Encounterlogs
Trevors Odd Encounter Sr Harriet 240509
Trevor, in a seemingly mundane quest for an ATM within the elegant halls of an esteemed college, stumbles upon a cryptic message along with his withdrawal, hinting at a sinister meeting under the guise of The Black Flame cult. Despite the peculiar nature of the paper and the off-putting ink, curiosity gets the better of him, drawing him into the depths of an old mill where the cult plans to summon an eldritch horror to unleash upon the town of Haven. Disguised as a participant, Trevor observes the gathering with a mix of bewilderment and horror as the cultists, unmasked and entirely dedicated, ready themselves to bridge a world of chaos into their own through a meticulous ritual centered on ancient artifacts and a brazier of black flames.
In what can only be described as a bout of calculated clumsiness, Trevor sabotages the ritual by toppling the brazier, disrupting the meticulous arrangement and shattering the stone that seemed key to the ritual's success. The cultists, caught off guard and immersed in their task, can only watch in dismay as years of preparation crumble before them. Trevor, seizing the chaos he's created, makes his escape back to the safety of the college grounds, leaving the cultists in shock over their ruined plans. His actions, while initially driven by an insatiable curiosity, inadvertently save the town of Haven from a potentially catastrophic fate. As the Black Flame cult mourns their loss and their vulnerability, Trevor, albeit unknowingly, becomes an unwitting hero, emphasizing that sometimes, a simple act of interference can foil grand, malevolent designs.
(Trevor's odd encounter(SRHarriet):SRHarriet)
[Wed May 8 2024]
In the main office hallway
Polished marble floors exude a refined elegance, reflecting the soft illumination of ornate chandeliers that hang from the high ceiling, casting intricate patterns of light and shadow along the expansive corridor. The mahogany-paneled walls bear the weight of history and prestige, adorned with meticulously framed portraits of esteemed faculty members and former administrators, lending an air of scholarly reverence and institutional tradition to the bustling thoroughfare. The faint scent of aged parchment and polished wood mingles with the crisp, sterile aroma of administrative efficiency, creating a sensory tapestry that embodies the intersection of academic excellence and administrative diligence within the esteemed halls of the Institute.
It is night, about 74F(23C) degrees, There is a waxing crescent moon.
(Your target and their allies stumble upon a cryptic message that leads them to an underground meeting of The Black Flame. They discover the cult's plan to unleash a powerful eldritch horror upon the town of Haven in a grand ritual. Your team must either stealthily gather proof of this plot to convince others or disrupt the ritual themselves before it's too late. The encounter will test their ability to balance subterfuge, combat, and quick decision-making, while also giving them a deeper insight into the workings of The Black Flame.)
Trevor had entered the College, looking specifically for two things. The ATM, which was easily noticeable and tucked off into a corner, the second, was a glance over the map. The College isn't all too familiar to him, even though he's been here a few times. A library wasn't obvious on the scan of his map, so he walked over to the ATM.
A few beeps, and a boop or so and the money his money is collected.
As Trevor completes his transaction at the ATM and begins to collect those crisp bills from the machine, a slight rustling sound accompanies the its final churn. From the slot where the money had just been dispensed, a sliver of paper that does not appear to be a part of his withdrawal, semi-subtly edges its way out. It is pale and almost parchment-like material wise, fluttering delicately against the ATM's metal frame in the cash slot along with the money until it is all picked up by the man.
Trevor shuffles through those crisp bills, still finding the denomination odd, and colourless. A sickly, green colour, when he's used to bright coloured bills. As he shuffles through, and gets to the end of those crisp, dull bills he notices the paper. "Huh," Trevor mutters to myself quietly. "Machine's broken, I guess." He holds it up, peeking at it through the light on the ceiling, his eyes turn back to the ATM, "Should probably call someone.." A hand holding the bills slides into his pocket, stuffing them away, and his phone comes out, checking the time. "Ah, I'll call in the morning. Now, what's this say.." he glances back to the paper, trying to read it.
Cash in the United States of America really is not all that impressive. It even feels a bit funny between the fingers. It's a blend of cotton and linen, and it is certainly resilient and sturdy when compared to other paper, but that slight texture that imparts a raised feel to the touch is a weird tactile feeling to most. The parchment paper that Trevor holds on the other hand is thin and textured differently, feeling coarse and even a bit grainy. It holds ink quite well and as the man goes to read the message, he finds an eerie note to state, "At the stroke of midnight, beneath the rusted arches of the old steel mill, the Black Flame will summon what sleeps below. Heed this call, for the night thins where iron weeps and shadows retreat. Dare you witness the unbinding?" Perhaps whoever was maintaining the ATM accidentally lost their note in with the bills. In smaller lettering, the address of the local mill is listed, and on the back, someone has scrawled today's date and an hour that is not even ten minutes away from now.
