Encounterlogs
Sams Odd Encounter Sr Toro 250222
Sauntering into Arkwright Cemetery on a chilly evening, Sam encounters a gravekeeper who inadvertently unearths an ancient, sapphire-encrusted stiletto, instigating a chain of supernatural events. The gravekeeper, initially presenting as a mundane figure with complaints about the fog and a lame leg, quickly becomes a vessel for an angry spirit upon touching the stiletto. This spirit, yearning for freedom, possesses the man, driving his actions towards chaos. Sam, with his arcane knowledge, identifies the stiletto as a magical conduit housing a trapped soul. Intent on resolving the situation, Sam attempts to perform an exorcism, only to realize that the spirit has already escaped its confines, now controlling the gravekeeper's body.
The climax unfolds as the possessed gravekeeper, fueled by the vengeful spirit, embarks on a ludicrous escape on a lawnmower, causing a spectacle that bemuses onlookers who mistake the bizarre scene for an act of substance-induced madness rather than the paranormal reality. Sam, employing both his physical prowess and arcane skills, confronts the possessed man, attempting to halt his spree of mild destruction. Utilizing a mixture of magical incantations and a strategic hit with the sapphire stiletto, Sam manages to exorcise the spirit, leaving the graveyard quiet once again. Though the public remains largely oblivious to the true nature of the events, Sam secures the scene, ensuring the gravekeeper receives a mind-wipe to erase any memory of the ordeal. The resolution comes with a mix of relief and a reminder of the constant vigilance required in Sam's unusual line of work, dealing with the intersection of the mundane and the mystical.
(Sam's odd encounter(SRToro):SRToro)
[Fri Feb 21 2025]
At Arkwright Cemetery
It is after dusk, about 16F(-8C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. There is a waning crescent moon.
(Your target is possessed by an angry spirit that is forcing them to act out and putting themselves and/or others at risk. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
Sauntering into the cemetery, Sam looks around, the jock doing his usual rounds of the town, checking if things are amis or opportunities are to be had. A hand runs through his blond hair, and he stretches lazily.
It might be considered a bit odd for someone to typically just be perusing the local grave property. This is, unfortunately, very much the demeanor a local gravekeeper gives as they approach Sam. They look to be in their early thirties, well-built, a full head of hair. Not the typical image of a keeper. "Whatcha ya up to?" The man asks as he waddles over on a lame leg, more chewing than smoking a cigarette pinched between his lips. "Checkin' out the housing prices? Don't look like you'll be dying anytime soon!"
A casual glance is given to the man, and Sam inspects him for the usual: symbols, aura, signs of the supernatural. He looks up, and smiles. "Ah, just doing some busiwork for Mister Arkwright." He smiles, dropping the name of that family which generally maintains the graveyard. "How are ya doing, friend?" He smiles pleasantly.
The groundskeeper replies to Sam's glance with a discerning stare of his own, all squinty and suspicious. But after a bit more of his cigarette chewing, he either realizes nothing is that amiss here or it's not worth the headache. This guy must be a new hire. "Could be better. Was foggy all mornin'. Nearly tripped half-a-dozen times!" He leans on a shovel he'd been using as an improvised walking stick and looks back at his lawnmower. "I best get back to it." There's nothing out of the ordinary about this guy. He nearly trips over an object. He leans down to pick it up, finding it stuck, gives it a little tug, and it finally comes out of the dirt. It's some kind of old stiletto. Now that, there's something definitely not right with that. It's dirty, dusty, rusted, but the sapphire centrepiece looks as if it was carved and polished just yesterday. "Fuckin'-- fucking-- fuck! Is this yours?! My leg! Fuck!"
And yes, there is clearly something paranormal about that gem.
Stepping forward, Sam extends a hand, and smiles. His eyes lock onto the man's, and he nods, voice pleasant, but very much without a hint of question. "Yes, that is mine. Please hand it over." He maintains that smile, holding out the hand with one of his arcane foci on it: A charred ring in the shape of a dragon.
The man is still whimpering and complaining about his lame leg, but doesn't dally in handing over the old blade. "Fuck. Yeah-- you drop that or something?! Jesus Christ! How am I supposed to--" the rest of his words are muttered so roughly that the complaints just fall on deaf ears. It's a few hundred years old, this object. Magical... or at least it was, a second ago. It was, wasn't it? There was definitely something up with the sapphire which, now that it is in Sam's hands looks as rough as the rest of the tool.
