5/7/2006

09:13 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous Moon phase (67% full).
It is currently 21:02 Pacific Time on Sun May 7 2006.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly cloudy. The temperature is 49 degrees Fahrenheit (9 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the west at 9 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.10 and steady, and the relative humidity is 71 percent. The dewpoint is 40 degrees Fahrenheit (4 degrees Celsius.)

Umbra: Center of the Caern
A subtly spine-vibrating thrum of power issues once again from the once-dead caern, pricking hairs and fur. Slowly but surely, the rejuvinating actions of the Garou have slowly been transforming the recently spiritually dead caern back into something befitting a caern. The caern is once again alive with a variety of spirits, though spirits of war seem a rarity now, and Wendigo spirits are never seen. The caern, visually, falls just short of the wildest rural utopia imaginable. Only hints of the previous pollution remain--slightly less than green grass, young sapling trees where there ought to be mighty oaks and pines--and these are things that, with time and care, should eventually replace what was lost.
The air crackles with tingles of spiritual potency, though it's obvious to Garou who'd witnessed the caern earlier that the caern just isn't quite as powerful and potent as it was before the BSD invasion.
Contents:
Dillen
Obvious exits:
South  North  West  

Snaekolfr(#3267Pcr)
Close to the size of a bear, this great wolf spirit is cloaked in a rough winter pelt of brilliant snow white. His muscled body is etched with scars and the broad sweep of his muzzle and paws are stained in permenantly fresh blood shed by his fangs and claws. The eyes in his heavy skull burn orange-gold like hot coals, full of purest anger and the ancient experience of a warrior's gaze. Around his neck is a heavy, spiked iron collar scarred black streaked by fire with broken length of chains dangling from either side.

[look Dillen]
A thick layer of hair grows on Dillen's head, shaggy now and bleached blonde for some reason. It hangs in his eyes and is often pushed out of the way with his hand. His attire is that of one who is eclectic and likes his own style. He wears a white t-shirt and a pair of black pants, tucked into knee high combat boots. Around his upper half is a leather biker jacket, complete with blue flames coming up the sleeves. Grey eyes that are just about clear are the only really stunning thing about him. Around his neck is a thick leather collar, made up of several contoured leather plates, bound with bone or horn, covered in runes, and strapped together with what appears to be waxed sinew. It's either some kind of new fashion statement, or Midwestern bondage gear. His build has improved since he came to St. Claire as a skinny kid, he now has broad shoulders and good muscle definition. His looks would place him in his late teens and he would seem to be about six feet tall. A faint scar is across his jaw as well as several faint scars that are raked down his arm. He wears a wedding band on his right hand.

Snaekolfr, though at rest, is still a fearsome sight. Great red splattered muzzle laying across his paws, the Fenris spirit calmly (for what could be said of calm for a War spirit) rejuvenates at the center of the caern. His being radiates with an unearthly glow about it, only lending an even more unapproachable atmosphere to the huge white wolf.

Bloods-Bane makes his way into the the Umbral layer and he stands there for a moment, looking over the totem. A long breath and he approaches. ~Snaekolfr.~ He says, announcing his presence.

A lone, golden orange eye opens. The totem utters a querying growl that shakes the very air, one that commonly is used to strike fear into the hearts of the weak. *What?* The question, terse and to the point, indicates he's listening.

~You are freed from your bond to the pack. The pack is no more.~ Dillen speaks, confident. ~Kenneth is still missing and Kevin has been seen as Charach. We cannot rebuild again.~

Well that gets Snae's attention. Fangs bare, gleaming in the moonlight. Disdain reeks out of the pack spirit's aura. *Weak,* he rumbles with a push up to his paws, no clear indication of who he accuses of weakness. Seems he's done resting, and so turns to leave. Though he need not, every pawstep seems to come down with a force that belies the great wolf's inner Rage.

~My thanks for your loyal service. I could only wish to fight at your side longer.~ Bloods-Bane gives a bow to the totem. It's clear that this is not something he really wants to do but feels he must.

