Encounterlogs
Viktorins Odd Encounter Sr Alexander 240221
In the heart of a hospital, Viktorin finds himself trapped in a battle of wits and will against a malevolent spirit that haunts him through reflections. The spirit, confined to mirrors, taunts and terrifies Viktorin, leading to a desperate struggle for survival within the sterile hospital walls. As the spirit escalates its attacks, Viktorin's fear morphs into determined aggression, and he embarks on a chaotic quest to destroy any reflective surface that could serve as the spirit's gateway. This relentless pursuit of survival climaxes in a shattering of the hospital's tranquility, leaving Viktorin exhausted but victorious as the spirit's presence fades away. Ultimately, despite the physical and mental toll, Viktorin manages to secure a moment of peace, his safety affirmed by the return of the hospital's mundane atmosphere and the compassionate obliviousness of a nurse to the night's true horrors.
Elsewhere, in the quiet of Haven, a more terrestrial threat emerges as Ryan and Alexander confront a supernatural mystery involving missing children. Their investigation leads them to a graveyard, the nexus of the children's disappearance, orchestrated by a dark and powerful force. Amid their detective work, they encounter a child ensnared by a magical sleepwalk, unwittingly involved in a sinister ritual. As they strategize a rescue, the situation intensifies with the arrival of an ominous darkness, hinting at a malevolent entity with claims over the missing children. Despite their efforts to confront the entity and protect the children, Ryan and Alexander are left with more questions than answers. Their encounter with the darkness ends with the narrow rescue of one child, but the grim realization that others remain in peril propels them towards further investigation, a testament to their unyielding commitment to safeguard Haven's most vulnerable.
(Viktorin's odd encounter(SRAlexander):SRAlexander)
[Tue Feb 20 2024]
In hospital room 2
This room is sparsely furnished, the sanitary white walls a perfect match
to the linoleum floor and the thin hospital sheets on the gurney that serves
as a bed. A small television mounted in the upper corner of the room is set
at a low volume, and a thin curtain bisects the room in an effort to afford
privacy to the occupant on the other side.
It is night, about 27F(-2C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. There is a waxing gibbous moon.
(Your target is singled out by some sort of spirit that can only attack them through mirrors, it is up to them to survive long enough by avoiding mirrors/their reflection until their allies can help them find a way to defeat the monster.
)
Currently, the only company ia boredom, for the wounded Czech. His eyes dulled and hazy, he watches the television with disinterest. Consistently, his eyes flicker over towards the door, as if in yearning, but of course, it doesn't open. And so it's back to the tv, back to disinterest and boredom, at least to stave off the anxiety forming upon his face. Viktorin wriggles a bit inside the bed, trying endlessly to overcome himself in some manner... but alas, there's not much he can do.
A hospital has a rhythm, anyone who has spent anytime working or recovering inside one might not be aware of it but they recognize it. Beeps, and bleeps and footsteps and the lower murmur of conversation. Like any modern building there is the soft hum of the machines, air conditioning and cooling, but the more important electric hum of life saving equipment. The time drags on, that kind of reliability becomes torturous when stretched too far. The tv shuts off, and he's suddenly seeing his own reflection in the screen.
Viktorin slants his eyes at his television for a moment, muttering, "Jesus Fucking Christ. The tv too?" His words come with a hint of aggravation, hostility coiled about his tone. Sighing and rubbing his brow, he momentarily opens them, staring intently at the television, pointing his remote at it, and flicking the buttons, a clear desperation igniting from his actions. "Come on... come on... no one's here, so like, help me out..."
The tv turns back on whew. That's a relief. Tragedy over. Viktorin's show continues to play. But his gown is a poor outfit for warmth, and his blankets feel remarkably thin. He finds himself uncomfortably chilled. Air conditioning on the fritz again? If he peers about the room...he notices a slow mist rolling under the door.
Viktorin sighs in relief, however relief doesn't last for long. Shivering terribly underneath his blankets, he grumbles, looking around for the thermostat. However his search brings his sight upon the mist rolling beneath the door, and a deep frown slowly curls upon his lips. Anxiety and fear jolt him into action, and with his arm remaining inert, or at least as best as he can manage, the man sits up, minding the stitching, and nervously heads to the door. Armed with his mere television remote, he pops the door open, scanning the corridor.
Viktorin begins to move off the bed, in the corner of his gaze he catches something, in the reflection of the TV? It's but a moment, perhaps worth further explanation as he wields his mighty remote. His bare feet touch ground and he finds himself chilled. For a moment it almost hurts. Like winter ground.
The rhythm of the hospital is off. The noises, and sounds are still present, but distant. Does he proceed to the door?
Viktorin flits his gaze at the television, like some sort of prey animal, wary of a predator. He stares at it for a second, trying to discern whatever he saw, but impulse pushes him to return his attention towards the door. And so he does, opening it all the while and peering out into the corridor, looking for the source of the fog. His eyes twitch a bit at the distance of the noises, and he grasps his remote ever tighter, shuttering buttons towsrds the television to turn it off.
There is a figure in the tv screen gazing back at Viktorin. For a moment, it smiles...then it turns its gaze towards his reflection, a limb extends and Viktorin feels an icy chill. He turns away and the feeling passes. But only for the moment. The door is thrown open, into the hall, everything is dim, and dark, the fog filters across the floor, obscuring pristine hospital tiling. He catches his gaze in the reflective glass of the door in the adjacent room, and the figure, more distinct, humanoid, smiles, rows of razor sharp teeth spread wide as it begins to turn once more to his reflection.
Viktorin blinks several times at the television, clearly wrapped up in trying to put two and two together. For the moment, he's befuddled, staring at the spot the spirit should be, and him. With a testing lunge, he whacks his remote towards the spirit, as if resorting immediately to violence was his best plan. Glancing back towards to the television, and noting the particular chill he had when the spirit reached out to him, he yelps a bit, using the television to back away, as far away as he can from where he perceives the figure's location is via the television. As soon as it smiles though... that itself causes Viktorin to scream in fear, blood-curdling, panicked screaming, causing the Czech to tomahawk the remote at the television in a frenzied, dreaded panic.
Back into the room. With the curtains drawn, the only reflective surface through which Viktorin can see this thing appears to be the powered down television. The test bat of the remote near his head reveals...nothing? His hand passes through air. Even had he the experience encountering them, it doesn't appear as though the creature...if it even is a ghost, is beside him physically. But he can -feel it- close in on him as it approaches his reflection. The scream might have shattered glass, but the remote DEFINITELY does. Totaling the television with a mighty crash. Glass shards fall upon the floor and he is left, for a moment, in silence.
Viktorin gazes around himself, paranoid. His jaw clenched, he kicks the door open behind himself, and attempts to scamper out, trying to put distance between himself and his invisible assailant. His eyes scan the corridor, his heart nearly pounding through his chest as he searches for refuge, anywhere, everywhere. His lips tightened and his lower lip sucked into his mouth, teeth nearly drawing blood. Stammering, and with a shaky, anxious voice, he shouts, "Help! Help! So...some...something's cha...chasing me!"