Trevor's blue eyes scan across the message quickly. There's a moment of pause as he thinks, mulls it over. Now, most people would probably read this and throw it out. It's nothing, right? A joke left by some College kid that they think is funny.
Well, unfortunately for Trevor, he's not a normal person. Not by a long shot. His curiousity definitely wins out in situations like that. He's lived in the town for a little, he has some idea of what it is that goes on here, even if he doesn't understand the specifics of the situation.
He's also much too reliant on physical power, he's tall, muscular and strong. But, as most residents of Haven would know, there's plenty of much easier ways to overpower someone.
He's muttering into the silent College campus, "Fuck it," his lips curl into a frown. "Better get going."
The air is warm and somewhat balmy tonight, and although the old mill is not too far from Trevor's current location, it certainly is not a locale that most locals would journey to after dusk. Campus is fairly uneventful at the moment as the night seems to be holding its breath, being a little too quiet this evening. Overhead, the moon casts its glow over the various buildings, but otherwise the night is wrapped around them in that shroud of silence... Until footsteps can be heard, and a figure dressed in all black passes by, heading off and away from the college and down the street in the direction of the mill.
As Trevor steps outside of the College, he sucks in a deep breath. Letting the fresh air hit his lungs. There's some light out - from the streetlights, and lighting from the shops not yet closed.
He was about to wander out into the night, trying to find his way to the mill when. A-ha! Perfect.
Trevor spots the figure dressed in black. And hoping the figure doesn't spot him in return, he pulls out his phone, pretending to scroll away - but watching from a corner of his eye.
There goes the figure, stepping away into the night, and Trevor being the curious idiot he is, decides to follow. He attempts to be careful, and tries to follow at a distance, but, well, he's a large man, and not fully built for such stealthy things.
As the solitary figure in black advances steadily toward the old mill, the figure moves pretty quietly as if the night is absorbing the sounds of measured steps. Occasionally, he glances over his shoulder, revealing the face of a young man in his early twenties, and his movements suggest he knows he is being followed. Each look back is brief and yet also deliberate, like he is searching the dimly lit street behind him to ensure Trevor isn't armed and seeking to attack him. Before long, though, the figure's solitary journey is interrupted as two others who are similarly clad in dark robes join the original darkly clothed one. A quiet greeting is exchanged in the form of nods and a quiet, "Hello," before they continue onward towards their destination. Even if Trevor is looming awkwardly, they wouldn't seem to care, accepting his trailing. Approaching the mill, the old structure has its front door ajar, and without any hesitation the trio heads inside, heading towards a set of stairs that lead down.
Trevor was awkwardly looming off to a side, hiding.. in plain sight. Listening to the exchange, he watches the three figures enter.
Beat.
Beat.
Trevor inhales a deep breath again, holding on to it. Thinking.
He lets go of that breath and he's made a decision. Stupid. Idiot. Just walk away, that's the best option, yeah? Just turn around, walk away and nothing ever happens. But he can't, for some unknown reason, he's drawn to this mill, to the figures, and he creeps up towards the door - peering around it and down the stairs in front of him.
And here we go.
Peering down into the mill's basement area reveals a small gathering of robed figures standing in a circle. Their faces are not hidden, and two men are murmuring amongst themselves. In the centre of the space is an intricate pattern of symbols, and black, tapered candles are being lit by a woman dressed in the same type of garb as the men. With the three men Trevor had been following arriving in the basement, the murmuring ceases briefly as the newcomers join to create a circle. A brazier is before them, unlit, but a tall, gaunt man is holding something in his hands. It's a wooden box with a very dark surface, and with reverent care, he begins to open it. One of the original trio members looks up and over at Trevor, and he beckons, "Come. Join us," as if assuming Trevor is interested in helping them usher in whatever evil they are desiring. Or... maybe they want to sacrifice Trevor The dude sounded genuine, at least.
Trevor creeps his way to the bottom of the stairs, each step an agonizing descent into the unknown. Unknown danger, unknown people. Eventually, Trevor reaches the bottom, eyes adjusting to the dimly light underground. Blue eyes sweep the room, stopping on each person's face.
Well, that's not good. Unmasked means they don't care about getting caught - which means they're likely to kill Trevor. He's hovering by the stairs -- they'll make a solid escape, should we need one. And that's where he remains, absorbing in the information, the ritual.
Inside of the box that the gaunt man had opened is a handful of some dark, resinous incense and a small, flame-shaped stone. These components seems to be viewed as key to summoning whatever thing they are attempting to urge forth into their midst. The tall, gaunt man takes the stone into a hand and begins to chant in a strange tongue, raising it before placed it onto the brazier. Prayerful sounding, the group is joining in, filling the basement room with a haunting melody. Meanwhile, the woman has come up to the brazier and is scooping the incense up to place it ceremoniously upon the stone within the brazier before catching it on fire via the use of one of the tapered candles she'd lit prior. Flames leap up from the strange incense, not in normal hues of red, orange, or yellow, but in an unsettling black flame intent on eating the light around it. That ominous hum of their chant continues and then it seems to reach a crescendo as voices begin to meld into an eerie drone that vibrates past their lips. One of the men waves for Trevor to come closer, and he says, "Brother, we are glad to have you."
