Encounterlogs
Williams Odd Encounter Sr Lilian 250214
In the chilling town of Haven, under a malevolent almost full moon, Detective Ruby finds herself witnessing a grotesque ritual inside an abandoned mill, orchestrated by members of The Black Flame cult. Among the black-cloaked figures engaging in the unholy ceremony, Ruby recognizes faces of her own colleagues from Haven Police Department, plunging her into a maelan of betrayal and fear. With nowhere else to turn and the ritual nearing its climax, Ruby sends a desperate plea for help to the only person she believes can intervene, an arcanist named William. Accompanied by photographs revealing the imminent danger—a bound woman on an altar, the cult's eldritch book, and the knife-wielding cult leader—Ruby's message ignites a night of unforeseeable confrontation.
William, coming home from an offworld hunt, is dragged into the unfolding nightmare. Resigned yet determined, he sets aside his weariness, vowing to "figure something out" as he ventures toward the source of the dark energy emanating from the abandoned mill. Utilizing his occult knowledge and shadowwalking ability, William plans a cautious approach. He decides against a direct assault; instead, he employs illusion magic to sow chaos among the cultists, beginning with manifesting a terrifying minotaur creature to disrupt the ritual. His strategies are a blend of cunning and desperation, aiming to dismantle the cult's operations from the shadows without revealing his presence. As William manipulates the scene with his trickery, the fate of Haven and the innocent bound woman hangs in a precarious balance, teetering on the edge of an eldritch abyss.
(William's odd encounter(SRLilian):SRLilian)
[Thu Feb 13 2025]
At an alley
It is night, about -4F(-20C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey clouds in the sky. There is a waning gibbous moon.
(Your target and their allies discover a horrifying ritual conducted by members of The Black Flame. The cult is attempting to summon an eldritch horror into their town, Haven. The characters must disrupt the ritual before it's completed, facing off against the cult members who range from common thugs to powerful sorcerers, all hell-bent on completing their dark mission. The tension of the encounter is amplified as the characters realize that every second counts, and the longer they take to stop the ritual, the closer the eldritch horror gets to breaking through into their world.)
The just under full moon hangs heavy in the February sky above Haven, a stark white eye watching over the slumbering town. The air is crisp and cold, a typical New England winter night, though tonight the wind is mercifully still. Patches of old snow cling stubbornly to rooftops, a reminder of past storms and a testament to the persistent chill. The town is quiet, most residents tucked away in their warm homes, seeking refuge from the long winter nights.
A lone wolf howls in the distance, the sound echoing through the stillness. It's a sound that has become increasingly common in the last few days, a chilling reminder of the recent spate of animal attacks that have plagued the area. The local authorities have issued warnings, urging residents to be cautious, especially after dark however that didn't stop the hospital admissions over the last two night's due to 'animal attacks'. Thankfully, it seems that the full is no longer completely full and hopefully people will be able to venture from their homes without fear of attacks from... wild dogs.
The mists that often creep into Haven at night are absent tonight, a small mercy. But even without the swirling fog, an unsettling atmosphere pervades the town. Unseen, unheard by most, the disappearances continue.
Far on the deadwood side of town, in an abandoned wood mill... there seems to be.. activity as people in dark cloaks rush about taking advantage of the relative quiet just after a full moon.
The air in the abandoned mill crackles with an unnatural energy. The almost full moon, a malevolent spotlight in the inky February sky, illuminates the scene: a grotesque tableau of chanting figures cloaked in black, their faces hidden by shadow and the flickering light of torches. At the center, on a crudely constructed altar stained with something that looks disturbingly like blood, lies a bound figure, gagged and trembling. The chanting intensifies, rising to a fevered pitch. The air grows heavy, thick with the stench of incense and something far fouler.
Hidden in the rafters of the abandoned mill, Detective Ruby shivered, though not entirely from the February chill. Below, the scene unfolded like a nightmare brought to life. The chanting was a guttural drone, a sound that seemed to vibrate in her very bones. Torchlight flickered across the faces of the cultists, illuminating their rapturous expressions. And among them, a sight that made her heart sink: faces she recognized. Colleagues. Fellow officers of the Haven Police Department, now cloaked in black, their voices raised in the unholy chorus.
