9/8/2005

05:28 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent Moon phase (34% full).
It is currently 17:25 Pacific Time on Thu Sep 8 2005.

Center of the Caern
This is the central point of the 30-meter-wide clearing. The ground is a mixture of dark, rich, muddy soil mixed with clay, though there is an occasional patch of grass. At the center rests a large white boulder, immovable even by the strongest crinos. The boulder is shot through with streaks of quartz that produces scintillating colors when light strikes it just right. It is, for lack of a wholly adequate word, beautiful.
Around you, twenty yards in every direction, stretches the caern. To the southeast, a waterfall plummets over the edge of the chasm into a small pool in the caern; nearby, to the southwest, steam comes from cracks in the ground, perhaps some of the same water. Northwest, a rocky spar juts out of the ground at a low angle, showing a sloping but smooth top. The chasm walls narrow a bit to the northeast, causing some of the mist to swirl in that area.
Contents:
Rifthealer
Obvious exits:
Rock Slab  Windy Spot  WaterFall  Steam Vents  

[look Rifthealer]
A beast out of legend, this massive creature towers over even the largest of men. A werewolf, she is, huge and muscled on two bipedal legs ending in paw-like feet bigger than a grown man's skull. She's covered in thick black fur, shining with health and burnished with highlights of red and shadows of blue as she moves and breathes. From just under her chin to the base of her throat is a blaze of stark white fur, and the same shade covers the last few inches of her tail. From powerful hands sprout long, curved talons of glossy black. Atop the right hand can be seen the puckered white line of a scar, curving in a slight sort of ritual pattern that shows it wasn't made by accident or fight. Down the length of a tooth-filled muzzle stares two beast-yellow eyes. They hold an eerie intelligence and an otherworldly light, and behind the feral gaze can be seen the flicker of an ancient benevolence dancing with the spark of a primal anger.

The sun has yet to fully set, but Heals-the-Rifts can feel the thin sliver of her auspice moon just below the horizon and it makes her pulse skip. Here, so close to the spirit world, half her mind and soul are elsewhere as she crouches there near the crystal heart of the caern. Beside her burns a very small fire, only a few tinders just to hold a flame with a torch nearby. There is a clean carved wooden bowl filled with water and a willow tree branch beside that.

Keener wolfen ears hear the Shadow Lord's stepping, long before he appears. Out of the misty steam vents, Kenneth comes with a plastic Gladware box in hand. In it seems to be nothing, until the sloshing of water can be heard. He spots Rifthealer and makes his way towards her, an eye cast over the various implements. "Evening," the philodox offers forth politely.

First one amber eye opens, than the other as the Child of Gaia turns her nose towards the Lord. ~Dagger's Edge, good you could make it.~ With a gesture of her clawed hand, she points to the bowl she has. ~Place your water there, you will need that after. You remember before, when I said you would Cleanse you first so you know the experience?~

Kenneth nods once in answer, placing his contribution with the other more natural ritual tools. "Yeah. Anything else you need?" He looks over his personage. Well, he didn't bring anything else with him.

~No, that is fine. Eventually, once you learn, you should get your own supplies made by your hand like the ones I have here.~ She takes a medium-sized stitched leather pouch, decirated with glyphs and crow feathers, from her lap and sets it beside her, the contents jangling with a sound very much like rocks. ~Stand there. Shift if you are more comfortable, but it is not required.~ She says, pointing to a non-descript spot on the ground as she goes about collecting up the bowl of water and the willow branch.

Kenneth watches the theurge move, and then moves himself to the appointed 'spot' where he chooses to stand in breed form. "Where'd you get that stuff?" he asks, if just to glean a further explanation. "Or... you know leatherworking too..."

~I do my best. Both bowl and pouch took me several weeks and thoroughly dulled my claws and needles.~ Rifthealer says, turning the willow branch in her hand so the ragged end where it was removed, resting the tip against the earth near him. ~Many times your subject may not be compliant. Be ready for that and never try this alone on something tainted. It works better with others anyway. Now, stand still, watch, and remember. What you do in the future may differ from how I do, but the purpose is the same.~

Kenneth silences, nodding again to indicate his listening, but for the most part, watching carefully to what the ritemaster performs.

Digging the end of the branch into the earth, the Rite Master slowly begins to draw a circle around the Shadow Lord, moving counter-clockwise. She growls in the back of her throat, the sound rising and falling slightly as she breaths but otherwise remaining in the same low pitch until it becomes a steady, constant thrum of noise. Once this is done, she turns the branch around and dips the leaves deep into the water she holds in the wooden bowl. The branch is held over the Lord, water rained down on him like a baptism, each drop like a tiny crystal of ice it is so cold.

Kenneth doesn't move much. Just his eyes follow for as long as they can, then his head turning slowly to track the theurge, and when she carves behind him, he looks straightforward. Only when she's back in peripheral view does he continue his watch with a neutral gaze. When the crinos approaches, he tenses visibly, jaw tightening but holding still. The ice cold droplets falling upon him electrify the tiny hairs on his neck. But still, the Shadow Lord says nothing.

