Encounterlogs
Trevors Odd Encounter Sr Calista 240618
During an early morning excursion that takes an unexpected turn, Trevor stumbles upon a cult engaging in a ritual sacrifice by the sea. The scene is eerie and captivating, with symbols drawn in dark red on boulders arranged in a circle, an assembled crowd of cultists, and a pyre prepared for a sacrifice. Despite his best attempts at stealth, Trevor is quickly discovered and, under the guise of blending in, reluctantly participates momentarily in the ominous proceedings. As the ritual progresses, with a man bound to a large X-frame and the cultists preparing for his immolation, Trevor's discomfort grows, prompting him to take drastic action to interrupt the ceremony.
Compelled by a mixture of courage and foolhardiness, Trevor decides to intervene directly, disrupting the cultists' prayers and attracting the ire of the hooded leader conducting the ritual. In a desperate bid to save the intended sacrifice, he fabricates a story about the pyre's improper construction, but his deceit is seen through. When physical confrontation becomes inevitable, Trevor's impulsive decision to punch the cult leader results in a life-threatening counterattack, as he experiences the excruciating sensation of burning from within. In an unexpected twist, the man on the frame, seemingly possessing supernatural strength, breaks free and retaliates against the cult leader, saving Trevor and urging him to flee. With no time to waste, Trevor makes a break for it, returning to the safety of his apartment, albeit with a renewed awareness of the dangers his curiosity can lead to and the bizarre adventures that seem to find him.
(Trevor's odd encounter(SRCalista):SRCalista)
[Mon Jun 17 2024]
In in an open concept main living area and kitchen
There is a bright and airy feel to this open concept living space. A small kitchenette houses compact, white appliances, white countertops, and white cupboards with glass fronts. A kitchen island or bar is what acts as a separater between the kitchen and living area. High stools with woven wicker seats are set along the one side for eating.
Off white walls and light hardwood floors furnish the rest of the living space, dominated mostly by a very large rug in a deep shade of blue and an overstuffed cream sectional. A low coffee table in a light wood is arranged in the middle. The only other thing of note in the apartment is a great deal of greenery. Small and large, potted or hanging, there are ferns, palms and ivy plants scattered all over the apartment as a form of decoration.
It is morning, about 77F(25C) degrees,
Luckily, or unluckily, for the pedalling Trevor, the SUV doesn't actually go that far out of town. Maybe these guys have an imposed timeline for whatever they're doing, or they're just really bad at being discreet. While Trevor makes his way down that road that turns from paved to compacted dirt and rock, he'd see large tire ruts that veer off to the east on an unestablished road - heading coastward.
Since his penchant for getting into situations he probably shouldn't hasn't stopped him yet, those tire tracks are followed as well to where the recognizable SUV sits idle now next to a collection of a few other cars of not much interest though it does suggest a crowd of close to twenty might be present at whatever this is.
There's nothing happening here at this makeshift parking lot, but the sounds of voices rising in that recognizable sort of hum of excitement come from over and down the rise of this hill that the vehicles are parked at the base of.
Well, Trevor attempts to be stealthy, as he carefully gets off his bike and works his way past the parking lot, and down the hill.
Unfortunately for Trevor, he's big, it's the morning and there doesn't seem to be a lot of cover.
There is certainly no cover for Trevor here. The hill opens up the view to a slightly elevated flat of grassy plain that overlooks the ocean to the east. No mature trees in nearby range.
It's actually quite beautiful, what has been accomplished here. A ring of large, flattened boulders have been arranged in a circle, much like a clock's face. If Trevor counted them, he might notice there are in fact twelve of them indeed. Upon each of the boulders has been drawn a symbol of some sort. If Trevor squints, he might notice that it's a dark red colour. Not likely paint. Of course, it can't ever be a flourescent blue or something. In the centre of the symbols are artifacts of varying sorts. They appear to be natural minerals, jewlery pieces made from precious ores, and a couple tomes.