Another smile, and Sam looks over to the gravekeeper. "You will go work the other side of the graveyard now, this sure was a strange dream, wasn't it?" He smiles, and waves the man away, having applied the due dilligence before he looks over the item, narrowing his eyes as he squints, fishing a rather human-looking fingerbone from under his shirt to carefully, warily, prod at that sapphire energetically.
The gravekeeper grumbles and limps off toward the lawnmower, not a peep is said directly to Sam himself. Vrrrrrm! It starts up and he gets back to mowing the grass. Meanwhile, turning it around in his hand, Sam can tell that there was something off about this object. There's nothing particularly intriguing about the stiletto unless you have a hankering for hundreds year old smithing, but the gem was a vessel housing a soul. The dagger itself must've just been a conduit used to trap the soul itself into the stone.
Promptly, Sam places the stiletto on the ground, and he takes out his own knife: An oily, strange, kris-knife. He cuts his palm open, and draws a triangle of blood around the stiletto, his lips twisting into a smirk, taking a few moments to gather the needed power to exorcise the spirit.
Before Sam commits to the whole exorcism, he likely has by now realised that the reason the stone was so clean and new-looking when the gravekeeper first dug the dagger out was that it had a soul in it. The key word being had. It looks aged and weary like the rest of the blade because whatever was in it is no longer inside. There's a loud, sudden crash by the graveyard gates,
Snatching the stiletto up, Sam closes his eyes, turning to his arcane senses to find the nearest restless spirit, though he does fear the worst, and starts heading towards the gates... or at least near the gates.
Sam arrives just in time to spot the gravekeeper speeding past the rammed out gates, cackling like a maniac, as he drives down the sidewalk in the opposite direction of the graveyard! Vrrrrm! He's flooring it and flying off at a blazing ten miles per hour!
Disappearing in a shimmer of the air, Sam lands right in front of that lawn mower, and he hisses. "Hey, fucko." A fist barrels forward into the front of that mower, and he glares up, both hands trying to stop that mower in its tracks. "Don't think that's your ride." He growls low.
Cars are skirting around the landmower, screaming obscenities at the driver. A sparse few people who are either visiting the graveyard or were in it, crowd to watch the spectacle. The way the gravekeeper is cackling makes it feel like he's imagining this whole exciting Sunday drive is a lot more devastating and horrifying than it really is. Most people likely just believe he's high on some substance.
The gravekeeper who, by now, Sam might have realised is being possessed by whatever soul was formerly trapped, stares at Sam with utmost surprise. He looks back at where he was, then back at the man who's holding the somewhat damage lawnmower in place. Caught, he tries to book it! The gravekeeper hops off the lawnmower and makes a run for it: his leg suddenly not so lame! A few feet away, on the sidewalk, a woman is staring with her pet chihuahua, recording the maniac with her phone who he's ready to just throw a random punch at in his attempt at a spree of (mild) destruction!
Shaking his head, Sam starts to book it after the man, grabbing his arcane focus. Subtly, he twists his hand about, trying to slow the man's blood-stream, to stop him in his tracks. He does speak into an earpiece. "President Phisher here, requesting Whispering Hand cleanup at Arkwright Cemetery, please and thank you."
Aside from the phasing out and in of reality, there hasn't been all that much that's unexplainable by the mundane, and not too many people to convince they saw nothing abnormal.
The Gravekeeper lets out a: "RUIN!" in a hoarse battlecry and throws a fist at the woman, it connects and she lets out an 'OW!' but by then, most of his strength has left his body and it does little but put a bruise on her cheek. He's dragging himself off by the edge of the yard wall, panting and out of breath. He's nothing if not persistent.
"All right then..." Sam takes that stiletto, and speaks, soft, and half under his breath. "By Blood, Will and Deovtion... I open the Maw of Duat..." He clasps that stiletto tightly, channeling his power into it. "Herald of Isfet, consume and un-make this specter, so that it's host might live on, without its burden." He disappears from view again, stopping the grave-keeper with a thump of the back of that dagger, with the sapphire, against his head, hoping to use the element of surprise to knock the spirit out of him.
It's hard to say if it worked or not, but the guy goes down like a sack of bricks and there doesn't look to be any remnant presence of ghastly spirits. The wind howls, whisper, "I'LL BE BACK! RUIIIIIN- AGGGHH!" The woman who just ate a pretty weak fist rubs her cheek and stares at the two of you, baffled and confused. "What jerks! Go LARP somewhere else! Sheesh!" With a 'hmph' she walks off, the sparse 'crowd' disperses, none are the wiser of the spree of mildly evil deeds Sam had just saved them and the town from.
