Patrollogs
(Sam's decursing attempt)
[Sat Dec 21 2024]
At The Trove Barcade
This room is dominated by a sprawling, weathered bar. The bar's surface, polished to a high sheen, is inlaid with a mosaic of colorful sea glass, glinting in the dim, lantern-like lighting.
The walls, painted a deep, oceanic blue, are adorned with an eclectic assortment of nautical paraphernalia. Aged maps, and faded flags are interspersed with vintage arcade game marquees. The ceiling, draped with tattered sails and thick, knotted ropes, gives the impression of being below deck on a ship.
In the corners of the room, clusters of arcade games flicker and beep, their colorful screens casting a kaleidoscope of light onto the wooden floorboards. The air is filled with the clatter of pinball machines, the electronic melodies of video games, and the occasional thud of an axe hitting its target.
Behind the bar, a vast array of bottles is displayed, their contents ranging from craft beers to exotic rums. The bartenders, dressed in pirate garb, deftly mix cocktails, their movements punctuated by the clink of glass and the hiss of a freshly opened beer.
North/South: Restrooms
Northeast: Games
East: Axe Throwing
Southeast: Competitive Games
Down: Laser Tag
It is about 45F(7C) degrees.
Sam says "So anyone around for a de-cursing?"
Letting out a soft sigh, Sam stops in the tall grass.
With a sigh, Sam grabs the ring, and looks it over. "Well, looks like I'm all alone, huh?" He rolls his eyes some, steeling himself. "So let's see what you have." A languid breath escapes the jock's mouth, and he pulls his arcane focus from under his jacket.
As he steels himself, Sam clasps the hand with the ring on a right finger, around his focus, the runes on it glowing angrily as the two magics co-incide. He breathes in, then out, eyes remaining open as he scans around for by-standers.
Impatiently, Sam smirks, looking at that ring. "What, not even gonna fight back?" he rolls his eyes, and looks at the thing around his finger. "C'mon, show me some anger, fear.... or just fucking die, yeh?"
The artifact emits a flash of blinding light.
Averting his eyes, Sam lets out a hiss as he winces. "Oh, c'mon! That was just rude, wasn't it?" His hand clasps around the ring, trying to block out the light. "Fuck you, yadig?"
The light seemingly dealt with, Sam sighs, drawing his knife, and cutting across the palm of his hand. "Aight, you don't even deserve a proper ritual. Imma just bleed on ya, and let my apathy kill you off, deal?" He clasps his bloodied palm around that ring, glaring at the exposed part of the wood.
The whole room shakes.
Glancing to the north a moment, Sam freezes up, then relaxes, just in time to be rocked on his feet. He growls, planting his fist onto the ground. "Aight, let's play, then, ya piece of shit, tourist knock-off lame-ass poor excuse for a wooden shitstain!"
The item seemingly having calmed down, Sam lifts his hand up again, and mutters to the ring, kepeing his hand balled into a fist. "Yeh, that's what I thought."
For several seconds the room grows painfully hot.
Sweating bullets, Sam winces. "Oh, fuck you, don't set me on fire!" He does, however, seem to be relieved to be out of the coldness of the New England snow. "Well, at least it's not colder..." Maybe shouldn't have said that.
Breathing out a sigh of relief, Sam just looks at that ring stubbornly. "Ya done?"
With a final burst of power the curse on a wooden bracelet is broken.
Sams Decursing Attempt 241222
(Sam's decursing attempt)
[Sat Dec 21 2024]
At The Trove Barcade
This room is dominated by a sprawling, weathered bar. The bar's surface, polished to a high sheen, is inlaid with a mosaic of colorful sea glass, glinting in the dim, lantern-like lighting.
The walls, painted a deep, oceanic blue, are adorned with an eclectic assortment of nautical paraphernalia. Aged maps, and faded flags are interspersed with vintage arcade game marquees. The ceiling, draped with tattered sails and thick, knotted ropes, gives the impression of being below deck on a ship.
In the corners of the room, clusters of arcade games flicker and beep, their colorful screens casting a kaleidoscope of light onto the wooden floorboards. The air is filled with the clatter of pinball machines, the electronic melodies of video games, and the occasional thud of an axe hitting its target.
Behind the bar, a vast array of bottles is displayed, their contents ranging from craft beers to exotic rums. The bartenders, dressed in pirate garb, deftly mix cocktails, their movements punctuated by the clink of glass and the hiss of a freshly opened beer.
North/South: Restrooms
Northeast: Games
East: Axe Throwing
Southeast: Competitive Games
Down: Laser Tag
It is about 45F(7C) degrees.
Sam says "So anyone around for a de-cursing?"
Letting out a soft sigh, Sam stops in the tall grass.
With a sigh, Sam grabs the ring, and looks it over. "Well, looks like I'm all alone, huh?" He rolls his eyes some, steeling himself. "So let's see what you have." A languid breath escapes the jock's mouth, and he pulls his arcane focus from under his jacket.
As he steels himself, Sam clasps the hand with the ring on a right finger, around his focus, the runes on it glowing angrily as the two magics co-incide. He breathes in, then out, eyes remaining open as he scans around for by-standers.
Impatiently, Sam smirks, looking at that ring. "What, not even gonna fight back?" he rolls his eyes, and looks at the thing around his finger. "C'mon, show me some anger, fear.... or just fucking die, yeh?"
The artifact emits a flash of blinding light.
Averting his eyes, Sam lets out a hiss as he winces. "Oh, c'mon! That was just rude, wasn't it?" His hand clasps around the ring, trying to block out the light. "Fuck you, yadig?"
The light seemingly dealt with, Sam sighs, drawing his knife, and cutting across the palm of his hand. "Aight, you don't even deserve a proper ritual. Imma just bleed on ya, and let my apathy kill you off, deal?" He clasps his bloodied palm around that ring, glaring at the exposed part of the wood.
The whole room shakes.
Glancing to the north a moment, Sam freezes up, then relaxes, just in time to be rocked on his feet. He growls, planting his fist onto the ground. "Aight, let's play, then, ya piece of shit, tourist knock-off lame-ass poor excuse for a wooden shitstain!"
The item seemingly having calmed down, Sam lifts his hand up again, and mutters to the ring, kepeing his hand balled into a fist. "Yeh, that's what I thought."
For several seconds the room grows painfully hot.
Sweating bullets, Sam winces. "Oh, fuck you, don't set me on fire!" He does, however, seem to be relieved to be out of the coldness of the New England snow. "Well, at least it's not colder..." Maybe shouldn't have said that.
Breathing out a sigh of relief, Sam just looks at that ring stubbornly. "Ya done?"
With a final burst of power the curse on a wooden bracelet is broken.