A collection of people stand between the boulders and within their ring where the attention is on a pyre that crackles tamely for now, and a large X frame has been erected above. The crew from the SUV - it looks like three male figure types, are busy securing a tall and lean man to the frame by the hands and feet. The quintessential figure in a hooded robe waits nearby, stopping to have conversations with the occasional person with stooped heads in low voices.
Oh, perfect, a boulder! Trevor tries his best to move up alongside a boulder to not be spotted. But.. well, as it's been established sneaking isn't in his toolkit after all.
You know, they're really quite a decorator. It's amazing what they've done with such a modest budget. He should like that boulder. That is a NICE boulder.
From closer up to the action, Trevor can see that he is luckily not the only person in street clothes at this thing, and maybe, his presence won't be noted as overly strange - though he is clearly late.
"Get some salt on your hands!" a sharp featured woman hisses at Trevor from where she stands between Trevor's boulder and another. Okay so, he wasn't so stealthy after all. "Now!" she adds for good measure. Bossy bossy.
From within the centre, the man on the x-frame is coming to, and the ones that put him up there have retreated to dip their hands in some sort of chalky and yet crystalline solution inside a large brass bowl. The hooded leader approaches the pyre, whispering a few words and holding out a hand, causing the flames to lick higher now, greedy against the wood provided as fuel. "Siblings of oblivion," the voice is raised. It's tenorous but hard to tell whether it is male or female. What can be seen of them under the hood is rather androgynous as well. "As the noon sun approaches, we make another perfectly offered sacrifice - a lethal embrace that we shall all know soon enough!"
Oh, well, gotta listen to the bossy woman. Trevor wanders over to where the others are dipping their hands inside a bowl. Trevor probably has no idea what it's used for, and well, he doesn't even seem like he cares. His hands go in, and then come out a little moment or so later. Salt. Like seasoning his fries, or well, in this case, his fingers. Maybe someone really wants some salty fingers!
Trevor finds an empty spot, and sort of just.. stands around listening for a moment, eyes inspecting the area. He's unarmed, surrounded by cultists.
This wouldn't be his first time dealing with crazy cultists after all, and he doesn't seem to be outwardly panicking, that's a good sign, because it would be very suspicious if he was.
The cultists seem to know what happens next, now that the fire has been fanned. Moving as one, they create a line, facing the coast that sparkles in the rising sun. With their backs to the semi-conscious man on the frame, they walk forward to be on the outside of the ring of boulders, dropping to their knees in murmured prayer as the robed figure stands before them, facing the water. That same voice is risen again though now it speaks in a language not understood by Trevor. Only a small groan escapes the restrained man, in chorus with these murmured prayers.
Trevor did not know what was to happen next, and he's still standing when the others drop to their knees. It's obvious he's an outsider now, and he runs a hand through his hair. Does he walk with the rest? No. It's too late for that.
Time to do what Trevor might do best. "Hey!" he calls out, interrupting the murmured prayers of the cultists.
And now Trevor has about twenty-one pairs of eyes turning to look at him - in surprise, in disgust, as he interrupts the beginning of the prayer.
"Brother," the hooded figure begins to say with a deepening frown. "Is there something you'd like to share?" The tone of voice suggests that whatever Trevor might have to say is not going to be taken as deemed important enough to be interrupting. And there might be hell to pay.
"Get me down..." the strained voice of the man on the frame begins to say as he comes closer to full consciousness, in time for the flames to be quite uncomfortably close to his body. Trevor has another choice to make. Keep talking, or start moving.
As Trevor begins to talk, he moves. He's a good multitasker - moving towards the man on the frame.
"Yeah, something I'd like to share," he's casual in the way he talks, in the way he moves, almost like he owns the place - owns the ritual.
"Since we're burning this guy right now," and then he's up close to the frame now - inspecting it.
The flames are hot, but Trevor is ignoring them for the moment. "The frame, it's cracking. He's gonna escape." It's all bullshit, he's just making this up as he goes.
It's not cracking. He's not going to escape.
