Encounterlogs
Victorias Odd Encounter Sr Morgan 241019
The serene tranquility of Victoria's cabin in the supernatural nexus is disrupted by the appearance of a ghostly man, haunted by scars and a past tragedy that keeps him tethered to the earthly realm. Victoria encounters the ethereal figure one restless evening, his eerie presence drawing concern and protective instincts to the forefront as she seeks to understand his connection to her and the possible threat he poses. The ghost reveals a connection to the dozing woman in Victoria's bed, sparking a complex interaction that tests Victoria's resolve and compassion. Her determination to address the mysterious situation embodies the essence of a supernatural guardian wrestling with the delicate balance between the living and the restless dead.
Meanwhile, in the sleepy seaside town of Haven, Korina's evening is upended by the disturbing sounds of chanting emanating from beneath her apartment complex. Driven by irritation and an innate sense of duty to preserve the peace of her domain, she investigates the source, only to uncover a group of cultists performing a dark ritual aimed at summoning a demonic entity. Despite their attempts to lure her into their fold, promising salvation from an unspecified doom, Korina's resolve remains unshaken. A fierce confrontation ensues, with Korina decisively ending their dark ambitions through physical force and cunning, thereby averting the potential disaster their ritual might have unleashed. Her actions highlight a tenacious defense of her territory and an unwavering stand against the encroachment of malevolent forces.
(Victoria's odd encounter(SRMorgan):SRMorgan)
[Fri Oct 18 2024]
In a serene master bedroom
This room combines rustic decor, warm lighting, and a welcoming atmosphere that invites relaxation, making the space the perfect blend of nature and warmth. Walls are created of rich wood, and the main feature within is the bed.
A large bed with a frame made of oak dominates the space and is covered in several plush blankets, making it the ideal place to curl up and unwind. A fur throw has been laid at the foot of the bed, and several fluffy pillows rest against the headboard that is made from the same oak, featuring a black velvet backdrop.
It is night, about 64F(17C) degrees, There is a waning gibbous moon.
(Your target encounters a ghost who's fixated on some past tragedy from their life, they need to either give the spirit some sense of closure, or send it on it's way through more violent means.
)
It is a quiet and normal day here in the supernatural nexus of the world, off in the wilderness where were it not for their home they would be beset by Minotaur and all sorts of thing. But, within those walls, built by their own hands, rests a sleepy wolf woman and another wolf woman who is maybe awake. What's Victoria up to on this day?
With the recent attacks going on within Haven, Victoria has been keeping for the most part, safely within the confines of the little cabin in the woods. While tired from the recent Moon and the events that surround it, she's also restless, mostly alternating pacing the floor and twirling a lock of hair in thought.
Victoria is cozy and content. Her partner, a sleepy one that barely qualifies is dozing again, at least for the moment. But there's little in the way of rest here for her, pacing as she is, she might wear a hole in the floor. There's a quiet wistful sound in the air, a settling breeze. A chill. Does Victoria know what such things mean? A little whine from her dozing partner.
Victoria stops her pacing for a moment to glance to the other woman in her bed, drawing eyes over her carefully with a fond smile that easily curves her lips upwards just at the sight of her. The short lived smile turns quickly to a puzzled expression, and she draws her arms around herself as she feels the chill in the air, canting her head slightly to one side to listen carefully. Slowly, she brings her eyes toward the bedroom door, but remains silent.
She looks troubled as she sleeps there, complex expressions. Suddenly, as that short lived smile fades, soon there is a shuffling in the air about her. The bedroom door doesn't stir, but a sound draws her back towards the dozing woman, and a man stands near here, ghostly and transparent. He is in his mid thirties, a hard expression, he stares at her with unreadable emotions, fixed. There are scars on his body, not identical but familiar in the way someone might recognize a snowflake is a snowflake despite its unique patterns. Scarred. weathered, worn. He doesn't seem to notice Victoria.
As Victoria turns, both eyebrows promptly go upward. It doesn't take long for her to realize this is nobody she knows, and that she can see through him at that. "Hey!" she calls out, more than a hint of annoyance in her voice. "What the hell are you doing?" She takes a step toward the bed, perhaps hoping her voice may wake the sleeping woman before whatever this man is can get any closer.
A beat, the man turns to stare at Victoria, and his eyes are hollowed out. Missing. "You..." He speaks, his voice does so much travel through the air but press to her mind. He strolls towards her, physical yet soundless in his movements. "Who are you to her?" he asks pointedly, expression faded into nothing.
