7575/Along Came A Wendigo

From Heroes Assemble MUSH
Jump to navigation Jump to search
Along Came A Wendigo
Date of Scene: 19 October 2021
Location: The Blissful Camp Resort
Synopsis: The Wendigo reclaims land that doesn't belong to those currently holding it, but leaves a child alive. October is starting to turn into a blood bath.
Cast of Characters: Morrigan MacIntyre, Michael Hannigan, Marc Spector, Meggan Puceanu




Morrigan MacIntyre has posed:
The Blissful Camp Resort was in Upstate New York and was one of the most talked about Glamping experiences around the United States. Recently after petitions there was the unearthing of a number of Native American artifacts on the property. What the land was used for previously was a mystery, but it was clear that the land was definitely not best used for 'Glamping' for wealthy millionaires. But here they were!

It was around ten thirty in the evening when the harrowing sounding call came into 911 and the police department. A hysterical older woman on the line as the sound of screams go off in the background. The local police department thought what was happening was a Halloween prank. That was soon to be discovered that it was not.

An early arrival to the camping resort was live streaming pulling into the place as they thought the same thing was happening. Large canvas tents were torn to shreds, crimson splatters of blood were painting the sides and the ground. It was easy to be mistaken for a horror movie state given the amount of gore. The live stream video had panned up to where a fire was out of control, burning the remains of the camping gear and a camper. The silhouette of a tall, sickly thin and horned figure was stark against the flames.

That was two hours ago.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Having finished up leg four of the US tour, Mike was a bit tense. Unlike the first, second, and even third leg of the tour, the fourth leg was EXTREMELY QUIET when it came to demon and ghost attacks. So as far as Mike's concerned, he's way overdue for some weird stuff to go down. And it seems the fates were thinking the same thing as he caught glimpse of the livestream when he was getting off the plane. So, with curiousity set in, Mike made his way upstate going as the cr- raven flies.

The purplish black raven silently swoops into the campsite, landing upon an available tree branch. Black eyes look over to what, and who is left from the fire.

Marc Spector has posed:
    A hum just this side of subaudible (which a bird would easily hear) precedes the silver crescent shaped glider that swoops in from the horizon. The black clad figure (for he was still wearing his new black armor suit) that stood atop it was the Moon Knight. He had neither heard the police calls nor seen the live stream. His information came from a higher source.

    The Egyptian god of the moon's influence was strongest on nights like tonight. The large silver sphere that hung in the sky shone down on all of those who walked in the night, including those wealthy millionaires who decided that Native grounds were the perfect place for luxury camping. With the advent of their demise, Khonshu had alerted his agent to the disaster and bid him to investigate on the god's behalf.

    As Moon Knight approached what remained of the scene of disaster he jumped from the glider. His long black cloak spread out behind him, slowing his fall and allowing him to land without damage. He pressed a button on his guantlet and the sliver crescent flew off on it's own to stay in stationary mode until called by its owner. The glowing golden orbs of his eyes scanned the area, looking for threats both physical and mystical with the newly acquire sights allowed by the suit.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
The Blissful Camp Resort is subject to protests too, and those petitions absolutely need boots on the ground. Those boots happen to belong to a prominent environmental activist, and while she may not need much by way of signs, she brings plenty of social media attention when need be to the luxurious locale built on unceded territory and no longer wilded thanks to the indulgences of the rich. Meggan Puceanu *had* plans, anyway.

She follows her phone, the live stream up, an aqua earbud popped in to better listen to what on earth is going on. Her frown curves her mouth in soft dismay at the garish sights captured on the glass, and that hurries her out of town and into the woodlands.

Like other interested parties, her path takes her airborne, although she sweeps closer to the landscape rather than high above. Getting closer to the glamping site changes all of that, when she turns as ethereal and nebulous as the autumn breeze itself, translucent and buoyed up to move among the eddying stir. When it comes to bypassing the unexpected security or the anticipated trouble, being invisible has its perks and distinguishing the elemental from the surrounding atmosphere isn't easy for mundane things, anyhow. A fluttering swirl of air churns the late autumn leaves, a few needles, circulating in passing and hopefully not disrupting the great raven's descent. But then, the wind's a mercurial thing at best, wandering where it goes.