Trevor watches with rapt attention as the ritutal continues. There's a thoughtful expression on his face -- one that seems to indiated he's probably gotta try to stop this.
Well shit, now Trevor is specifically being talked to, and he can't just continue to ignore them. He snaps out of his thinking, glancing around the room to find the source of the voice he can understand. Spotting the waving man, Trevor strolls over, "Brother?" he asks curiously, head canting slightly towards where the ritual is continuing. "What, uh," a hand, as he gestures vaguely, "What are you doing?"
It is the original robed fellow who addresses Trevor, and he steps aside some to make the circle a little large so that the newest member of their summoning group can be involved. "Brother," he confirms by repeating that word again, "we stand here united for a new dawn. These flames..." A pause is made as he gestures towards the brazier that has the black flames flickering as the incense burns upon the flame-shaped stone. "They are the harbinger of the end. Not an end to be feared, but embraced as the cleansing fire that will purge the decay of this world and destroy it all." For a moment, he is quiet, ensuring his words sink in. "We are summoning a harbinger. One whose arrival will initiate the necessary destruction we need. Once bound to this world, the being will guide us through the chaos so that we will emerge victorious in our plans." While he is speaking, the woman steps closer, and her voice joins in, breaking away from the chanting that the others are still performing. "We are awakening the stone," she explains, pointing to the brazier. "Now, we must complete the connection. The final step requires a convergence of energies, both from our circle and from the ley lines upon which this mill is built." The air feels cooler, despite the flames, and the shadows even deeper. There is likely the sense of impending doom. "Here," the woman says. "Help us."
Well, Trevor definitely can't allow this to happen, but, he's trapped in a room of cultists of some sort. There's no visible weapons on them that he can sure, but they're most likely armed underneath the black clothing. Trevor's silent again, listening to the words of the man first, then the woman.
"And.. how does that energy work?" A lift of his eyebrow as he steps closer to the woman -- but angling himself towards the brazier. "I just need to chant shit?" He glances from cultist to cultist, trying to figure out who's the most likely of threats at first. It seems the woman is the leader -- and she's probably the most threatening. It's usually the leader in cases like this.
Taking another step, Trevor would find himself in perfect sabotaging range of the brazier. It doesn't look that heavy, and it seems plausible for him to be able to shove over, scattering the stuff inside all over the ground and, what he hopes, would stop this ritual and break the connection.
But, he needs an opening -- a good one. One that lets him shove the brazier, and then sprint up the steps and back out into the night.
Perhaps this is just a group of really nerded out men and a single woman who are roleplaying extensively and bought some really interested incense off of Etsy or something, but they really seem into it. They are great actors if they are doing some cosplay and acting out a scene. Or... they really are crazy cultists intent on ending the world with the belief it is truly the best option for everyone. The tall, gaunt man observes Trevor, looking solemn, yet offering an encouraging nod as he continues his melodic incantation that sounds ancient and maybe even otherworldly in some strange mix of archaic languages long forgotten by most modern civilizations. A low, sonorous hum with a cadence that is slow seems to be lulling two of the guys into a trance-like state. The leader, the woman, intones to Trevor, "Energy flows from the willing spirit," as she gestures grandly towards the brazier. This whole group seems distracted, though, lost in their chanting and trying to focus their energy on the task at hand, not seeming to be afraid of Trevor being there at all, and who would be when they all emrace death and destruction as the greater good for all? "You see, ley lines crisscross about Earth, and they connect geographic landmarks, all with spiritual connections, to allow energy -- spiritual energy," she clarifies, "to travel. It is not unlike veins through which your blood travels through your body. Ley lines are the Earth's veins. Where these veins intersect, they are particularly potent. We are creating a conduit here, aligning the ley line with our ritualistic intent, and so we are trying to harness the energy to form a bridge between worlds. Once this conduit is established, the one we week to summon should perceive an invitation and a pathway should be created for it for it to emerge in this very chamber." Or basement.
If this is all an act, there should be some awards handed out. Unfortunately for everyone here, Trevor has no awards to give out, participation or otherwise. They could have made up a whole language for this! Definitely would deserve some sort of award.
Trevor doesn't really have the time to stand here and figure out if this is all an act, or if this is all real. Right now, it's a time to act, and act he does.
As the woman speaks, he listens intently, carefully. Being a good listener is one of his strengths, and she seems eager enough to share her wisdom, and knowledge with the tall man.