Perhaps, it was in there with him, perhaps upon the room itself. He pushes himself outside, pain from his injuries radiating up and down his side. As he moves he sees it, in the corner of his eyes. As he calls out, this dismal place echoes his own voice quietly back to him, perhaps mockingly. Is he within the Hospital yet? It looks the same but then it feels wrong, dimmer, twisted in a subtler way. The figure follows him, pursuing in every reflection he lays his eyes upon. Perhaps there is some way to confront it, or...failing that he might escape?
Viktorin, finding that no one's here to save him, or really respond to him, further horror contorts his expression. He moves away, darting as far as he can from the being in his peripherals. Using the reflections as a way to gain insight into the creature's position, he dashes to and fro, always seeking to out-distance it, gritting his teeth and ignoring the pain traipsing up and down his wounded side.
Alone. He was alone in his room. And he must be the only soul in this Hospital. They're abandoning him maybe or...perhaps they're just consent to see him suffer? Perhaps they were paid off. He's heard of forces that can do that. Maybe it's an enemy of the Order? Does he really know what he's gotten himself into? The creature does not appear to be following him physically, it appears in strange locations, moves slowly when seen, always within every reflection no matter how he makes the turn.
He has no clue what it is, but the idea strikes him. What if it only exists within the reflections...?
Viktorin is struck with the realization, and immediately, desperate violence is his first resort. Grabbing the nearest object, he bashes it into the first relective object. His intent seems to be causing as much damage to reflective objects as he can, moving onwards and elsewhere if he simply can't break it. He dashes forth, swiping this way and that, darting to and fro, searching for anywhere that doesn't have any reflective object, surface, or otherwise, as he wields whatever random object he can find as his only tool. His eyes, like some sort of prey beast, scan around himself, preparing to dart away further into the recesses of the strange and twisted hospital, should he encounter further trouble. Fear coils about him, and his dread tightens the features on his face as he struggles to get a breath in.
It's all violence, and anger. His body rebels against him, weakened, exhausted, wearied, but Viktorin is propelled by something primal. That human instinct that resists the darkness, that compels him to act, and move and fight. Fight or flight came calling, and he on this ocassion chose the former. In such a space, full of complex equipment, bookkeeping, logging, Viktorin's violence is levelled with extreme prejudice. Glass of monitors, windows, reflective coffee cup contents and bottles. Nobody seems to notice nobody else seems to react. But...before long...
He's spent. His body can handle only so much truly, capable he might be but injuries on top of such a violence. The creature reacts to every act, wherever Viktorin spots it, and destroys it cries out in fury. It moves at him, claws at him, cold burns echo across his body until at last...he finds silence. As his panicked eyes dart about him...he sees nothing. More mirrors perhaps elsewhere to destroy, but nothing close by.
Viktorin slumps against the nearest wall, taking tired, exhausted, deep breaths. His eyes droop and in a matter of wounded safety, he lets his eyes flutter closed, his own ragged breathing the only company he can really afford in this moment. He doesn't move, especially as he attempts to massage aching muscles and smooth his left hand over injuries sustained in his recent rampage. And then, he dozes off, unable to sustain his conciousness any longer with the amount of lethargy and throbbing dull pain that coarses about his entire body.
The rhythm returns. The steady beeps, and bleeps. The sound of murmurs, of chatter. Viktorin stirs in his bed, feeling like a bag of shit. Power borrowed must be repaid, even when it's loaner is something as mundane as adrenaline. But then. As he gazes about, the room is...normal. The contrast of before leaves this hospital with its sterile scent and obnoxious lighting seeming serene. Divine almost. Maybe not. "Sorry about the TV," a nurse says striding in to check on his vitals. "A bunch of equipment went on the fritz, you should see the mess at our desks. Goodness. Broke the coffee cups and everything," she murmurs kindly to someone she suspects is half asleep, as nurses do.
The TV remains shattered. No good deed, hm?
Viktorin lifts his dazed eyes towards the nurse, offering nothing but a semi-guilty murmur of an apology, his shaky voice dreamily mumbling, "Sorry, something was chasing me." And back asleep he fell, offering no answer, no explanation, just silence in the wake, except of course, for his soft snoring. His lips twisted, his expression contorting in a slightly pained manner. Exhaustion however, took its toll, and his injuries didn't exactly seem to fade away immediately, so there he was, back to his new occupation of self-recovery.
("Disappearing Children")
Up getting coffee after a late night date with his wife, Ryan had gone to the bathroom and is shuffling around his kitchen as she sleeps. He pours a cup of coffee as he browses on his phone, checking out alerts and news from various sources. He scrolls through some of his society news and logs, checking out various intelligence briefings.
Storm clouds cover much of the sky at this point, easily spied through the kitchen window. The chill of the night outside threatens to turn to snow if any of those clouds decide to unleash precipitation. Within the warm and loving home, the aroma of coffee and success fills the house.
As Ryan browses his phone, he gets an alert about missing children. While children in Haven are often ignored outside of parents and predators, occasionally someone notices oddnesses involving them. In this particular case, HSD has gotten several reports of children that have gone missing over the last few days. Lacking manpower, funding, and desire to go knocking door to door on every home in Haven, the inner woods, and most assuredly the outer woods or offworld locals, HSD has done the best they can do: Push the buck down the line. In this case, to the Order, the most likely organization in Haven to be willing to handle it, while also, simultaneously not being the cause of it.
The alert reads as follows: "Missing kids. Graveyard. Investigate." Because nothing quite helps get someone motivated like giving them almost no useful information. Thankfully, there is a file attached to the message, which likely has pertinent information.
Murmuring as he reads over that alert, Ryan shakes his head, "Hmm...that's not what we like to see in Haven. I'm trying to raise a family here." he maneuvers over to the hall closet to get his weapons and armor and straps on a slim vest under his suit jacket as he slides the jacket over it. "I'll have to go check it out." he taps on his comms. "Order? Got a missing children's report. Going to check out the graveyard." he murmurs as he heads on down the stairs to the outside, his coffee left behind to grow cold.
Rounding his van, Ryan tosses his weapons in the back in a duffel and gets in the driver's side seat, heading off towards the graveyard.
As he drives to the cemetary, Ryan is dialing on his phone, "Order, we got some reports of missing kids out at the cemetary. Not the usual reports, so I'm seeing if I need backup. We can meet at the Museum."
Alexander is seen sprinting out of his house, coat on, moving between the lawn of the townhall to make it to the graveyard. He lives pretty close, after all.
Graveyards, at night, spook adults more than most of them will ever actually admit. Especially with the clouds covering up almost all of the available moon light. The sweep of the lighthouse over the town every thirty seconds or so makes the tombstones almost seem alive with movement, dancing in the brief moment of animated illumination. The other structures and trees that dot the graveyard offer shadows that act like claws slashing through the light, adding a sense of villainous malice to the air.
