Encounterlogs
Syls Odd Encounter Sr Harriet 240910
In the quiet of a summer September evening at Haven estate, Syl finds her gaming session interrupted by the sudden arrival of a desperate man fleeing for his life from a sinister group known as The Destined Host. The man, clutching a satchel as if it contained his very soul, seeks refuge in Syl's home, claiming affiliation with an order and pleading for help against a supernatural pursuer. Sensing the urgency and danger, Syl abandons her game, arms herself, and decides to aid the stranger. They narrowly escape on her sportsbike, with the terrifyingly swift vigilante of The Destined Host hot on their heels. Utilizing her quick thinking and her motorcycle's agility, Syl manages to outmaneuver their pursuer, whose supernatural speed proves insufficient against the slick, rain-soaked streets, leading to a dramatic and momentary downfall.
Upon reaching the relative safety of The Trove Barcade, the man reveals the true nature of the crisis: he has defected from The Destined Host carrying a crucial artifact, the Bloodstone of Amaymon, which the group intends to use to open a demonic portal. The artifact, swathed in malevolence, beckons Syl with promises of power, a temptation she struggles against. Recognizing the gravity of their situation, they seek a private moment in the restroom to discuss further. The man entrusts the bloodstone to Syl, urging her to destroy it or hide it away from the evil organization. Despite his fear and the artifact's seductive pull, Syl commits to keeping it from The Host's clutches. Left with the heavy responsibility of thwarting a demonic breakthrough, she watches as the defector slips away into the night, carrying the burden of diverting their shared enemies. Syl stands resolved, the fate of Haven, perhaps even beyond, unknowingly resting in her hands and the depth of her will to resist the bloodstone's dark allure.
(Syl's odd encounter(SRHarriet):SRHarriet)
[Mon Sep 9 2024]
In Living Room
The living room is a warm and inviting space, with plush, comfortable
furniture arranged in a cozy seating area. A large, ornate fireplace
dominates the southern wall, its marble mantelpiece adorned with intricate
carvings and a large, gilded mirror. The fireplace is flanked by built-in
bookshelves, filled with a variety of books and decorative objects. The walls
are painted a rich, warm color, with artwork and family portraits hung
throughout the space. The floor is covered in hardwood, with a large,
intricately patterned rug anchoring the seating area. The furniture includes
a large, overstuffed sofa and several armchairs, upholstered in a soft,
textured fabric. A coffee table sits at the center of the seating area, its
surface adorned with a vase of fresh flowers and several books. The room is
illuminated by a combination of natural light from the tall windows and the
warm glow of several table lamps scattered throughout the space. The overall
effect is one of comfort and relaxation, creating a perfect spot for family
gatherings or quiet evenings spent reading by the fire.
It is after dusk, about 67F(19C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's raining outside. There is a waxing crescent moon.
(One of the members of The Destined Host has defected and is seeking out your target for protection. They are being pursued by other Host members, who are determined to silence them before they can reveal any of the group's secrets. The defector carries with them an artifact that is crucial to the group's plans, and the characters must keep it out of the Host's hands while deciding what to do with the defector and the knowledge they possess.)
Syl was in the living room sitting on the couch, switch in her hand, playing Super Smash Brothers online, trying her best to the climb the rankings. She had been at the house almost all day, unless one counted going just far enough out into the rain to learn that one would not appreciate riding a motorcycle in it.
The summer September evening draped itself like a velvet mantle over the sprawling Haven estate where Syl is playing video games inside within the living room. Outside, the gardens are still thick with the scent of the bloomed flowers as the day slowly nears its twilight. Old oaks stand tall and proud, and it would be entirely peaceful, except that a fleeing figure passes by a window. He's dashing along, leaping over neatly trimmed hedges, appearing to be running for his life. A satchel is clung to at one side as if it was his very lifeline, heavy not in weight but in consequence. Behind him, there is a voice shouting. "I will take you -- dead or alive!" can be heard in the distance, and the running man stumbles as he cries out for help, "Help me! Somebody!" as he rushes towards the manor's back door.
Syl eyes were narrowed in focus, fingers dancing over the controls, and a look of tortured agony crossed her face as she saw and heard what was happening outside. Rising, switch still in hand, she started toward the door, as if wanting to both play and help. She had only made it a few steps, before scowling, she chucked the switch back onto the couch. "Why is it always when I'm in the middle of a ranked match," she grouses to herself.
Moving to the window first she glanced out it, trying to get a sense for what exactly she was getting involved in, trying to spot who it was that was chasing the man. As she did that she was also slipping her higonokami folding knife from one of her techwear ensemble's many pockets; chikiri unpressed for now, but finger already on it. After the glance, she hurried to the door to unbolt and open it so the man could enter. "You're with the Order," Syl calls.
Syl calls, her voice questioning.