Rubys hand trembled as she gripped her phone. Who could she trust? How could she report this? The lines were blurred, the lines of authority twisted and corrupted. She couldn't call dispatch. She didn't know who was compromised.
Her thumb hovered over the contact list. Who could she call?
She quickly snapped a few photos, capturing the ritual, the faces of her former colleagues. Then, she typed a brief, desperate message to .. the only arcanist apparently on her contact list. "Help please. I don't know what to do. HPD involved. 134 Deadwood.."
Far away in another corner of Haven, someone' phone buzzes in his pocket.
The first thing he receives is a picture:
An altar dominated the picture. It was a rough-hewn slab of stone, stained a disturbing crimson with runed etched in the rock. Upon it lay the bound figure, a young woman, gagged and struggling weakly against the ropes that held her captive. Her eyes, wide with terror, reflected the flickering torchlight. Above her, a robed figure, presumably the leader of the cult, raised a gleaming obsidian knife. The blade shimmered in the dim light, its edge catching the glint of the full moon that filtered through cracks in the mill's decaying roof. There are runes already carved into the poor bound woman's skin on one leg but it seemed like... her entire body might be the target of the runes so Bill has some time... A little at least.
The second picture is of a book that has been opened at the bottom of the altar - Bill's occult knowledge makes him realize that this is an eldritch summoning ritual. Given it's the final page of the ritual written in the probably... Probably safe to assume it's at the last stages.
Last is the message from his contact Ruby, begging for help.
Does he save the town? Or... should he go to bed...
The just under full moon hangs heavy in the February sky above Haven, a stark white eye watching over the slumbering town. The air is crisp and cold, a typical New England winter night, though tonight the wind is mercifully still. Patches of old snow cling stubbornly to rooftops, a reminder of past storms and a testament to the persistent chill. The town is quiet, most residents tucked away in their warm homes, seeking refuge from the long winter nights.
A lone wolf howls in the distance, the sound echoing through the stillness. It's a sound that has become increasingly common in the last few days, a chilling reminder of the recent spate of animal attacks that have plagued the area. The local authorities have issued warnings, urging residents to be cautious, especially after dark however that didn't stop the hospital admissions over the last two night's due to 'animal attacks'. Thankfully, it seems that the full is no longer completely full and hopefully people will be able to venture from their homes without fear of attacks from... wild dogs.
The mists that often creep into Haven at night are absent tonight, a small mercy. But even without the swirling fog, an unsettling atmosphere pervades the town. Unseen, unheard by most, the disappearances continue.
Far on the deadwood side of town, in an abandoned wood mill... there seems to be.. activity as people in dark cloaks rush about taking advantage of the relative quiet just after a full moon.
The air in the abandoned mill crackles with an unnatural energy. The almost full moon, a malevolent spotlight in the inky February sky, illuminates the scene: a grotesque tableau of chanting figures cloaked in black, their faces hidden by shadow and the flickering light of torches. At the center, on a crudely constructed altar stained with something that looks disturbingly like blood, lies a bound figure, gagged and trembling. The chanting intensifies, rising to a fevered pitch. The air grows heavy, thick with the stench of incense and something far fouler.
Hidden in the rafters of the abandoned mill, Detective Ruby shivered, though not entirely from the February chill. Below, the scene unfolded like a nightmare brought to life. The chanting was a guttural drone, a sound that seemed to vibrate in her very bones. Torchlight flickered across the faces of the cultists, illuminating their rapturous expressions. And among them, a sight that made her heart sink: faces she recognized. Colleagues. Fellow officers of the Haven Police Department, now cloaked in black, their voices raised in the unholy chorus.
Rubys hand trembled as she gripped her phone. Who could she trust? How could she report this? The lines were blurred, the lines of authority twisted and corrupted. She couldn't call dispatch. She didn't know who was compromised.
Her thumb hovered over the contact list. Who could she call?
She quickly snapped a few photos, capturing the ritual, the faces of her former colleagues. Then, she typed a brief, desperate message to .. the only arcanist apparently on her contact list. "Help please. I don't know what to do. HPD involved. 134 Deadwood.."