Ryan naturally arrives first, because vans are faster than running. But only just barely, because the routes are different for him versus Alexander. They both arrive to see ... nothing really amiss. They see a graveyard, at night, under a cloudy sky, with occasional trickery for their eyes to try to digest when the lighthouse lights their path briefly. Sadly, it does not look like any cults are out performing rituals to sacrifice the missing children, so for the moment, they will need to do some good old fashioned detective work.
Alexander brushes himself off and gazes at Ryan. "Back from your honeymoon?" he asks, the social doesn't last long. His gaze is focused, somber. "What's the situation?" he asks.
Pulling out an umbrella, Ryan looks up at the sky as he says, "Looks a litte like rain, Alexander. Yeah, we were out in Boston on a nice dinner, just got back. You see the texts? It doesn't fit the normal disappearances. I mean it's fucking kids, too. We gotta protect these ones." he murmurs as he trudges up the grass of the cemetary. "Could be Blackburne. Been seeing reports of his crew out here dragging people towards the ocean. Let's see if we can find any footprints. You got any tracking rituals or anything?"
Alexander strides forward, slow pace, eyes focused and scanning. "I can...scry if we have an identity of a child. Peer through their eyes."
Alexander says "It'll take time we perhaps don't wish to spend. A half hour, I think..."
Ryan nods as he crouches down, checking for any footprints or recent activity. "Hopefully we find something before the storm rolls through. Would hate to lose any tracks."
Alexander nods swiftly, following after Ryan closely. "You've alerted the cops, yeah...?" Maybe not a no brainer.
Ryan received a file with the alert contains infrormation on the seven children that have gone missing in the last forty-eight hours. The most recent is a blond haired, green eyed girl named Penny. The next is a boy named Thomas, brown hair, brown eyes. Both are exactly seven years old, with birthdays in February. Those last two facts holds true for the entire set of children. The other five children are: Billy (brown and blue), Narina (red and green), Rylie (blond and brown), Spencer (blond and blue), and Xavier (black and brown).
As the pair start to investigate, Ryan does find two things of note, behind a tombstone near the entrance: a pink shoe about the right size for a seven year old girl and a kid's cell phone bedazzled in all sorts of pink. The screen on it has been smashed, and it does not power on. The headstone it was behind has a chip and a pink scrape on it.
Alexander grinds his teeth together as he follows after Ryan. His gaze is sharp. He places his hands in his pockets and let's Ryan take lead, he stands on the wings and keeps his eyes focused on everything else.
"Hrm..." Ryan murmurs quietly. "Broken phone...seven children. All birthdays in February. Seven children, aged Seven. That's not a good sign if you know anything about Arithmancy." Ryan reaches over with a pen out of his pocket and lifts the shoe, not putting his fingerprints on things as he fishes a handkerchief out of his pocket as well, picking up the phone. "Yeah...lost a shoe here. A scrape on his headstone, what do you make of it?"
"Second month? I feel a pattern of color hanging over it. This stinks like Fae bullshit," Alexander muses grimly. "I don't know Ryan." He can barely look at the shoe.
"Fae..." Ryan says as he narrows his eyes. "It's almost winter coming into spring. The Winter Court may be pulling changelings to toy with while the Spring Court is eminent." he muses.
Alexander gazes at Ryan a moment, and nods softly.
Most phones won't shatter just from a fall from waist high. Certainly not a ruggedized kid's phone that is meant to withstand being flung at a wall or dropped down a flight of stairs and still continue to function. Despite the bedazzled exterior, this is one such phone. The precision required to crack the screen and leave a scrape on a headstone requires more force than just dropping it out of a pocket. That suggests purposeful intent to disable the phone through physical means.
As the pair continue to loiter in the graveyard, a child comes walking into the graveyard. As the pattern suggests, this boy is about seven years old, likely with a birthday in February. He has sandy blond hair and his eyes are too closed to get his eye color. The way his head lulls from side to side, and the way he teeters from one foot to the next, suggests he is walking in a dazed state.
As the realization of what might be happening starts to dawn on the men, the hairs on the backs of their necks prickle into a standing position. The primal and primitive part of their brain knows trouble is afoot, even if they do not consciously project it.
Motioning to someone, Ryan moves to intercept the boy, nodding as he murmurs quietly to him. "New one. Let's make sure we can figure out where it's going, and keep him from waking in the lake, or any Faerie ring of flowers or mushrooms around here. We could maybe catch this thing." he murmurs as he pulls a small knife out of his bag, slipping it into a pocket.
Motioning to Alexander, Ryan moves to intercept the boy, nodding as he murmurs quietly to him. "New one. Let's make sure we can figure out where it's going, and keep him from waking in the lake, or any Faerie ring of flowers or mushrooms around here. We could maybe catch this thing." he murmurs as he pulls a small knife out of his bag, slipping it into a pocket.
Alexander nods softly, gazing at the boy. His heart races and he turns back to Ryan. He follows. "We should just snatch him and pull him away," he offers quietly.
"I don't have the free time to sit here in the graveyard all night interception children. There's already seven gone, we need to figure out if we can block off the area they're disappearing, or banish it or call in backup." Ryan notes.
"Maybe make the fucking time man! I don't like using a kid as bait for this!" Alexander snaps at Ryan. "If he gets in shit and we can't pull him out, you wanna fucking live with that?"
The boy staggers his way up to the grave right beside the two men. They don't need to intercept him in the least. The boy just stands there, tiredly, not even noticing his surroundings at the moment. He yawns and rubs his eyes a bit. He has even been dragging his blanket with him with one hand. It has gone through dirt, brush, mud, and grass by the looks of the debris it has accumulated. The boy eventually lays down on the ground in front of the tomb stone and pulls the filthy blanket up to cover himself with, then continues to sleep soundly as if nothing at all were out of the ordinary, and he was back in his bed at home, warm and cozy.
As the two men try to work out to do, they both get the feeling they are not alone. And not because of the slumbering boy on the ground. There is someone watching them. Hidden beyond the limited vision the lighthouse glimpses allow them to use for looking around. Whatever it is that is watching them, it is none too pleased with their presence.
Pulling out a revolver as well, Ryan stands over the boy as he looks around. "Not being teleported or walking through a gate. Looks like this may be old fashioned." he mutters as he scans around the graveyard with his gun in hand, narrowing his eyes and checking to see if he can hear or see anything.
Alexander moves protectively toward the boy. His eyes narrow, a sharp, angry expression. His eyes sweep the surrounding locale, he scatters a ring of salt around the boy, and whispers a prayer.
For all the times movies and TV shows suggest using salt for protection, in the real world, such things really do not matter to the monsters that prowl the night. It might protect against some Eidolons, if they were trapped inside it perhaps. But even that does not always guarantee protection. Especially if they have other agents that can quickly find you to break the circle for them.
Still, this is not a circle to keep an Eidolon in, but an attempt to keep someone out. But sadly, the magical portion of the situation is already complete. The ritual to sleep walk the boy into the grave yard is complete now. But where is the caster of said ritual? That ritual could have been done hours ago and the boy only just now taken by the impulse as he slept.