(The Destined Host has been rumored to be performing a dark ritual within the city limits. The ritual is said to summon a powerful demon, which they believe will protect the world from impending doom. Your target gets wind of this and must navigate the dark underbelly of Haven to find the ritual site. Once there, they must decide whether to stop the ritual, or let it proceed and deal with whatever consequences may arise. Along the way, they'll face members of The Destined Host who will stop at nothing to ensure their ritual is successful.)
Korina is seated on the expansive sectional couch in the living room, cradling a bottle of-- is that hot dog water? That's hot dog water. She takes another swig from it.
It's a strange thing that disrupts Korina's peaceful night in the sleepy seaside town of Haven, even if her chosen methods of relaxation, and beverage, are somewhat unorthodox. An ordinary person wouldn't have been disturbed by what she hears -- wouldn't have noticed it at all. But then, Korina is no ordinary person.
Deep, deep down underground, she hears a stir that shouldn't be there. Perhaps there are ants under the floorboard? But no. The longer it goes on, the more sure she becomes: it's the sound of some chanting, human chanting.
Considering that Korina lives on the third floor penthouse apartment, the only reasonable assumption she can make is that whoever's under there is her downstairs neighbor. Her eyebrow twitches. An attempt is made to ignore it, so she can exhale out a slow sigh, lean back in her seat--
Nope, Korina's on her feet in another three seconds of hearing it, too restless already to keep on ignoring it. This apartment is supposed to be /soundproof/, goddammit. She's making her way out the door and down the elevator to bang on the door of whichever poor soul has the misfortune of living beneath her - there's at least two apartments down here, so she may or may not have gotten the right one. "What the FUCK is this noise."
It's an irritating noise -- some pesky human voice. And as she descends from her penthouse, it grows louder and clearer still, until she's sure that it's in fact more than just one voice. She can't yet make out the words being said, but there's an unnatural cadence to it, one that rises and rises and indeed seems to penetrate through cracks in the walls it shouldn't be able to reach at all.
A salty looking student emerges sleepily from the apartment below when Korina bangs on the door. "Hey ... can you calm down?" she asks the upstairs neighbour. "What do you want?" Barefoot, she peers down the hallway, searching for some sign of whatever must've bothered Korina whatever it is, she herself must not have heard it.
The sound increases in volume. It's no longer just reaching Korina through the walls -- somehow, it's now in her very mind, even though she can still sense an external source. The means by which the sound travels differs from telepathy.
It sure is past midnight and certainly not a good time to be banging on anyone's doors. Whoops. Well, Korina isn't going to apologize. She just stares at the student who emerges for a few long moments, unblinking, snaps, "Stop making the noise," she stalks off. There, point gotten across loud and clear, even if it wasn't directed at the right person.
Korina's hand lifts to run her fingers through her hair, her brow knitting together as she frowns, getting back to the elevator. Her fingers pause over the keys. Down? Up? Rooftop? Ground floor? She pauses to think about it - where's the sound coming from?
Down, further down, deep down is the source of the sound. If she really strains to listen close, honing in her predatory instincts, she might sense it's not just under the floor of her apartment, but under the entire apartment complex itself. Yet there's another segment of the chanting chorus that seeks her out, and gradually, she's able to make out some of the words. This separate strand of sound is so strangely familiar ... And finally, it crystallises into a Wildling whisper in her mind:
"In the wilt of an early spring, when the cycle of seasons completes its third turn, death shall come to claim the Other-born. Under the shimmering moonlight, her life force shall be extinguished, entrapped by shadows that come not from this world. The rushing waters of Haven will run crimson, her essence consumed by the beasts of the underworld."
This lone voice whispering in her mind doesn't quite match the full chorus underneath, instinct tells her it belongs to the whole further down.
Down, further down, deep down is the source of the sound. If she really strains to listen close, honing in her predatory instincts, she might sense it's not just under the floor of her apartment, but under the entire apartment complex itself. Yet there's another segment of the chanting chorus that seeks her out, and gradually, she's able to make out some of the words. This separate strand of sound is so strangely familiar ... And finally, it crystallises into a Wildling whisper in her mind:
"In the wilt of an early spring, when the cycle of seasons completes its third turn, death shall come to claim the Other-born. Under the shimmering moonlight, her life force shall be extinguished, entrapped by shadows that come not from this world. The rushing waters of Haven will run crimson, her essence consumed by the beasts of the underworld."
This lone voice whispering in her mind doesn't quite match the full chorus underneath, yet instinct tells her it belongs to the whole further down.
