ONS: Recharge the Weaver 3 - Alesia, Olga, Saul Investigate
8/18/2007
01:08 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.
[NOTE: Since the old Caern Clearing umbral room desc was out of date, the one seen below is rewritten by myself.]
Umbra: Edge of the Caern Clearing
The western edge of the caern clearing juts up against the valley's rim and leads towards the inner bawn. Mammoth, old growth trees thrive with renewed luster sparkling off their leaves. The glade children have returned, encouraging the area's flora to grow lush and thick whilst windy airt cavort over the the tips of the blades and flutter through the leaves. Nearer to the caern located down the cliffside path, the earth shines with refreshed vigor, though some might note with decidedly less strength than in times past.
Further to the east across the landscape lies the heart of the caern, and the pathstone pulses visibly in the distance with a soft ethereal glow, providing a backdrop for the Lunes that dance off the moonlight. To the west, the massive forest begins all too suddenly like a guard of silent sentinels, stretching away into the distant, darkly mysterious scenery.
Two faint pathways lead in opposite directions. One leads eastward through the tall grass to the center of the Caern, and the other westward into the Umbral forest.
Contents:
Olga
Saul
Alesia
Obvious exits:
Clearing Center Woods
[During the Half Moon.]
As the half moon hangs in the sky and the Garou step sideways, the almost electric feeling of the caern's Umbra washes over them in a tide. The moon here is brighter in its low hanging state, while Anthelios fights for presence with its ominous red cast in the Umbral scape. The waterfall area is clear, the spirits there proceeding about their activities without trouble. It's further out, where the caern clearing edge can be seen visibly occupied by floating cloud-like, almost fog-like spirits that glow and pulse with energies. These spirits do move, colliding with each other to form amalgams of larger clouds before splitting off again. None of these spirits travel down into the caern clearing itself, though those that spill over the rim of the valley dissipate and presumably reform elsewhere.
Alesia peers around, spear in hand as she gets a feel for what is going on in the caern, "Reggie wants me to negotiate with the spirits, try to calm them down and tell them of the ban of all weaver tech, anything with moving parts, batteries or the like, from the inner bawn and see what they know of the weaver thing that attacked." She explains, "Wyldings are hard to talk to, or so Laura told me, never tried really so far." She frowns as she peers at the clouds, "Any ideas?" The question is obviously directed at Olga.
Olga does not come through the Gauntlet gracefully. She punches and tears it, managing it, even in this sacred place, thin and soft, more by bullheadedness than spirituality. Still, she manages to get through, leaving Squeaks on the ridges behind to guard her bag. The Gnawer keeps to her human skin, though she pulls the sweaty handkerchief from her hand and moves forward like a supplicant, feeling the electricity of the place, alternately bowing her back to it, and coursing upwards, shoulders straight and out. Her feet move silently, and she's quiet, until Alesia's statement, at which point she looks at her like she's still coming out of the haze of Umbral transit. Finally, eventually, she asks, "Does that include zippers?"
Alesia shakes her head, "I don't believe so, more mechanical things, like watches and electrical things like cell phones and all. I mean, he seemed to think my shoes were okay, and they're made of rubber and all kinds of things I imagine. You'd have to ask him about the full details of the ban though." She shrugs, "Reggie wants to track down the source of the weaver thing later, but right now the goal I had was trying to calm the spirits and find out if there is an immediate threat."
Saul comes through the Gauntlet in much the same fashion as Olga, however his transit is described it is certainly not 'graceful'. He scans the surrounding area, then immediately shifts his gaze to the more experienced Garou, listening to their conversation but not interjecting.
Upon the ridge, the Wyldlings continue to pulse, roil, and float like an evershifting and erratic patrol. Their glows have no pattern, strobing in unchecked nature while the Garou speak amongst themselves.
"I'm sure there's no threat," Olga answers, evenly, almost dismissively. "They're Wyldlings. They'll have forgotten about it by morning. Still it's best not to have testy spirits on the bawn, 'course. I am curious what's got 'em so riled up." She begins to move off, up one of the trails towards the ridge, moving stiffly and oddly, like her limbs have been locked into place by the electricity of the moment, or maybe just by nerves. "The easiest way to talk to Wyldlings, from what I know of 'em at least, is just throw yourself in it, don't think to much. Or find an intercessor - but le's try the first way first, it's less work. You gonna do it, Alesia?"