But it does occur to the two, as they wait in the cold night, near the boy slumbering on a grave, that someone still needs to retrieve the child for whatever nefarious purpose the caster of such a ritual would have had in mind. Did that retriever already see Ryan and Alexander Or will they come later? Is that the malevolent presence the animal portion of their brain is sensing? They may find out sooner rather than later.
"Let's wait for a few minutes and see if anything is going to come for him. Let him take a little nap while he's protected by the salt." Ryan note as he crouches down by the gravestone, keeping his head on a swivel and his revolver cocked and ready to fire. "Then we wake him up and I'll see if we can run shifts down there. Call in The Order Shields and get some bodies down with a van for a stakeout. We'll find this creep soon enough."
Alexander isn't going to move from the boys side. So the answer to that is moot. It'll reveal itself, or he'll lift the boy home. He doesn't look like he's entertaining arguments about that. He sits nearby and takes a deep tired breath. "Yeah."
Alexander is natural!
The boy wakes up after a bit and sits up, groggily rubbing his eyes. A chill cloaks the area a few moments later, and the boy lets out a quiet gasp. He starts to look around, but suddenly, he is smiling. His blue eyes go wide, and he stands up with excitement to start running around the graveyard, gleefully snatching up grass and twigs to eat, shoveling far more of either into his mouth than is likely healthy outside of livestock diets.
As the two men wait, looking around, watching the grave yard for signs of someone coming for the child, it takes a couple of passes of the lighthouse light at just the right time for them to be looking in the right direction to notice a darkness that the light does not pierce. A large volume of darkness, roughly spherical in shape, near the southern end of the graveyard. This is a consuming darkness. All light directed toward it disappears instantly. It is like a black hole from whence no light shall ever escape. And it slowly creeps closer toward the boy as he runs around eating things he probably should not be eating.
"Grab the boy, Let's get the hell out of here. That looks terrifying!" Ryan says as he takes the gun with a steady aim and fires it at the darkness. "Fucking outsider or something. Definitely not Fae! We don't know what this is, so we're going to have to run and research. Do you have any magic to hit it with?" Ryan asks as he takes his umbrella and tries to swat at the kid to corral him.""
Alexander stays close to the boy, trying to keep him from hurting himself as he dances amidst the graveyard, trying to eat...whatever it is he is shovelling toward his mouth. As Ryan cries out he pivots and tries to snatch the boy up. He nods, if there's enough nature near the graveyard to manipulate.
Shots fired in the graveyard. If Haven's budget had a nickel for every time that occurred, they could still fully fund a fire department. Nevermind that the fire department would be largely pointless. Almost as pointless at shooting at this sphere of darkness walking toward the men in the graveyard. It radiates malice and discontentment and anger, which they can feel being reflected in their own minds.
Swatting at the child earns Ryan a sudden and vicious snarl and his. The umbrella is taken from his hand and forcibly removed to be thrown to the side. Yes, the seven year old boy just tore an umbrella out of a grown and massively muscular man's hand to throw it away. Of course, then the boy gets snatched by Alexander's vines and roots available in the graveyard. The boy yowls with ferocity and starts trying to tear these apart. They put up more resistance than the umbrella did, but only because they managed to get him off the ground and grab multiple limbs in the process. Something is definitely inside of the kid resisting and trying to get loose.
If either boy happens to look south at this point, the darkness is gone. The boy tells Ryan and Alexander then in a disjointed, death-rattling voice, "You can ... have ... this one, but ... I'll be keeping ... the other seven then." The boy breaks out in a seriously messed up hoarse cackle then. A few moments later, the boy goes limp in the vines, and a chill washes over Ryan and Alexander.
Alexander shudders, letting out a low trembling growl. He rushes to the boy, and tries to get him down. His entire body is quaking.
"God dammit." Ryan says as he grimaces. "We gotta hit the books, man. Get this kid home to his parents and then we can figure out what the fuck that darkness is and rescue those kids."
The boy gets released from Alexander's bindings, and he is able to carry the kid back, presumably grabbing the blanket lost in the struggle to take with him. That boy makes it home to his parents who are very happy to have him returned. The other seven though are still at large, likely with clocks ticking down their remaining life in the clutches of someone obviously malicious and dangerous. The two men have plenty of studying to do after that if they want to find the remaining children. But for tonight, the small victory is in saving the one.
(Your target is attacked by an animal or small group of animals driven mad with magic, it is up to them to escape or fight them off for long enough for their allies to arrive and help deal with the threat.
)
Alexander is exhausted. Taking a slow deep breath as he begins to head home, his mind elsewhere on recent events. He's eager to get some rest.
What's that saying? There's no rest for the wicked. In that case, Alexander must either be a terrible person hiding beneath the guise of some rather decent, or he must've kicked puppies in a previous life. It's cold out here, in the streets beneath the dark stormclouds. The sound of the waves lapping at the nearby shore fills the air. Unbeknownst to the man, however, he isn't alone as he may feel. There are a number of eyes watching him, following him. Hidden, and waiting.
Alexander takes in a deep breath as he walks, his eyes peer about, curious, taking in the sight. He pivots slowly, gazing upon the direction of the eyes in a steady and somewhat indifferent way. "Hm." As if to casually remark, well that's new.
Thankfully the eyes aren't detatched. Or floating. Or that weird, really. Thankfully, right?
That being said, they are attached to crabs. Plenty of them. Small ones. Bigs ones. Some as big as your head. They skitter and scatter about. Click, and clack. Snap and.. unscap their claws as more and more of the critters begin to crawl out of sewer grates, and down from the alleys. Trashbins fall over, scattering yet more of their number across the street.
Alexander says "Oh. "
Alexander is stuck staring at that sight a moment. Sure it can be forgiven. One expects a lot of things in Haven. One must of course, anticipate the unexpected. It's always bad. It's always something. But it has up to this point in his experience never been crabs.
Alexander's ring begins to glow and he casts his hand forward, gesturing as he grips into the power of nature which his body so delicately commands. "STOP!" he bellows a single command to the horde.
It sounds like Alexander has managed to avoid any sort of crab infestation in the past. Three cheers for his sexual health, but unfortunately, these crabs aren't quite that small. Though they might be just as likely to nest amongst his body hair given the way they follow his moments with their creepy, beady little eyes.
When Alexander throws his hand out, summoning his power and commanding the beasts with magic he may feel something he hasn't before. A feedback of sorts. As if he were coming up against another similiar enchantment, but one that dwarfs his own power. The crabs that he had targetted don't stop. In fact, they jerk about like marionettes on a string, crazed and furious.
Alexander lets out a sharp exhale. Struggling for a moment before pivoting. He flings himself down the street, a few scattered handgun rounds into the horde, really more to make sure he could say he fought them before he ran. He pulls whatever he can into the mire of a quickened sand to slow them as he tries to get some distance and consider plan B.
Split! Splat! Crack! The gunfire echoes through the streets of the suddenly, and woefully empty town as Alexander flees from the horde of crabs! Several of their members fall beneath his gunfire, suggesting that despite the magic driving them into this strange state, they haven't become overly hardly, thank god.