Korina's hand freezes over the elevator's keypad for long, long moments, her eyes narrowed to thin slits as she listens to the oh so familiar words. There's another inhale, slow, taken in deeply, filling her lungs and held before she exhales. The thread - the connection - is right there in her mind, to grasp on to, tug and /pull/ until she's the one whispering in the other mind instead: 'I am going to rip you apart with my teeth.' Succinct enough.
Her finger presses into the button leading to the ground floor, since the elevator doesn't go directly into the basement - /is/ there a basement? Korina's never seen it, but she's also never had reason to go looking. First time for everything, right?
Haven is a town full of secrets, and while Korina's never seen the basement, she is sure in this moment that one must exist. The external chorus intensifies the further it descends, and her supernatural senses are now able to pinpoint a general sense of where they're coming from -- voices under the floor, perhaps travelling through the sewer system, and congregating underneath the building. There are at least five voices taking part in this chant, yet perhaps even as high as ten. Some, but not all of what's being said can be picked out as Wildling.
She senses something else, now that she's closer to their source -- a current of human fear in the air, nourishing her life-force.
It's probably a weird (read as: not from the Other) dialect of Wildling, Korina rationalizes to herself. Fucking Autumn and her hellspeak. Irrelevant at the moment, though - she's more focused on actually finding out the point of entry to the basement, and it's only after a bit of wandering back and forth between the lobby and the pool to look for a sign at all - and earning some weird looks from the receptionist along the way - does Korina do the smart thing and duck out to a spot where she'll go hidden to pop into the nightmare. And then /down/ she goes, through the floor - she always hates this part - to peer at what lies beneath.
Korina's rationalisation proves correct. She becomes increasingly sure of it the closer she gets to the source, until finally there is visual confirmation, too.
The Nightmare is at once both a terrible and beautiful place when Korina descends. It's a veritable buffet of human fear for any hungry supernatural monster, unusually lively tonight. From all the apartments up above, where her neighbours are sleeping, she sees manifestations of their darkest fears drifting down below. Some people dream of their teeth falling out, and such shadowy teeth cut the Nightmare. Others fear humiliation, and wailing human figures, clutching their faces can be seen twisting the veil. Still others fear most of all their prophesied Doom, and all the monsters they dream up delivering it beat against the barrier in this world between worlds.
But the buffet is not meant for her. Others present are already feasting on it, and now their reason for gathering here becomes clear: eight robed figures standing in a circle, chanting in a mix of Latin, English and Hellspeak, conducting a dark ritual here underground. They smell human. What they're attempting to conjure does not.
Korina hates the stink of sulfur. She'd hardly been able to keep it out of her clothes and hair when she'd been going around with the hellfire-toting President of the Hand, at one point, and she definitely doesn't want more of it in her apartment building so she can smell it in her sleep, or whatever devious plan these people are up to. Honestly, just making the whole apartment smell like sulfur and smoke would probably be devious enough, demon or not. Her eyes flick across the figures, making a count - a whole eight, present and accounted for - and then she looks around for a convenient mirror nearby. What's her plan? Who knows. She definitely doesn't. She's just cranky enough to ensure they don't succeed, and too secure in the knowledge of Sanctuary to be too worried about it.
The good news is that although they speak that tongue, the cultists present do not themselves look or smell demonic. These are lackeys, bloodbags. Many of them are distinctly gaunt from feeding whatever being it is they serve, sallow-eyed and weak. They possess one singular purpose in this moment, and it's to conduct this ritual to completion at any possible cost to themselves or others.
One of them notices Korina through the Nightmare, and turns towards her with bleeding, hollow eyes. When they speak, the sound resembles that of a 'she', though one wouldn't know it to look at them. It's not that their appearance is purposely non-binary, but that it lacks any remnants of identity at all, save for hunger and demonic worship. "Please join us, Korina," she says, and instantly the voice is recognised as the one that spoke in her mind -- not supernatural, but a sensitive dreamer. "We know your Doom as well as you do. You know that we can save you from it."
There is no mirror nearby that Korina can see -- but there is a stinking, stagnant puddle stretched across the floor, bearing a sickly reflection of the gathered cultists. She could exit through it.
Sure enough on the cultists robes is the mark of a crimson hand holding a blackened, thorned crown.
That would be great, if Korina hadn't lost the element of surprise already. She considers the puddle for a second, gives the sensitive woman a stink-eye and changes course; instead of going out there to be properly assaulted by the smell - the worst enemy here, to be sure - Korina darts over to the woman, and reaches through the nightmare to pull her in with her, a hand around the cultist's throat.