Alesia nods, "Sure, but I'd point out that the weaver spider attack was not yesterday and things are still not working right on the bawn. Reggie couldn't even get a lighter to light the other day. That attack got them upset, but the question is, what do they know and what will calm them and worse, is this just the start of something worse?" She sighs and starts to climb closer to the wyldings, spear in hand, her body tense, "Just worried, wyldings can cause some strange stuff to happen if you're not careful with them."
Saul follows the pair without comment, staying not too far behind.
Olga nods, radiating affected unconcern. "I know," she says, easily. "I was here than the thing of sand attacked - well no, attacked isn't the right word - `affected` the Caern, about, what, two years ago? That was bad for a lot of people - but good for us all, in the end. Wyldlings are like that, s'what I'm saying. They can be dangerous, but usually, danger's good. I'm not making sense, but y'see, that's exactly what you gotta be doing if you're going to talk to Wyldlings anyway." She continues up the trail, grabbing hold of roots and feeling the small charge on her calloused palms, looking for footholds in the soft umbral film. "You sure you don't want me t'do it?" she asks, idly.
For the large part, the Wyldlings have stayed out of the caern clearing. As the Garou travel from the clearing up to the valley rim, they see the landscape of the clearing edge holding plenty of these Wyldlings about. The spear-wielding Fury heading up their minipack sees one of the spirit clouds break off from a larger group, all of them generally the same size as a hispo but constantly rolling, changing shape, bunching up and flattening out or spiralling to dissipate into the ether. That one spirit start to come closer to the Garou.
Alesia steps forward and shakes her head, "Reggie asked me to do this. I will try." She stands firmly and addresses the spirit that has broken off from the group. *Spirit, wylding! We come to speak with you. What upsets you so, how can we calm you, appease you?*
Saul stops a step behind and slightly to the right of Olga, grimacing as Alesia steps forwards and makes her announcement. He leans forwards slightly and says something quietly.
*Touch. No! Weaver,* responds the Wyldling, its pulsing glow rolling around its unformulated body. Another spirit breaks off, starting towards the group in a roundabout manner.
As the spirit speaks, Olga shifts, calling on her Rage to do so with all immediacy. She lets her arms fall to the ground as front legs, watching the spirit closely, head turned slightly aside. ~Yes,~ she answers, flatly, as much to Saul as to the spirit. ~No Weaver.~
Olga pages: Maybe some bubblegum wrappers or cigarettes or whatever that were left in her pocket - though they wouldn't be dedicated, so they'd only be half-real. All her stuff is in her bag.
Alesia shifts up to crinos, her clothing that was dedicated vanishing, leaving her in war form still holding the spear. *No touch. Weaver Hurt? No Weaver. We will keep weaver away, will this make you happy?*
Saul takes a step to the side as the others shift, then quickly follows suit. He keeps his head pointed towards the ground, shifting his gaze between the various Wyldlings and the Theurges.
The Wyldlings glowing brighter and closer to the Garou begin to dim again when they shift. The pair closest slow to a stop, albeit the one closest to Alesia lingers near. *Touch. No. Weaver,* responds the Wyldling, its own spirit speech Just Barely comprehensible for those even with the gift.
Demons opens her arms to the sides, in an open posture as she steps forward towards the closest Wyldling. *No Weaver. Just me. Tell. Tell of weaver.* She urges of the wyldling.
~Your spear is still a construction, Demons,~ Fat-Ripper says, staying where she is as Demons moves forwards. ~You might have better luck without it.~ The Gnawer turns her attention away from the Wyldlings for a moment to scan the treeline and the depths of the caern for other spirits, and then lets her attention wander up to the brightness of stars all slurred together in the Umbral sky.
Any answer from the spirit is very long - in Wyldling terms, about half a minute later - in coming. It glows brighter as Alesia steps forward. *Weaver. Here.* Its answer is accompanied with a thin pulse of energy, and the sinew holding the spearhead starts to loosen.
Demons grumbles, a grumbling crinos as she turns and tosses her spear back towards the caern, trying to keep it away from the wyldings mischief, and once divested of the spear turns back. *No weaver now, just me.* She says firmly, standing in war form. bare but for her fur now. *Now tell.*
Fat-Ripper rests comfortably, and waits, merely breathing in the sparkling air in deep and satisfying gulps.
