with the distinct aroma of mandrake, oddly enough, an aroma just about everyone knows and can easily recognize, right?
Letting out a sigh, Sam walks over to the restroom, glancing to Eric as he walks in there, looking a little confused. The jock casts a glance about, staring at the mirror especially, for some reason he leaves unsaid, though he does reach for an item under his jacket: A charm of bone.
Eric watches Sam turn, hears him sigh, and pieces things together also. Almost as if on cue, he reaches under his own sweater, and by the neckline finds the string of a highly similar charm. "Always some other bullshit in this shitty fuckin' place," he mutters, before joining Sam for a room he'd rather join nobody else in with a frown on his face
Glancing into the mirror revealed exactly what one would expect when holding such a device, Sam and Eric being taken away from the waking world and instead whisked away into the Nightmare world, a twisted version of reality. And boy, did this iteration look horrifying for some reason. The mirrors were cracked, the sinks backed up with some kind of gross gunk and the toilet stalls all had their doors ripped off their hinges as if they were beach toilets, something that is done to keep the homeless from having sex in them, as everyone knows.
There was however a figure which wasn't there in the real bathroom. What looked like your average salaryman wearing a tan longcoat and hat was cowering in place, holding his briefcase to shield his eyes from something that appeared to be casting a shadow in every direction oddly enough.
It was a bright white marble greek statue bust floating in place looking like something misplaced from the museum. Its face portrayed thought, or maybe indifference, glancing off into the distance while its curly hair told you all you needed to know about its Hellenic background.
Blinks several times as he looks at the figure, then to the bust, then to the figure, then to Eric.
"Okay. You are seeing this too, right? Kim didn't fucking slip me some of her drugs, or whatever fresh hell she ingested today, right?" Meanwhile, Sam looks around, trying to determine whatever secondary fresh hell him and Eric had found themselves in.
Eric sighs, casting the strange man... Or exceedingly normal man, perhaps, something of a weary look. ".. It's the nightmare, fam. She's from this place." He rubs a hand at his face, voice a low grumble, and soon looks on over at the statue a-float through the place, something very much not at home anywhere near a barcade such as this. "But that fuckin' guy isn't, and- and I don't know about the statue. Nightmare shit is always weird." Impatient, not very excited, he just calls out for the wagie from where he stands: "Yo, fam! Who the fuck are you- and why the fuck are you WAITING to bounce from this place?"
The tan-clad man glances from behind his briefcase at Eric, putting on a fairly distraught face while saying "Where the hell am I, I was heading to work and then I somehow ended up here! And that thing is mean-mugging me!" His concern is palpable, as is his confusion. The statue just kind of floats there, not doing anything and simply existing apparently, likely some form of nightmare manifestation much like the hands that are sometimes spotted about, or the eyes that at times open up to blink at passerbies.
"Well, fucking ay..." Sam looks over the man, then looks to Eric. "Looks like we gotta deal with... this." He sighs, and looks to Eric, lazily so. "Hey, you feel like dealing with flying fucking Zeus-statue here?" The statue likely isn't zeus, but Sam does not, in fact, seem to mind just generalizing it.
Deal with what? A floating statue? A stranded salaryman? Whatever was the case, the man answered "What? Yeah, I don't belong here, how do I get home? How did I get here? Why is *it* following me around?" The statue on the other hand appears to be inanimate and should one approach it, broadcasting some form of 70s soft rock music for some reason.
Sam seems content to just let Eric deal with the floating musical statue, taking his dark shades, and removing them as he looked at the man. "Yeah, dreams are weird, my man." He nods knowingly, seemingly quite relaxed. Perhaps the jock has a plan.
It was a statue and much like a real life statue, it moved when shoved. The statue slid off what must've been an invisible table and then fell to the floor, shattering. The music stopped and the man that had been observing straightens his back to ask "What the? It was that easy?!"