Just to be sure, Sam taps at his phone, and makes sure that the graveyard keeper is mind-wiped at the clinic. He hums, pocketing that stiletto, and nodding to himself. Not his cleanest work, but hey, we all gotta allow some error, right?
The climax unfolds as the possessed gravekeeper, fueled by the vengeful spirit, embarks on a ludicrous escape on a lawnmower, causing a spectacle that bemuses onlookers who mistake the bizarre scene for an act of substance-induced madness rather than the paranormal reality. Sam, employing both his physical prowess and arcane skills, confronts the possessed man, attempting to halt his spree of mild destruction. Utilizing a mixture of magical incantations and a strategic hit with the sapphire stiletto, Sam manages to exorcise the spirit, leaving the graveyard quiet once again. Though the public remains largely oblivious to the true nature of the events, Sam secures the scene, ensuring the gravekeeper receives a mind-wipe to erase any memory of the ordeal. The resolution comes with a mix of relief and a reminder of the constant vigilance required in Sam's unusual line of work, dealing with the intersection of the mundane and the mystical.
(Sam's odd encounter(SRToro):SRToro)
[Fri Feb 21 2025]
At Arkwright Cemetery
It is after dusk, about 16F(-8C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. There is a waning crescent moon.
(Your target is possessed by an angry spirit that is forcing them to act out and putting themselves and/or others at risk. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
Sauntering into the cemetery, Sam looks around, the jock doing his usual rounds of the town, checking if things are amis or opportunities are to be had. A hand runs through his blond hair, and he stretches lazily.
It might be considered a bit odd for someone to typically just be perusing the local grave property. This is, unfortunately, very much the demeanor a local gravekeeper gives as they approach Sam. They look to be in their early thirties, well-built, a full head of hair. Not the typical image of a keeper. "Whatcha ya up to?" The man asks as he waddles over on a lame leg, more chewing than smoking a cigarette pinched between his lips. "Checkin' out the housing prices? Don't look like you'll be dying anytime soon!"
A casual glance is given to the man, and Sam inspects him for the usual: symbols, aura, signs of the supernatural. He looks up, and smiles. "Ah, just doing some busiwork for Mister Arkwright." He smiles, dropping the name of that family which generally maintains the graveyard. "How are ya doing, friend?" He smiles pleasantly.
The groundskeeper replies to Sam's glance with a discerning stare of his own, all squinty and suspicious. But after a bit more of his cigarette chewing, he either realizes nothing is that amiss here or it's not worth the headache. This guy must be a new hire. "Could be better. Was foggy all mornin'. Nearly tripped half-a-dozen times!" He leans on a shovel he'd been using as an improvised walking stick and looks back at his lawnmower. "I best get back to it." There's nothing out of the ordinary about this guy. He nearly trips over an object. He leans down to pick it up, finding it stuck, gives it a little tug, and it finally comes out of the dirt. It's some kind of old stiletto. Now that, there's something definitely not right with that. It's dirty, dusty, rusted, but the sapphire centrepiece looks as if it was carved and polished just yesterday. "Fuckin'-- fucking-- fuck! Is this yours?! My leg! Fuck!"
And yes, there is clearly something paranormal about that gem.
Stepping forward, Sam extends a hand, and smiles. His eyes lock onto the man's, and he nods, voice pleasant, but very much without a hint of question. "Yes, that is mine. Please hand it over." He maintains that smile, holding out the hand with one of his arcane foci on it: A charred ring in the shape of a dragon.
The man is still whimpering and complaining about his lame leg, but doesn't dally in handing over the old blade. "Fuck. Yeah-- you drop that or something?! Jesus Christ! How am I supposed to--" the rest of his words are muttered so roughly that the complaints just fall on deaf ears. It's a few hundred years old, this object. Magical... or at least it was, a second ago. It was, wasn't it? There was definitely something up with the sapphire which, now that it is in Sam's hands looks as rough as the rest of the tool.
Another smile, and Sam looks over to the gravekeeper. "You will go work the other side of the graveyard now, this sure was a strange dream, wasn't it?" He smiles, and waves the man away, having applied the due dilligence before he looks over the item, narrowing his eyes as he squints, fishing a rather human-looking fingerbone from under his shirt to carefully, warily, prod at that sapphire energetically.
