"Kaz used french fries, I remember."

[hazlogs]

It is currently 09:31 Pacific Time on Wed May 28 2003.

Currently the moon is in the waning No Moon phase (17% full).

Center of the Caern

This area of the clearing is about 30 meters wide and is a mixture of dark soil and clay throughout. The ground is mostly mud, but patches of grass, halted by winter's cold, are beginning to peek through the ground and take root. Near the center of the clearing, a small cairn has been built with white stone and quartz--what was left of the beautiful boulder that was once there. None of the stones is bigger than a softball.

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.

Salem

Black fur covers this adult male wolf from muzzle to tail, the dark pelt unbroken but for a vague, irregularly-shaped medium gray patch on his chest. Like all his species, he is long-limbed and athletically built, powerful and relentless in his motions, a true predator. Rarely is the animal truly relaxed, and often a murderous anger seems to rage just under the surface of his ebony pelt, the promise of violence held in check only by a near-iron control. To Garou eyes, he has the look of nobility, and it's clear that Shadow Lord blood runs strongly through his veins.

One feral golden eye glints with a more than animal intelligence, but the other is a blind white that's all but lost within the twisted jungle of scar tissue that covers the left side of his face. There's a secondary scarred area on his right shoulder that looks like it might once have been some kind of glyph, but it's been long since obscured. With claws. A nightingale charm hangs from a cord around his neck, nestled close to the fur.

Luke

This young man comes across immediately as the outdoorsy type. He's always been athletic and active, but has filled out quite a bit in the years since arriving on the farm, his musculature showing the definition that comes from regular workouts and physical labor. His skin is a healthy tan, though it hasn't done anything to rid him of the freckles that dust his nose and cheeks. His hair, once a tousled mess of rust and chestnut, has been cropped back to a military regulation high-and-tight. His eyes are an expressive pale green, almost always determined and confident, frequently with a gleam of mischief and matched by a playful grin, though a touch of sadness will emerge from their depths when he thinks no one is watching. For all that he can be extremely relaxed and lackadaisical when he chooses to be, there's a strong streak of military discipline that runs through him - he's still likely to refer to his elders as sir or ma'am, he usually stands when they enter a room, and he's prone to standing at parade rest when he's not lounging.

His dress does nothing to change the initial impression. His standard attire is a faded pair of blue jeans or shorts with a US Army t-shirt, both of which are marred by sweat and dirt from his outdoor activities more often than not. He very seldom wears shoes when he's around the farm and bawn, his feet calloused enough that this doesn't give him many problems. When he does wear them, it's a pair of sneakers that are well worn in, having seen their share of miles over all sorts of terrain. The one real constant about the young man is the presence of a metal chain around his neck; a soldier's dog-tags, kept protectively close.

Luke sits near the cairn of stones, a bucket not far away, though whatever he was doing with it, he's likely been done for a little while now.

Salem greets the Fianna in a polite, mildly amiable manner as he approaches. How is the caern today?

Luke answers simply, "Safe." A short pause before he asks, "Are you ready to get started?"

Salem rears onto his hind legs, shifting to human form in one smooth movement. "Yes."

Luke says "Good. I'll state the obvious, then: the way I'm teaching this works, but you can easily adapt it to something that suits you better. I know I did. You'll start with one thing in mind -- who or what you're looking for, because you have to know its name in order for the rite to have any chance of success. It's not a guarantee, even then, but it's pretty effective, especially for a rite that's so easy to learn."

Salem takes a seat on the ground near the Fianna as he listens. He nods, his attention focussing.

Luke says "You don't necessarily need a first and last name, though it's going to help a lot if you don't know the person very well. If you have something that belongs to the target, that's even better, because it makes the association between the name and the real thing that much stronger."

Salem grunts. "That makes sense, yes."

Luke says, "The next thing you have to think about is what you want to use to perform the rite. Nearly anything will work, and this is where the most variation will come in. I've seen someone use a french fry before, and the Uktena who taught me used stones that would point the direction with beams of light. The more thought you put into your ritual materials, the better you'll find the rite works." He reaches into his pocket, and pulls out what looks to be a small, rectangular stone on a string.

Salem mutters, "Kaz used french fries, I remember." He shakes his head a bit.

Luke says "This is my preference. I use a magnet, since it's already designed for tracking something. The rite just changes the focus from north to the target, and since it's associated with tracking through the wilderness and in the city. The cord you use can influence things. I'm just using string, here, since it's quick and easy. But if you want to give yourself a better chance of success, you can use materials that are more suited to your specific target and his environment. If you're hunting at night, you might use white or yellow cord, to symbolize lighting your path through the darkness. A chain might be more appropriate than a string, at times, or for you, a nylon cord, since it's a man-made material."

The Glass Walker nods. "Makes sense..."

Luke says "And that's really all there is to it. You craft your pointer, and then you focus on the target for a few moments and say the name. Pretty simple, though like anything else, the more effort you put into it, the better you're going to get back."

Salem nods. "In your experience," he asks, fingers steepled, "what sort of things will cause it to fail? Apart from things like not having a name or not being very familiar with your target?"

Luke says "Being too upset, and sometimes being in too good a mood can be as bad as being angry; basically anything that distracts you while you're searching. Sometimes the person is just too good at hiding, though that's more likely with Garou or spirits than with humans -- if they've got a strong enough power masking them, it can throw off Questing Stone altogether."

Salem grunts, nodding again. "All right," he says, sitting up. "Sounds simple enough, in theory." His tone is dry.

Luke chuckles faintly. "Remember that 'upset' part when it doesn't work the first couple of times. It does take practice. And I'd go all out on your 'compass' the first few times, especially. Until you've figured out the best way to get the spirits to acknowledge your rite, they may need the extra encouragement just to get interested."

Salem rubs his chin. "Yes... spirits and I don't get along very well sometimes. I never had much of a... knack, with them."

Luke says "It'll help some that you're not dealing directly with them, at least. That's one of the advantages to the rite."

"True. So." Salem straightens. "Anything else I should keep in mind before we move onto practice?"

Luke shakes his head. "That pretty much covers it."

Salem nods. "Good. When do we start?"

Luke says "As soon as you've got materials that suit you and inclination. Later today, or whenever is convenient for you."

Salem considers this. "I'll have to think about it. Tomorrow or the day after, perhaps?"

Luke nods. "I'll be around. Just head up to the northern edge of the bawn and howl, if I'm not at the farmhouse."

Salem pushes to his feet and brushes bits of dirt and such from his pants. "Excellent." The Walker shifts to lupus form and gives himself a shake.

Luke gathers up the bucket, emptying some water that remains in it onto the ground before starting off to the north.

Salem dips his head toward the Fianna before heading off back through the woods, presumably back to the city.