Nodding his head, Sam looks over to the man, and tilts his head. "Yeah, I think so." He looks to Eric, then to the man, then to Eric again. "Good going." The jock seems to have some sort of plan for the man, though he doesn't speak yet. Instead, for some reason, he seems to be seeking eye-contact with the salary-man.
Sam's gaze is met by the salaryman who stands up and straightens his tie, clearing his throat to say "This was all a game show, right? This has to be like some prank, right?"
Eric looks to the marble dust and debris he's left; truly the mark of an absolute barbarian muscleman cave-dweller such as he, lanklet that he is. "That's.. One." He watches Sam undo those sunglasses, and opts not to meet his gaze, just letting the other man do as he must. "Have at, fam- I'm sure you got this."
A nod is given to the man. "Oh, yeah, totally a gameshow." Sam snaps his fingers, keeping that gaze on the man. "Hey, listen, what you need to do, right?" He points to the mirror. "You need to step into that mirror real quick for me, then wait right there, can you do that?" He smiles a pleasant smile, his eyes gleaming just a slight bit.
With a quick nod, the salaryman turned around and marched towards the mirror, stepping away from the gross nightmare bathroom into the not-so-gross real bathroom. With him gone, the marble dust seems to also disappear as if it were tied to the man.
Sam looks at Eric, and shrugs, ambling over to that mirror, casting a glance behind himself. "I swear, Ash and Yana make this shit loo way harder than it is." He beckons. "Ready to leave?"
Eric grins a little, watching Sam and the stranger hash out the truth of this pace and such a blessedly quick pace. Approaching a little, holding up a hand, he holds up a hand to bump fists with Sam happily. "Good shit, fam. Well played. And- yeah, let's get the fuck outta here before there's some wiccan chick and a clay idol next, or something."
And just like that, the salaryman appears to have left the building as well. Who knows what or who that was, but does it matter? Back to your regularly scheduled programming.
With a snicker, Sam returns Eric's fistbump, stepping back into the mirror as well.
(Your target and their allies stumble upon a seemingly innocent gathering. However, as they delve deeper, they uncover that this gathering is actually a meeting of The Black Flame cult. The cult, unaware of the group's knowledge, invites them to partake in a ritual that they claim will "open their eyes to the truth of the world". The target and their allies must make a delicate decision - do they play along to gather more information about the cult's plans or do they act immediately to disrupt the ritual, risking a direct confrontation with the cult members?)
Standing behind the bar, Sam hums softly as he polishes a glass in one hand, holding the dingy dishcloth used to polish that glass in the other. It's a quiet night, relatively; only one weird occurrence so far. About on par for Haven. He hums as his phone buzzes: a problem for later.
It is a quiet, cold evening in Haven. These winter months really start getting to people. It's just one of those things. You can spend hours and hours out in the sun, basking in that warmth, but, for whatever reason the cold tends to bring people hurrying inside. It's a product, perhaps, of the less than glorious warmth. The cold isn't so glorious, just boring and dull.
Now, in Haven, when nights are quiet - they usually don't stay all that quiet for long. Just as it seems like it's going to be a quiet evening here in the Trove, that cold brings a group of about three people inside, hustling and bustling into the warmth of the Trove, for the moment at least.
This new group rushes in, and quickly finds itself at the bar, chatting amongst themselves idly. They don't seem to be all that secretive though, but if Sam was an attentive bartender he'd be able to pick up a few bits and pieces of that hushed conversation. 'Ritual' and 'eyes open'. It's really all he can make out at the time, but it definitely seems pretty important. Especially in Haven.
One of the men, he's on the taller side, about six foot four, lifts a hand towards Sam, and places an order for three glasses of whiskey before dropping back down into that hushed and quiet conversation.
"Ey! Welcome to the Trove, what can I getcha to get the games started?" Sam starts his usual spiel, his ears perking somewhat. He nods his head, pouring the drinks, while remaining near the group. He puts down that empty glass he had been polishing, and starts wiping down the bartop.
A good barman is always busy, of course. He does, however, eavesdrop into that conversation, the arcanist perking his ears figuratively, to try and listen in on the figures, his eyes giving them the one-over, trying to pry any symbolism he might recognize.