Another cry is tearing itself from the man's throat, "Help me, please! Anyone!" His voice is hoarse and frantic, sounding like a soul abandoned in purgatory, and it echoes through the dusk. He's fearful it will only be swallowed up by the vastness of the manor's grounds. Although he heard that threatening claim earlier, he is unable to see the person who is hunting him, which only instills further fear. Initially, he hears only a cold, indifferent silence in the night as well as the pulse of blood that is pounding in his ears -- but then the sound of the whisper of the wind through the trees seem to mock his plight. Footsteps falter across the grass beneath his boots that is wet from the sprinkler system having run just a bit earlier. It is like even the earth is conspiring against him right now. Ivy-clad stone walls are before him, and his blue eyes with pupils dilated dart back over a shoulder to try and spot his pursuer behind him somewhere in the forest. There isn't a trace of the stalker to be found yet. That fact seems even more terrifying each time he realises he cannot see the vigilante, and his heart is wild with terror as he rushes towards the door. This man has no idea if there is a promise of salvation or doom behind the rear entrance of the residence that stands in front of him. Then, Syl opens the door and he hears that question. Wide eyed and fearful, he immediately responds with, "Yes!" in a lie as he stumbles inside and starts shutting the door as quickly as he possibly can, although without any idea if he has just delivered himself into the hands of a new danger. Raggedly, he breathes, bending forward and bracing himself with large hands upon the denim of his darkwash jeans that cover his legs. He looks to be around thirty, stands at about six feet with blonde hair and not even the slightest inkling of a tan. This guy spends most of his time indoors. "I need..." he pants. "I need help. We need to get out of here. Do you have a car?"
Syl accepts the lie easily. "No car. Got a sportsbike though. Its out front. Is it the guy in the baklava again? I've got a sniper rifle up in my room too. He's fast, but we could take him down on the stairs - shoot him before he can get up," Syl says, words coming fast and without her usual Vegas drawl. She's already moving before waiting for a response. Running deeper into the house - toward the front door and the stair well. Both are in the same direction and so either option works for her.
Syl hears the sound of her character being killed on the Switch she's left unattended.
Satchel pressed against his side not unlike a guilty secret, the man is looking about the room, scanning it quickly and missing just about everything, but he does notice that there doesn't seem to be any looming threats beyond the possibility of Syl. He trembles from head to toe, pulse throbbing in his throat like he's trying to swallow down his own heart. Something outside of the window catches his attention and his blood runs cold as the vigilante has come into view. There, at the edge of the manor's perfectly landscaped lawn is a figure moving with an eerie, supernatural grace, faster than any human can move. Although it is summer, they are cloaked in a long coat and it billows behind them with the darkness of a storm cloud as the pursuer's body blurs across the landscape. Each movement is unnaturally fluid like smoke on the wind, closing the distance between themself and the giant house very quickly. "Shit!" cries out the man inside of the manor next to Syl. He's shaking his head frantically. "People don't die here!" is being said as he's already racing towards the front of the house with Syl. "We need to get to the bike! Now!"
Syl was already moving - the gun and the door outside had both been in the same direction. Path decided, Syl races for the door, hoping to reach her sportsbike before whatever is coming through the mist reaches her. The path to the door heads through the kitchen and past drinks and a tray of cupcakes. Then to the front hall. Syl would not slow for the man, heading straight for the sportsbike and potentially leaving him behind.
Syl waning shock, humiliation, and anger.
Rain is now drumming against the ground, falling in heavy sheets and soaking Syl and the man as they exit the home and run towards the sportsbike. The man is winded, but his fear propels him forward, and the guy does not hesitate to scramble onto the back of the motorcycle, taking the bitch seat while clutching at the satchel with one hand to ensure its contents is secure. He wraps his arms about Syl right after, holding on as if his life depends on it -- because it does. Meanwhile, the vigilante is rounding the corner of the house, moving with that same blurring speed in a predatory blur like a shadow carved right through the air. The victim in this scenario has his heart slamming against his ribs and without any more time to think, he's yelling, "Go, go, go!" at Syl as the vigilante gains ground in a streak against the storm.
Syl stows her knife away, fishes out the keys, and gets the sportsbike started. Its a junker of a thing. She revvs the engine and peels off the drive the moment the man has latched on, spraying up water as its tires streak through the wet pavement.
Syl asks, voice loud to be heard over the roar of the engine. "Where am I going? Does you guys have a Safehouse I can take you to?"
Syl glances behind her briefly to figure out what the fuck is after them. She hadn't stopped to look out the window like the man had, she had already been running. So its her first good look at the supernatural swiftness.
Syl focuses back on the road.
Syl speeds up.
Although moving with the speed of something not quite human, the vigilante has a downfall, and that is their booting hitting the slick pavement of the driveway. In an instant, the rain betrays them. Asphalt glistens like black ice, and beneath the vigilante's strides it becomes their undoing, as does that intense momentum. For a moment, they are airborne with arms flailing and a blade glinting under the fractured moonlight of the storm, and then they are crashing down, feet sliding out from under them. The impact is as brutal as it is sudden, and with a heavy thud that body skids across the slick ground. Water sprays up from all directions, sending up an arc of rain like shattered glass. Their cloak gets tangled about limbs during the tumble, and then the figure comes to a halt in an undignified heap. The knife is lost, flung out into the shadows of the rainstorm. For a fleeting moment, while the man on the back of Syl's bike is witnessing all of this with wide, horror-filled eyes, it feels like the vigilante might be knocked out, but then the person growls lowly and in a feral tone. As Syl gets the bike to lurch forward, the man digs his fingers into her clothes and against sides so hard his knuckles go white. "Just drive!" Terrified of the vigilante's superhuman hearing, he doesn't want to give a destination just yet. Thankfully, the downed pursuer is still on the ground, having not gotten up again yet.