Far away in another corner of Haven, William's phone buzzes in his pocket.
The first thing he receives is a picture:
An altar dominated the picture. It was a rough-hewn slab of stone, stained a disturbing crimson with runed etched in the rock. Upon it lay the bound figure, a young woman, gagged and struggling weakly against the ropes that held her captive. Her eyes, wide with terror, reflected the flickering torchlight. Above her, a robed figure, presumably the leader of the cult, raised a gleaming obsidian knife. The blade shimmered in the dim light, its edge catching the glint of the full moon that filtered through cracks in the mill's decaying roof. There are runes already carved into the poor bound woman's skin on one leg but it seemed like... her entire body might be the target of the runes so Bill has some time... A little at least.
The second picture is of a book that has been opened at the bottom of the altar - Bill's occult knowledge makes him realize that this is an eldritch summoning ritual. Given it's the final page of the ritual written in the probably... Probably safe to assume it's at the last stages.
Last is the message from his contact Ruby, begging for help.
Does he save the town? Or... should he go to bed...
Coming back home, tired and yawning after spending most of the night offworld, hunting, William is greeted when coming out of his car, and trying to get back to his apartment with an unexpected message, followed by two even more problematic pictures. There's a sigh, and a trailing groan of complain, almost childish in nature, that lasts for a couple seconds before he reaches back for his phone, and types as a quick reply "I'll figure something out".
Vague? Definitely. Unpredictable? Even more, but right now the man had to figure out how to stop several people from summoning a monstrosity into the world. Another complain as he winces "Why is everyone trying to open a gate to the Void lately...?" And as soon as he stepped out of the car, he's back in, heading across town until eventually getting on the Devilwood Drive road and getting closer to the location. He wasn't going to tackle it directly, but he needed to at least be in the vicinity, this wasn't something a ritual cast from home could save. Instead, he parks his car closer to the woods, looking around the area and muttering to himself "Could try to lead some monsters to them to cause chaos..." But the idea doesn't linger for too long, and instead he reaches for his phone and types once more to the police officer "Do me a favor and get my car back home. I parked not too far away from there - I intend on shadowwalking back, and I don't want any cultists finding trace of me"
As William parks his car near the edge of the woods, the abandoned mill looms ahead, a silhouette against the almost-full moon. Even from this distance, he could feel the thrum of dark energy emanating from it, a palpable vibration that resonated deep within him. It was like a discordant note in the symphony of the night, a jarring intrusion of chaos into the natural order.
The woods themselves seemed to hold their breath, the trees standing unnaturally still, their branches like skeletal arms reaching out in supplication or warning. The usual rustling of leaves, the chirping of crickets, the hooting of owls all were absent, replaced by an eerie silence that was more unsettling than any noise. The air hung heavy, thick with the cloying sweetness of incense and something else, something acrid and metallic that William recognized as the scent of ritual sacrifice.
He could see faint flickers of torchlight through the gaps in the mill's decaying walls, dancing like malevolent fireflies. The low, guttural chanting drifted out on the still air, a sound that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It was a primal sound, a sound that spoke of ancient rituals and unspeakable horrors.
The reply from Ruby probably makes William jump, just the vibrations of the phone itself as a message comes back on his screen, "Okay.. Will take your car back.. Thanks. Sorry I have no idea what to do. "
And without even offering a reply in the form a text, William sighs out, takes a deep breath, and whirs into motion towards the mill. Much like his contact had been doing up until now, looking to use it as coverage to assess the situation and to mess around with his trickery before taking the proper action, hoping that the protective walls would have him go unnoticed by the group of cultists.
And once behind the shelter, he tries to find a spot that isn't too cluttered, some place where he can simply run, whether to flee or to reach for the captive human sacrifice, well, only time will tell. Finding a crack in the walls, through which the light was filtered, and then, eyes on the robed figures. All he needed was to see one of the faces - And he would be able to imitate their appearance.