These men are smart enough to not display any sort of visible symbols on them, yet they're continuing to chat about some sort of ritual. In a bar, at like four thirity in the afternoon. They can't be all that smart, can they?
The taller man, who ordered the whiskeys stops his conversation a moment, and eyes Sam curiously. He slips his hood off, revealing his features. He looks to be rugged, like he's really been around the block a few times, with bright blue eyes - and gestures to his fellows to stop talking.
"You," he says, the accent kind of hard to place. It seems vaguely European though. "Barman." The words are pointed, concise. "You think to listen?" There's amusement to this question. "You wish to know what we discuss?"
The man leaves the words hanging in a pregnant pause.
Beat.
"I will tell you, Barman. We discuss the truth of this world. The /real/ truth." He cocks his head then, leaning in slightly, "You wish to find out? The real secrets of this earth?"
Wiping the bar, Sam tilts his head aside. "Y'know what? Sure." He smiles, looking to the man, like he is really only humoring the man. His eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, he tucks that dishcloth under the bar, to lean onto it, listening to the man's words. "Amaze me." He smirks, one hand resting idly at his side, on a hidden sheath containing a thin steel dagger. His eyes flick around, and he ticks a nod to the other bartender. "Take fifteen." Those words, uttered just a moment ago as well, mean the man can go and fuck off, and enjoy his paid leave.
That bartender accepts his paid leave from Sam, and walks off, stepping out into that cold evening air, for the time being.
There's a pause now, the bar hanging with tension. Nobody speaks, not the taller man - until that bartender makes his way outside.
Then, the lesson begins, "The end of the world is coming." The man says, his voice almost a whisper. "/WE/ are the champions of that end. We must cleanse this place, this filth." There's an obvious disdain as he says the last word. "And bring about new changes, a new destiny of this planet." He stops then, to look Sam over. "You're a barman. I'm sure you've heard and seen the worst of these... people. Surely, you must find some interest in wanting to cleanse this place, no?" The man's eyes almost light up, perhaps finding another like minded member in Sam. One to help fulfill the Earth's destiny, bring about a cleansing that'll pave a path for the future.
A grin plays across Sam's lips as he pauses. Beat. Beat. He holds up a finger, then smiles. "Oh, yeh..." He speaks, lowering his voice some. "Tell me, brother..." He smiles, and looks directly at the man. "What is the plan?" He draws the man closer, and smiles somewhat. "Tell me everything." He plays the part of hapless bartender as well as he can, the jock looking straight at the man, his shades blocking eye-contact, but well... One doesn't need eye-contact to ask nicely, right?
"Tell you?" The man audibly laughs at this, a happy little laugh. "You're interested then?" Sitting back, the man leans back, and looks towards his two comrades, eyeing them both. An unspoken sort of question passes between them, before all three of them nod. "I can show you." He lets that hang in the air.
"Truly. I can show you. Teach you. But not here." Leaning back, he waits, watching Sam with an almost predatory gaze. Maybe he really /has/ found a new like-minded individual to join them. It was a quiet evening, and now, it's become great.
A glance is cast about, and Sam nods his head, firmly so. "Right. Meet me in a few minutes, in the alley behind the bar." He smiles, looking to the trio. "Won't do if I am seen leaving with you three, yes?" He lowers his voice again. "There are eyes and ears." He does his best to give a slightly crazy edge to his voice, like he really is so naive as to meet in a town like haven, in a dark alley, with strangers.
"Of course," the tall man responds. He and his comrades stand then, gathering themselves up, and begin to head out back out into that cold. As the other two step out, the tall man stops, turning back to the bar. "Ah," he says to Sam, keeping his voice low as to not be overheard by those 'eyes and ears'. "Don't take too long, yes? We have things to do, places to be." And then he's gone, letting the door shut behind him with a thunk.