The timbers of the x-frame are solid and quite thick. The fire itself is positioned a little ahead of it, more likely to burn him by residual heat and floating embers than by direct flame. Interesting. Also interesting, is the fact that his bindings seem to be done with a metal wire instead of the usual go to of rope. It looks like it's pretty painful, cutting into the skin around the man's extremities.
"You don't have faith," the priest says simply to Trevor, moving forward now with an almost lethal sort of smoothness to their movements. And intent.
The other cultists have not moved, but then again the way they watch the hooded one suggests that they don't feel they have to back them up in any way. That could be a problem.
But there might be a solution. There's a trio of daggers with their blades dug into the ground by the pyre. Ready for a part of this ritual that has not yet come to pass. They wouldn't be far from Trevor now.
"Oh," Trevor says with a single slow nod, "I have faith! Complete, one hundred percent faith. Just," he nods towards the man, "It's not gonna burn properly, I'm telling you." Now, Trevor's just making it up. He doesn't know how burning wood works, or the science behind it.
His eyes dart towards the daggers on the ground, lifting his hands in that typical defensive posture, 'I mean you no harm' sort of meaning.
That priest keeps coming, that lethal smoothness still. Words don't seem to be working.
Trevor kicks backwards - hoping, with all hope that he's strong enough to knock the X-frame down, away from the flames, "Oh shit," he says with a sort of an apologetic look to him. It looks like it could have been an accident, maybe he just stepped back wrong.
Those daggers are still there though.
And down comes the X-frame, taking the poor man attached to it with. It stalls the advance of the priest for only a moment before a hand reaches out towards the flames of the pyre and those flames start twisting unnaturally towards Trevor who is dangerously close now. "YOU WILL BURN TOGETHER THEN." Come the ominous words from this hooded figure while hungry looks are exchanged between the cultists.
The sun continues to rise in the sky to its zenith. It -was- noon that the priest said this was happening, was it not?
The man tied to the x-frame doesn't seem to mind the fall all that much and begins to strain heavily against his bonds with what might be noticably supernatural strength, though he is equal parts noticably drained. Likely due to whatever knocked him out to begin with being in his system.
There's an old quote, from an old professional boxer. 'Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face'. That's what Trevor seems to be thinking right now. So, he does just that.
He just straight up walks up to the priest and directly punches him in the face.
Trevor needs better plans. Someone enroll this guy in a workshop. The punch lands, because Trevor is handy with those fists. The priest staggers back in stunned surprise, but is not knocked out by the movement. Blood trickles, fresh and bright from their nose, and their eyes glow unnaturally in a rage response. The ritual sacrifice is forgotten, Trevor is the subject of desire now. Dark desire.
Trevor would begin to feel the oxygen being sucked from his lungs, from his throat by invisible flames. The feeling as if he has swallowed a hot coal washes over him, burning the inside of his esophagus with an incredible sharp pain. The smell of burning flesh - is it his own? - fills his nostrils.
The man forgotten on the cross, an important member of a rival group, is Trevor's greatest hope. And luckily, he didn't rise to power by being a coward. Thanks to strength returned and perhaps aided by Trevor's felling of the frame, he is yank the wire bonds loose enough to slip out of them. Shoeless, and with blood falling in rivulets from the self imparted slices on his wrists and ankles he makes a break for the daggers in the ground and hucks them with great precision at the hooded figure.
The searing, unimaginable pain that Trevor feels in his throat, that chokes the air from his lungs and made his eyes water and burn like they filled with ash comes to a halt in an instant as the figure is hit with two of those blades in the abdomen and shoulder. "RUN, NOW," comes the croaked command from the male that has potentially saved Trevor's life in return for his meddling with the ritual. He doesn't wait to see what Trevor does though before he is already running in the opposite direction and disappearing suddenly into the nightmare.
Trevor is a good listener, and has a general idea of when he's beat. Taking the disappearing man's advice, Trevor sprints away, as fast as he possibly can.
Up the hill, past the parking lot to where he left his bike. That beautiful, blue, trusty steed of his that's helped him so far. Hopping on it, he pedals away now. Back to the relative safety of his apartment.