But of course, cultists are often hooded for a reason to avoid these sorts of things. So before being able to start mimicking appearances, he needs to start causing distractions and chaos. And the first comes to the furthest of the cultists - Making use of his illusory magic to cause the robed figure to see one of those fleshformed monsters that linger in the outer forest, close to the gates to the Other. Particularly a minotaur, towering, one of those who tends to remain close to the gate itself. Coming out of the woods and charging towards the circle of people gathered. William hoping to start a commotion little by little, this cultist only being the first domino to push.
William, coming home from an offworld hunt, is dragged into the unfolding nightmare. Resigned yet determined, he sets aside his weariness, vowing to "figure something out" as he ventures toward the source of the dark energy emanating from the abandoned mill. Utilizing his occult knowledge and shadowwalking ability, William plans a cautious approach. He decides against a direct assault; instead, he employs illusion magic to sow chaos among the cultists, beginning with manifesting a terrifying minotaur creature to disrupt the ritual. His strategies are a blend of cunning and desperation, aiming to dismantle the cult's operations from the shadows without revealing his presence. As William manipulates the scene with his trickery, the fate of Haven and the innocent bound woman hangs in a precarious balance, teetering on the edge of an eldritch abyss.
(William's odd encounter(SRLilian):SRLilian)
[Thu Feb 13 2025]
At an alley
It is night, about -4F(-20C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey clouds in the sky. There is a waning gibbous moon.
(Your target and their allies discover a horrifying ritual conducted by members of The Black Flame. The cult is attempting to summon an eldritch horror into their town, Haven. The characters must disrupt the ritual before it's completed, facing off against the cult members who range from common thugs to powerful sorcerers, all hell-bent on completing their dark mission. The tension of the encounter is amplified as the characters realize that every second counts, and the longer they take to stop the ritual, the closer the eldritch horror gets to breaking through into their world.)
The just under full moon hangs heavy in the February sky above Haven, a stark white eye watching over the slumbering town. The air is crisp and cold, a typical New England winter night, though tonight the wind is mercifully still. Patches of old snow cling stubbornly to rooftops, a reminder of past storms and a testament to the persistent chill. The town is quiet, most residents tucked away in their warm homes, seeking refuge from the long winter nights.
A lone wolf howls in the distance, the sound echoing through the stillness. It's a sound that has become increasingly common in the last few days, a chilling reminder of the recent spate of animal attacks that have plagued the area. The local authorities have issued warnings, urging residents to be cautious, especially after dark however that didn't stop the hospital admissions over the last two night's due to 'animal attacks'. Thankfully, it seems that the full is no longer completely full and hopefully people will be able to venture from their homes without fear of attacks from... wild dogs.
The mists that often creep into Haven at night are absent tonight, a small mercy. But even without the swirling fog, an unsettling atmosphere pervades the town. Unseen, unheard by most, the disappearances continue.
Far on the deadwood side of town, in an abandoned wood mill... there seems to be.. activity as people in dark cloaks rush about taking advantage of the relative quiet just after a full moon.
The air in the abandoned mill crackles with an unnatural energy. The almost full moon, a malevolent spotlight in the inky February sky, illuminates the scene: a grotesque tableau of chanting figures cloaked in black, their faces hidden by shadow and the flickering light of torches. At the center, on a crudely constructed altar stained with something that looks disturbingly like blood, lies a bound figure, gagged and trembling. The chanting intensifies, rising to a fevered pitch. The air grows heavy, thick with the stench of incense and something far fouler.
Hidden in the rafters of the abandoned mill, Detective Ruby shivered, though not entirely from the February chill. Below, the scene unfolded like a nightmare brought to life. The chanting was a guttural drone, a sound that seemed to vibrate in her very bones. Torchlight flickered across the faces of the cultists, illuminating their rapturous expressions. And among them, a sight that made her heart sink: faces she recognized. Colleagues. Fellow officers of the Haven Police Department, now cloaked in black, their voices raised in the unholy chorus.
Rubys hand trembled as she gripped her phone. Who could she trust? How could she report this? The lines were blurred, the lines of authority twisted and corrupted. She couldn't call dispatch. She didn't know who was compromised.
Her thumb hovered over the contact list. Who could she call?