Morrigan MacIntyre has posed:
Two hours on a pyre for a dead body doesn't do much for the smell in the air. Human flesh and hair burning is a scent that most never want to get a whiff of. There are car alarms that have been set off by whatever had crashed through here. It wasn't hard to find the live streamer that had gone silent and their stream had crashed. The comments were still on the screen while the phone laid in a pool of dark blood that had flowed from an angry wound that seperated head from shoulders almost.

Somewhere near the office there is the sound of a voice on a radio trying to reach the camp to see what exactly is going on. Most think it's some sort of Halloween prank, but everyone that was here in the flesh could see that it was not. There was only a small guest list for this week. Might be a small blessing.

There is the sound of something crawling, "Help." the croaked voice comes out of a middle aged woman that is all but dead near the mouth of the wooded hiking trails.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
While possibly outlined by whatever sight is granted to Moonknight, a bird of a commanding height of 26 whole inches is likely not high up on the percieved threats list. Not having the same benefit, the bird's view of Moonknight is just that granted by basic eyesight. But, the good news is the entrance itself was enough warning to the phantasm that this was no normal guy.

That is good. The raven's head turns, taking in the gruesome scene, beak forming an unnatural frown. Based from what is here, he should count his blessings that the senses of taste and smell are NOT available to him in his current form.

Abnormal people meeting up at the scene of abnormal events in New York. Or as others call it: Tuesday.

The pitiful cry for help is not lost as the bird turns his head. Leaping off the branch, the three foot wingspan unfurls, causing for him to coast in the direction of the cry, trying to get an assessment of the damage to the person.

Marc Spector has posed:
    Moon Knight isn't exactly nonplussed by the smell, but the ventilation of his suit keeps the worst of the stench out of his nostils. The massacre is not beyond his notice. These people, however misguided their interest were, did not deserve this fate. He approaches the spirit, obviously the echo of the man whose head was nearly severed. "Poor pitiful man. Do you not realize what has happened to you?"

    The cries for help force him to turn and make his way to the living victim. The raven's approach is noted but the bird is likely just curious as their lot tends to be.

    He pays it little attention and kneels down next to the woman, his assessment of her injuries says that she is not long for this world. "What did this to you?" he asks, a frown hidden by the full mask covering any distinguishing features of him.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Offal and blood make for deeply unpleasant smells. Meggan simply has to bear it, though she winces from another troubled source altogether. Empathy stings her whether she likes it or not. Pain and suffering stain the woodlands, a slurry painted over the stained ground. The elemental fae remains in her nebulous form, avoiding touching down where someone's terror might sing up her spine. This close to the end of the year presents far too many dangers, emotional imbalance among them, so she keeps at least half a meter of clearance under her translucent feet.

She hovers near the badly injured woman, barely resolved as a feminine silhouette that mildly blurs the stars and possibly ruffles the raven's plumage if he gets especially close. "I can help ease the pain," she murmurs in melodious tones of the laughing breeze and the sighing zephyr. Completely audible tones favour a distinctive accent, muddied up by Gaelic and Welsh. "Stitching the injuries together may be another thing." Regretfully sighing, she cautiously pivots back to a point empty of anything but ruinous shadows, leaving the Moon Knight to the physical cares or inquiries he might make.

As a being composed of scudding atoms and the sunset's cooling cloud vapor, she is curious in her stillness. Her attention hangs on a ghost not that far away, then off in the distance. "I can sense another person roughly three kilometers over there." The low, deep breath summons up a memory of calm seas and open skies, something to soothe the badly injured woman's mind if it will receive the empath's gentle nudge.

Morrigan MacIntyre has posed:
"A...a monster." the dying woman tells Moon Knight. The woman's eyes are already devoid of the light of life. There's just some unknown reason her heart hasn't stopped yet. When there is talk of another still alive she becomes animated though, "My granddaughter. Please...it took her." she manages to get out before she is strangling on her own blood. Giving her a not so horrific end might be the best that they can do for her.

There is a sound that breaks the silence of the night, one of an animal...or otherworldly being letting out a sound of frustration and anguish. The sound trails off and then silence reigns again.

At least they knew where to go!

Michael Hannigan has posed:
The feathers on the raven are unnaturally still save fore the manipulations of a magic based nature. Hearing the familiar voice, the bird's head turns to the sound. "Do you think if I can get her to a hospital quick she might have a chance?" The bird queries. The voice betrays a bit of desperate hope while the actions that follow reveala bit more of a realistic take. A wing reaches over, resting upon the woman, loaning out some of the phantasm ability to at least take away the sense of touch. No touch means no pain after all.