Decisions, decisions. The man seems trustworthy enough, or, as trustworthy as one can be considering the circumstances. He probably is waiting in the alley for Sam to come join them, or, this whole thing is a giant ruse and a ploy to just beat and rob the man.
So much for a quiet evening.
Later, the narrative shifts to a seemingly typical evening where Sam, now tending bar, encounters a group of visitors whispering about a ritual. This curiosity piqued, he learns they are members of The Black Flame cult, a group heralding the apocalypse and seeking to cleanse the Earth. The cultists, mistaking Sam's intrigue for genuine interest, propose to show him the "truth" of their mission. He plays along, agreeing to meet them in the alley behind the bar to learn more. This decision leaves Sam in a precarious position, oscillating between the roles of an observer and a potential participant in the cult's mysterious plans. The evening that was once quiet now teeters on the brink of unfathomable revelations, illustrating how quickly the veil of normalcy can be lifted in Haven.
(Sam's odd encounter(SRIris):SRIris)
[Thu Dec 12 2024]
At The Trove Barcade
This room is dominated by a sprawling, weathered bar. The bar's surface, polished to a high sheen, is inlaid with a mosaic of colorful sea glass, glinting in the dim, lantern-like lighting.
The walls, painted a deep, oceanic blue, are adorned with an eclectic assortment of nautical paraphernalia. Aged maps, and faded flags are interspersed with vintage arcade game marquees. The ceiling, draped with tattered sails and thick, knotted ropes, gives the impression of being below deck on a ship.
In the corners of the room, clusters of arcade games flicker and beep, their colorful screens casting a kaleidoscope of light onto the wooden floorboards. The air is filled with the clatter of pinball machines, the electronic melodies of video games, and the occasional thud of an axe hitting its target.
Behind the bar, a vast array of bottles is displayed, their contents ranging from craft beers to exotic rums. The bartenders, dressed in pirate garb, deftly mix cocktails, their movements punctuated by the clink of glass and the hiss of a freshly opened beer.
North/South: Restrooms
Northeast: Games
East: Axe Throwing
Southeast: Competitive Games
Down: Laser Tag
It is afternoon, about 35F(1C) degrees, and the sky is partly covered by dark grey stormclouds.
(Your target encounters a human who's become stuck in the nightmare, lost and frightened.
)
The barcade's usual bleeps and bloops worked in tandem with the clinking of glasses and chatter to craft the perfect nostalgic atmosphere. Vintage arcade carpet aroma usually mixed in well with the alcoholic, malty atmosphere to weave one hell of a scent.
CLINK went a couple of glasses raised up in some toast by two patrons celebrating some anniversary in one corner, all while some lady was telling another one about the six of her fishing catch last night. It was an average afternoon where Sam and Eric were just bro-ing it out, or at least appeared to be so. "Heeeellooo..." was a confused whisper that ran past both of their ears, somehow ringing between them.
"What the? Dude, did you see that?" Asked a man, pointing at his glass and raising an eyebrow. "You just drank too much, you fool." answered another, the first interjecting with "I could've sworn I saw some dude in the reflection that's not there, dude..."
Eric has an usual spot at the bar, where he can rest an elbow on it for support, where he can slouch a bit and take it easy, where he can talk shit with Sam and comment on people's poor gaming skills when they fuck up something easy. All seems well, all seems fine, and Eric only frowns a little when a strange whisper seems to draw between Sam and he all oddly. ".. That you, fam?" It just might've been, if not for a similar thought on Sam's end. ".. Right, well. Guess not. In that case.." He sweeps his eyes along the place, grumbling, "Who the /fuck/ then?"
Another whisper flies across the room, visiting Eric's and Sam's ears, carrying the words "Anyy-eeee-one out there..." The voice seems to trail towards the Restroom, though it sounds like whatever was making these noises wasn't getting any kind of rest. The usually wretched nostril-wrenching stench that would accompany a bar's shitters seemed to be replaced with the distinct aroma of mandrake, oddly enough, an aroma just about everyone knows and can easily recognize, right?