"You do not know me," she claims, /squeezing/. "Or my doom." There's a sweeping glance of her eyes across the other seven - do they care about their companion enough to follow into the nightmare through the weeping wound in space Korina's left behind with that pull?
These poor, brainwashed saps appear to be somewhat past any intellectual capacity to care. They don't notice their compatriot's abduction at all. They exist in some blissful state of mind where any action they take is only as directed by some higher being, no thoughts, just vibes. The sensitive cultist might be different, but not by much. She stares near-sightlessly through Korina with her bleeding eyes, letting out an involuntary gulp for air as the hand closes around her throat, yet without even struggling. Whatever hellish torments she's endured to bring her to this place appear to have instilled in her a freeing sense of learned helplessness. If her Doom is to be at Korina's hands, she seems at peace with it.
"We know ... all the Dooms ... of Earth ..." she forces herself to breathe out at Korina. "We know ... salvation ... we will bring to you ... Korina ... do not fear ... salvation."
Korina can't actually snap her neck with Sanctuary and all. Probably. She squints for a second, just looking for a red aura, and then smacks her forehead right into the cultist's temple, waiting for her to crumple to the ground. That's one down. Probably. "I don't serve demons," she tells the woman, whether she's listening or not, and then walks off to the puddle, now that she's figured out the average IQ level of this group here. It's lukewarm.
"Alright," Korina sighs, stepping from nightmare to the real world, and cracking her neck from side in a quick stretch before she addresses everyone present, hands on her hips. "You are too loud and too annoying. Stop this or I will make it stop." There, clear enough.
While deeply committed to their ritual, the sudden loss of consciousness of one of their members certainly seems to stir something in the hive-mind. Now, all of them look up at Korina with an air of some confusion, and reactions vary from there. A few of them start to scowl at her intrusion into their little happy-fun-culty-time. Others smile beatifically, surely about to deliver another sales pitch for their cult. But ultimately ... "We need an eighth for the ritual," one of them concludes, to an obedient mix of agreeable murmurs and tense silence. "Please join us, Korina. We can help you escape your Doom."
Reason doesn't seem to be on the cards. And now she can very distinctly smell sulphur from the middle of their circle, where it appears they've been trying to summon something much more powerful and intelligent, likely than all of them combined. Shadows form into the shape of a dark and distant face, but it has yet to breach this reality. Two of the cultists start to approach her, arms outstretched, to try and drag Korina into the circle with them. They move slowly, with pronounced lethargy in every shuffle and step, and hardly any muscles on their frame. If they've true strength, it is in tenacity.
Red eyes flicker in the dark, staring out towards Korina from the shadows betwixt that circle. Some mouth opens to try and call to her, but cannot yet reach from beyond ...
Some of them do in fact have red auras, although not all. It flickers with instability, the way it tends to with commuters.
Nope. Nu-uh. Nah. No way. Korina wrinkles up her nose, whether that's from the stink or from the approaching cultists, a low hiss escaping her unbidden. "No," she states aloud, just so that's super duper clear, and she's backing away for just a step or two to get a clear visual of the room before she actually strikes out at anything or anyone. "You are meddling with things you should not," it's well-intentioned, almost. "Demons have never wanted anything but their own gain."
That's all the warning they get; they may be tenacious, but Korina's tenacious /and/ powerful enough to hold at least the closest two at bay. If more want to jump in, they're free to get their ass in gear, but for now, she's lashing out already, straight up punching the nearest guy in the throat. Take /that/. Killing is an afterthought; it's not that she's opposed, she's simply too experienced in fighting to do anything more than what is necessary at the moment until they all go down.
Physically speaking, it's like hitting a pack of grandmas. Ethically speaking, well ... that's up to Korina to decide, but probably few people would hold it against her. They just keep coming for her even as she's taking them down, blissful and confident in their approach, eager to welcome her into the fold with open arms -- and some of them end up soon after with broken open arms. Even as they writhe in pain on the ground, betrayed by their involuntary reflexes, what's left of their minds behind their bleeding eyes remains so at peace, determined, and even happy with what she's done to them.
There is real, meaningful anger in the air, but it doesn't come from the humans she's dispatched. She can sense it, the hellish force from beyond whose summoning she's disrupted, hissing in the dark. But it's forced to retreat into the Nightmare, and even there its presence is unstable. For now, this fiend will remain in distant Sirinia.
Fuck grandmas. They can keep their chocolate chip cookies to themselves; chocolate gives Korina tummyaches. She hates them all, and she's going to punch this guy for it. And that guy too. And that one. There's a lot of punching going on. And really, Korina's a little grateful for the stress relief; she'd needed that.