She quickly snapped a few photos, capturing the ritual, the faces of her former colleagues. Then, she typed a brief, desperate message to .. the only arcanist apparently on her contact list. "Help please. I don't know what to do. HPD involved. 134 Deadwood.."
Far away in another corner of Haven, someone' phone buzzes in his pocket.
The first thing he receives is a picture:
An altar dominated the picture. It was a rough-hewn slab of stone, stained a disturbing crimson with runed etched in the rock. Upon it lay the bound figure, a young woman, gagged and struggling weakly against the ropes that held her captive. Her eyes, wide with terror, reflected the flickering torchlight. Above her, a robed figure, presumably the leader of the cult, raised a gleaming obsidian knife. The blade shimmered in the dim light, its edge catching the glint of the full moon that filtered through cracks in the mill's decaying roof. There are runes already carved into the poor bound woman's skin on one leg but it seemed like... her entire body might be the target of the runes so Bill has some time... A little at least.
The second picture is of a book that has been opened at the bottom of the altar - Bill's occult knowledge makes him realize that this is an eldritch summoning ritual. Given it's the final page of the ritual written in the probably... Probably safe to assume it's at the last stages.
Last is the message from his contact Ruby, begging for help.
Does he save the town? Or... should he go to bed...
The just under full moon hangs heavy in the February sky above Haven, a stark white eye watching over the slumbering town. The air is crisp and cold, a typical New England winter night, though tonight the wind is mercifully still. Patches of old snow cling stubbornly to rooftops, a reminder of past storms and a testament to the persistent chill. The town is quiet, most residents tucked away in their warm homes, seeking refuge from the long winter nights.
A lone wolf howls in the distance, the sound echoing through the stillness. It's a sound that has become increasingly common in the last few days, a chilling reminder of the recent spate of animal attacks that have plagued the area. The local authorities have issued warnings, urging residents to be cautious, especially after dark however that didn't stop the hospital admissions over the last two night's due to 'animal attacks'. Thankfully, it seems that the full is no longer completely full and hopefully people will be able to venture from their homes without fear of attacks from... wild dogs.
The mists that often creep into Haven at night are absent tonight, a small mercy. But even without the swirling fog, an unsettling atmosphere pervades the town. Unseen, unheard by most, the disappearances continue.
Far on the deadwood side of town, in an abandoned wood mill... there seems to be.. activity as people in dark cloaks rush about taking advantage of the relative quiet just after a full moon.
The air in the abandoned mill crackles with an unnatural energy. The almost full moon, a malevolent spotlight in the inky February sky, illuminates the scene: a grotesque tableau of chanting figures cloaked in black, their faces hidden by shadow and the flickering light of torches. At the center, on a crudely constructed altar stained with something that looks disturbingly like blood, lies a bound figure, gagged and trembling. The chanting intensifies, rising to a fevered pitch. The air grows heavy, thick with the stench of incense and something far fouler.
Hidden in the rafters of the abandoned mill, Detective Ruby shivered, though not entirely from the February chill. Below, the scene unfolded like a nightmare brought to life. The chanting was a guttural drone, a sound that seemed to vibrate in her very bones. Torchlight flickered across the faces of the cultists, illuminating their rapturous expressions. And among them, a sight that made her heart sink: faces she recognized. Colleagues. Fellow officers of the Haven Police Department, now cloaked in black, their voices raised in the unholy chorus.
Rubys hand trembled as she gripped her phone. Who could she trust? How could she report this? The lines were blurred, the lines of authority twisted and corrupted. She couldn't call dispatch. She didn't know who was compromised.
Her thumb hovered over the contact list. Who could she call?
She quickly snapped a few photos, capturing the ritual, the faces of her former colleagues. Then, she typed a brief, desperate message to .. the only arcanist apparently on her contact list. "Help please. I don't know what to do. HPD involved. 134 Deadwood.."
Far away in another corner of Haven, William's phone buzzes in his pocket.