Syl has a racing heart as she focuses on driving. She puts her full attention to it, not looking back toward the creature again. Leaning forward on the sportsbike, she angles her body lower to the handlebars, trying to make herself as small as possible. Lacking any real idea of where to go she decides to head toward the only place she has been going often - The Trove Barcade. There would always be time to change desinations later. For now, she gives her full attention to the road.
While Syl and the man with the satchel speed down the rain-slicked streets, which is a danger in and of itself, the storm continues to pound the world around them. The roar of the sportsbike echoes through the empty roads, cutting through the deluge like a bullet. The headlights reflect off the glistening pavement. It seems Syl is wise enough to know when to slow down along the waterlogged road. Tires still skid before catching traction again. Sidewalks are empty and curtains are pulled on most of the houses they past by, and once they are driving through the city limits there is still no sign of the vigilante. There is only rain and wet streets. The man's grip tightens even more when they veer about another corner. His heart is hammering against Syl's back, but there is a flicker of hope in his eyes as they approach the Trove Barcade.
Syl collects herself througout the drive; no longer the heat of the moment she has time to take stock and reflect.
Syl says, in a Vegas drawl touched by Russian influences, "Tell me what's going on. Who's after ya? Why are ya here? What do ya need?" Even as she is asking this she's digging her hand into a pocket. She has so many pockets - more then anyone could ever need - on the techwear outfit. She comes out with her smart phone. With some of the adrenaline fading she is noticing little things - the hard grip the man had her on through the drive, the cold, the wet of the rain on places where her skin is exposed.
With the rain in their favour, Syl and the man make it to the intended destination. The chilling speed of their pursuer is no longer pressing on their heels, and without that shadowy figure streaking (no, not that way) through the streets, there is no blur in the periphery threatening to close the gap. For the man with the satchel, the absence of the vigilante is both encouraging and unsettling. "The Destined Host. I defected, and I took something very important with me. They need it to complete their plans here in town, and I can't let them get it back," he manages to get out raggedly. Once inside of The Trove Barcade, the man and Syl are hit immediately with the warmth and energy of the establishment. The scent of spilled beer and fried food sills the air, combined with the scent of sweat. This a place where the excitement is palpable. They can hear a techno-like beat thumping in the background as some people cheer on their friend who is trying out Dance Dance Revolution with some poorly worded English lyrics echoing out. Arcade games line the walls with their digital beeps and flashing lights assaulting everyone's senses. A group of college kids are engrossed in throwing axes at the target boards, and a few more are furiously working the pinball machines and sending out metallic clinks. This place is alive, loud, and quite busy. The man holds his satchel protectively, and he's glancing about, but is having difficulty keeping himself together. There is also an area where people are playing laser tag, and a pair of restrooms. He looks to Syl for direction.
Syl asks, "The Destined Host?" Perhaps its the rush of the moment, but she can't recall ever hearing about that before and isn't sure what it is. The sound of games and the many people around are a more familiar comfort to her. She's at home among this sort of noise - its quieter and less populated than the casino's in Vegas with the constant clamor of one armed bandits, but its as close to home as has found thus far in Haven. As she asks, she is already texting Dmitri, Harriet, and Justin to relay the situation and her current location. The texts are simple things, "Defector sought refuge at manor, fled to The Trove Barcade. A super natural dude is chasing us."
Syl says "Are they the sort that would be deterred by a lot of people around? Or do we need to keep moving?"
"Yeah," the man with the satchel replies breathlessly to Syl, but he doesn't bother to explain the group. Weaving through the neon chaos of the barcade, the man's breath is tight in his chest that is covered by a plain white tee that is stuck to him, soaked through. Every step feels heavier as he gets weighed down by the dread that hangs in the air like a thick fog. Around Syl and the man with the satchel, the raucous energy of the patrons -- who are are blissfully unaware of the hunt that is going on -- feels disorienting, almost dream-like for the man while Syl is at home. Flashing lights of machines pulse ominously, casting unnatural shadows that dance across their path and the walls. Each blip and ping of the games feel like a countdown to something inevitable in his mind... He feels it. The two slip between clusters of people like a labyrinth, and the man's blue eyes are darting about, expecting to see a predator stalking him. Each and every arcade cabinet is a possible hiding place, but as his gaze flits about, all he can see are happy patrons stand happily, bathed in the glow of video game lights. Laser tag guns send out sharp zap sounds in the other room, and each one makes him jump. "Nothing will deter them from this. We need to get someplace where I can hand it off to you, without anyone seeing it. If you don't want the responsibility, then we've gotta hide it. They are going to get me sooner or later. There's no stopping that. But I can prevent them from getting the artifact," he tells Syl.
Syl grimaces. "Chill, just act natural. We can go to a more private place if that makes you more comfortable. But I know people. They might be able to get you out of here and keep you safe."
Syl says "What am I going to need to do with it? What is it? "
Nodding, the man with the satchel nods to Syl, assuring her, "I'm trying," even though he is also entirely failing to act natural. He's nodding over and over again. The guy can't stop as he's trying to let the young woman know he needs a private location. Arcade sounds are making him ever the more jumpy, and his hand tightens the strap of his satchel.
Syl grimaces and leads the way back out of the arcade as she picks up on both the need for privacy and his utter inability to act natural.
Syl says "You got a place in mind? I'm pretty new to town."
Syl checks the street for any sign of the supernatural predator that had been chasing them.
After a quick glance about the area, the man with the satchel suggests to Syl, "The bathroom. We'll just... We'll need to both get in there." His fear is ever growing. "You figure out how to do it." He puts it all on the near stranger before him.