With everyone concerned with the well-being of their priest and the sacrifice gone, Trevor is able to get away somehow. Dumb luck is his specialty afterall.
He's gotta stop running into cultists and ruining plans though, or he's going to have a whole lot of trouble knocking down his door one of these days. And it he might not have a saviour like the mystery man on the cross did in the form of another fearless idiot.
Compelled by a mixture of courage and foolhardiness, Trevor decides to intervene directly, disrupting the cultists' prayers and attracting the ire of the hooded leader conducting the ritual. In a desperate bid to save the intended sacrifice, he fabricates a story about the pyre's improper construction, but his deceit is seen through. When physical confrontation becomes inevitable, Trevor's impulsive decision to punch the cult leader results in a life-threatening counterattack, as he experiences the excruciating sensation of burning from within. In an unexpected twist, the man on the frame, seemingly possessing supernatural strength, breaks free and retaliates against the cult leader, saving Trevor and urging him to flee. With no time to waste, Trevor makes a break for it, returning to the safety of his apartment, albeit with a renewed awareness of the dangers his curiosity can lead to and the bizarre adventures that seem to find him.
(Trevor's odd encounter(SRCalista):SRCalista)
[Mon Jun 17 2024]
In in an open concept main living area and kitchen
There is a bright and airy feel to this open concept living space. A small kitchenette houses compact, white appliances, white countertops, and white cupboards with glass fronts. A kitchen island or bar is what acts as a separater between the kitchen and living area. High stools with woven wicker seats are set along the one side for eating.
Off white walls and light hardwood floors furnish the rest of the living space, dominated mostly by a very large rug in a deep shade of blue and an overstuffed cream sectional. A low coffee table in a light wood is arranged in the middle. The only other thing of note in the apartment is a great deal of greenery. Small and large, potted or hanging, there are ferns, palms and ivy plants scattered all over the apartment as a form of decoration.
It is morning, about 77F(25C) degrees,
Luckily, or unluckily, for the pedalling Trevor, the SUV doesn't actually go that far out of town. Maybe these guys have an imposed timeline for whatever they're doing, or they're just really bad at being discreet. While Trevor makes his way down that road that turns from paved to compacted dirt and rock, he'd see large tire ruts that veer off to the east on an unestablished road - heading coastward.
Since his penchant for getting into situations he probably shouldn't hasn't stopped him yet, those tire tracks are followed as well to where the recognizable SUV sits idle now next to a collection of a few other cars of not much interest though it does suggest a crowd of close to twenty might be present at whatever this is.
There's nothing happening here at this makeshift parking lot, but the sounds of voices rising in that recognizable sort of hum of excitement come from over and down the rise of this hill that the vehicles are parked at the base of.
Well, Trevor attempts to be stealthy, as he carefully gets off his bike and works his way past the parking lot, and down the hill.
Unfortunately for Trevor, he's big, it's the morning and there doesn't seem to be a lot of cover.
There is certainly no cover for Trevor here. The hill opens up the view to a slightly elevated flat of grassy plain that overlooks the ocean to the east. No mature trees in nearby range.
It's actually quite beautiful, what has been accomplished here. A ring of large, flattened boulders have been arranged in a circle, much like a clock's face. If Trevor counted them, he might notice there are in fact twelve of them indeed. Upon each of the boulders has been drawn a symbol of some sort. If Trevor squints, he might notice that it's a dark red colour. Not likely paint. Of course, it can't ever be a flourescent blue or something. In the centre of the symbols are artifacts of varying sorts. They appear to be natural minerals, jewlery pieces made from precious ores, and a couple tomes.
A collection of people stand between the boulders and within their ring where the attention is on a pyre that crackles tamely for now, and a large X frame has been erected above. The crew from the SUV - it looks like three male figure types, are busy securing a tall and lean man to the frame by the hands and feet. The quintessential figure in a hooded robe waits nearby, stopping to have conversations with the occasional person with stooped heads in low voices.