There's a hiss back at the demonic figure, just out of principle, and then Korina's pulling out her phone to send off a text to Nik: 'Ran into cultists in apartment basement. Can you send clean up crew?' He'll take care of it.
Meanwhile, in the sleepy seaside town of Haven, Korina's evening is upended by the disturbing sounds of chanting emanating from beneath her apartment complex. Driven by irritation and an innate sense of duty to preserve the peace of her domain, she investigates the source, only to uncover a group of cultists performing a dark ritual aimed at summoning a demonic entity. Despite their attempts to lure her into their fold, promising salvation from an unspecified doom, Korina's resolve remains unshaken. A fierce confrontation ensues, with Korina decisively ending their dark ambitions through physical force and cunning, thereby averting the potential disaster their ritual might have unleashed. Her actions highlight a tenacious defense of her territory and an unwavering stand against the encroachment of malevolent forces.
(Victoria's odd encounter(SRMorgan):SRMorgan)
[Fri Oct 18 2024]
In a serene master bedroom
This room combines rustic decor, warm lighting, and a welcoming atmosphere that invites relaxation, making the space the perfect blend of nature and warmth. Walls are created of rich wood, and the main feature within is the bed.
A large bed with a frame made of oak dominates the space and is covered in several plush blankets, making it the ideal place to curl up and unwind. A fur throw has been laid at the foot of the bed, and several fluffy pillows rest against the headboard that is made from the same oak, featuring a black velvet backdrop.
It is night, about 64F(17C) degrees, There is a waning gibbous moon.
(Your target encounters a ghost who's fixated on some past tragedy from their life, they need to either give the spirit some sense of closure, or send it on it's way through more violent means.
)
It is a quiet and normal day here in the supernatural nexus of the world, off in the wilderness where were it not for their home they would be beset by Minotaur and all sorts of thing. But, within those walls, built by their own hands, rests a sleepy wolf woman and another wolf woman who is maybe awake. What's Victoria up to on this day?
With the recent attacks going on within Haven, Victoria has been keeping for the most part, safely within the confines of the little cabin in the woods. While tired from the recent Moon and the events that surround it, she's also restless, mostly alternating pacing the floor and twirling a lock of hair in thought.
Victoria is cozy and content. Her partner, a sleepy one that barely qualifies is dozing again, at least for the moment. But there's little in the way of rest here for her, pacing as she is, she might wear a hole in the floor. There's a quiet wistful sound in the air, a settling breeze. A chill. Does Victoria know what such things mean? A little whine from her dozing partner.
Victoria stops her pacing for a moment to glance to the other woman in her bed, drawing eyes over her carefully with a fond smile that easily curves her lips upwards just at the sight of her. The short lived smile turns quickly to a puzzled expression, and she draws her arms around herself as she feels the chill in the air, canting her head slightly to one side to listen carefully. Slowly, she brings her eyes toward the bedroom door, but remains silent.
She looks troubled as she sleeps there, complex expressions. Suddenly, as that short lived smile fades, soon there is a shuffling in the air about her. The bedroom door doesn't stir, but a sound draws her back towards the dozing woman, and a man stands near here, ghostly and transparent. He is in his mid thirties, a hard expression, he stares at her with unreadable emotions, fixed. There are scars on his body, not identical but familiar in the way someone might recognize a snowflake is a snowflake despite its unique patterns. Scarred. weathered, worn. He doesn't seem to notice Victoria.
As Victoria turns, both eyebrows promptly go upward. It doesn't take long for her to realize this is nobody she knows, and that she can see through him at that. "Hey!" she calls out, more than a hint of annoyance in her voice. "What the hell are you doing?" She takes a step toward the bed, perhaps hoping her voice may wake the sleeping woman before whatever this man is can get any closer.
A beat, the man turns to stare at Victoria, and his eyes are hollowed out. Missing. "You..." He speaks, his voice does so much travel through the air but press to her mind. He strolls towards her, physical yet soundless in his movements. "Who are you to her?" he asks pointedly, expression faded into nothing.
(The Destined Host has been rumored to be performing a dark ritual within the city limits. The ritual is said to summon a powerful demon, which they believe will protect the world from impending doom. Your target gets wind of this and must navigate the dark underbelly of Haven to find the ritual site. Once there, they must decide whether to stop the ritual, or let it proceed and deal with whatever consequences may arise. Along the way, they'll face members of The Destined Host who will stop at nothing to ensure their ritual is successful.)