The first thing he receives is a picture:
An altar dominated the picture. It was a rough-hewn slab of stone, stained a disturbing crimson with runed etched in the rock. Upon it lay the bound figure, a young woman, gagged and struggling weakly against the ropes that held her captive. Her eyes, wide with terror, reflected the flickering torchlight. Above her, a robed figure, presumably the leader of the cult, raised a gleaming obsidian knife. The blade shimmered in the dim light, its edge catching the glint of the full moon that filtered through cracks in the mill's decaying roof. There are runes already carved into the poor bound woman's skin on one leg but it seemed like... her entire body might be the target of the runes so Bill has some time... A little at least.
The second picture is of a book that has been opened at the bottom of the altar - Bill's occult knowledge makes him realize that this is an eldritch summoning ritual. Given it's the final page of the ritual written in the probably... Probably safe to assume it's at the last stages.
Last is the message from his contact Ruby, begging for help.
Does he save the town? Or... should he go to bed...
Coming back home, tired and yawning after spending most of the night offworld, hunting, William is greeted when coming out of his car, and trying to get back to his apartment with an unexpected message, followed by two even more problematic pictures. There's a sigh, and a trailing groan of complain, almost childish in nature, that lasts for a couple seconds before he reaches back for his phone, and types as a quick reply "I'll figure something out".
Vague? Definitely. Unpredictable? Even more, but right now the man had to figure out how to stop several people from summoning a monstrosity into the world. Another complain as he winces "Why is everyone trying to open a gate to the Void lately...?" And as soon as he stepped out of the car, he's back in, heading across town until eventually getting on the Devilwood Drive road and getting closer to the location. He wasn't going to tackle it directly, but he needed to at least be in the vicinity, this wasn't something a ritual cast from home could save. Instead, he parks his car closer to the woods, looking around the area and muttering to himself "Could try to lead some monsters to them to cause chaos..." But the idea doesn't linger for too long, and instead he reaches for his phone and types once more to the police officer "Do me a favor and get my car back home. I parked not too far away from there - I intend on shadowwalking back, and I don't want any cultists finding trace of me"
As William parks his car near the edge of the woods, the abandoned mill looms ahead, a silhouette against the almost-full moon. Even from this distance, he could feel the thrum of dark energy emanating from it, a palpable vibration that resonated deep within him. It was like a discordant note in the symphony of the night, a jarring intrusion of chaos into the natural order.
The woods themselves seemed to hold their breath, the trees standing unnaturally still, their branches like skeletal arms reaching out in supplication or warning. The usual rustling of leaves, the chirping of crickets, the hooting of owls all were absent, replaced by an eerie silence that was more unsettling than any noise. The air hung heavy, thick with the cloying sweetness of incense and something else, something acrid and metallic that William recognized as the scent of ritual sacrifice.
He could see faint flickers of torchlight through the gaps in the mill's decaying walls, dancing like malevolent fireflies. The low, guttural chanting drifted out on the still air, a sound that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It was a primal sound, a sound that spoke of ancient rituals and unspeakable horrors.
The reply from Ruby probably makes William jump, just the vibrations of the phone itself as a message comes back on his screen, "Okay.. Will take your car back.. Thanks. Sorry I have no idea what to do. "
And without even offering a reply in the form a text, William sighs out, takes a deep breath, and whirs into motion towards the mill. Much like his contact had been doing up until now, looking to use it as coverage to assess the situation and to mess around with his trickery before taking the proper action, hoping that the protective walls would have him go unnoticed by the group of cultists.
And once behind the shelter, he tries to find a spot that isn't too cluttered, some place where he can simply run, whether to flee or to reach for the captive human sacrifice, well, only time will tell. Finding a crack in the walls, through which the light was filtered, and then, eyes on the robed figures. All he needed was to see one of the faces - And he would be able to imitate their appearance.
But of course, cultists are often hooded for a reason to avoid these sorts of things. So before being able to start mimicking appearances, he needs to start causing distractions and chaos. And the first comes to the furthest of the cultists - Making use of his illusory magic to cause the robed figure to see one of those fleshformed monsters that linger in the outer forest, close to the gates to the Other. Particularly a minotaur, towering, one of those who tends to remain close to the gate itself. Coming out of the woods and charging towards the circle of people gathered. William hoping to start a commotion little by little, this cultist only being the first domino to push.