That's probably her downfall. At the end of her speech, Trevor smiles at her, he looks to the brazier.
Quickly, he shifts, both hands grasping the brazier and shoving with all his might -- sending the contents spilling out and onto the ground, and hopefully ending the ritual, if it was real.
So engrossed in their ceremonial roles just moments before, the cultists freeze initially, struck dumb by the suddenness of someone action which involved successfully pushing over the brazier. The incense still burns, but the flame-shaped stone makes a definitive crack not unlike the sound of snapping ice underfoot. Oddly, the cracks spread rapidly across its glossy black surface like spiderwebs shooting through a pane of glass that's been struck, and before long, the stone is in a thousand tiny pieces. Each shard reflects the black flames of the burning incense, but there is no mystical energy involved now as those fragments lie there. Then, as the reality of what has happened sinks in, the expressions across the cultist's faces twist into ones of horror and disbelief. Their leader, the woman, steps forward with a look of anguish on her face, her hands reaching out towards the ruined artifacts as if she could somehow will them back to their former state. "No!" she cries out in a voice echoing off the walls in a blend of rage and sorrow. "The alignment... five years... irreplaceable!" She turns her devastated eyes on Trevor, and her sorrow is quickly giving way to a smoldering fury. Around her, the other members of the cult murmur in surprise, their ritual not forgotten, but certainly interrupted, so their focus is now entirely on the tall man who had single-handedly thwarted their grand design. No one moves to attack, though.
So engrossed in their ceremonial roles just moments before, the cultists freeze initially, struck dumb by the suddenness of Trevor's action which involved successfully pushing over the brazier. The incense still burns, but the flame-shaped stone makes a definitive crack not unlike the sound of snapping ice underfoot. Oddly, the cracks spread rapidly across its glossy black surface like spiderwebs shooting through a pane of glass that's been struck, and before long, the stone is in a thousand tiny pieces. Each shard reflects the black flames of the burning incense, but there is no mystical energy involved now as those fragments lie there. Then, as the reality of what has happened sinks in, the expressions across the cultist's faces twist into ones of horror and disbelief. Their leader, the woman, steps forward with a look of anguish on her face, her hands reaching out towards the ruined artifacts as if she could somehow will them back to their former state. "No!" she cries out in a voice echoing off the walls in a blend of rage and sorrow. "The alignment... five years... irreplaceable!" She turns her devastated eyes on Trevor, and her sorrow is quickly giving way to a smoldering fury. Around her, the other members of the cult murmur in surprise, their ritual not forgotten, but certainly interrupted, so their focus is now entirely on the tall man who had single-handedly thwarted their grand design. No one moves to attack, though.
Why didn't Trevor just immediately run away? Some sick fascination in watching the aftermath of his destruction playout, perhaps.
All eyes are on Trevor, and now would probably be a good time to run, he steps back, slowly, carefully, raising his hands up, palm outwards -- a defensive gesture, apologetic. "Yeah," Trevor snorts a reply back to the woman, "Sorry about that. I'm a little clumsy, you know?"
As he speaks, he continues to step away, close to the stairs, inches away. Freedom.. He can almost taste it.
Even as Trevor is making his getaway, the cultists remain rooted in their spots in horror and disbelief, trying to wrap their minds around the broken stone. The heavy scent of the incense that still burns is in the air, and each member of The Black Flame stands motionless after several years of preparation and effort has dissipated in a single, clumsy moment wrought on by Trevor. As Trevor inches away with his hands raised in that half-hearted, or less, apology, the woman stares at him, finally lifting her gaze from the shards upon the floor. The tension is palpable, yet there is absolutely no move to try and stop him. Without their precious artifact in one piece, the whole group seems to be in too much shock over witnessing their plans crumble so swiftly. It seems the cultists were far too sure of their plans, and then out of almost nowhere, an 'accidental' sabotage by an outside who stumbled upon their evening adventure ruined everything. In this moment, even their own unity seems fractured. It is quite possible that Trevor just saved the town from something terrible. In fact, he did.
Nobody seems intent on attacking Trevor. One more step back, and he can feel the wood press against the back of his leg. He turns, instantly and sprints up the stairs, throwing the door open and sprinting out into the night. He's fit, so the sprinting doesn't wind him right away, but away he goes, making way back towards the College. At least the cops are there, should anyone decide to follow him into town.
Finally, he makes it back inside, closing the doors behind him and leaning on them, catching his breath.
Gathered around the ruined remains of their ritual back at the mill, the cultists are left to contend with the reality of their failure. The once potent energy that had filled the basement is nothing more than a strong fragrance of exotic incense now, and a silent, yet very mournful, acknowledgement of their defeat. Having been so sure of themselves, with everything having come together so smoothly up until tonight, they were far too sure of themselves. Trevor is safe and sound, at least for now, and as he's over there easing his breathing and his adrenaline slowly ebbs, he probably understands he just escaped a potentially dangerous encounter, but lucky for him the cultists were not mentally prepared to fail, and spend the rest of the night mourning their loss. Trevor is a hero to the town. The Black Flame cultists learned a lesson in not being so trusting to allow outsiders to witness their would be impressive tasks, and Haven is a little safer tonight.