Snaekolfr stops and snorts, looking off towards the skies. He doesn't even pay much attention, if just barely so. *Fight?* Gradually the totem's eyes turn back and in them is a glare of hatred. And at the same time, an excitement. A lust. The spirit 'grins' at that, though it feels more like a sneer than anything else. It is a challenging expression. A declaration of war. *You, are weak. Your pack, weak. It once fed me well. Now, I hunger deep for blood.* The Fenris turns and stands proud. Proud, and angry, and scornful. *You will do.*

~So be it.~ Dillen stands tall and proud. ~I give you release from a pack your feel weak and let you run back to your battles. if you wish my blood, you must come claim it.~ He stands ready for a fight.

With such an eager fervor, Snaekolfr doesn't even bother to answer with words. His answer is with his fangs. The wolf spirit lunges forward, almost feeling weightless over the ground as he leaps, and yet he has a weight to him heavy enough to match the Get's crinos body. The clash is no doubt, inevitable. And, true to the spirit of War, he holds no reservations at tearing into his Incarna's chosen children.

Bloods-Bane steadies himself and moves to tear into his totem. He faces the coming blows from Snae, facing destiny as the case may be. His claws slash at the totem as he twists to avoid serious damage.

Twist though he might, the Get seems like he's hardly a match for the spirit now. Such is the Fury of Fenris, born deep inside all the hearts of the Wolf. Snaekolfr's jaws bite down deeply into the crinos, whereupon he can somehow feel that Rage seeping into him, his spirit being almost burned. Wounds appear on both, but as the Get's claws rake in and drag one ear on the wolf to tatters, he's on the end of worse.

Bloods-Bane keeps taking the fight to the totem. He moves to get behind and rake down the side of the beast.

A wicked, perhaps too easily shed of power spills from the Fenris as his side is 'opened' by the galliard's claws. Ephemera sprays into the air, red like blood but hardly of the same texture. The wolfspirit snarls and roars loudly, the vocalization a mix of pain and pleasure, Rage and anger. Turning to match, never quite letting the Get actually get behind him, jaws clamp again down upon the leg of the moondancer. As if by some unknown magical strength, Snaekolfr tears deep into the legmuscle, causing its falter, and pulls out the galliard's balance from beneath him. It drives him down to a knee, where he can see the servant of the Wolf god eye to baleful eye.

Long distance to the room: Snaekolfr grins. Can tell you that it's hard to fight totem spirits one on one. But, at the same time... don't hold back. Because Snae sure ain't.

Bloods-Bane is now down to one knee. He growls and keeps his eyes on the totems. If he must die, what better way than by the spirit of the tribe. His claws still fly as best they can. Dillen still keeps from kicking in his gift for resisting the pain of his wounds, even as he fights to get back to his feet.

Then, like a long awaited rise in the battle, forces crash together with the true way of the Get. The galliard's Rage lets him go, again and again and again he strikes with abandon. The wolf of war is faced time and time again with the furious onslaught of the galliard's claws meeting his jaws, opening up gash upon gash on the Fenris' face, turning it redder and redder. As if he were to get his revenge, the Fenris snaps forward to clamp his jaws around the talesinger's throat, but is met by such a resistance that his jaws this time only seem to glance off. Eerie. Finally the Fenris backs away and off, leaping to a side and staring at the Get galliard. Hateful, glaring, almost glowing with Rage, the Fenris' gaze bores into the moondancer. *Enough!* The spirit's form is in tatters, leaking into the umbral space around him. *You have served us and our purpose. Go away.* However, the bond between them is broken - the galliard cannot understand the spirit's speech any longer. The only evidence that the fight is over, is that the Fenris spirit walks away, leaving the galliard where he kneels.

Bloods-Bane stays there for a time, trying to regain the ability to pull himself from the umbra. He finally kicks in his gift to resist the pain and get himself to the farmhouse to heal. If he cannot reach his feet, he will pull himself out and once on the bawn howl or keep pulling himself to the farmhouse.

Snaekolfr is only seen still walking away, and soon disappears altogether from sight in the Shadow, to reform elsewhere no doubt. The Fenris is gone.