Letting out a sigh, Sam walks over to the restroom, glancing to Eric as he walks in there, looking a little confused. The jock casts a glance about, staring at the mirror especially, for some reason he leaves unsaid, though he does reach for an item under his jacket: A charm of bone.
Eric watches Sam turn, hears him sigh, and pieces things together also. Almost as if on cue, he reaches under his own sweater, and by the neckline finds the string of a highly similar charm. "Always some other bullshit in this shitty fuckin' place," he mutters, before joining Sam for a room he'd rather join nobody else in with a frown on his face
Glancing into the mirror revealed exactly what one would expect when holding such a device, Sam and Eric being taken away from the waking world and instead whisked away into the Nightmare world, a twisted version of reality. And boy, did this iteration look horrifying for some reason. The mirrors were cracked, the sinks backed up with some kind of gross gunk and the toilet stalls all had their doors ripped off their hinges as if they were beach toilets, something that is done to keep the homeless from having sex in them, as everyone knows.
There was however a figure which wasn't there in the real bathroom. What looked like your average salaryman wearing a tan longcoat and hat was cowering in place, holding his briefcase to shield his eyes from something that appeared to be casting a shadow in every direction oddly enough.
It was a bright white marble greek statue bust floating in place looking like something misplaced from the museum. Its face portrayed thought, or maybe indifference, glancing off into the distance while its curly hair told you all you needed to know about its Hellenic background.
Blinks several times as he looks at the figure, then to the bust, then to the figure, then to Eric.
"Okay. You are seeing this too, right? Kim didn't fucking slip me some of her drugs, or whatever fresh hell she ingested today, right?" Meanwhile, Sam looks around, trying to determine whatever secondary fresh hell him and Eric had found themselves in.
Eric sighs, casting the strange man... Or exceedingly normal man, perhaps, something of a weary look. ".. It's the nightmare, fam. She's from this place." He rubs a hand at his face, voice a low grumble, and soon looks on over at the statue a-float through the place, something very much not at home anywhere near a barcade such as this. "But that fuckin' guy isn't, and- and I don't know about the statue. Nightmare shit is always weird." Impatient, not very excited, he just calls out for the wagie from where he stands: "Yo, fam! Who the fuck are you- and why the fuck are you WAITING to bounce from this place?"
The tan-clad man glances from behind his briefcase at Eric, putting on a fairly distraught face while saying "Where the hell am I, I was heading to work and then I somehow ended up here! And that thing is mean-mugging me!" His concern is palpable, as is his confusion. The statue just kind of floats there, not doing anything and simply existing apparently, likely some form of nightmare manifestation much like the hands that are sometimes spotted about, or the eyes that at times open up to blink at passerbies.
"Well, fucking ay..." Sam looks over the man, then looks to Eric. "Looks like we gotta deal with... this." He sighs, and looks to Eric, lazily so. "Hey, you feel like dealing with flying fucking Zeus-statue here?" The statue likely isn't zeus, but Sam does not, in fact, seem to mind just generalizing it.
Deal with what? A floating statue? A stranded salaryman? Whatever was the case, the man answered "What? Yeah, I don't belong here, how do I get home? How did I get here? Why is *it* following me around?" The statue on the other hand appears to be inanimate and should one approach it, broadcasting some form of 70s soft rock music for some reason.
Sam seems content to just let Eric deal with the floating musical statue, taking his dark shades, and removing them as he looked at the man. "Yeah, dreams are weird, my man." He nods knowingly, seemingly quite relaxed. Perhaps the jock has a plan.
It was a statue and much like a real life statue, it moved when shoved. The statue slid off what must've been an invisible table and then fell to the floor, shattering. The music stopped and the man that had been observing straightens his back to ask "What the? It was that easy?!"
Nodding his head, Sam looks over to the man, and tilts his head. "Yeah, I think so." He looks to Eric, then to the man, then to Eric again. "Good going." The jock seems to have some sort of plan for the man, though he doesn't speak yet. Instead, for some reason, he seems to be seeking eye-contact with the salary-man.