In what can only be described as a bout of calculated clumsiness, Trevor sabotages the ritual by toppling the brazier, disrupting the meticulous arrangement and shattering the stone that seemed key to the ritual's success. The cultists, caught off guard and immersed in their task, can only watch in dismay as years of preparation crumble before them. Trevor, seizing the chaos he's created, makes his escape back to the safety of the college grounds, leaving the cultists in shock over their ruined plans. His actions, while initially driven by an insatiable curiosity, inadvertently save the town of Haven from a potentially catastrophic fate. As the Black Flame cult mourns their loss and their vulnerability, Trevor, albeit unknowingly, becomes an unwitting hero, emphasizing that sometimes, a simple act of interference can foil grand, malevolent designs.
(Trevor's odd encounter(SRHarriet):SRHarriet)
[Wed May 8 2024]
In the main office hallway
Polished marble floors exude a refined elegance, reflecting the soft illumination of ornate chandeliers that hang from the high ceiling, casting intricate patterns of light and shadow along the expansive corridor. The mahogany-paneled walls bear the weight of history and prestige, adorned with meticulously framed portraits of esteemed faculty members and former administrators, lending an air of scholarly reverence and institutional tradition to the bustling thoroughfare. The faint scent of aged parchment and polished wood mingles with the crisp, sterile aroma of administrative efficiency, creating a sensory tapestry that embodies the intersection of academic excellence and administrative diligence within the esteemed halls of the Institute.
It is night, about 74F(23C) degrees, There is a waxing crescent moon.
(Your target and their allies stumble upon a cryptic message that leads them to an underground meeting of The Black Flame. They discover the cult's plan to unleash a powerful eldritch horror upon the town of Haven in a grand ritual. Your team must either stealthily gather proof of this plot to convince others or disrupt the ritual themselves before it's too late. The encounter will test their ability to balance subterfuge, combat, and quick decision-making, while also giving them a deeper insight into the workings of The Black Flame.)
Trevor had entered the College, looking specifically for two things. The ATM, which was easily noticeable and tucked off into a corner, the second, was a glance over the map. The College isn't all too familiar to him, even though he's been here a few times. A library wasn't obvious on the scan of his map, so he walked over to the ATM.
A few beeps, and a boop or so and the money his money is collected.
As Trevor completes his transaction at the ATM and begins to collect those crisp bills from the machine, a slight rustling sound accompanies the its final churn. From the slot where the money had just been dispensed, a sliver of paper that does not appear to be a part of his withdrawal, semi-subtly edges its way out. It is pale and almost parchment-like material wise, fluttering delicately against the ATM's metal frame in the cash slot along with the money until it is all picked up by the man.
Trevor shuffles through those crisp bills, still finding the denomination odd, and colourless. A sickly, green colour, when he's used to bright coloured bills. As he shuffles through, and gets to the end of those crisp, dull bills he notices the paper. "Huh," Trevor mutters to myself quietly. "Machine's broken, I guess." He holds it up, peeking at it through the light on the ceiling, his eyes turn back to the ATM, "Should probably call someone.." A hand holding the bills slides into his pocket, stuffing them away, and his phone comes out, checking the time. "Ah, I'll call in the morning. Now, what's this say.." he glances back to the paper, trying to read it.
Cash in the United States of America really is not all that impressive. It even feels a bit funny between the fingers. It's a blend of cotton and linen, and it is certainly resilient and sturdy when compared to other paper, but that slight texture that imparts a raised feel to the touch is a weird tactile feeling to most. The parchment paper that Trevor holds on the other hand is thin and textured differently, feeling coarse and even a bit grainy. It holds ink quite well and as the man goes to read the message, he finds an eerie note to state, "At the stroke of midnight, beneath the rusted arches of the old steel mill, the Black Flame will summon what sleeps below. Heed this call, for the night thins where iron weeps and shadows retreat. Dare you witness the unbinding?" Perhaps whoever was maintaining the ATM accidentally lost their note in with the bills. In smaller lettering, the address of the local mill is listed, and on the back, someone has scrawled today's date and an hour that is not even ten minutes away from now.
Trevor's blue eyes scan across the message quickly. There's a moment of pause as he thinks, mulls it over. Now, most people would probably read this and throw it out. It's nothing, right? A joke left by some College kid that they think is funny.
Well, unfortunately for Trevor, he's not a normal person. Not by a long shot. His curiousity definitely wins out in situations like that. He's lived in the town for a little, he has some idea of what it is that goes on here, even if he doesn't understand the specifics of the situation.