Water and branch are placed aside as the Mistress of Rites takes up the torch, seemingly nothing more than a frayed shaft of wood, but when she dips the end into the fire it erupts into a bright red-orange beacon. Raising it up, the light catches in her eyes and makes them reflect a vivid yellow light as her lips pull back, turning the good natured Child into an ominous, mystical figure. The thrum in her throat raises in volume until it is a threatening snarl as she begins to pace the outside of the circle, counter-clockwise again. ~Dark Father, Monster of Monsters who consumes the world to feel his greed, leave this warrior of Gaia. I will drive out your servants, burn his blood of your poisons and wash his soul clean. Be gone.~ She snarls out in a commanding voice, combining the passions of a baptist priest and the terrible ferocity of a pagan priestess. Ten times she circles him, her growls louder, voicing lilting prayers to Gaia and whispering promises of curses to the Wyrm. Each circle, the heat of the torch she holds grows, scorching away the chill of the water. The tenth circle complete, she whirls to face him, jaws suddenly opening wide as she rends the air with a startling howl one would better expect of a Fury going to war as she swings the torch right for his eyes, the wicked heat smoldering brows and making the eyes water. It does not connect but the heat does like a physical blow, and then she withdraws the flame, standing tall with her eyes still blazing.

Kenneth is watching, ever attentive, his focus unwaning to all the ministrations of the rite. The philodox barely moves, but when he does it is stiffly so, with the proximity of the crinos circling him pricking at the back of his mind in defensive instinct. The growls get louder, and the halfmoon gets tenser, batting down the mental distractions with each blink of his eyes. When fire bursts to life, flickering red, orange and bright, the halfmoon's black gaze lightens with a colored grey. This he doesn't notice at all. But when the Child suddenly turns upon him and howls, her swinging of the firebrand pushes him into the final straw. The Shadow Lord jerks his eyes away and down, but already his shape bulks and surges into his own warform. The Beast inside grips the judgemoon's wits for that split second, and he turns to face the offender... and holds. Hackles spike, lips curl, but there is no growl. The Shadow Lord's now golden eyes are no less intense, but he still, stands within the confines of the cleansing circle. He snorts. ~Shit.~ Well, almost everything was cleansed. Certainly not his language.

Slowly, the look of 'holy avenger' dims down and then away as the crescent moon begins to rise. ~Try that with Fights-For-Hope jamming a spear at you and howling like a banshee.~ She asks, the corners of her muzzle pulling back in the starts of an amused look at the slightly spooked Philodox. ~Well, tell me how you feel?~

Dagger's-Edge shoots back a look of 'don't even go there' to counter the theurge's amusement, but the look is ephemeral. It dissolves into him looking down at his knife-like claws, and craning his head to sniff once or twice at his personage. Satisfied with the inspection, the Shadow Lord turns back and dips his muzzle. ~Clean,~ is his assessment. ~And...~ Though it pains him to admit, ~Clearer.~

Rifthealer nods her head once in acknowledgement as she extinguishes the torch in her bowl of water, the flame going out with a hiss and steam. ~Frankly I think everyone should get a Cleansing periodically, just to 'freshen up', in a matter of speaking.~ With a quick shake of her pelt to clear the ashes, the Ritemistress returns to her breed form. "The basic idea behind the ritual is that you are driving and scaring the Taint from the body or object. Some of us, like James, focuses intensly on the more fearful aspects of the Rite. While I include it, I also lean more towards the healing aspect, the washing clean of the soul by the use of the elements. It's really a matter of personal preference, but it always ends in driving the Wyrm out. You'll know, if it works. Often all of the filth infesting a person is rejected, sometimes violently in serious cases."

Dagger's-Edge flattens his ears back, remaining so for a moment before chaining the Rage and reverting down himself. "I heard Lucas' Cleansing went somethin' like that." The gold rings which had disappeared before, return to view in the philodox's human appearance. Then he looks down at the various ritual tools. "Then, why'd you tell me to bring that water?" He pauses, adding, "Took me a damn long time to find enough dew on the leaves to get that much." Possibly a complaint. Possibly a note of pride at his accomplishment. It's hard to tell with the teen's tone.

Dakota nods slowly at mention of the departed Ahroun as she walks over to the edge of the clearing, where she removes a small, wrapped bundle from under a bush. "Because you are going to try the Rite. I will walk you through it." Walking to a untouched portion of the center, she unwraps the bundle and places down the item. It is a small doll, singed slightly and dirty, hair and clothes frayed and torn. "This is from the site of the hospital. It is not truely tainted, not by direct influence, but by the horrors it went through. Objects are easier to Cleanse at first, only the taint fights you and not the thing itself."

Kenneth examines the doll with his gaze only, leaning slightly. "Randomly: we're working with objects, people... Garou anyway. What about places? Hospital, I heard, was almost one big lost cause."