Oh, perfect, a boulder! Trevor tries his best to move up alongside a boulder to not be spotted. But.. well, as it's been established sneaking isn't in his toolkit after all.
You know, they're really quite a decorator. It's amazing what they've done with such a modest budget. He should like that boulder. That is a NICE boulder.
From closer up to the action, Trevor can see that he is luckily not the only person in street clothes at this thing, and maybe, his presence won't be noted as overly strange - though he is clearly late.
"Get some salt on your hands!" a sharp featured woman hisses at Trevor from where she stands between Trevor's boulder and another. Okay so, he wasn't so stealthy after all. "Now!" she adds for good measure. Bossy bossy.
From within the centre, the man on the x-frame is coming to, and the ones that put him up there have retreated to dip their hands in some sort of chalky and yet crystalline solution inside a large brass bowl. The hooded leader approaches the pyre, whispering a few words and holding out a hand, causing the flames to lick higher now, greedy against the wood provided as fuel. "Siblings of oblivion," the voice is raised. It's tenorous but hard to tell whether it is male or female. What can be seen of them under the hood is rather androgynous as well. "As the noon sun approaches, we make another perfectly offered sacrifice - a lethal embrace that we shall all know soon enough!"
Oh, well, gotta listen to the bossy woman. Trevor wanders over to where the others are dipping their hands inside a bowl. Trevor probably has no idea what it's used for, and well, he doesn't even seem like he cares. His hands go in, and then come out a little moment or so later. Salt. Like seasoning his fries, or well, in this case, his fingers. Maybe someone really wants some salty fingers!
Trevor finds an empty spot, and sort of just.. stands around listening for a moment, eyes inspecting the area. He's unarmed, surrounded by cultists.
This wouldn't be his first time dealing with crazy cultists after all, and he doesn't seem to be outwardly panicking, that's a good sign, because it would be very suspicious if he was.
The cultists seem to know what happens next, now that the fire has been fanned. Moving as one, they create a line, facing the coast that sparkles in the rising sun. With their backs to the semi-conscious man on the frame, they walk forward to be on the outside of the ring of boulders, dropping to their knees in murmured prayer as the robed figure stands before them, facing the water. That same voice is risen again though now it speaks in a language not understood by Trevor. Only a small groan escapes the restrained man, in chorus with these murmured prayers.
Trevor did not know what was to happen next, and he's still standing when the others drop to their knees. It's obvious he's an outsider now, and he runs a hand through his hair. Does he walk with the rest? No. It's too late for that.
Time to do what Trevor might do best. "Hey!" he calls out, interrupting the murmured prayers of the cultists.
And now Trevor has about twenty-one pairs of eyes turning to look at him - in surprise, in disgust, as he interrupts the beginning of the prayer.
"Brother," the hooded figure begins to say with a deepening frown. "Is there something you'd like to share?" The tone of voice suggests that whatever Trevor might have to say is not going to be taken as deemed important enough to be interrupting. And there might be hell to pay.
"Get me down..." the strained voice of the man on the frame begins to say as he comes closer to full consciousness, in time for the flames to be quite uncomfortably close to his body. Trevor has another choice to make. Keep talking, or start moving.
As Trevor begins to talk, he moves. He's a good multitasker - moving towards the man on the frame.
"Yeah, something I'd like to share," he's casual in the way he talks, in the way he moves, almost like he owns the place - owns the ritual.
"Since we're burning this guy right now," and then he's up close to the frame now - inspecting it.
The flames are hot, but Trevor is ignoring them for the moment. "The frame, it's cracking. He's gonna escape." It's all bullshit, he's just making this up as he goes.
It's not cracking. He's not going to escape.
The timbers of the x-frame are solid and quite thick. The fire itself is positioned a little ahead of it, more likely to burn him by residual heat and floating embers than by direct flame. Interesting. Also interesting, is the fact that his bindings seem to be done with a metal wire instead of the usual go to of rope. It looks like it's pretty painful, cutting into the skin around the man's extremities.
"You don't have faith," the priest says simply to Trevor, moving forward now with an almost lethal sort of smoothness to their movements. And intent.