Marc Spector has posed:
    Moon Knight looks at the nebulous shape. He doesn't question what it is or how it knows what it knows, there are greater matters to attend. Then the raven speaks and offers the woman comfort. "Two of you. Fortuitous." His grave gaze falls on the dying woman. "Her time is over. We must save the one who still has a chance. May you find solace in the arms of your god" he says as he rises. He is no healer, mental or otherwise and his protection is for those still living.

    "Can you assist in finding the child" he asks the cloud-like individual and the raven as he activates the night vision built into his suit. "Should we encounter resistance, I can handle that threat. But your... intangibility and form, respectively, give you the edge in terms of speed and maneuverability. I can at least follow in your wakes."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
The wind deepens in its form, air acquiring an opalescent hue hardened by suffused light that doesn't originate strictly with the moon or stars. Taking on a more visible aspect requires a concentrated effort on Meggan's part, though she resembles a woman with long, wavy hair. "Be at peace, we will rescue her from the monster," she says, lilting softness a studied, almost forced presence. At such a critical time, offering peace seems to be very important. She gives the raven the slightest shake of her head, that croak met with a sigh. "The speeds I move would shatter what little strength she has left. Thank you for your compassion." To extinguish hope is a terrible thing.

Eyes burning an intense jade green prove the most distinctive part of her, for all her countenance holds considerable translucency still. "I can track exactly where the human might be. Show me something carrying the other being's signature and that might be followed too," she tells Moon Knight. Formal tip of her head followed, the airy woman takes a step forward, the glow around her fading back as she suppresses herself into a form less tangible against the backdrop of the woods. A prayer to the earth to bring peace to the grandmother is released to her mother, whispered softly for a few moments. "This way."

The path given her empathic senses might not be the easiest path to track through the woods, making flitting bursts of movement the way to go.

Morrigan MacIntyre has posed:
The sound that comes from the forest is what finally kills the woman, her hand going slack after handing Meggan a hair tie that belonged to the girl. Full of pink and green ribbons and strands of raven black hair. She didn't die hopelessly though. She knew that someone was going to go for her grandchild and that would mean that she'd be safe.

Small favors.

Phantasm and others that have enhanced hearing can hear the sirens that are off in the distance. Emergency services rushing to the scene almost three hours after something slaughtered a group. This was going to make the news for sure. And probably have a few lawsuits.

Meggan leads the way into the forest and there is an eerie stillness as they go. There are splotches of blood that pop up here and there, but no signs of a murdered child thankfully.

The hiking trail veers off into overgrowth and down into a small gully that has recently been disturbed.

The almost full moon shines down into the cavern like place and seated on a stump is a little raven haired girl that is clutching a rather dirty bunny to her chest with a white knuckle grip.

She's alive at least!

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Hearing the confirmation of what he suspects to be the case, the raven's frown deepens, giving a singe nod in understanding. He is quiet as the woman's life ebbs away. When the woman stills, the wing moves away from her.

Time to help with that last wish.

Meggan stated she was able to track the child and from past experience with her, the phantasm had little reason to believe otherwise. The bird glides along after the one doing the tracking. It's not a very chatty time. The mood is less than stellar but upon seeing the child come into view, the phantasm's demeanor changes. With a flap of the wings he moves ahead of the group, gliding over to land beside the child. There's no talking at the moment, just a quiet tilt of the head, looking up at the girl.

Marc Spector has posed:
    Moon Knight stops a ways away from the cavern. He can see the creature seated in the cave. "It's intelligent" he says barely above a whisper. "She's bait."

    "We have to move quickly" he states to the nebulous cloud. "If you can grab her and take her to safety without being harmed, I will engage the creature, whatever it may be. Hopefully our raven friend can help me distract or disable it." He doesn't seem too troubled about the prospect of fighting some unknown monster.

    "Can you do that?" he asks the vapour-like woman.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
While the phantasm approaches the girl, Meggan loiters back among the shadows where distinguishing her as other than a stray discordant note in the aerial symphony takes very sharp senses indeed. All the better to stay out of sight from the token horror lurking beyond the ill-lit clearing, though it may be altogether too late.

Every sound dancing on the air vibrates through her, for the air is a chattering gossip and full of echoes. She contributes a low murmur in regards to dealing with the girl, "I can. It is not hostile toward her, and it seems relaxed. I cannot feel malice for her. Speak with it? I will guard her still." What starlight or tree bends where she passes will be the lone disturbance marking her going utterly invisible, flowing above the ground until the child is within sight.

