ONS: R.I.P. Bullwinkle
1/16/2006
06:59 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.
Currently the moon is in the waning Full Moon phase (85% full).
It is currently 18:52 Pacific Time on Mon Jan 16 2006.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 47 degrees Fahrenheit (8 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the south at 14 mph, with gusts up to 22 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.89 and falling, and the relative humidity is 93 percent. The dewpoint is 45 degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius.)
Bawn: Northern Forest(#3012RA)
Dark and forboding woods stretch in all directions but the north, the trees close together as if they were soldiers closing ranks against the enemy of Man. The trees here are tall, and close off all light from above, like they were pillars in some vast cathedral to Nature. Songbirds flit between the branches and the snuffling of small animals comes from the brush if one listens close enough. The busy interstate highway to the north, though, drowns out most of the subtler sounds in that direction.
The northern edge of the bawn is marked here by the unavoidable length of Interstate 90. Near it, the sounds of traffic drown out the more natural sounds of water and wildlife. In all other directions, the traffic noise recedes into the background.
Contents:
Circle Keeper
Obvious exits:
Interstate 90 North Lone Boulder Western Bawn Central Bawn Eastern Bawn
Night folds itself into the dark woods, presenting a ready array of crisp winter season air. The rains have paused for the time being, and the wind breathes in and out of the trees as if the land were taking a few gasps for breath in between its bouts of crying.
Circle Keeper limps his way along from the south east, coming down out of the mountains with almost lethargic pace. Whether it's the weather, or just the moon, something's got him looking not entirely pleased this night.
Sharp ears of the wolf can catch the distant sounds of the highway to the north. Even from here, the very heart of wilderness, the sound of encroaching civilization is inevitable. Even the scent of old asphalt, tar and rubber breaches the pungent odor of evergreens with every lingering sniff. One more thing disturbs the peace of the area, and not something subtle like the near silent flap of an owl's softly feathered wings. A rustle in the brushes, distant but approaching.
Circle Keeper doesn't seem too concerned about the sound of movement. His ears flick up and he seeks out the direction of the sound, but he seems quick to write it of as yet another mule deer, coyote, or some other of the many critters that cohabit the bawn.
The wind shifts direction. Aided by the breakup of trunks and branches, its path is subtlely directed. The news of a healthy coyote passing by is brought tauntingly to the nostrils. But another scent, this one heavy, covers the good news with bad. The scent of gasoline, fearscent, blood and sickness.
Circle Keeper's nose irks at the petrol smell, shoving his head high to sniff carefully. After a few moments, he takes a few steps in the direction of the smells.
The smell continues to permeate the air. It isn't particularly fresh, this myriad of scents, but not old in the sense of it having been from the day before or earlier. The rustling continues. A quiet clack of antler on bark clatters from that same direction, followed by the sound of very slow, very heavy footfall. Hooves, no doubt, of a large animal.
The sounds seem to bother him less than the smells, the Ahroun's nose quivering as he sniffs repeatedly at the air. His tail slowly works his way up into the pan-handle position, almost as a 'danger!', even if he keeps moving forward suspiciously.
Gradually, the brush grows a little thicker. Juicy, budlike leaves conserve themselves along the insides of a bush. A musky odor of moose combines with the scents as well now. The wind changes again, blowing away from the ahroun and taking the scents away to another direction. A heavy, heady snort reveals its source, disturbingly close. Circle Keeper catches sight of the animal - the moose in question, a big male. It stares at the white wolf as prey to predator.
Circle Keeper slowly backs away from the larger animal, ears skewing back as he views the huge beast. His nose quivers even as he takes in the sight of the thing, trying to divine more nasally.
The bull swings its huge head back and forth. A great rack of palmated antlers displays aggressively from the creature's brow. The crown, though, is swung in an almost uncontrolled manner as it once again smacks antler to tree trunk, creating a resounding explosion of noise to disturb the quiet of the area. The moose snorts again - it seems weak and dizzied from the blow. It is when the moose swings its head, that a large, completely unnatural metal 'pipe' can be seen. The pipe is bent and twisted, and protrudes from the animal's back on the left side. The gore from the injury reflects beneath the moonlight. The rest of the pipe bends backwards in wild directions.