Never-the-less, the amount of the beasties only increases with each passing moment. They surge from the sewers. From the roofs. From the alleyways. Like a tidal wave of orange, and red, and pinchy all over they rush towards the man. Many are drawn into the spots of quicksand that he leaves behind, but their bodies only serve as stepping stones for the next crab chasing after him!
Alexander groans letting out a loud annoyed sound and just books it.
Elsewhere, in the quiet of Haven, a more terrestrial threat emerges as Ryan and Alexander confront a supernatural mystery involving missing children. Their investigation leads them to a graveyard, the nexus of the children's disappearance, orchestrated by a dark and powerful force. Amid their detective work, they encounter a child ensnared by a magical sleepwalk, unwittingly involved in a sinister ritual. As they strategize a rescue, the situation intensifies with the arrival of an ominous darkness, hinting at a malevolent entity with claims over the missing children. Despite their efforts to confront the entity and protect the children, Ryan and Alexander are left with more questions than answers. Their encounter with the darkness ends with the narrow rescue of one child, but the grim realization that others remain in peril propels them towards further investigation, a testament to their unyielding commitment to safeguard Haven's most vulnerable.
(Viktorin's odd encounter(SRAlexander):SRAlexander)
[Tue Feb 20 2024]
In hospital room 2
This room is sparsely furnished, the sanitary white walls a perfect match
to the linoleum floor and the thin hospital sheets on the gurney that serves
as a bed. A small television mounted in the upper corner of the room is set
at a low volume, and a thin curtain bisects the room in an effort to afford
privacy to the occupant on the other side.
It is night, about 27F(-2C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. There is a waxing gibbous moon.
(Your target is singled out by some sort of spirit that can only attack them through mirrors, it is up to them to survive long enough by avoiding mirrors/their reflection until their allies can help them find a way to defeat the monster.
)
Currently, the only company ia boredom, for the wounded Czech. His eyes dulled and hazy, he watches the television with disinterest. Consistently, his eyes flicker over towards the door, as if in yearning, but of course, it doesn't open. And so it's back to the tv, back to disinterest and boredom, at least to stave off the anxiety forming upon his face. Viktorin wriggles a bit inside the bed, trying endlessly to overcome himself in some manner... but alas, there's not much he can do.
A hospital has a rhythm, anyone who has spent anytime working or recovering inside one might not be aware of it but they recognize it. Beeps, and bleeps and footsteps and the lower murmur of conversation. Like any modern building there is the soft hum of the machines, air conditioning and cooling, but the more important electric hum of life saving equipment. The time drags on, that kind of reliability becomes torturous when stretched too far. The tv shuts off, and he's suddenly seeing his own reflection in the screen.
Viktorin slants his eyes at his television for a moment, muttering, "Jesus Fucking Christ. The tv too?" His words come with a hint of aggravation, hostility coiled about his tone. Sighing and rubbing his brow, he momentarily opens them, staring intently at the television, pointing his remote at it, and flicking the buttons, a clear desperation igniting from his actions. "Come on... come on... no one's here, so like, help me out..."
The tv turns back on whew. That's a relief. Tragedy over. Viktorin's show continues to play. But his gown is a poor outfit for warmth, and his blankets feel remarkably thin. He finds himself uncomfortably chilled. Air conditioning on the fritz again? If he peers about the room...he notices a slow mist rolling under the door.
Viktorin sighs in relief, however relief doesn't last for long. Shivering terribly underneath his blankets, he grumbles, looking around for the thermostat. However his search brings his sight upon the mist rolling beneath the door, and a deep frown slowly curls upon his lips. Anxiety and fear jolt him into action, and with his arm remaining inert, or at least as best as he can manage, the man sits up, minding the stitching, and nervously heads to the door. Armed with his mere television remote, he pops the door open, scanning the corridor.
Viktorin begins to move off the bed, in the corner of his gaze he catches something, in the reflection of the TV? It's but a moment, perhaps worth further explanation as he wields his mighty remote. His bare feet touch ground and he finds himself chilled. For a moment it almost hurts. Like winter ground.
The rhythm of the hospital is off. The noises, and sounds are still present, but distant. Does he proceed to the door?
Viktorin flits his gaze at the television, like some sort of prey animal, wary of a predator. He stares at it for a second, trying to discern whatever he saw, but impulse pushes him to return his attention towards the door. And so he does, opening it all the while and peering out into the corridor, looking for the source of the fog. His eyes twitch a bit at the distance of the noises, and he grasps his remote ever tighter, shuttering buttons towsrds the television to turn it off.
There is a figure in the tv screen gazing back at Viktorin. For a moment, it smiles...then it turns its gaze towards his reflection, a limb extends and Viktorin feels an icy chill. He turns away and the feeling passes. But only for the moment. The door is thrown open, into the hall, everything is dim, and dark, the fog filters across the floor, obscuring pristine hospital tiling. He catches his gaze in the reflective glass of the door in the adjacent room, and the figure, more distinct, humanoid, smiles, rows of razor sharp teeth spread wide as it begins to turn once more to his reflection.
Viktorin blinks several times at the television, clearly wrapped up in trying to put two and two together. For the moment, he's befuddled, staring at the spot the spirit should be, and him. With a testing lunge, he whacks his remote towards the spirit, as if resorting immediately to violence was his best plan. Glancing back towards to the television, and noting the particular chill he had when the spirit reached out to him, he yelps a bit, using the television to back away, as far away as he can from where he perceives the figure's location is via the television. As soon as it smiles though... that itself causes Viktorin to scream in fear, blood-curdling, panicked screaming, causing the Czech to tomahawk the remote at the television in a frenzied, dreaded panic.
Back into the room. With the curtains drawn, the only reflective surface through which Viktorin can see this thing appears to be the powered down television. The test bat of the remote near his head reveals...nothing? His hand passes through air. Even had he the experience encountering them, it doesn't appear as though the creature...if it even is a ghost, is beside him physically. But he can -feel it- close in on him as it approaches his reflection. The scream might have shattered glass, but the remote DEFINITELY does. Totaling the television with a mighty crash. Glass shards fall upon the floor and he is left, for a moment, in silence.
Viktorin gazes around himself, paranoid. His jaw clenched, he kicks the door open behind himself, and attempts to scamper out, trying to put distance between himself and his invisible assailant. His eyes scan the corridor, his heart nearly pounding through his chest as he searches for refuge, anywhere, everywhere. His lips tightened and his lower lip sucked into his mouth, teeth nearly drawing blood. Stammering, and with a shaky, anxious voice, he shouts, "Help! Help! So...some...something's cha...chasing me!"
Perhaps, it was in there with him, perhaps upon the room itself. He pushes himself outside, pain from his injuries radiating up and down his side. As he moves he sees it, in the corner of his eyes. As he calls out, this dismal place echoes his own voice quietly back to him, perhaps mockingly. Is he within the Hospital yet? It looks the same but then it feels wrong, dimmer, twisted in a subtler way. The figure follows him, pursuing in every reflection he lays his eyes upon. Perhaps there is some way to confront it, or...failing that he might escape?
