ONS: Recharge the Weaver 5 - Jacinta Investigates
8/18/2007
05:40 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.
Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent Moon phase (36% full).
It is currently 17:35 Pacific Time on Sat Aug 18 2007.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 65 degrees Fahrenheit (18 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the west at 6 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.86 and falling, and the relative humidity is 70 percent. The dewpoint is 55 degrees Fahrenheit (12 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:
Jacinta
Obvious exits:
South North West
[Allies: Uqenqarkenruk, or ~Wind Friend~, is one of the Wind Spirits that hangs out at the caern. It is a particularly playful spirit, and somewhat mischevious. An odd balance to Jacinta's often stern nature, they have become quite close during the years Jacinta has spent at the Hidden Walk.]
As the sun sets down past the horizon of the caern's rim, the shadows elongate and the temperatures start to cool further, preparing for twilight. The caern is still with the exception of the cascading waterfall, hissing steam vents, blowing windy spot... so perhaps not so much still, as a forming a picture of relative wild tranquility.
As darkness comes to the caern, the Wendigo elder makes her way across the gauntlet and into the umbra. She seems relatively at ease in this journey, her braided hair smooth against her back, and her gaze solid on the crystaline surface of the center stone. Once through to the other side, she turns a bright smile toward the place where the winds swirl.
Swirling around and around in the windier spot of the caern are wind spirits and lunes cavorting in the darkening night. Though Anthelios too, casts a reddish glow over the area with its ominous gaze, the spirits don't seem quite as concerned. Further off at the edge of the caern clearing, up on the valley rims, the lights of pulsing Wyldling energies can be spotted like miniature clouds blinking like eccentric beacons. It isn't long before there's a break in the swirling wind, and a breeze circles around her. It pulls and tickles at the looser strands of her hair and clothing, as if to greet and inspect her.
Jacinta smiles again, lifting her arms to let the air rush beneath. *Hello, my friend,* she says in the language reserved for the wind. Her gaze turns darker, eyes narrowing as she studies the western horizon. *What happens?*
*Hello hello hello,* echoes the wind spirit, whistling in the Wendigo's ears. Never staying in one place, Uqenqarkenruk flits on the backs of its cousins before changing direction and returning to the Wendigo. *Wyld gathers,* is the reply.
Jacinta's brow furrows and she takes several steps in that direction. *Why?* she asks, shaking her head to loose a few more strands of hair.
*Weaver comes,* is the reply as the Wendigo feels those hair strands lift up and tug. *Play?* Distracted by the movement, the breeze trails along after the Wendigo, spinning in little gales.
Jacinta takes in a breath and blows it out in a plosive puff in the direction of the spirit. She grins, but something in the first statement keeps her from fully joining in the play. *Tell me more,* she asks of her friend. She continues toward the west. *Weaver is dangerous. Does it come, now? Should I get my pack?*
Rolling away with the puff of air, the spirit peters out and comes back around to flow up and over the back of the Wendigo's head, playing with her hair as she continues to move. *No, Wyld meets Weaver, meets Wolf,* claims the wind with a brief departure from the ahroun's side. Uqenqarkenruk flies quickly, tossing up umbral dirt in its path and rolling around with it in a chaotic miniature dust storm. *They fight!* It seems urgent at first, but then the dirt drops down again and the mercurial wind returns. *Wyld wins. Wolf runs.*
Jacinta's brow continues to be furrowed. She listens and watches the explanation, continued glances toward the Wyldlings at the west as her shoulders grow tense and her fingers begin to twitch. *Wolf helped fight Weaver?*
Her furrowed brow does nothing to affect the playful spirit, who demonstrates the 'fight' again with another dust devil, showering dirt and grass about. *Fight! Fight Wyld! Fight Weaver! Wolf, Weaver, Wyld fight!* Chaos could only be construed out of the spirit's next words as it spins and spins and spins.