Circle Keeper starts to back away from the wounded animal slightly quicker, knowing full well what manner of violence a bull in that condition is capable of. As he starts to get a respectable distance away, he howls low for Middle-Way.
The big bull moose, antlers swung haphazardly, stops and goes completely still with the howl. It seems to set the moose further on hazed edge, awakening in it an age-old hatred. With a rough and rattled bellow, it presses forth in pursuit of Circle Keeper. The metal pipe that sticks out of the beast, impaled and waving about with every heavy plodding step, doesn't seem to concern it nearly as much as the presence of the white wolf now.
Circle Keeper retreats quickly, the wolf breaking through the brush as he puts distance between the two as fast he can. Reverting to homid, he calls upon his totem's boon to make himself seem more unassuming to the bull.
Almost as soon as Circle Keeper is well out of sight, the moose slows to a stop. Quick pants and snorts putter forth from its loose lips, and it groans with an obvious pain. The animal doesn't seem so disturbed now that it's left relatively alone. And as if deliberately distracting, the bushes with their succulent leaves draw the beast's attention from the Uktena's flight path to its offering.
Walks-Middle runs onto the scene after hearing the howl, slowing to a walk as she nears. She spots the moose first, halting as she looks for the threat and notices the metal pipe. She then circles the area, trying to keep quiet as she seeks out and makes for the Uktena.
Circle Keeper's eyes flick side from side, the Uktena still trying to remain as unassuming as he can. He doesn't carry any of the normal, worrying scents that most of the other garou carry, instead smelling entirely natural and at home. Tone measured, Stacey's arrival gets him to swallow slightly. "Take... homid." He instructs quietly.
The moose continues to browse over the shrub, stripping it quickly of its outermost leaves. One large, fuzzy ear swings towards the Uktena's vocalizations, but the beast doesn't seem to pay him any mind now. Another rough grunt gurgles from the moose, and it takes to travel once more. Its path has swung southwards, back on its pseudo original direction.
Walks-Middle takes homid as instructed, keeping low and looking at Circle Keeper questioningly. Her gaze shifts to the moose as it starts to move. "Heal?" she asks softly.
Ciuraq starts to quietly stalk after it, the ahroun pushing back his hood as he walks after it with a caution born a set of finely honed survival skills. "Ii-i." He answers; though she can't see it, his eyebrows bob. "Take Crinos when it is time. They kick hard." He cautions.
As if in complete ignorance, the moose continues to plod along unaware of the humans behind it. Its ears slick back, but a closer inspection reveals it not to be in threat, but in pain.
Ciuraq picks up his pace, closing in on the animal as fast he can without spooking it. He continues to draw on his totem's boon to try and seem unassuming.
Stacey nods her understanding and follows behind Ciuraq, taking her cues from him, trying to keep quiet and to not appear a threat.
Plod. Plod. The moose's destination is unknown, but it travels like it were on some instinct that it must keep moving. Lower and lower, its head droops. Once, its rack of antlers clunks against another tree, causing it to stumble off to one side like a drunk. That seems to cause a chain reaction: the metal pipe sticking out of the beast hits a tree, driving it just a bit deeper, and the animal cries out. Like its pain were too much, the blinding feeling makes it fall to its front knees.
Ciuraq breaks into a run, swelling up into crinos as he goes, trying to wrap his arm around the beast in a head lock.
Stacey again follows the Uktena's leading, running and then zooms up into Crinos as Ciuraq does. She grabs a hold of the moose with one arm, putting some weight on it to help keep it down, and then starts to work the pipe out of its side, trying to work quickly while trying to not injure it further.
Pound for pound, the bull and the Uktena are at odds for who is heavier. But with the prey already down on its knees, the struggle tips in the advantage of the ambushers. The animal bugles out a cry, shoving and twisting against the whitefurred ahroun with its bulk and huge hump. The Child, not so successful in grabbing the animal, is awarded not with a hard kick, but a winding thump of moose mass bumping her. The pipe is grabbed in claws, though, all the jostling causing it to wrench within the penetrating wound. The sick splurching sound of its movement inside the beast's body reaches the pair of ahrouns' ears.
Circle Keeper holds on tight in his headlock, teeth gritting as he hears the squench. Then, he growls ~Let go of it!~, activating the ol' Ahroun trick.