He's also much too reliant on physical power, he's tall, muscular and strong. But, as most residents of Haven would know, there's plenty of much easier ways to overpower someone.
He's muttering into the silent College campus, "Fuck it," his lips curl into a frown. "Better get going."
The air is warm and somewhat balmy tonight, and although the old mill is not too far from Trevor's current location, it certainly is not a locale that most locals would journey to after dusk. Campus is fairly uneventful at the moment as the night seems to be holding its breath, being a little too quiet this evening. Overhead, the moon casts its glow over the various buildings, but otherwise the night is wrapped around them in that shroud of silence... Until footsteps can be heard, and a figure dressed in all black passes by, heading off and away from the college and down the street in the direction of the mill.
As Trevor steps outside of the College, he sucks in a deep breath. Letting the fresh air hit his lungs. There's some light out - from the streetlights, and lighting from the shops not yet closed.
He was about to wander out into the night, trying to find his way to the mill when. A-ha! Perfect.
Trevor spots the figure dressed in black. And hoping the figure doesn't spot him in return, he pulls out his phone, pretending to scroll away - but watching from a corner of his eye.
There goes the figure, stepping away into the night, and Trevor being the curious idiot he is, decides to follow. He attempts to be careful, and tries to follow at a distance, but, well, he's a large man, and not fully built for such stealthy things.
As the solitary figure in black advances steadily toward the old mill, the figure moves pretty quietly as if the night is absorbing the sounds of measured steps. Occasionally, he glances over his shoulder, revealing the face of a young man in his early twenties, and his movements suggest he knows he is being followed. Each look back is brief and yet also deliberate, like he is searching the dimly lit street behind him to ensure Trevor isn't armed and seeking to attack him. Before long, though, the figure's solitary journey is interrupted as two others who are similarly clad in dark robes join the original darkly clothed one. A quiet greeting is exchanged in the form of nods and a quiet, "Hello," before they continue onward towards their destination. Even if Trevor is looming awkwardly, they wouldn't seem to care, accepting his trailing. Approaching the mill, the old structure has its front door ajar, and without any hesitation the trio heads inside, heading towards a set of stairs that lead down.
Trevor was awkwardly looming off to a side, hiding.. in plain sight. Listening to the exchange, he watches the three figures enter.
Beat.
Beat.
Trevor inhales a deep breath again, holding on to it. Thinking.
He lets go of that breath and he's made a decision. Stupid. Idiot. Just walk away, that's the best option, yeah? Just turn around, walk away and nothing ever happens. But he can't, for some unknown reason, he's drawn to this mill, to the figures, and he creeps up towards the door - peering around it and down the stairs in front of him.
And here we go.
Peering down into the mill's basement area reveals a small gathering of robed figures standing in a circle. Their faces are not hidden, and two men are murmuring amongst themselves. In the centre of the space is an intricate pattern of symbols, and black, tapered candles are being lit by a woman dressed in the same type of garb as the men. With the three men Trevor had been following arriving in the basement, the murmuring ceases briefly as the newcomers join to create a circle. A brazier is before them, unlit, but a tall, gaunt man is holding something in his hands. It's a wooden box with a very dark surface, and with reverent care, he begins to open it. One of the original trio members looks up and over at Trevor, and he beckons, "Come. Join us," as if assuming Trevor is interested in helping them usher in whatever evil they are desiring. Or... maybe they want to sacrifice Trevor The dude sounded genuine, at least.
Trevor creeps his way to the bottom of the stairs, each step an agonizing descent into the unknown. Unknown danger, unknown people. Eventually, Trevor reaches the bottom, eyes adjusting to the dimly light underground. Blue eyes sweep the room, stopping on each person's face.
Well, that's not good. Unmasked means they don't care about getting caught - which means they're likely to kill Trevor. He's hovering by the stairs -- they'll make a solid escape, should we need one. And that's where he remains, absorbing in the information, the ritual.
Inside of the box that the gaunt man had opened is a handful of some dark, resinous incense and a small, flame-shaped stone. These components seems to be viewed as key to summoning whatever thing they are attempting to urge forth into their midst. The tall, gaunt man takes the stone into a hand and begins to chant in a strange tongue, raising it before placed it onto the brazier. Prayerful sounding, the group is joining in, filling the basement room with a haunting melody. Meanwhile, the woman has come up to the brazier and is scooping the incense up to place it ceremoniously upon the stone within the brazier before catching it on fire via the use of one of the tapered candles she'd lit prior. Flames leap up from the strange incense, not in normal hues of red, orange, or yellow, but in an unsettling black flame intent on eating the light around it. That ominous hum of their chant continues and then it seems to reach a crescendo as voices begin to meld into an eerie drone that vibrates past their lips. One of the men waves for Trevor to come closer, and he says, "Brother, we are glad to have you."