Viktorin, finding that no one's here to save him, or really respond to him, further horror contorts his expression. He moves away, darting as far as he can from the being in his peripherals. Using the reflections as a way to gain insight into the creature's position, he dashes to and fro, always seeking to out-distance it, gritting his teeth and ignoring the pain traipsing up and down his wounded side.
Alone. He was alone in his room. And he must be the only soul in this Hospital. They're abandoning him maybe or...perhaps they're just consent to see him suffer? Perhaps they were paid off. He's heard of forces that can do that. Maybe it's an enemy of the Order? Does he really know what he's gotten himself into? The creature does not appear to be following him physically, it appears in strange locations, moves slowly when seen, always within every reflection no matter how he makes the turn.
He has no clue what it is, but the idea strikes him. What if it only exists within the reflections...?
Viktorin is struck with the realization, and immediately, desperate violence is his first resort. Grabbing the nearest object, he bashes it into the first relective object. His intent seems to be causing as much damage to reflective objects as he can, moving onwards and elsewhere if he simply can't break it. He dashes forth, swiping this way and that, darting to and fro, searching for anywhere that doesn't have any reflective object, surface, or otherwise, as he wields whatever random object he can find as his only tool. His eyes, like some sort of prey beast, scan around himself, preparing to dart away further into the recesses of the strange and twisted hospital, should he encounter further trouble. Fear coils about him, and his dread tightens the features on his face as he struggles to get a breath in.
It's all violence, and anger. His body rebels against him, weakened, exhausted, wearied, but Viktorin is propelled by something primal. That human instinct that resists the darkness, that compels him to act, and move and fight. Fight or flight came calling, and he on this ocassion chose the former. In such a space, full of complex equipment, bookkeeping, logging, Viktorin's violence is levelled with extreme prejudice. Glass of monitors, windows, reflective coffee cup contents and bottles. Nobody seems to notice nobody else seems to react. But...before long...
He's spent. His body can handle only so much truly, capable he might be but injuries on top of such a violence. The creature reacts to every act, wherever Viktorin spots it, and destroys it cries out in fury. It moves at him, claws at him, cold burns echo across his body until at last...he finds silence. As his panicked eyes dart about him...he sees nothing. More mirrors perhaps elsewhere to destroy, but nothing close by.
Viktorin slumps against the nearest wall, taking tired, exhausted, deep breaths. His eyes droop and in a matter of wounded safety, he lets his eyes flutter closed, his own ragged breathing the only company he can really afford in this moment. He doesn't move, especially as he attempts to massage aching muscles and smooth his left hand over injuries sustained in his recent rampage. And then, he dozes off, unable to sustain his conciousness any longer with the amount of lethargy and throbbing dull pain that coarses about his entire body.
The rhythm returns. The steady beeps, and bleeps. The sound of murmurs, of chatter. Viktorin stirs in his bed, feeling like a bag of shit. Power borrowed must be repaid, even when it's loaner is something as mundane as adrenaline. But then. As he gazes about, the room is...normal. The contrast of before leaves this hospital with its sterile scent and obnoxious lighting seeming serene. Divine almost. Maybe not. "Sorry about the TV," a nurse says striding in to check on his vitals. "A bunch of equipment went on the fritz, you should see the mess at our desks. Goodness. Broke the coffee cups and everything," she murmurs kindly to someone she suspects is half asleep, as nurses do.
The TV remains shattered. No good deed, hm?
Viktorin lifts his dazed eyes towards the nurse, offering nothing but a semi-guilty murmur of an apology, his shaky voice dreamily mumbling, "Sorry, something was chasing me." And back asleep he fell, offering no answer, no explanation, just silence in the wake, except of course, for his soft snoring. His lips twisted, his expression contorting in a slightly pained manner. Exhaustion however, took its toll, and his injuries didn't exactly seem to fade away immediately, so there he was, back to his new occupation of self-recovery.
("Disappearing Children")
Up getting coffee after a late night date with his wife, Ryan had gone to the bathroom and is shuffling around his kitchen as she sleeps. He pours a cup of coffee as he browses on his phone, checking out alerts and news from various sources. He scrolls through some of his society news and logs, checking out various intelligence briefings.
Storm clouds cover much of the sky at this point, easily spied through the kitchen window. The chill of the night outside threatens to turn to snow if any of those clouds decide to unleash precipitation. Within the warm and loving home, the aroma of coffee and success fills the house.
As Ryan browses his phone, he gets an alert about missing children. While children in Haven are often ignored outside of parents and predators, occasionally someone notices oddnesses involving them. In this particular case, HSD has gotten several reports of children that have gone missing over the last few days. Lacking manpower, funding, and desire to go knocking door to door on every home in Haven, the inner woods, and most assuredly the outer woods or offworld locals, HSD has done the best they can do: Push the buck down the line. In this case, to the Order, the most likely organization in Haven to be willing to handle it, while also, simultaneously not being the cause of it.
The alert reads as follows: "Missing kids. Graveyard. Investigate." Because nothing quite helps get someone motivated like giving them almost no useful information. Thankfully, there is a file attached to the message, which likely has pertinent information.
Murmuring as he reads over that alert, Ryan shakes his head, "Hmm...that's not what we like to see in Haven. I'm trying to raise a family here." he maneuvers over to the hall closet to get his weapons and armor and straps on a slim vest under his suit jacket as he slides the jacket over it. "I'll have to go check it out." he taps on his comms. "Order? Got a missing children's report. Going to check out the graveyard." he murmurs as he heads on down the stairs to the outside, his coffee left behind to grow cold.
Rounding his van, Ryan tosses his weapons in the back in a duffel and gets in the driver's side seat, heading off towards the graveyard.
As he drives to the cemetary, Ryan is dialing on his phone, "Order, we got some reports of missing kids out at the cemetary. Not the usual reports, so I'm seeing if I need backup. We can meet at the Museum."
Alexander is seen sprinting out of his house, coat on, moving between the lawn of the townhall to make it to the graveyard. He lives pretty close, after all.
Graveyards, at night, spook adults more than most of them will ever actually admit. Especially with the clouds covering up almost all of the available moon light. The sweep of the lighthouse over the town every thirty seconds or so makes the tombstones almost seem alive with movement, dancing in the brief moment of animated illumination. The other structures and trees that dot the graveyard offer shadows that act like claws slashing through the light, adding a sense of villainous malice to the air.
Ryan naturally arrives first, because vans are faster than running. But only just barely, because the routes are different for him versus Alexander. They both arrive to see ... nothing really amiss. They see a graveyard, at night, under a cloudy sky, with occasional trickery for their eyes to try to digest when the lighthouse lights their path briefly. Sadly, it does not look like any cults are out performing rituals to sacrifice the missing children, so for the moment, they will need to do some good old fashioned detective work.
Alexander brushes himself off and gazes at Ryan. "Back from your honeymoon?" he asks, the social doesn't last long. His gaze is focused, somber. "What's the situation?" he asks.