Soft as a feather, she drifts down to float around the girl. If the monster doesn't notice, she settles behind the child. For all the elemental may be transparent, she can still prepare to offer a gentle embrace.

Morrigan MacIntyre has posed:
The creature looms out of the mouth of the cave, the silvery light of the moon bathing the bones and dripping skin in a horrid way. While Meggan and Moon Knight speak it just turns it's head, bone creaking as it watches them. There was no anger or hatred imminating from it. Apparently these two got a pass tonight.

One of it's long arms swipes out, skeletal claws digging up mud and rocks and slinging them to the side, "Take the small one and go." the primordial voice tells them as it turns to disappear back into the cave. There is the sound of a harried breath and then silence.

The Wendigo simply vanishes from their mystical senses and the chill October air.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Getting the sense of movement, the raven moves, positioning itself between the cave area and the non-responsive child. The words spoken causes for a blink from the avian. It appears the child is being allowed to leave so-

Cautiously the bird looks about for any unwanted surprises before looking towards the child. He struts over a step, looking back up to her. He hops up onto her shoulder, giving her a bit of a pirate-ish look before doing something out of character.

He chirps, which is a bit uncharacteristic for a raven but better this than making actual raven croaking sounds towards a likely scarred little girl.

Odd sounds aside, the new perch does allow for him to be ready should that creature in the cave change his mind about letting the child go.

Marc Spector has posed:
    Moon Knight blinks as the creature gives up what was thought to be prey and then simply vanishes. "This... doesn't make sense" he says. "First the slasher ghost of the mirrors" he's not stupid enough to say the name at night, "and now this... Skinwalker? Something else? There has to be a reason behind it, doesn't there?" he muses as he emerges from the trees to see that the girl is safe.

    He is a large man and (he assumes) likely the only one in a position to carry the girl so he kneels down before her. "You're safe now. We will get you to the police and emergency services." He looks to the nebulous cloud and asks softly. "Can you put her to sleep? It would be best that she not see what lies back at the camp."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
With a gentle embrace from the wind giving the child a bit of comfort, the nebulous figure moves back as a raven perches instead. All is well when corvids pretend to be parrots. It's going to take her time, if possible, to bring that girl into the realm of dreams. Dreams offer consolation and joy, high castles and grandmother's lovely kitchen full of gourmand smells, reassurance, and the love of a woman who died thinking only the warmest hopes and love for her beloved grandchild. If she can twist those feelings into a tender cloak, Meggan tosses that mantle round the child, coaxing her to drowsy rest.

Sleep is a kind kingdom, most oft.

If she succeeds at bringing the girl to rest, then she appears behind the phantasm and the child. The young woman fades in a little by little, her diaphanous presence resolving into a perfectly normal blonde English girl in a band t-shirt and a pair of jeans. "A definite skinwalker, and most oft cursed or much driven by rage and hunger. Whatever be on that one, it hasn't harmed her. We have another to speak to, possibly, who was back at the camp. The person streaming all this, I suspect."

There was no one else around at the camp. No one talking, anyway. "I appreciate your care for her, both of you. Meg, by the way." Fingers crook in greeting.

Morrigan MacIntyre has posed:
"Do...do you know where my grandmother is?" the little girl looks to Meggan and then to Moon Knight. It's one of those tiny heartbreaking voices. She probably knew that her grandmother would not be back again. The little girl falls easily asleep after being wrapped in the mantle. Feeling warmth and protection. Her parents were going to be in someones debt.

When Moon Knight arrives back at camp there are black vans and police swarming the place. Looking over the scene that lies before them while getting a little green around the gills.

"Hanna!" is the name that is shouted, breaking the din of noise as a woman rushes towards Moon Knight with tears streaming down her face. "That's my daughter!" she tells him in a panic. The resemblance between the two was there.

The cops are in for a long night. As were others.

Marc Spector has posed:
    Moon Knight hands the little girl over to the woman. "She is not harmed, simply asleep. The violence here was not for her eyes." He pauses. "I am sorry for your loss." He taps a button on his gauntlet and his glider swoops low. He looks to the bird and the corvid. "I am Moon Knight. Should either of you ever need assistance... simply come by the Midnight Mission in Queens. My agent will see that I receive the message." Then he steps onto the glider and is gone before the police can ask him further questions.