The gravekeeper grumbles and limps off toward the lawnmower, not a peep is said directly to Sam himself. Vrrrrrm! It starts up and he gets back to mowing the grass. Meanwhile, turning it around in his hand, Sam can tell that there was something off about this object. There's nothing particularly intriguing about the stiletto unless you have a hankering for hundreds year old smithing, but the gem was a vessel housing a soul. The dagger itself must've just been a conduit used to trap the soul itself into the stone.
Promptly, Sam places the stiletto on the ground, and he takes out his own knife: An oily, strange, kris-knife. He cuts his palm open, and draws a triangle of blood around the stiletto, his lips twisting into a smirk, taking a few moments to gather the needed power to exorcise the spirit.
Before Sam commits to the whole exorcism, he likely has by now realised that the reason the stone was so clean and new-looking when the gravekeeper first dug the dagger out was that it had a soul in it. The key word being had. It looks aged and weary like the rest of the blade because whatever was in it is no longer inside. There's a loud, sudden crash by the graveyard gates,
Snatching the stiletto up, Sam closes his eyes, turning to his arcane senses to find the nearest restless spirit, though he does fear the worst, and starts heading towards the gates... or at least near the gates.
Sam arrives just in time to spot the gravekeeper speeding past the rammed out gates, cackling like a maniac, as he drives down the sidewalk in the opposite direction of the graveyard! Vrrrrm! He's flooring it and flying off at a blazing ten miles per hour!
Disappearing in a shimmer of the air, Sam lands right in front of that lawn mower, and he hisses. "Hey, fucko." A fist barrels forward into the front of that mower, and he glares up, both hands trying to stop that mower in its tracks. "Don't think that's your ride." He growls low.
Cars are skirting around the landmower, screaming obscenities at the driver. A sparse few people who are either visiting the graveyard or were in it, crowd to watch the spectacle. The way the gravekeeper is cackling makes it feel like he's imagining this whole exciting Sunday drive is a lot more devastating and horrifying than it really is. Most people likely just believe he's high on some substance.
The gravekeeper who, by now, Sam might have realised is being possessed by whatever soul was formerly trapped, stares at Sam with utmost surprise. He looks back at where he was, then back at the man who's holding the somewhat damage lawnmower in place. Caught, he tries to book it! The gravekeeper hops off the lawnmower and makes a run for it: his leg suddenly not so lame! A few feet away, on the sidewalk, a woman is staring with her pet chihuahua, recording the maniac with her phone who he's ready to just throw a random punch at in his attempt at a spree of (mild) destruction!
Shaking his head, Sam starts to book it after the man, grabbing his arcane focus. Subtly, he twists his hand about, trying to slow the man's blood-stream, to stop him in his tracks. He does speak into an earpiece. "President Phisher here, requesting Whispering Hand cleanup at Arkwright Cemetery, please and thank you."
Aside from the phasing out and in of reality, there hasn't been all that much that's unexplainable by the mundane, and not too many people to convince they saw nothing abnormal.
The Gravekeeper lets out a: "RUIN!" in a hoarse battlecry and throws a fist at the woman, it connects and she lets out an 'OW!' but by then, most of his strength has left his body and it does little but put a bruise on her cheek. He's dragging himself off by the edge of the yard wall, panting and out of breath. He's nothing if not persistent.
"All right then..." Sam takes that stiletto, and speaks, soft, and half under his breath. "By Blood, Will and Deovtion... I open the Maw of Duat..." He clasps that stiletto tightly, channeling his power into it. "Herald of Isfet, consume and un-make this specter, so that it's host might live on, without its burden." He disappears from view again, stopping the grave-keeper with a thump of the back of that dagger, with the sapphire, against his head, hoping to use the element of surprise to knock the spirit out of him.
It's hard to say if it worked or not, but the guy goes down like a sack of bricks and there doesn't look to be any remnant presence of ghastly spirits. The wind howls, whisper, "I'LL BE BACK! RUIIIIIN- AGGGHH!" The woman who just ate a pretty weak fist rubs her cheek and stares at the two of you, baffled and confused. "What jerks! Go LARP somewhere else! Sheesh!" With a 'hmph' she walks off, the sparse 'crowd' disperses, none are the wiser of the spree of mildly evil deeds Sam had just saved them and the town from.
Just to be sure, Sam taps at his phone, and makes sure that the graveyard keeper is mind-wiped at the clinic. He hums, pocketing that stiletto, and nodding to himself. Not his cleanest work, but hey, we all gotta allow some error, right?