Korina is seated on the expansive sectional couch in the living room, cradling a bottle of-- is that hot dog water? That's hot dog water. She takes another swig from it.
It's a strange thing that disrupts Korina's peaceful night in the sleepy seaside town of Haven, even if her chosen methods of relaxation, and beverage, are somewhat unorthodox. An ordinary person wouldn't have been disturbed by what she hears -- wouldn't have noticed it at all. But then, Korina is no ordinary person.
Deep, deep down underground, she hears a stir that shouldn't be there. Perhaps there are ants under the floorboard? But no. The longer it goes on, the more sure she becomes: it's the sound of some chanting, human chanting.
Considering that Korina lives on the third floor penthouse apartment, the only reasonable assumption she can make is that whoever's under there is her downstairs neighbor. Her eyebrow twitches. An attempt is made to ignore it, so she can exhale out a slow sigh, lean back in her seat--
Nope, Korina's on her feet in another three seconds of hearing it, too restless already to keep on ignoring it. This apartment is supposed to be /soundproof/, goddammit. She's making her way out the door and down the elevator to bang on the door of whichever poor soul has the misfortune of living beneath her - there's at least two apartments down here, so she may or may not have gotten the right one. "What the FUCK is this noise."
It's an irritating noise -- some pesky human voice. And as she descends from her penthouse, it grows louder and clearer still, until she's sure that it's in fact more than just one voice. She can't yet make out the words being said, but there's an unnatural cadence to it, one that rises and rises and indeed seems to penetrate through cracks in the walls it shouldn't be able to reach at all.
A salty looking student emerges sleepily from the apartment below when Korina bangs on the door. "Hey ... can you calm down?" she asks the upstairs neighbour. "What do you want?" Barefoot, she peers down the hallway, searching for some sign of whatever must've bothered Korina whatever it is, she herself must not have heard it.
The sound increases in volume. It's no longer just reaching Korina through the walls -- somehow, it's now in her very mind, even though she can still sense an external source. The means by which the sound travels differs from telepathy.
It sure is past midnight and certainly not a good time to be banging on anyone's doors. Whoops. Well, Korina isn't going to apologize. She just stares at the student who emerges for a few long moments, unblinking, snaps, "Stop making the noise," she stalks off. There, point gotten across loud and clear, even if it wasn't directed at the right person.
Korina's hand lifts to run her fingers through her hair, her brow knitting together as she frowns, getting back to the elevator. Her fingers pause over the keys. Down? Up? Rooftop? Ground floor? She pauses to think about it - where's the sound coming from?
Down, further down, deep down is the source of the sound. If she really strains to listen close, honing in her predatory instincts, she might sense it's not just under the floor of her apartment, but under the entire apartment complex itself. Yet there's another segment of the chanting chorus that seeks her out, and gradually, she's able to make out some of the words. This separate strand of sound is so strangely familiar ... And finally, it crystallises into a Wildling whisper in her mind:
"In the wilt of an early spring, when the cycle of seasons completes its third turn, death shall come to claim the Other-born. Under the shimmering moonlight, her life force shall be extinguished, entrapped by shadows that come not from this world. The rushing waters of Haven will run crimson, her essence consumed by the beasts of the underworld."
This lone voice whispering in her mind doesn't quite match the full chorus underneath, instinct tells her it belongs to the whole further down.
Down, further down, deep down is the source of the sound. If she really strains to listen close, honing in her predatory instincts, she might sense it's not just under the floor of her apartment, but under the entire apartment complex itself. Yet there's another segment of the chanting chorus that seeks her out, and gradually, she's able to make out some of the words. This separate strand of sound is so strangely familiar ... And finally, it crystallises into a Wildling whisper in her mind:
"In the wilt of an early spring, when the cycle of seasons completes its third turn, death shall come to claim the Other-born. Under the shimmering moonlight, her life force shall be extinguished, entrapped by shadows that come not from this world. The rushing waters of Haven will run crimson, her essence consumed by the beasts of the underworld."
This lone voice whispering in her mind doesn't quite match the full chorus underneath, yet instinct tells her it belongs to the whole further down.
Korina's hand freezes over the elevator's keypad for long, long moments, her eyes narrowed to thin slits as she listens to the oh so familiar words. There's another inhale, slow, taken in deeply, filling her lungs and held before she exhales. The thread - the connection - is right there in her mind, to grasp on to, tug and /pull/ until she's the one whispering in the other mind instead: 'I am going to rip you apart with my teeth.' Succinct enough.