Clatter caused by arcade buttons being pushed and pressed has the man with the satchel tensing even more. He seems sure they cannot speak here. This is a supernatural filled town, and you never can know for sure who is aligned with who. The noise could be deafening across the room to a human, but not to someone powerful. Even the crowd of drunken patrons could be a place for a Destined Host member to be hanging out in -- one who would not be aware of who the man even if -- until they say what he has in his bag. The look he gives Syl is desperate.
Syl doesn't hesitate, just switches her destination. As she waslks she scans the barcade for any potential eyes that might take interest. Without breaking her stride, she maintains her casual air, like she is completely in control of the situation. Tone light she drawls, "Follow me, keep it light, and stop looking around like a cornered animal. Act like you belong here."
She moves through the crowd with purpose, weaving between the clusters of patrons, and makes it seem like the man is just another friend tagging along. Her body language shifts slightly to exude confidence, the kind of nonchalance that makes people subconsciously think everything is perfectly normal.
Following Syl, the man with the satchel lacks confidence. He's about to crumble, and the way he is spoken to makes him look like less of a man and more of a mouse, despite his height. This man has clearly been through a lot recently. Doing his best to blend in, he watches the patrons swaying with their drinks and laughing too loud, so he tries to mimic the energy coming from the drunks. His feet drag a bit and he fumbles a little, grabbing the back of a stool that he passes to act like he needed it for stability. One guy says, "You need another beer, bro," to the man with a satchel, but no one else looks twice. A nod is afforded Syl, and then he walks into the restroom. The restroom is empty, and he's quickly rushing into a stall, and when Syl is in there as well, he latches the door and steps onto the toilet, sneakers balanced on the edges so that it looks like only one person is inside.
"The Destined Host is trying to open up a demonic portal, and they are on the verge of a breakthrough. They've located an ancient seal that is supposed to allow a gateway to demon realms out in Lauriea," the man with the satchel is explaining to Syl. "They've been trying to complete this task since January. The Destined Host has powerful, demonic benefactors and they want to bring them into our world. It would be catastrophic. In order to break the seal, though," he continues, large hands trembling against that bag he's carrying while balancing on the toiler. "They need this key. It is the Bloodstone of Amaymon." Nervously, he opens the satchel and retrieves something wrapped in a thick cloth. Unwrapping it, a blood-red gem that is rough and uncut, and is the size of a human heart. This stone is swirling with dark veins of ichor that move like living tendrils under its surface. It is held in an iron claw that appears very much like what one would imagine a severed demon's hand would look like. "They can never have this back," comes out shakily as he explains to Syl, and then thrusts it forward and right into her hands. Unsettling vibrations surge through Syl in a pulse of something malevolent, and like a heartbeat of its own. It is alive in a way that would make most people's hairs on the back of their neck stand on end. The gem is no larger than an adult's fist, and it is absorbing the light around it rather than reflecting it. This stone is also far heavier that its size should allow. "It's... it's wrong, right? You can feel it?" He's quick to add, "I wasn't lying when I said it was evil. It wants to be used. We can't let it happen." Just then, Syl can feel the bloodstone's power tugging at the edges of her mind like a faint whisper. scratching at her consciousness, trying to tempt her to listen.
Syl is tempted to listen.
"Yeah... I can feel it," Syl muttered, her voice low, almost distant. She curled her fingers
"Yeah... I can feel it," Syl muttered, her voice low, almost distant. She curled her fingers tightly around the stone.
Now free from his dark burden, the man with the satchel is a little less nervous -- but only in his concern for the world being flooded with demon entities soon. He's still very nervous, and knows that the Destined Host will not stop searching for him. The gemstone is tickling at Syl's consciousness more, almost as if it is promising power to her, but the man knows the darkness and how seductive, ancient, and tempting it is. "You can't listen to it," the man's voice is urgent. "It hums." His head shakes from side to side almost violently. "All it wants to do is use you to get it to the seal. It's a stone. It can't give you anything, all it wants to do is bend you to its will. That's how it works. I've held it too long. I've felt its pull. You've got to be stronger than it. I'm pretty sure it's the demons on the other side, somehow... connecting with it, and its them trying to lure you. Don't fall for it." Then he becomes more urgent, "All hell will break loose, literally. You've got to find a way to destroy it, or hide it where no one will ever find it." He hops down from the toilet seat and gives the cloth to Syl to wrap it back up with.
Syl shakes her head and wraps the stone in the provided cloth. Then, she takes advantages of the many pockets on her techwear outfit, pocketing it. "Right. I won't let that happen. It'll end up destroyed or safe."
Syl says "I've texted some people telling them where we are. Harriet's usually pretty busy, but Dmitri is a friend of my family. I think he would probably be willing to help you lay low."
"No, I mean --- no..." The man with the now empty satchel is really tempted to accept the help, but he doesn't want to put anyone in any more danger. "Thank you for your help," is said, but then he's pulling the latch free from the stall door. "I have to go. They'll be after me. Arcanists can find me. It's already dangerous that I've been in this place for too long. They'll be after me, thinking I still have it. I'll lead them away and try to give you time." Then he stresses, "Don't trust anyone. Don't trust -it-. Bury it somewhere, drown it in the deepest water -- I don't know. Anything to keep them from finding it." Blue eyes give Syl a pleading look. They are filled with that same desperation they've held since first meeting her, but now they have something else. Something like hope. "You're the only one who can stop them now." Without waiting for a response, he turns and flees, disappearing out back into the barcade and vanishing into the night. The bloodstone still pulses in Syl's outfit. She has successfully prevented The Destined Host from capturing ... whatever his name was -- he never gave it, which is likely for the best, and she saved the artifact from being used for evil.