Trevor watches with rapt attention as the ritutal continues. There's a thoughtful expression on his face -- one that seems to indiated he's probably gotta try to stop this.
Well shit, now Trevor is specifically being talked to, and he can't just continue to ignore them. He snaps out of his thinking, glancing around the room to find the source of the voice he can understand. Spotting the waving man, Trevor strolls over, "Brother?" he asks curiously, head canting slightly towards where the ritual is continuing. "What, uh," a hand, as he gestures vaguely, "What are you doing?"
It is the original robed fellow who addresses Trevor, and he steps aside some to make the circle a little large so that the newest member of their summoning group can be involved. "Brother," he confirms by repeating that word again, "we stand here united for a new dawn. These flames..." A pause is made as he gestures towards the brazier that has the black flames flickering as the incense burns upon the flame-shaped stone. "They are the harbinger of the end. Not an end to be feared, but embraced as the cleansing fire that will purge the decay of this world and destroy it all." For a moment, he is quiet, ensuring his words sink in. "We are summoning a harbinger. One whose arrival will initiate the necessary destruction we need. Once bound to this world, the being will guide us through the chaos so that we will emerge victorious in our plans." While he is speaking, the woman steps closer, and her voice joins in, breaking away from the chanting that the others are still performing. "We are awakening the stone," she explains, pointing to the brazier. "Now, we must complete the connection. The final step requires a convergence of energies, both from our circle and from the ley lines upon which this mill is built." The air feels cooler, despite the flames, and the shadows even deeper. There is likely the sense of impending doom. "Here," the woman says. "Help us."
Well, Trevor definitely can't allow this to happen, but, he's trapped in a room of cultists of some sort. There's no visible weapons on them that he can sure, but they're most likely armed underneath the black clothing. Trevor's silent again, listening to the words of the man first, then the woman.
"And.. how does that energy work?" A lift of his eyebrow as he steps closer to the woman -- but angling himself towards the brazier. "I just need to chant shit?" He glances from cultist to cultist, trying to figure out who's the most likely of threats at first. It seems the woman is the leader -- and she's probably the most threatening. It's usually the leader in cases like this.
Taking another step, Trevor would find himself in perfect sabotaging range of the brazier. It doesn't look that heavy, and it seems plausible for him to be able to shove over, scattering the stuff inside all over the ground and, what he hopes, would stop this ritual and break the connection.
But, he needs an opening -- a good one. One that lets him shove the brazier, and then sprint up the steps and back out into the night.
Perhaps this is just a group of really nerded out men and a single woman who are roleplaying extensively and bought some really interested incense off of Etsy or something, but they really seem into it. They are great actors if they are doing some cosplay and acting out a scene. Or... they really are crazy cultists intent on ending the world with the belief it is truly the best option for everyone. The tall, gaunt man observes Trevor, looking solemn, yet offering an encouraging nod as he continues his melodic incantation that sounds ancient and maybe even otherworldly in some strange mix of archaic languages long forgotten by most modern civilizations. A low, sonorous hum with a cadence that is slow seems to be lulling two of the guys into a trance-like state. The leader, the woman, intones to Trevor, "Energy flows from the willing spirit," as she gestures grandly towards the brazier. This whole group seems distracted, though, lost in their chanting and trying to focus their energy on the task at hand, not seeming to be afraid of Trevor being there at all, and who would be when they all emrace death and destruction as the greater good for all? "You see, ley lines crisscross about Earth, and they connect geographic landmarks, all with spiritual connections, to allow energy -- spiritual energy," she clarifies, "to travel. It is not unlike veins through which your blood travels through your body. Ley lines are the Earth's veins. Where these veins intersect, they are particularly potent. We are creating a conduit here, aligning the ley line with our ritualistic intent, and so we are trying to harness the energy to form a bridge between worlds. Once this conduit is established, the one we week to summon should perceive an invitation and a pathway should be created for it for it to emerge in this very chamber." Or basement.
If this is all an act, there should be some awards handed out. Unfortunately for everyone here, Trevor has no awards to give out, participation or otherwise. They could have made up a whole language for this! Definitely would deserve some sort of award.
Trevor doesn't really have the time to stand here and figure out if this is all an act, or if this is all real. Right now, it's a time to act, and act he does.
As the woman speaks, he listens intently, carefully. Being a good listener is one of his strengths, and she seems eager enough to share her wisdom, and knowledge with the tall man.
That's probably her downfall. At the end of her speech, Trevor smiles at her, he looks to the brazier.
Quickly, he shifts, both hands grasping the brazier and shoving with all his might -- sending the contents spilling out and onto the ground, and hopefully ending the ritual, if it was real.