Dakota nods her head. "Places can be Cleansed, but it takes much more effort. Remember, I said the more Garou involved, the more successful the Rite, but some places are too terrible even for a sept to Cleanse. A newly forming Blight can be cleansed with effort, but something so profaned as the hospital is beyond our abilities. The most we could do is physically clean the area, nurture Gaia back into the location and perhaps do several cleansings to urge it on, but only time and Gaia can restore some places."

Kenneth works off the lid to the Gladware, exposing the carefully gathered dew. "Works better with numbers... just like hunting," he notes aloud, clicking pieces in. Then he straightens up again, looking at the doll. "This thing can't speak though. How are we going to know if the rite works?"

Dakota reaches up to give the side of her nose a tap. "I can smell the residue of the Wyrm. I will know it it works or not. It is always a good idea to have a Garou with you who can, in cases when you are Cleansing something that cannot tell you how it feels. Often, you can tell if someone is Tainted, like another Garou even if they act most of the time normally and you can't sense the taint. They are resistant to be Cleansed, they make excuses why they don't need it. They may even act violently if you try."

Kenneth sniffs too, but without any gift. Just instinct. "Hm," is his decision on the matter. "Alright. Let's get it over with." He turns to the doll, again scrutinizing. "Might not have the same kind of tools you do." To compensate, the Shadow Lord shifts once again to the warform. It is slower, but less instinct driven and more a harness of the inner anger. The fur sprouts, covers, and shrouds him in a black mantle. He glances back to the Child a moment, and then bends down to sink his claw into the dirt a pace away from the doll. Using the object for a centerpoint, the philodox slowly draws his own circle about it.

Dakota watches the Shadow Lord work, nodding her head slowly and waiting until he is done drawing the circle before speaking. "I made up an extra torch, and use can use the willow branch again." She says and then goes quiet again.

Dagger's-Edge goes through the motions. The growls from the halfmoon are deeper, a touch more feral, but nearly the same. The branch is utilized, and dipped into the water he brought. For the crinos form that he usually uses in fierce battles, this time is comparatively smooth, almost gentle. The branch is set down, droplets sprinkled from it to the doll. ~Wyrm taint that inhabits this being. Hear me. I am the one you will face. I am the one who calls you out. You hear me? You better. Clear out.~ The Shadow Lord's rumbled whispers and snarls of command ripple through the air, made forceful through tempering. He continues to circle the object as the Child had done, growling, threatening, maybe even 'asking' for the corruption inside to leap out from its cowardly prison and face a more worthy opponent. His own spin on the rite is already visible, but it leads to similar ends. When it is time to grab the torch and light it, the philodox does so with grimness. Then he too, turns upon the child's toy and brandishes the torch. Once, twice, thrice he swings the firebrand close enough to nearly restart the flames upon the battered object, but it doesn't come that close. ~Begone!~ he howls, commanding and strong. When the howl fades, he looks down at the doll, eyes narrowed.

Dakota raises her chin slightly as nostrils flare, a purely instinctive motion since the sense relies on no physical feedback. The doll looks no different. It is still filthy, save where the water carved shallow rivers in the film of dirt and ash, and the dress does not magically reknit itself together. Still, the Theurge nods her approval. "Very good, you're a natural, but as a Philodox I'd expect that." She says with a brief grin. "Keep practicing on it for a few nights until you no longer even have to think about it. Even ask a few of the other Garou, if they are willing, if you could try it out on them. Granted, just be careful who you ask, some can probably start launching accusations you think they're Tainted. Use the cubs."

Dagger's-Edge could almost be said to fluff with pride, were it not that he looks simply: satisfied. The halfmoon dips his muzzle, rumbling a low ~Thanks.~ Then, sweepingly, he douses the torch into the water and shifts down once more. "I could think of a few," he comments, glancing to the put out torch and offering it back to the Child.

Dakota takes back the torch and places it with the other before retrieving the doll. "I'll make sure all of this is properly removed. The cubs are always good subjects. Usually willing to work and besides, it teaches them at the same time and more of them could use exposure to the rituals."

Kenneth nods slightly, eyes narrowing a touch and then resuming their normal shape. He bends to pick up his own plasticware, scattering the contents out over the caern center. The action is done almost just as ritualistically. "Would help 'em learn something instead of sittin' around being bored," he agrees, his tone speaking of experience. "Anyway. Thanks, Dakota."

Dakota dips her head to the halfmoon. "I'm more than happy to teach anyone who wants. I'm just glad people actually care about learning. Take care Kenneth, and don't forget to to keep practicing. You know where to find me if you need."

Kenneth nods again, turning to head off the way he came. He gets a yard or so off before pausing, and turning around. "Do you happen to know the Rite of Contrition?"

Dakota shakes her head at his question. "No. I do not know the Rite, but it is not the kind I spend my time with. Ask around, though, some of the older Garou may know it."

Kenneth's eyes cast down their gaze a moment, and then he inahles sharply. With a nod, the philodox turns again. "Later," he utters just loud enough, free hand lifting in a lazy wave. The Shadow Lord soon returns to the steam vents, and can be seen walking beyond.