Upon reaching the relative safety of The Trove Barcade, the man reveals the true nature of the crisis: he has defected from The Destined Host carrying a crucial artifact, the Bloodstone of Amaymon, which the group intends to use to open a demonic portal. The artifact, swathed in malevolence, beckons Syl with promises of power, a temptation she struggles against. Recognizing the gravity of their situation, they seek a private moment in the restroom to discuss further. The man entrusts the bloodstone to Syl, urging her to destroy it or hide it away from the evil organization. Despite his fear and the artifact's seductive pull, Syl commits to keeping it from The Host's clutches. Left with the heavy responsibility of thwarting a demonic breakthrough, she watches as the defector slips away into the night, carrying the burden of diverting their shared enemies. Syl stands resolved, the fate of Haven, perhaps even beyond, unknowingly resting in her hands and the depth of her will to resist the bloodstone's dark allure.
(Syl's odd encounter(SRHarriet):SRHarriet)
[Mon Sep 9 2024]
In Living Room
The living room is a warm and inviting space, with plush, comfortable
furniture arranged in a cozy seating area. A large, ornate fireplace
dominates the southern wall, its marble mantelpiece adorned with intricate
carvings and a large, gilded mirror. The fireplace is flanked by built-in
bookshelves, filled with a variety of books and decorative objects. The walls
are painted a rich, warm color, with artwork and family portraits hung
throughout the space. The floor is covered in hardwood, with a large,
intricately patterned rug anchoring the seating area. The furniture includes
a large, overstuffed sofa and several armchairs, upholstered in a soft,
textured fabric. A coffee table sits at the center of the seating area, its
surface adorned with a vase of fresh flowers and several books. The room is
illuminated by a combination of natural light from the tall windows and the
warm glow of several table lamps scattered throughout the space. The overall
effect is one of comfort and relaxation, creating a perfect spot for family
gatherings or quiet evenings spent reading by the fire.
It is after dusk, about 67F(19C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's raining outside. There is a waxing crescent moon.
(One of the members of The Destined Host has defected and is seeking out your target for protection. They are being pursued by other Host members, who are determined to silence them before they can reveal any of the group's secrets. The defector carries with them an artifact that is crucial to the group's plans, and the characters must keep it out of the Host's hands while deciding what to do with the defector and the knowledge they possess.)
Syl was in the living room sitting on the couch, switch in her hand, playing Super Smash Brothers online, trying her best to the climb the rankings. She had been at the house almost all day, unless one counted going just far enough out into the rain to learn that one would not appreciate riding a motorcycle in it.
The summer September evening draped itself like a velvet mantle over the sprawling Haven estate where Syl is playing video games inside within the living room. Outside, the gardens are still thick with the scent of the bloomed flowers as the day slowly nears its twilight. Old oaks stand tall and proud, and it would be entirely peaceful, except that a fleeing figure passes by a window. He's dashing along, leaping over neatly trimmed hedges, appearing to be running for his life. A satchel is clung to at one side as if it was his very lifeline, heavy not in weight but in consequence. Behind him, there is a voice shouting. "I will take you -- dead or alive!" can be heard in the distance, and the running man stumbles as he cries out for help, "Help me! Somebody!" as he rushes towards the manor's back door.
Syl eyes were narrowed in focus, fingers dancing over the controls, and a look of tortured agony crossed her face as she saw and heard what was happening outside. Rising, switch still in hand, she started toward the door, as if wanting to both play and help. She had only made it a few steps, before scowling, she chucked the switch back onto the couch. "Why is it always when I'm in the middle of a ranked match," she grouses to herself.
Moving to the window first she glanced out it, trying to get a sense for what exactly she was getting involved in, trying to spot who it was that was chasing the man. As she did that she was also slipping her higonokami folding knife from one of her techwear ensemble's many pockets; chikiri unpressed for now, but finger already on it. After the glance, she hurried to the door to unbolt and open it so the man could enter. "You're with the Order," Syl calls.
Syl calls, her voice questioning.
Another cry is tearing itself from the man's throat, "Help me, please! Anyone!" His voice is hoarse and frantic, sounding like a soul abandoned in purgatory, and it echoes through the dusk. He's fearful it will only be swallowed up by the vastness of the manor's grounds. Although he heard that threatening claim earlier, he is unable to see the person who is hunting him, which only instills further fear. Initially, he hears only a cold, indifferent silence in the night as well as the pulse of blood that is pounding in his ears -- but then the sound of the whisper of the wind through the trees seem to mock his plight. Footsteps falter across the grass beneath his boots that is wet from the sprinkler system having run just a bit earlier. It is like even the earth is conspiring against him right now. Ivy-clad stone walls are before him, and his blue eyes with pupils dilated dart back over a shoulder to try and spot his pursuer behind him somewhere in the forest. There isn't a trace of the stalker to be found yet. That fact seems even more terrifying each time he realises he cannot see the vigilante, and his heart is wild with terror as he rushes towards the door. This man has no idea if there is a promise of salvation or doom behind the rear entrance of the residence that stands in front of him. Then, Syl opens the door and he hears that question. Wide eyed and fearful, he immediately responds with, "Yes!" in a lie as he stumbles inside and starts shutting the door as quickly as he possibly can, although without any idea if he has just delivered himself into the hands of a new danger. Raggedly, he breathes, bending forward and bracing himself with large hands upon the denim of his darkwash jeans that cover his legs. He looks to be around thirty, stands at about six feet with blonde hair and not even the slightest inkling of a tan. This guy spends most of his time indoors. "I need..." he pants. "I need help. We need to get out of here. Do you have a car?"