Her finger presses into the button leading to the ground floor, since the elevator doesn't go directly into the basement - /is/ there a basement? Korina's never seen it, but she's also never had reason to go looking. First time for everything, right?
Haven is a town full of secrets, and while Korina's never seen the basement, she is sure in this moment that one must exist. The external chorus intensifies the further it descends, and her supernatural senses are now able to pinpoint a general sense of where they're coming from -- voices under the floor, perhaps travelling through the sewer system, and congregating underneath the building. There are at least five voices taking part in this chant, yet perhaps even as high as ten. Some, but not all of what's being said can be picked out as Wildling.
She senses something else, now that she's closer to their source -- a current of human fear in the air, nourishing her life-force.
It's probably a weird (read as: not from the Other) dialect of Wildling, Korina rationalizes to herself. Fucking Autumn and her hellspeak. Irrelevant at the moment, though - she's more focused on actually finding out the point of entry to the basement, and it's only after a bit of wandering back and forth between the lobby and the pool to look for a sign at all - and earning some weird looks from the receptionist along the way - does Korina do the smart thing and duck out to a spot where she'll go hidden to pop into the nightmare. And then /down/ she goes, through the floor - she always hates this part - to peer at what lies beneath.
Korina's rationalisation proves correct. She becomes increasingly sure of it the closer she gets to the source, until finally there is visual confirmation, too.
The Nightmare is at once both a terrible and beautiful place when Korina descends. It's a veritable buffet of human fear for any hungry supernatural monster, unusually lively tonight. From all the apartments up above, where her neighbours are sleeping, she sees manifestations of their darkest fears drifting down below. Some people dream of their teeth falling out, and such shadowy teeth cut the Nightmare. Others fear humiliation, and wailing human figures, clutching their faces can be seen twisting the veil. Still others fear most of all their prophesied Doom, and all the monsters they dream up delivering it beat against the barrier in this world between worlds.
But the buffet is not meant for her. Others present are already feasting on it, and now their reason for gathering here becomes clear: eight robed figures standing in a circle, chanting in a mix of Latin, English and Hellspeak, conducting a dark ritual here underground. They smell human. What they're attempting to conjure does not.
Korina hates the stink of sulfur. She'd hardly been able to keep it out of her clothes and hair when she'd been going around with the hellfire-toting President of the Hand, at one point, and she definitely doesn't want more of it in her apartment building so she can smell it in her sleep, or whatever devious plan these people are up to. Honestly, just making the whole apartment smell like sulfur and smoke would probably be devious enough, demon or not. Her eyes flick across the figures, making a count - a whole eight, present and accounted for - and then she looks around for a convenient mirror nearby. What's her plan? Who knows. She definitely doesn't. She's just cranky enough to ensure they don't succeed, and too secure in the knowledge of Sanctuary to be too worried about it.
The good news is that although they speak that tongue, the cultists present do not themselves look or smell demonic. These are lackeys, bloodbags. Many of them are distinctly gaunt from feeding whatever being it is they serve, sallow-eyed and weak. They possess one singular purpose in this moment, and it's to conduct this ritual to completion at any possible cost to themselves or others.
One of them notices Korina through the Nightmare, and turns towards her with bleeding, hollow eyes. When they speak, the sound resembles that of a 'she', though one wouldn't know it to look at them. It's not that their appearance is purposely non-binary, but that it lacks any remnants of identity at all, save for hunger and demonic worship. "Please join us, Korina," she says, and instantly the voice is recognised as the one that spoke in her mind -- not supernatural, but a sensitive dreamer. "We know your Doom as well as you do. You know that we can save you from it."
There is no mirror nearby that Korina can see -- but there is a stinking, stagnant puddle stretched across the floor, bearing a sickly reflection of the gathered cultists. She could exit through it.
Sure enough on the cultists robes is the mark of a crimson hand holding a blackened, thorned crown.
That would be great, if Korina hadn't lost the element of surprise already. She considers the puddle for a second, gives the sensitive woman a stink-eye and changes course; instead of going out there to be properly assaulted by the smell - the worst enemy here, to be sure - Korina darts over to the woman, and reaches through the nightmare to pull her in with her, a hand around the cultist's throat.
"You do not know me," she claims, /squeezing/. "Or my doom." There's a sweeping glance of her eyes across the other seven - do they care about their companion enough to follow into the nightmare through the weeping wound in space Korina's left behind with that pull?