Sam's gaze is met by the salaryman who stands up and straightens his tie, clearing his throat to say "This was all a game show, right? This has to be like some prank, right?"
Eric looks to the marble dust and debris he's left; truly the mark of an absolute barbarian muscleman cave-dweller such as he, lanklet that he is. "That's.. One." He watches Sam undo those sunglasses, and opts not to meet his gaze, just letting the other man do as he must. "Have at, fam- I'm sure you got this."
A nod is given to the man. "Oh, yeah, totally a gameshow." Sam snaps his fingers, keeping that gaze on the man. "Hey, listen, what you need to do, right?" He points to the mirror. "You need to step into that mirror real quick for me, then wait right there, can you do that?" He smiles a pleasant smile, his eyes gleaming just a slight bit.
With a quick nod, the salaryman turned around and marched towards the mirror, stepping away from the gross nightmare bathroom into the not-so-gross real bathroom. With him gone, the marble dust seems to also disappear as if it were tied to the man.
Sam looks at Eric, and shrugs, ambling over to that mirror, casting a glance behind himself. "I swear, Ash and Yana make this shit loo way harder than it is." He beckons. "Ready to leave?"
Eric grins a little, watching Sam and the stranger hash out the truth of this pace and such a blessedly quick pace. Approaching a little, holding up a hand, he holds up a hand to bump fists with Sam happily. "Good shit, fam. Well played. And- yeah, let's get the fuck outta here before there's some wiccan chick and a clay idol next, or something."
And just like that, the salaryman appears to have left the building as well. Who knows what or who that was, but does it matter? Back to your regularly scheduled programming.
With a snicker, Sam returns Eric's fistbump, stepping back into the mirror as well.
(Your target and their allies stumble upon a seemingly innocent gathering. However, as they delve deeper, they uncover that this gathering is actually a meeting of The Black Flame cult. The cult, unaware of the group's knowledge, invites them to partake in a ritual that they claim will "open their eyes to the truth of the world". The target and their allies must make a delicate decision - do they play along to gather more information about the cult's plans or do they act immediately to disrupt the ritual, risking a direct confrontation with the cult members?)
Standing behind the bar, Sam hums softly as he polishes a glass in one hand, holding the dingy dishcloth used to polish that glass in the other. It's a quiet night, relatively; only one weird occurrence so far. About on par for Haven. He hums as his phone buzzes: a problem for later.
It is a quiet, cold evening in Haven. These winter months really start getting to people. It's just one of those things. You can spend hours and hours out in the sun, basking in that warmth, but, for whatever reason the cold tends to bring people hurrying inside. It's a product, perhaps, of the less than glorious warmth. The cold isn't so glorious, just boring and dull.
Now, in Haven, when nights are quiet - they usually don't stay all that quiet for long. Just as it seems like it's going to be a quiet evening here in the Trove, that cold brings a group of about three people inside, hustling and bustling into the warmth of the Trove, for the moment at least.
This new group rushes in, and quickly finds itself at the bar, chatting amongst themselves idly. They don't seem to be all that secretive though, but if Sam was an attentive bartender he'd be able to pick up a few bits and pieces of that hushed conversation. 'Ritual' and 'eyes open'. It's really all he can make out at the time, but it definitely seems pretty important. Especially in Haven.
One of the men, he's on the taller side, about six foot four, lifts a hand towards Sam, and places an order for three glasses of whiskey before dropping back down into that hushed and quiet conversation.
"Ey! Welcome to the Trove, what can I getcha to get the games started?" Sam starts his usual spiel, his ears perking somewhat. He nods his head, pouring the drinks, while remaining near the group. He puts down that empty glass he had been polishing, and starts wiping down the bartop.
A good barman is always busy, of course. He does, however, eavesdrop into that conversation, the arcanist perking his ears figuratively, to try and listen in on the figures, his eyes giving them the one-over, trying to pry any symbolism he might recognize.