Syl accepts the lie easily. "No car. Got a sportsbike though. Its out front. Is it the guy in the baklava again? I've got a sniper rifle up in my room too. He's fast, but we could take him down on the stairs - shoot him before he can get up," Syl says, words coming fast and without her usual Vegas drawl. She's already moving before waiting for a response. Running deeper into the house - toward the front door and the stair well. Both are in the same direction and so either option works for her.
Syl hears the sound of her character being killed on the Switch she's left unattended.
Satchel pressed against his side not unlike a guilty secret, the man is looking about the room, scanning it quickly and missing just about everything, but he does notice that there doesn't seem to be any looming threats beyond the possibility of Syl. He trembles from head to toe, pulse throbbing in his throat like he's trying to swallow down his own heart. Something outside of the window catches his attention and his blood runs cold as the vigilante has come into view. There, at the edge of the manor's perfectly landscaped lawn is a figure moving with an eerie, supernatural grace, faster than any human can move. Although it is summer, they are cloaked in a long coat and it billows behind them with the darkness of a storm cloud as the pursuer's body blurs across the landscape. Each movement is unnaturally fluid like smoke on the wind, closing the distance between themself and the giant house very quickly. "Shit!" cries out the man inside of the manor next to Syl. He's shaking his head frantically. "People don't die here!" is being said as he's already racing towards the front of the house with Syl. "We need to get to the bike! Now!"
Syl was already moving - the gun and the door outside had both been in the same direction. Path decided, Syl races for the door, hoping to reach her sportsbike before whatever is coming through the mist reaches her. The path to the door heads through the kitchen and past drinks and a tray of cupcakes. Then to the front hall. Syl would not slow for the man, heading straight for the sportsbike and potentially leaving him behind.
Syl waning shock, humiliation, and anger.
Rain is now drumming against the ground, falling in heavy sheets and soaking Syl and the man as they exit the home and run towards the sportsbike. The man is winded, but his fear propels him forward, and the guy does not hesitate to scramble onto the back of the motorcycle, taking the bitch seat while clutching at the satchel with one hand to ensure its contents is secure. He wraps his arms about Syl right after, holding on as if his life depends on it -- because it does. Meanwhile, the vigilante is rounding the corner of the house, moving with that same blurring speed in a predatory blur like a shadow carved right through the air. The victim in this scenario has his heart slamming against his ribs and without any more time to think, he's yelling, "Go, go, go!" at Syl as the vigilante gains ground in a streak against the storm.
Syl stows her knife away, fishes out the keys, and gets the sportsbike started. Its a junker of a thing. She revvs the engine and peels off the drive the moment the man has latched on, spraying up water as its tires streak through the wet pavement.
Syl asks, voice loud to be heard over the roar of the engine. "Where am I going? Does you guys have a Safehouse I can take you to?"
Syl glances behind her briefly to figure out what the fuck is after them. She hadn't stopped to look out the window like the man had, she had already been running. So its her first good look at the supernatural swiftness.
Syl focuses back on the road.
Syl speeds up.
Although moving with the speed of something not quite human, the vigilante has a downfall, and that is their booting hitting the slick pavement of the driveway. In an instant, the rain betrays them. Asphalt glistens like black ice, and beneath the vigilante's strides it becomes their undoing, as does that intense momentum. For a moment, they are airborne with arms flailing and a blade glinting under the fractured moonlight of the storm, and then they are crashing down, feet sliding out from under them. The impact is as brutal as it is sudden, and with a heavy thud that body skids across the slick ground. Water sprays up from all directions, sending up an arc of rain like shattered glass. Their cloak gets tangled about limbs during the tumble, and then the figure comes to a halt in an undignified heap. The knife is lost, flung out into the shadows of the rainstorm. For a fleeting moment, while the man on the back of Syl's bike is witnessing all of this with wide, horror-filled eyes, it feels like the vigilante might be knocked out, but then the person growls lowly and in a feral tone. As Syl gets the bike to lurch forward, the man digs his fingers into her clothes and against sides so hard his knuckles go white. "Just drive!" Terrified of the vigilante's superhuman hearing, he doesn't want to give a destination just yet. Thankfully, the downed pursuer is still on the ground, having not gotten up again yet.
Syl has a racing heart as she focuses on driving. She puts her full attention to it, not looking back toward the creature again. Leaning forward on the sportsbike, she angles her body lower to the handlebars, trying to make herself as small as possible. Lacking any real idea of where to go she decides to head toward the only place she has been going often - The Trove Barcade. There would always be time to change desinations later. For now, she gives her full attention to the road.