Walks-Middle winces as she's bumped by the moose, as well as at the sound and hastily lets go of the pipe.
Down the moose goes, pushed over and obviously too slow to do any fancy recovering acrobatics. Its legs sprawl out towards the pair of Crinos, reflexively kicking as the sensation of firm earth beneath them disappears. A loud groan rumbles out of the bull. The impalement's movements have reopened it, and thick, warm blood dribbles slowly out, matting and slicking the fur around it. For the moment, the creature lies there. Tired. Exhausted from the brief struggle.
Circle Keeper shifts his body onto the animal's legs, holding it down and still the best he can as he maintains the headlock on the bull. ~Hurry!~ He growls after her.
Walks-Middle once more tries to secure the moose to the ground, this time sitting on it, instead of just trying to hold it down with her arms, to keep it from bucking as she attempts to remove the pipe.
Renewed restraints cause renewed resistance, but it is weak at best. As if accepting a fate, the moose rolls its eyes wildly in its attempts to capture the last bits of wilderness its eyes will see. The pipe resists as well, but with another hard tug, it comes out twisted and gnarled. It brings with it a coil of internal organs almost steaming into the chill, night air.
~Do not worry, that can happen. Return them to where they came. Be careful not to rip.~ The elder Ahroun instructs, falling back on his previous studies. ~Pinch the wound before you use the gift, and make sure the wound is no longer open to he air.~
Walks-Middle does indeed look worried, but she nods and begins to do as instructed, carefully placing the organs back into the moose as best as she is able. Then she holds the wound closed as well as she can before closing her eyes and beginning to concentrate on the use of her gift.
The fresh blood and organs, the wonderful spread of moose- it tickles the senses and instinct of the wolf mind. Claws come dangerously close, and despite its acceptance, the moose bucks beneath the restraints of the two crinos. Circle Keeper's hold slips just slightly, but is regained easily. The Child's clawed hand presses to the warm flesh of the bull, wetting her fur with its lifeblood upon contact. A soft light glows beneath the pads, and painstakingly slowly the wound starts to close. The regeneration of flesh is not nearly as solid as that of any wounds the Gaian ahroun might have healed before - she can feel the difference and difficulty. And still, the bull groans deep, vibrating the air in a slow sigh.
Circle Keeper lets go of the moose, pulling his weight off the other as he springs back as fast as possible. Clearly he doesn't want to be standing right over it when it starts throwing it's antlers around once more in it's better health.
Walks-Middle looks a bit worried as she gets off of the moose as well, after healing as much as she could. She backs away as quickly as she can, yet keeps an eye on the creature, concerned.
The pipe, pulled out of the insides of the moose, is rather long and bent over. One half is slicked with blood, the other half bears a square with four holes where it might have once been secured to another piece of metal. The moose's hide smells still of gasoline and injury. When the two crinos back away, the bull still makes no move to rise. Its head stays where it's been dropped in the mud. It simply lies there, breathing slowly in and out, its side rising and falling in sluggish undulation.
Circle Keeper's voice raises into a low growl, obviously displeased with something. The crinos hunkers down and shifts to Hispo, the dire wolf staring furiously at the animal. Leave, he informs the other sharply. This one will watch it to make sure it is not eaten while it lays here.
Walks-Middle watches the moose with no small amount of disappointment and worry. She takes a step forward, but then stops at Circle Keeper's words. She tenses for a moment, as if deciding, then obediently shifts down into lupus and turns to go, breaking into a run.
As the Child retreats, her footfalls garner just a flicker of the beast's ear in her direction. The only effort the moose makes, movement wise, is a shift of its backlegs and another huffed groan. Circle Keeper doesn't seem to get much of its attention at all.
Circle Keeper waits until the Gaian is far and a long time gone, using his clawed paw to scrape designs into the ground while he waits. The Glyph for moose, the spirit, comes up, along with that of sacrifice and several others. Rousing himself, the Uktena shifts up into crinos and heads for the downed ungulate. With a few rumbled words between just him, the animal and any spirits who happen to be watching, the crinos grabs the animal by the antlers and wrenches its head around hard.
The Uktena collects the pipe and the moose, and begins to haul both back to the Wendigo Territory.
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