Pulling out an umbrella, Ryan looks up at the sky as he says, "Looks a litte like rain, Alexander. Yeah, we were out in Boston on a nice dinner, just got back. You see the texts? It doesn't fit the normal disappearances. I mean it's fucking kids, too. We gotta protect these ones." he murmurs as he trudges up the grass of the cemetary. "Could be Blackburne. Been seeing reports of his crew out here dragging people towards the ocean. Let's see if we can find any footprints. You got any tracking rituals or anything?"
Alexander strides forward, slow pace, eyes focused and scanning. "I can...scry if we have an identity of a child. Peer through their eyes."
Alexander says "It'll take time we perhaps don't wish to spend. A half hour, I think..."
Ryan nods as he crouches down, checking for any footprints or recent activity. "Hopefully we find something before the storm rolls through. Would hate to lose any tracks."
Alexander nods swiftly, following after Ryan closely. "You've alerted the cops, yeah...?" Maybe not a no brainer.
Ryan received a file with the alert contains infrormation on the seven children that have gone missing in the last forty-eight hours. The most recent is a blond haired, green eyed girl named Penny. The next is a boy named Thomas, brown hair, brown eyes. Both are exactly seven years old, with birthdays in February. Those last two facts holds true for the entire set of children. The other five children are: Billy (brown and blue), Narina (red and green), Rylie (blond and brown), Spencer (blond and blue), and Xavier (black and brown).
As the pair start to investigate, Ryan does find two things of note, behind a tombstone near the entrance: a pink shoe about the right size for a seven year old girl and a kid's cell phone bedazzled in all sorts of pink. The screen on it has been smashed, and it does not power on. The headstone it was behind has a chip and a pink scrape on it.
Alexander grinds his teeth together as he follows after Ryan. His gaze is sharp. He places his hands in his pockets and let's Ryan take lead, he stands on the wings and keeps his eyes focused on everything else.
"Hrm..." Ryan murmurs quietly. "Broken phone...seven children. All birthdays in February. Seven children, aged Seven. That's not a good sign if you know anything about Arithmancy." Ryan reaches over with a pen out of his pocket and lifts the shoe, not putting his fingerprints on things as he fishes a handkerchief out of his pocket as well, picking up the phone. "Yeah...lost a shoe here. A scrape on his headstone, what do you make of it?"
"Second month? I feel a pattern of color hanging over it. This stinks like Fae bullshit," Alexander muses grimly. "I don't know Ryan." He can barely look at the shoe.
"Fae..." Ryan says as he narrows his eyes. "It's almost winter coming into spring. The Winter Court may be pulling changelings to toy with while the Spring Court is eminent." he muses.
Alexander gazes at Ryan a moment, and nods softly.
Most phones won't shatter just from a fall from waist high. Certainly not a ruggedized kid's phone that is meant to withstand being flung at a wall or dropped down a flight of stairs and still continue to function. Despite the bedazzled exterior, this is one such phone. The precision required to crack the screen and leave a scrape on a headstone requires more force than just dropping it out of a pocket. That suggests purposeful intent to disable the phone through physical means.
As the pair continue to loiter in the graveyard, a child comes walking into the graveyard. As the pattern suggests, this boy is about seven years old, likely with a birthday in February. He has sandy blond hair and his eyes are too closed to get his eye color. The way his head lulls from side to side, and the way he teeters from one foot to the next, suggests he is walking in a dazed state.
As the realization of what might be happening starts to dawn on the men, the hairs on the backs of their necks prickle into a standing position. The primal and primitive part of their brain knows trouble is afoot, even if they do not consciously project it.
Motioning to someone, Ryan moves to intercept the boy, nodding as he murmurs quietly to him. "New one. Let's make sure we can figure out where it's going, and keep him from waking in the lake, or any Faerie ring of flowers or mushrooms around here. We could maybe catch this thing." he murmurs as he pulls a small knife out of his bag, slipping it into a pocket.
Motioning to Alexander, Ryan moves to intercept the boy, nodding as he murmurs quietly to him. "New one. Let's make sure we can figure out where it's going, and keep him from waking in the lake, or any Faerie ring of flowers or mushrooms around here. We could maybe catch this thing." he murmurs as he pulls a small knife out of his bag, slipping it into a pocket.
Alexander nods softly, gazing at the boy. His heart races and he turns back to Ryan. He follows. "We should just snatch him and pull him away," he offers quietly.
"I don't have the free time to sit here in the graveyard all night interception children. There's already seven gone, we need to figure out if we can block off the area they're disappearing, or banish it or call in backup." Ryan notes.
"Maybe make the fucking time man! I don't like using a kid as bait for this!" Alexander snaps at Ryan. "If he gets in shit and we can't pull him out, you wanna fucking live with that?"
The boy staggers his way up to the grave right beside the two men. They don't need to intercept him in the least. The boy just stands there, tiredly, not even noticing his surroundings at the moment. He yawns and rubs his eyes a bit. He has even been dragging his blanket with him with one hand. It has gone through dirt, brush, mud, and grass by the looks of the debris it has accumulated. The boy eventually lays down on the ground in front of the tomb stone and pulls the filthy blanket up to cover himself with, then continues to sleep soundly as if nothing at all were out of the ordinary, and he was back in his bed at home, warm and cozy.
As the two men try to work out to do, they both get the feeling they are not alone. And not because of the slumbering boy on the ground. There is someone watching them. Hidden beyond the limited vision the lighthouse glimpses allow them to use for looking around. Whatever it is that is watching them, it is none too pleased with their presence.
Pulling out a revolver as well, Ryan stands over the boy as he looks around. "Not being teleported or walking through a gate. Looks like this may be old fashioned." he mutters as he scans around the graveyard with his gun in hand, narrowing his eyes and checking to see if he can hear or see anything.
Alexander moves protectively toward the boy. His eyes narrow, a sharp, angry expression. His eyes sweep the surrounding locale, he scatters a ring of salt around the boy, and whispers a prayer.
For all the times movies and TV shows suggest using salt for protection, in the real world, such things really do not matter to the monsters that prowl the night. It might protect against some Eidolons, if they were trapped inside it perhaps. But even that does not always guarantee protection. Especially if they have other agents that can quickly find you to break the circle for them.
Still, this is not a circle to keep an Eidolon in, but an attempt to keep someone out. But sadly, the magical portion of the situation is already complete. The ritual to sleep walk the boy into the grave yard is complete now. But where is the caster of said ritual? That ritual could have been done hours ago and the boy only just now taken by the impulse as he slept.
But it does occur to the two, as they wait in the cold night, near the boy slumbering on a grave, that someone still needs to retrieve the child for whatever nefarious purpose the caster of such a ritual would have had in mind. Did that retriever already see Ryan and Alexander Or will they come later? Is that the malevolent presence the animal portion of their brain is sensing? They may find out sooner rather than later.