While Syl and the man with the satchel speed down the rain-slicked streets, which is a danger in and of itself, the storm continues to pound the world around them. The roar of the sportsbike echoes through the empty roads, cutting through the deluge like a bullet. The headlights reflect off the glistening pavement. It seems Syl is wise enough to know when to slow down along the waterlogged road. Tires still skid before catching traction again. Sidewalks are empty and curtains are pulled on most of the houses they past by, and once they are driving through the city limits there is still no sign of the vigilante. There is only rain and wet streets. The man's grip tightens even more when they veer about another corner. His heart is hammering against Syl's back, but there is a flicker of hope in his eyes as they approach the Trove Barcade.
Syl collects herself througout the drive; no longer the heat of the moment she has time to take stock and reflect.
Syl says, in a Vegas drawl touched by Russian influences, "Tell me what's going on. Who's after ya? Why are ya here? What do ya need?" Even as she is asking this she's digging her hand into a pocket. She has so many pockets - more then anyone could ever need - on the techwear outfit. She comes out with her smart phone. With some of the adrenaline fading she is noticing little things - the hard grip the man had her on through the drive, the cold, the wet of the rain on places where her skin is exposed.
With the rain in their favour, Syl and the man make it to the intended destination. The chilling speed of their pursuer is no longer pressing on their heels, and without that shadowy figure streaking (no, not that way) through the streets, there is no blur in the periphery threatening to close the gap. For the man with the satchel, the absence of the vigilante is both encouraging and unsettling. "The Destined Host. I defected, and I took something very important with me. They need it to complete their plans here in town, and I can't let them get it back," he manages to get out raggedly. Once inside of The Trove Barcade, the man and Syl are hit immediately with the warmth and energy of the establishment. The scent of spilled beer and fried food sills the air, combined with the scent of sweat. This a place where the excitement is palpable. They can hear a techno-like beat thumping in the background as some people cheer on their friend who is trying out Dance Dance Revolution with some poorly worded English lyrics echoing out. Arcade games line the walls with their digital beeps and flashing lights assaulting everyone's senses. A group of college kids are engrossed in throwing axes at the target boards, and a few more are furiously working the pinball machines and sending out metallic clinks. This place is alive, loud, and quite busy. The man holds his satchel protectively, and he's glancing about, but is having difficulty keeping himself together. There is also an area where people are playing laser tag, and a pair of restrooms. He looks to Syl for direction.
Syl asks, "The Destined Host?" Perhaps its the rush of the moment, but she can't recall ever hearing about that before and isn't sure what it is. The sound of games and the many people around are a more familiar comfort to her. She's at home among this sort of noise - its quieter and less populated than the casino's in Vegas with the constant clamor of one armed bandits, but its as close to home as has found thus far in Haven. As she asks, she is already texting Dmitri, Harriet, and Justin to relay the situation and her current location. The texts are simple things, "Defector sought refuge at manor, fled to The Trove Barcade. A super natural dude is chasing us."
Syl says "Are they the sort that would be deterred by a lot of people around? Or do we need to keep moving?"
"Yeah," the man with the satchel replies breathlessly to Syl, but he doesn't bother to explain the group. Weaving through the neon chaos of the barcade, the man's breath is tight in his chest that is covered by a plain white tee that is stuck to him, soaked through. Every step feels heavier as he gets weighed down by the dread that hangs in the air like a thick fog. Around Syl and the man with the satchel, the raucous energy of the patrons -- who are are blissfully unaware of the hunt that is going on -- feels disorienting, almost dream-like for the man while Syl is at home. Flashing lights of machines pulse ominously, casting unnatural shadows that dance across their path and the walls. Each blip and ping of the games feel like a countdown to something inevitable in his mind... He feels it. The two slip between clusters of people like a labyrinth, and the man's blue eyes are darting about, expecting to see a predator stalking him. Each and every arcade cabinet is a possible hiding place, but as his gaze flits about, all he can see are happy patrons stand happily, bathed in the glow of video game lights. Laser tag guns send out sharp zap sounds in the other room, and each one makes him jump. "Nothing will deter them from this. We need to get someplace where I can hand it off to you, without anyone seeing it. If you don't want the responsibility, then we've gotta hide it. They are going to get me sooner or later. There's no stopping that. But I can prevent them from getting the artifact," he tells Syl.
Syl grimaces. "Chill, just act natural. We can go to a more private place if that makes you more comfortable. But I know people. They might be able to get you out of here and keep you safe."
Syl says "What am I going to need to do with it? What is it? "
Nodding, the man with the satchel nods to Syl, assuring her, "I'm trying," even though he is also entirely failing to act natural. He's nodding over and over again. The guy can't stop as he's trying to let the young woman know he needs a private location. Arcade sounds are making him ever the more jumpy, and his hand tightens the strap of his satchel.
Syl grimaces and leads the way back out of the arcade as she picks up on both the need for privacy and his utter inability to act natural.
Syl says "You got a place in mind? I'm pretty new to town."
Syl checks the street for any sign of the supernatural predator that had been chasing them.
After a quick glance about the area, the man with the satchel suggests to Syl, "The bathroom. We'll just... We'll need to both get in there." His fear is ever growing. "You figure out how to do it." He puts it all on the near stranger before him.
Clatter caused by arcade buttons being pushed and pressed has the man with the satchel tensing even more. He seems sure they cannot speak here. This is a supernatural filled town, and you never can know for sure who is aligned with who. The noise could be deafening across the room to a human, but not to someone powerful. Even the crowd of drunken patrons could be a place for a Destined Host member to be hanging out in -- one who would not be aware of who the man even if -- until they say what he has in his bag. The look he gives Syl is desperate.