These poor, brainwashed saps appear to be somewhat past any intellectual capacity to care. They don't notice their compatriot's abduction at all. They exist in some blissful state of mind where any action they take is only as directed by some higher being, no thoughts, just vibes. The sensitive cultist might be different, but not by much. She stares near-sightlessly through Korina with her bleeding eyes, letting out an involuntary gulp for air as the hand closes around her throat, yet without even struggling. Whatever hellish torments she's endured to bring her to this place appear to have instilled in her a freeing sense of learned helplessness. If her Doom is to be at Korina's hands, she seems at peace with it.
"We know ... all the Dooms ... of Earth ..." she forces herself to breathe out at Korina. "We know ... salvation ... we will bring to you ... Korina ... do not fear ... salvation."
Korina can't actually snap her neck with Sanctuary and all. Probably. She squints for a second, just looking for a red aura, and then smacks her forehead right into the cultist's temple, waiting for her to crumple to the ground. That's one down. Probably. "I don't serve demons," she tells the woman, whether she's listening or not, and then walks off to the puddle, now that she's figured out the average IQ level of this group here. It's lukewarm.
"Alright," Korina sighs, stepping from nightmare to the real world, and cracking her neck from side in a quick stretch before she addresses everyone present, hands on her hips. "You are too loud and too annoying. Stop this or I will make it stop." There, clear enough.
While deeply committed to their ritual, the sudden loss of consciousness of one of their members certainly seems to stir something in the hive-mind. Now, all of them look up at Korina with an air of some confusion, and reactions vary from there. A few of them start to scowl at her intrusion into their little happy-fun-culty-time. Others smile beatifically, surely about to deliver another sales pitch for their cult. But ultimately ... "We need an eighth for the ritual," one of them concludes, to an obedient mix of agreeable murmurs and tense silence. "Please join us, Korina. We can help you escape your Doom."
Reason doesn't seem to be on the cards. And now she can very distinctly smell sulphur from the middle of their circle, where it appears they've been trying to summon something much more powerful and intelligent, likely than all of them combined. Shadows form into the shape of a dark and distant face, but it has yet to breach this reality. Two of the cultists start to approach her, arms outstretched, to try and drag Korina into the circle with them. They move slowly, with pronounced lethargy in every shuffle and step, and hardly any muscles on their frame. If they've true strength, it is in tenacity.
Red eyes flicker in the dark, staring out towards Korina from the shadows betwixt that circle. Some mouth opens to try and call to her, but cannot yet reach from beyond ...
Some of them do in fact have red auras, although not all. It flickers with instability, the way it tends to with commuters.
Nope. Nu-uh. Nah. No way. Korina wrinkles up her nose, whether that's from the stink or from the approaching cultists, a low hiss escaping her unbidden. "No," she states aloud, just so that's super duper clear, and she's backing away for just a step or two to get a clear visual of the room before she actually strikes out at anything or anyone. "You are meddling with things you should not," it's well-intentioned, almost. "Demons have never wanted anything but their own gain."
That's all the warning they get; they may be tenacious, but Korina's tenacious /and/ powerful enough to hold at least the closest two at bay. If more want to jump in, they're free to get their ass in gear, but for now, she's lashing out already, straight up punching the nearest guy in the throat. Take /that/. Killing is an afterthought; it's not that she's opposed, she's simply too experienced in fighting to do anything more than what is necessary at the moment until they all go down.
Physically speaking, it's like hitting a pack of grandmas. Ethically speaking, well ... that's up to Korina to decide, but probably few people would hold it against her. They just keep coming for her even as she's taking them down, blissful and confident in their approach, eager to welcome her into the fold with open arms -- and some of them end up soon after with broken open arms. Even as they writhe in pain on the ground, betrayed by their involuntary reflexes, what's left of their minds behind their bleeding eyes remains so at peace, determined, and even happy with what she's done to them.
There is real, meaningful anger in the air, but it doesn't come from the humans she's dispatched. She can sense it, the hellish force from beyond whose summoning she's disrupted, hissing in the dark. But it's forced to retreat into the Nightmare, and even there its presence is unstable. For now, this fiend will remain in distant Sirinia.
Fuck grandmas. They can keep their chocolate chip cookies to themselves; chocolate gives Korina tummyaches. She hates them all, and she's going to punch this guy for it. And that guy too. And that one. There's a lot of punching going on. And really, Korina's a little grateful for the stress relief; she'd needed that.
There's a hiss back at the demonic figure, just out of principle, and then Korina's pulling out her phone to send off a text to Nik: 'Ran into cultists in apartment basement. Can you send clean up crew?' He'll take care of it.