Jacinta's feet stop and she just watches the dust storm spin. Below her furrowed brow, her eyes narrow. Confused. *Tell me the story. How did it all begin?*
The duststorm spins itself out, sending tiny specks floating down all around the immediate area between the Wendigo and the spirit. Uqenqarkenruk calls upon its brethren, and a whoosh of wind flows by the ahroun and gather the dust. The little wind spirit joins up with said dust and breeze, and 'howls' back at Jacinta, *Come, Come!*
Jacinta follows quickly, blinking against the dust in the air, but happily joining her friend.
Up the valley rim they run. At least, Jacinta must, and only the one lone wind spirit seems to pay her heed enough to circle back and give her any extra push. It's as they reach the edge of the caern clearing that she can see gathered Wyldlings floating about, clouds of energy visibly manifested and glowing around her in erratic strobes of light. The wind spirits pay them no heed, though, and blow them aside with force that sends the edges of the clouds rolling off. The Wendigo has a semi-clear path to follow, although it's still as fleeting as the wind. Uqenqarkenruk gets distracted by one of the clouds long enough to make a swirly, almost frozen yogurt-esque twist at the top of one of the clouds before it pulses twice and the wind spirit moves on back to the Wendigo. *Wyld gathers,* repeats the wind spirit, *Weaver comes. Wyld fights! No stopping! No catch! Weaver danger.*
Jacinta is alert for any signs of current encroachment from the Weaver as she follows through the opening created by the gusting wind.
There's no Weaver approaching at the moment, but the wind doesn't seem to notice that particular fact at the moment. Instead, Uqenqarkenruk continues on excitedly, the breezy spirit whirling and twirling through the umbral trees further from the caern on a mad dash course through the woods. Were it not for the spirit's backwards flow to gather up its friend, Jacinta might lose the trail. But in the spirit of play more than storytelling, the wind spirit leads on until they reach a spot further away from the valley rim and the Wyldlings. It's here they come upon the remnants of crystalline strands of Weaver webbing on the inner bawn, relatively close to the caern by comparison and hence out of place. The little wind spirit's brethren breeze on by, moving off with the play, but Uqenqarkenruk stays.
Along the way, the Wendigo shifts to a form better equipped to keep up with the rushing wind. Now in lupus, she pauses to sniff at the remaining strands of Weaver on the bawn before turning plaintive eyes to Uqenqarkenruk. *Tell me the story.* The tone is more pleading than demanding, and the cant of her ear is curious.
*Wolf,* Uqenqarkenruk whistles in response, *Weaver here.* The little wind spirit flitters over the tips of the white ahroun's fur. *Old Weaver spirit comes with Wolf,* dances out spirit ally. *Come, come, come.* The wind slows to a trickle over the tops of the umbral grass blades and leaves, like in demonstration again. *Wolf, come, come, come...* adds Uqenqarkenruk briefly as it swirls around and around the area slowly.
[You paged Oncoming Storm with 'Think that's obscure enough to give something to chew over. Wind spirits. Not the best of reporters sometimes. Oh! The 'come come come' after Wolf, has scents. Smells like Kevin's, and Chris and Mick's.'.]
Oncoming Storm listens and watches, head tipped to the side. *Wolf and Weaver come. Together?*
A second after the white wolf chuffs out her question, the wind spirit swirls faster, around and around over a tight area. *Weaver and Wolf come come come!* As if in growing agitation, Uqenqarkenruk's swirling pattern grows even more erratic. *Wyld meets Weaver, meets Wolf and fight!*
Oncoming Storm licks smooth the whiskers of her muzzle, her gaze drifting, lost in thought. She holds on to some serious notions for several seconds, almost as if filing them away for later consideration. Then, turning, she leaps into the air, straight through the current created by the spirit.
The white wolf breaks through the wind spirits roiling easily, sending the little breeze rolling off her back. Duly distracted, Uqenqarkenruk counters with a sweep beneath the wolf, as if holding her up just a little longer in her leap than usual. *Play! Play! No fight Wyld, play!* insists the wind spirit, and stirs her fur all over. Going for that 'windswept' look.
Oncoming Storm agrees, chuffing out a pleased sound and beginning the run back toward the caern proper.
Only too eager to chase after the white wolf now, the little wind spirit speeds on after, this time at her back. And side, and front, and above, and under... it is the wind. And the wind is easily distracted.
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