These men are smart enough to not display any sort of visible symbols on them, yet they're continuing to chat about some sort of ritual. In a bar, at like four thirity in the afternoon. They can't be all that smart, can they?
The taller man, who ordered the whiskeys stops his conversation a moment, and eyes Sam curiously. He slips his hood off, revealing his features. He looks to be rugged, like he's really been around the block a few times, with bright blue eyes - and gestures to his fellows to stop talking.
"You," he says, the accent kind of hard to place. It seems vaguely European though. "Barman." The words are pointed, concise. "You think to listen?" There's amusement to this question. "You wish to know what we discuss?"
The man leaves the words hanging in a pregnant pause.
Beat.
"I will tell you, Barman. We discuss the truth of this world. The /real/ truth." He cocks his head then, leaning in slightly, "You wish to find out? The real secrets of this earth?"
Wiping the bar, Sam tilts his head aside. "Y'know what? Sure." He smiles, looking to the man, like he is really only humoring the man. His eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, he tucks that dishcloth under the bar, to lean onto it, listening to the man's words. "Amaze me." He smirks, one hand resting idly at his side, on a hidden sheath containing a thin steel dagger. His eyes flick around, and he ticks a nod to the other bartender. "Take fifteen." Those words, uttered just a moment ago as well, mean the man can go and fuck off, and enjoy his paid leave.
That bartender accepts his paid leave from Sam, and walks off, stepping out into that cold evening air, for the time being.
There's a pause now, the bar hanging with tension. Nobody speaks, not the taller man - until that bartender makes his way outside.
Then, the lesson begins, "The end of the world is coming." The man says, his voice almost a whisper. "/WE/ are the champions of that end. We must cleanse this place, this filth." There's an obvious disdain as he says the last word. "And bring about new changes, a new destiny of this planet." He stops then, to look Sam over. "You're a barman. I'm sure you've heard and seen the worst of these... people. Surely, you must find some interest in wanting to cleanse this place, no?" The man's eyes almost light up, perhaps finding another like minded member in Sam. One to help fulfill the Earth's destiny, bring about a cleansing that'll pave a path for the future.
A grin plays across Sam's lips as he pauses. Beat. Beat. He holds up a finger, then smiles. "Oh, yeh..." He speaks, lowering his voice some. "Tell me, brother..." He smiles, and looks directly at the man. "What is the plan?" He draws the man closer, and smiles somewhat. "Tell me everything." He plays the part of hapless bartender as well as he can, the jock looking straight at the man, his shades blocking eye-contact, but well... One doesn't need eye-contact to ask nicely, right?
"Tell you?" The man audibly laughs at this, a happy little laugh. "You're interested then?" Sitting back, the man leans back, and looks towards his two comrades, eyeing them both. An unspoken sort of question passes between them, before all three of them nod. "I can show you." He lets that hang in the air.
"Truly. I can show you. Teach you. But not here." Leaning back, he waits, watching Sam with an almost predatory gaze. Maybe he really /has/ found a new like-minded individual to join them. It was a quiet evening, and now, it's become great.
A glance is cast about, and Sam nods his head, firmly so. "Right. Meet me in a few minutes, in the alley behind the bar." He smiles, looking to the trio. "Won't do if I am seen leaving with you three, yes?" He lowers his voice again. "There are eyes and ears." He does his best to give a slightly crazy edge to his voice, like he really is so naive as to meet in a town like haven, in a dark alley, with strangers.
"Of course," the tall man responds. He and his comrades stand then, gathering themselves up, and begin to head out back out into that cold. As the other two step out, the tall man stops, turning back to the bar. "Ah," he says to Sam, keeping his voice low as to not be overheard by those 'eyes and ears'. "Don't take too long, yes? We have things to do, places to be." And then he's gone, letting the door shut behind him with a thunk.
Decisions, decisions. The man seems trustworthy enough, or, as trustworthy as one can be considering the circumstances. He probably is waiting in the alley for Sam to come join them, or, this whole thing is a giant ruse and a ploy to just beat and rob the man.
So much for a quiet evening.