So engrossed in their ceremonial roles just moments before, the cultists freeze initially, struck dumb by the suddenness of someone action which involved successfully pushing over the brazier. The incense still burns, but the flame-shaped stone makes a definitive crack not unlike the sound of snapping ice underfoot. Oddly, the cracks spread rapidly across its glossy black surface like spiderwebs shooting through a pane of glass that's been struck, and before long, the stone is in a thousand tiny pieces. Each shard reflects the black flames of the burning incense, but there is no mystical energy involved now as those fragments lie there. Then, as the reality of what has happened sinks in, the expressions across the cultist's faces twist into ones of horror and disbelief. Their leader, the woman, steps forward with a look of anguish on her face, her hands reaching out towards the ruined artifacts as if she could somehow will them back to their former state. "No!" she cries out in a voice echoing off the walls in a blend of rage and sorrow. "The alignment... five years... irreplaceable!" She turns her devastated eyes on Trevor, and her sorrow is quickly giving way to a smoldering fury. Around her, the other members of the cult murmur in surprise, their ritual not forgotten, but certainly interrupted, so their focus is now entirely on the tall man who had single-handedly thwarted their grand design. No one moves to attack, though.
So engrossed in their ceremonial roles just moments before, the cultists freeze initially, struck dumb by the suddenness of Trevor's action which involved successfully pushing over the brazier. The incense still burns, but the flame-shaped stone makes a definitive crack not unlike the sound of snapping ice underfoot. Oddly, the cracks spread rapidly across its glossy black surface like spiderwebs shooting through a pane of glass that's been struck, and before long, the stone is in a thousand tiny pieces. Each shard reflects the black flames of the burning incense, but there is no mystical energy involved now as those fragments lie there. Then, as the reality of what has happened sinks in, the expressions across the cultist's faces twist into ones of horror and disbelief. Their leader, the woman, steps forward with a look of anguish on her face, her hands reaching out towards the ruined artifacts as if she could somehow will them back to their former state. "No!" she cries out in a voice echoing off the walls in a blend of rage and sorrow. "The alignment... five years... irreplaceable!" She turns her devastated eyes on Trevor, and her sorrow is quickly giving way to a smoldering fury. Around her, the other members of the cult murmur in surprise, their ritual not forgotten, but certainly interrupted, so their focus is now entirely on the tall man who had single-handedly thwarted their grand design. No one moves to attack, though.
Why didn't Trevor just immediately run away? Some sick fascination in watching the aftermath of his destruction playout, perhaps.
All eyes are on Trevor, and now would probably be a good time to run, he steps back, slowly, carefully, raising his hands up, palm outwards -- a defensive gesture, apologetic. "Yeah," Trevor snorts a reply back to the woman, "Sorry about that. I'm a little clumsy, you know?"
As he speaks, he continues to step away, close to the stairs, inches away. Freedom.. He can almost taste it.
Even as Trevor is making his getaway, the cultists remain rooted in their spots in horror and disbelief, trying to wrap their minds around the broken stone. The heavy scent of the incense that still burns is in the air, and each member of The Black Flame stands motionless after several years of preparation and effort has dissipated in a single, clumsy moment wrought on by Trevor. As Trevor inches away with his hands raised in that half-hearted, or less, apology, the woman stares at him, finally lifting her gaze from the shards upon the floor. The tension is palpable, yet there is absolutely no move to try and stop him. Without their precious artifact in one piece, the whole group seems to be in too much shock over witnessing their plans crumble so swiftly. It seems the cultists were far too sure of their plans, and then out of almost nowhere, an 'accidental' sabotage by an outside who stumbled upon their evening adventure ruined everything. In this moment, even their own unity seems fractured. It is quite possible that Trevor just saved the town from something terrible. In fact, he did.
Nobody seems intent on attacking Trevor. One more step back, and he can feel the wood press against the back of his leg. He turns, instantly and sprints up the stairs, throwing the door open and sprinting out into the night. He's fit, so the sprinting doesn't wind him right away, but away he goes, making way back towards the College. At least the cops are there, should anyone decide to follow him into town.
Finally, he makes it back inside, closing the doors behind him and leaning on them, catching his breath.
Gathered around the ruined remains of their ritual back at the mill, the cultists are left to contend with the reality of their failure. The once potent energy that had filled the basement is nothing more than a strong fragrance of exotic incense now, and a silent, yet very mournful, acknowledgement of their defeat. Having been so sure of themselves, with everything having come together so smoothly up until tonight, they were far too sure of themselves. Trevor is safe and sound, at least for now, and as he's over there easing his breathing and his adrenaline slowly ebbs, he probably understands he just escaped a potentially dangerous encounter, but lucky for him the cultists were not mentally prepared to fail, and spend the rest of the night mourning their loss. Trevor is a hero to the town. The Black Flame cultists learned a lesson in not being so trusting to allow outsiders to witness their would be impressive tasks, and Haven is a little safer tonight.