The other cultists have not moved, but then again the way they watch the hooded one suggests that they don't feel they have to back them up in any way. That could be a problem.
But there might be a solution. There's a trio of daggers with their blades dug into the ground by the pyre. Ready for a part of this ritual that has not yet come to pass. They wouldn't be far from Trevor now.
"Oh," Trevor says with a single slow nod, "I have faith! Complete, one hundred percent faith. Just," he nods towards the man, "It's not gonna burn properly, I'm telling you." Now, Trevor's just making it up. He doesn't know how burning wood works, or the science behind it.
His eyes dart towards the daggers on the ground, lifting his hands in that typical defensive posture, 'I mean you no harm' sort of meaning.
That priest keeps coming, that lethal smoothness still. Words don't seem to be working.
Trevor kicks backwards - hoping, with all hope that he's strong enough to knock the X-frame down, away from the flames, "Oh shit," he says with a sort of an apologetic look to him. It looks like it could have been an accident, maybe he just stepped back wrong.
Those daggers are still there though.
And down comes the X-frame, taking the poor man attached to it with. It stalls the advance of the priest for only a moment before a hand reaches out towards the flames of the pyre and those flames start twisting unnaturally towards Trevor who is dangerously close now. "YOU WILL BURN TOGETHER THEN." Come the ominous words from this hooded figure while hungry looks are exchanged between the cultists.
The sun continues to rise in the sky to its zenith. It -was- noon that the priest said this was happening, was it not?
The man tied to the x-frame doesn't seem to mind the fall all that much and begins to strain heavily against his bonds with what might be noticably supernatural strength, though he is equal parts noticably drained. Likely due to whatever knocked him out to begin with being in his system.
There's an old quote, from an old professional boxer. 'Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face'. That's what Trevor seems to be thinking right now. So, he does just that.
He just straight up walks up to the priest and directly punches him in the face.
Trevor needs better plans. Someone enroll this guy in a workshop. The punch lands, because Trevor is handy with those fists. The priest staggers back in stunned surprise, but is not knocked out by the movement. Blood trickles, fresh and bright from their nose, and their eyes glow unnaturally in a rage response. The ritual sacrifice is forgotten, Trevor is the subject of desire now. Dark desire.
Trevor would begin to feel the oxygen being sucked from his lungs, from his throat by invisible flames. The feeling as if he has swallowed a hot coal washes over him, burning the inside of his esophagus with an incredible sharp pain. The smell of burning flesh - is it his own? - fills his nostrils.
The man forgotten on the cross, an important member of a rival group, is Trevor's greatest hope. And luckily, he didn't rise to power by being a coward. Thanks to strength returned and perhaps aided by Trevor's felling of the frame, he is yank the wire bonds loose enough to slip out of them. Shoeless, and with blood falling in rivulets from the self imparted slices on his wrists and ankles he makes a break for the daggers in the ground and hucks them with great precision at the hooded figure.
The searing, unimaginable pain that Trevor feels in his throat, that chokes the air from his lungs and made his eyes water and burn like they filled with ash comes to a halt in an instant as the figure is hit with two of those blades in the abdomen and shoulder. "RUN, NOW," comes the croaked command from the male that has potentially saved Trevor's life in return for his meddling with the ritual. He doesn't wait to see what Trevor does though before he is already running in the opposite direction and disappearing suddenly into the nightmare.
Trevor is a good listener, and has a general idea of when he's beat. Taking the disappearing man's advice, Trevor sprints away, as fast as he possibly can.
Up the hill, past the parking lot to where he left his bike. That beautiful, blue, trusty steed of his that's helped him so far. Hopping on it, he pedals away now. Back to the relative safety of his apartment.
With everyone concerned with the well-being of their priest and the sacrifice gone, Trevor is able to get away somehow. Dumb luck is his specialty afterall.
He's gotta stop running into cultists and ruining plans though, or he's going to have a whole lot of trouble knocking down his door one of these days. And it he might not have a saviour like the mystery man on the cross did in the form of another fearless idiot.