Syl doesn't hesitate, just switches her destination. As she waslks she scans the barcade for any potential eyes that might take interest. Without breaking her stride, she maintains her casual air, like she is completely in control of the situation. Tone light she drawls, "Follow me, keep it light, and stop looking around like a cornered animal. Act like you belong here."
She moves through the crowd with purpose, weaving between the clusters of patrons, and makes it seem like the man is just another friend tagging along. Her body language shifts slightly to exude confidence, the kind of nonchalance that makes people subconsciously think everything is perfectly normal.
Following Syl, the man with the satchel lacks confidence. He's about to crumble, and the way he is spoken to makes him look like less of a man and more of a mouse, despite his height. This man has clearly been through a lot recently. Doing his best to blend in, he watches the patrons swaying with their drinks and laughing too loud, so he tries to mimic the energy coming from the drunks. His feet drag a bit and he fumbles a little, grabbing the back of a stool that he passes to act like he needed it for stability. One guy says, "You need another beer, bro," to the man with a satchel, but no one else looks twice. A nod is afforded Syl, and then he walks into the restroom. The restroom is empty, and he's quickly rushing into a stall, and when Syl is in there as well, he latches the door and steps onto the toilet, sneakers balanced on the edges so that it looks like only one person is inside.
"The Destined Host is trying to open up a demonic portal, and they are on the verge of a breakthrough. They've located an ancient seal that is supposed to allow a gateway to demon realms out in Lauriea," the man with the satchel is explaining to Syl. "They've been trying to complete this task since January. The Destined Host has powerful, demonic benefactors and they want to bring them into our world. It would be catastrophic. In order to break the seal, though," he continues, large hands trembling against that bag he's carrying while balancing on the toiler. "They need this key. It is the Bloodstone of Amaymon." Nervously, he opens the satchel and retrieves something wrapped in a thick cloth. Unwrapping it, a blood-red gem that is rough and uncut, and is the size of a human heart. This stone is swirling with dark veins of ichor that move like living tendrils under its surface. It is held in an iron claw that appears very much like what one would imagine a severed demon's hand would look like. "They can never have this back," comes out shakily as he explains to Syl, and then thrusts it forward and right into her hands. Unsettling vibrations surge through Syl in a pulse of something malevolent, and like a heartbeat of its own. It is alive in a way that would make most people's hairs on the back of their neck stand on end. The gem is no larger than an adult's fist, and it is absorbing the light around it rather than reflecting it. This stone is also far heavier that its size should allow. "It's... it's wrong, right? You can feel it?" He's quick to add, "I wasn't lying when I said it was evil. It wants to be used. We can't let it happen." Just then, Syl can feel the bloodstone's power tugging at the edges of her mind like a faint whisper. scratching at her consciousness, trying to tempt her to listen.
Syl is tempted to listen.
"Yeah... I can feel it," Syl muttered, her voice low, almost distant. She curled her fingers
"Yeah... I can feel it," Syl muttered, her voice low, almost distant. She curled her fingers tightly around the stone.
Now free from his dark burden, the man with the satchel is a little less nervous -- but only in his concern for the world being flooded with demon entities soon. He's still very nervous, and knows that the Destined Host will not stop searching for him. The gemstone is tickling at Syl's consciousness more, almost as if it is promising power to her, but the man knows the darkness and how seductive, ancient, and tempting it is. "You can't listen to it," the man's voice is urgent. "It hums." His head shakes from side to side almost violently. "All it wants to do is use you to get it to the seal. It's a stone. It can't give you anything, all it wants to do is bend you to its will. That's how it works. I've held it too long. I've felt its pull. You've got to be stronger than it. I'm pretty sure it's the demons on the other side, somehow... connecting with it, and its them trying to lure you. Don't fall for it." Then he becomes more urgent, "All hell will break loose, literally. You've got to find a way to destroy it, or hide it where no one will ever find it." He hops down from the toilet seat and gives the cloth to Syl to wrap it back up with.
Syl shakes her head and wraps the stone in the provided cloth. Then, she takes advantages of the many pockets on her techwear outfit, pocketing it. "Right. I won't let that happen. It'll end up destroyed or safe."
Syl says "I've texted some people telling them where we are. Harriet's usually pretty busy, but Dmitri is a friend of my family. I think he would probably be willing to help you lay low."
"No, I mean --- no..." The man with the now empty satchel is really tempted to accept the help, but he doesn't want to put anyone in any more danger. "Thank you for your help," is said, but then he's pulling the latch free from the stall door. "I have to go. They'll be after me. Arcanists can find me. It's already dangerous that I've been in this place for too long. They'll be after me, thinking I still have it. I'll lead them away and try to give you time." Then he stresses, "Don't trust anyone. Don't trust -it-. Bury it somewhere, drown it in the deepest water -- I don't know. Anything to keep them from finding it." Blue eyes give Syl a pleading look. They are filled with that same desperation they've held since first meeting her, but now they have something else. Something like hope. "You're the only one who can stop them now." Without waiting for a response, he turns and flees, disappearing out back into the barcade and vanishing into the night. The bloodstone still pulses in Syl's outfit. She has successfully prevented The Destined Host from capturing ... whatever his name was -- he never gave it, which is likely for the best, and she saved the artifact from being used for evil.