"Let's wait for a few minutes and see if anything is going to come for him. Let him take a little nap while he's protected by the salt." Ryan note as he crouches down by the gravestone, keeping his head on a swivel and his revolver cocked and ready to fire. "Then we wake him up and I'll see if we can run shifts down there. Call in The Order Shields and get some bodies down with a van for a stakeout. We'll find this creep soon enough."
Alexander isn't going to move from the boys side. So the answer to that is moot. It'll reveal itself, or he'll lift the boy home. He doesn't look like he's entertaining arguments about that. He sits nearby and takes a deep tired breath. "Yeah."
Alexander is natural!
The boy wakes up after a bit and sits up, groggily rubbing his eyes. A chill cloaks the area a few moments later, and the boy lets out a quiet gasp. He starts to look around, but suddenly, he is smiling. His blue eyes go wide, and he stands up with excitement to start running around the graveyard, gleefully snatching up grass and twigs to eat, shoveling far more of either into his mouth than is likely healthy outside of livestock diets.
As the two men wait, looking around, watching the grave yard for signs of someone coming for the child, it takes a couple of passes of the lighthouse light at just the right time for them to be looking in the right direction to notice a darkness that the light does not pierce. A large volume of darkness, roughly spherical in shape, near the southern end of the graveyard. This is a consuming darkness. All light directed toward it disappears instantly. It is like a black hole from whence no light shall ever escape. And it slowly creeps closer toward the boy as he runs around eating things he probably should not be eating.
"Grab the boy, Let's get the hell out of here. That looks terrifying!" Ryan says as he takes the gun with a steady aim and fires it at the darkness. "Fucking outsider or something. Definitely not Fae! We don't know what this is, so we're going to have to run and research. Do you have any magic to hit it with?" Ryan asks as he takes his umbrella and tries to swat at the kid to corral him.""
Alexander stays close to the boy, trying to keep him from hurting himself as he dances amidst the graveyard, trying to eat...whatever it is he is shovelling toward his mouth. As Ryan cries out he pivots and tries to snatch the boy up. He nods, if there's enough nature near the graveyard to manipulate.
Shots fired in the graveyard. If Haven's budget had a nickel for every time that occurred, they could still fully fund a fire department. Nevermind that the fire department would be largely pointless. Almost as pointless at shooting at this sphere of darkness walking toward the men in the graveyard. It radiates malice and discontentment and anger, which they can feel being reflected in their own minds.
Swatting at the child earns Ryan a sudden and vicious snarl and his. The umbrella is taken from his hand and forcibly removed to be thrown to the side. Yes, the seven year old boy just tore an umbrella out of a grown and massively muscular man's hand to throw it away. Of course, then the boy gets snatched by Alexander's vines and roots available in the graveyard. The boy yowls with ferocity and starts trying to tear these apart. They put up more resistance than the umbrella did, but only because they managed to get him off the ground and grab multiple limbs in the process. Something is definitely inside of the kid resisting and trying to get loose.
If either boy happens to look south at this point, the darkness is gone. The boy tells Ryan and Alexander then in a disjointed, death-rattling voice, "You can ... have ... this one, but ... I'll be keeping ... the other seven then." The boy breaks out in a seriously messed up hoarse cackle then. A few moments later, the boy goes limp in the vines, and a chill washes over Ryan and Alexander.
Alexander shudders, letting out a low trembling growl. He rushes to the boy, and tries to get him down. His entire body is quaking.
"God dammit." Ryan says as he grimaces. "We gotta hit the books, man. Get this kid home to his parents and then we can figure out what the fuck that darkness is and rescue those kids."
The boy gets released from Alexander's bindings, and he is able to carry the kid back, presumably grabbing the blanket lost in the struggle to take with him. That boy makes it home to his parents who are very happy to have him returned. The other seven though are still at large, likely with clocks ticking down their remaining life in the clutches of someone obviously malicious and dangerous. The two men have plenty of studying to do after that if they want to find the remaining children. But for tonight, the small victory is in saving the one.
(Your target is attacked by an animal or small group of animals driven mad with magic, it is up to them to escape or fight them off for long enough for their allies to arrive and help deal with the threat.
)
Alexander is exhausted. Taking a slow deep breath as he begins to head home, his mind elsewhere on recent events. He's eager to get some rest.
What's that saying? There's no rest for the wicked. In that case, Alexander must either be a terrible person hiding beneath the guise of some rather decent, or he must've kicked puppies in a previous life. It's cold out here, in the streets beneath the dark stormclouds. The sound of the waves lapping at the nearby shore fills the air. Unbeknownst to the man, however, he isn't alone as he may feel. There are a number of eyes watching him, following him. Hidden, and waiting.
Alexander takes in a deep breath as he walks, his eyes peer about, curious, taking in the sight. He pivots slowly, gazing upon the direction of the eyes in a steady and somewhat indifferent way. "Hm." As if to casually remark, well that's new.
Thankfully the eyes aren't detatched. Or floating. Or that weird, really. Thankfully, right?
That being said, they are attached to crabs. Plenty of them. Small ones. Bigs ones. Some as big as your head. They skitter and scatter about. Click, and clack. Snap and.. unscap their claws as more and more of the critters begin to crawl out of sewer grates, and down from the alleys. Trashbins fall over, scattering yet more of their number across the street.
Alexander says "Oh. "
Alexander is stuck staring at that sight a moment. Sure it can be forgiven. One expects a lot of things in Haven. One must of course, anticipate the unexpected. It's always bad. It's always something. But it has up to this point in his experience never been crabs.
Alexander's ring begins to glow and he casts his hand forward, gesturing as he grips into the power of nature which his body so delicately commands. "STOP!" he bellows a single command to the horde.
It sounds like Alexander has managed to avoid any sort of crab infestation in the past. Three cheers for his sexual health, but unfortunately, these crabs aren't quite that small. Though they might be just as likely to nest amongst his body hair given the way they follow his moments with their creepy, beady little eyes.
When Alexander throws his hand out, summoning his power and commanding the beasts with magic he may feel something he hasn't before. A feedback of sorts. As if he were coming up against another similiar enchantment, but one that dwarfs his own power. The crabs that he had targetted don't stop. In fact, they jerk about like marionettes on a string, crazed and furious.
Alexander lets out a sharp exhale. Struggling for a moment before pivoting. He flings himself down the street, a few scattered handgun rounds into the horde, really more to make sure he could say he fought them before he ran. He pulls whatever he can into the mire of a quickened sand to slow them as he tries to get some distance and consider plan B.
Split! Splat! Crack! The gunfire echoes through the streets of the suddenly, and woefully empty town as Alexander flees from the horde of crabs! Several of their members fall beneath his gunfire, suggesting that despite the magic driving them into this strange state, they haven't become overly hardly, thank god.
Never-the-less, the amount of the beasties only increases with each passing moment. They surge from the sewers. From the roofs. From the alleyways. Like a tidal wave of orange, and red, and pinchy all over they rush towards the man. Many are drawn into the spots of quicksand that he leaves behind, but their bodies only serve as stepping stones for the next crab chasing after him!
Alexander groans letting out a loud annoyed sound and just books it.