As the spear sails away, the Wyldling lingering by Alesia seems to lose its interest in a sense. It begins floating away, back towards its brethren floating about along the edges of the caern clearing.
Demons moves forward, closer and closer to the cloud of wyldings as she tries to get their attention, a mostly futile task. *Spirits! We will keep weaver away, but we must know if there is more weaver we must stop. Please, tell us, what weaver threatens?*
Fat-Ripper stays where she is, not falling Demons into the spirits midst. The closer she gets to them, though, the more her relaxed rest turns into impatient agitation, and her claws dig into the umbral silt.
Saul rests lightly (or as lightly as a Crinos can) on the balls of his feet, muscles loose, apparently relaxed. Except that his eyes are locked on the Fury, only shifting away from her to glance at the shifting clouds of spirits.
While the other pair of Garou stay behind and Alesia gets closer, when she passes by a Wyldling that just happens to move into her path on coincidence, the cloud envelopes her and masks her upper torso from view of the Garou pair. It's mere seconds of obscurity, but as soon as the Wyldling reforms itself away from the Fury and continues on its seemingly aimless float, the guardian theurge is left standing there and feeling a bit chill.
[You paged Demons with 'No damage, but you got the sense that your Past Lives 5 swept past like a semi. In the lingering after effect, it's like everyone went quiet for a short few seconds.'.]
Demons jumps back after the spirit passes through and around her, and then suddenly drops to her knees. Her claws going to her head, as if something bad just happened, unseen. She makes no noise though, makes no attempt to talk with the spirits further.
Saul takes a step forward before turning to look at Fat-Ripper, ~Should we get her?~
The Gnawer's answer is an agitated growl in the negative. ~Demons, are you alright?~ she asks as she bends her shoulders, digs her claws in, gets ready to move.
Demons slowly stands back up, and backs away from the spirits. ~Yes, I'm okay, but... the spirits do not wish to talk much more. They simply want the weaver away. We can hope this will calm them down. It... was not pleasant.~ She growls as she returns to the others. ~We must pass word, all things of the weaver must be kept away from the caern, and inner bawn.~
Saul nods, massive muzzle dipping a few inches, then rising again. ~Easy to do, or should be. Are we going then?~
Fat-Ripper is clearly at no ease, her ruff is up and her voice comes out in growls. Still, she answers, ~If Rises-above-Demons feels there is no more to be done, then yes, we leave.~
Demons hesitates, looking back at the spirits, then turns her gaze on to Fat-Ripper. ~You are wiser than I, please, if you thing there is more that could be done, say so. I am not so foolish as to pass up help or possible wisdom.~
As observed, the Wyldlings continue about their business and pay no more mind to the Garou.
Fat-Ripper is for a moment uncertain, her fur still stands on end, and she stays there a few seconds, still and considering, before moving on impulse, brashly, perhaps a little stupidly, towards the cluster of spirits. Her words are bolder than her posture, but her voice is sharp and demanding, as she calls out ~Wyldlings, you will listen to me. I am Fat-Ripper, a Bone Gnawer. My tribe keeps the heart of the Wyld alive in the rigidity of the scab.~
Demons turns to watch Fat-Ripper, her own body tense as if ready to leap forward if need be.
Saul bares his teeth for the briefest of moments before rolling his massive shoulders backwards and bouncing ever so slightly off of his heels, watching Fat-Ripper impassively.
The Wyldlings pulse away. It's impossible to tell whether they're listening or not.
Fat-Ripper pauses only a few minutes, staring at the spirits challengingly, before turning to lope away, her mood bad, her defeat obvious. ~They will not listen,~ she concedes dourly. ~There is nothing more to be done.~ She heads towards the trail down, the energy of the Umbra like a thousand insects roiling over her fur.
Demons gives an appologetic look to Fat-Ripper. ~For now.~ She offers encouragingly. Then she goes to recover her spear, and waits for the others, ready to leave but not going alone.
Saul waits for Demons to head down the drail as well before following the pair, keeping an eye over his shoulder at the spirits boiling in the distance.
Fat-Ripper scrambles quickly down into the Caern's basin, and only once she's done there does she growl faintly into the night air, up at the stars. ~I hate Wyldlings,~ she confides, quite bluntly and angrily, as she stomps through the soft clay towards the waterfall's pool, leaving sharp little pawprints behind as she goes.
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