"Too many mages."

[hazlogs]

It is currently 07:23 Pacific Time on Wed Aug 2 2017.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is clear outside. The temperature is 55 degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric pressure reading is 30.06 and steady, and the relative humidity is 89 percent. The dewpoint is 52 degrees Fahrenheit (11 degrees Celsius.) For more detail, see: http://www.wunderground.com/cgi-bin/findweather/getForecast?query=98501

Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (65% full).

You step out of the forest and into the Sept Compound.

Bawn: The Sept Compound(#2075RAM)

Sweeping branches of evergreen pines form a sort of natural roof overshadowing most of this clearing. In the center is a fire pit with several old logs polished from use for seats. A separate stack of firewood is discreetly piled up at the base of an old spruce, protected from the damp by a tarp. At the edge of the clearing and extending back a bit into the woods resides a rough wooden structure with a slate tile roof. A stone slab rests off to one side of the clearing in a place of some prominence. Nestled in among the pines are a few hardy perennials--red alder, quaking aspen, and a big leaf maple or two--that, come spring, will create a profusion of color in the clearing.

(+view works here)

A faint trail leads off to the east, and a bit north.

Cool and clear is the weather in St. Claire today, and at this hour in the morning, the bawn is just waking up. At the compound, watching the last embers of the previous nights fire slowly smoulder, is a young woman crouched into a resting squat, eyes entirely focused on the fire pit.

It's humidity like this that makes one glad for a coat with guard hairs, even if the temperature isn't quite as hospitable to the large wolf that approaches from the path leading into the southern forest. She's panting to an extent that suggests both exertion and a bit of overheating, though her mouth closes as she spots the woman, her head raising; tilting, just enough to suggest a curious examination.

Ruin emerges from the woods accompanied by a rustle of undergrowth, unsmiling and vaguely tense, one hand half-buried in her thick hair and rubbing at a spot near her temples.
She's tall, somewhere around the six foot mark, long-limbed, college-aged. She has a medium build that's moderately feminine, facial features that are nothing remarkable, light brown skin that's largely free of acne or other blemishes, dark brown eyes that are usually hidden behind sunglasses, and long, thick black hair that falls well past her shoulders and displays no special styling whatsoever.
She's dressed all in black, from plain t-shirt to worn workpants with frayed knees and cuffs, from off-brand canvas sneakers to knee-length trenchcoat.

Jenelle doesn't look up right away, in fact, it seems that she may not be aware of others approaching at all, and that the eventual glance outward is just out of habit. Seeing company arriving, she pulls herself out of her current position and scoots back to sit on one of the logs. "Hello?" she offers up.
An average young woman in almost all regards, Jenelle stands at about 5'5" and has the look of someone who is day to day active but not too focused on fitness. She has a fair complexion, a petite nose, and an easy smile that feels warmly genuine. Bright, blue eyes take in her surroundings in a rather lackadaisical manner; amused but not overly concerned. Her hair is naturally black and long enough to hang past her shoulders, with carefree bangs that hang across her brow and often drape over her left eye. Often hard to see, there is a thin, vertical scar that crosses over that same eye. There's also a sense of old regality about her, though it may be hard to decipher at first glance given her rather easy-going posture.

Brings Winter's Bite sniffs the air for a moment, her ears pricked. Hello. That tail is up but still at an 'affable' level, giving a lazy back-and-forth wag to augment the greeting. Not long after that she shifts upwards into her breed form, stepping forward a couple paces, a nod offered to Ruin in greeting before her attention shifts back to Jenelle. "I don't believe we've met before," she says, once she's within a more conversational range.
Standing at 6', possessing a sturdy frame and a no-nonsense stare, this woman (visibly in her mid-to-late-30's) has a hardened edge to her that comes through in everything from her gait to her posture. Though not what one would call exceptionally attractive, she's easy on the eyes, her angular facial features defined and distinguished. Her hair, cropped short and parted to one side, is light blonde, the style sensible and easy to manage, the shade offering complement to blue eyes.
Her attire can be described in much the same way: sensible. A pair of charcoal khakis, a buttoned down dress shirt, and a pair of black, conservative heels. Her overall build is deceptively slender, visible, compact, and well-defined musculature blending pleasantly (but not altogether seamlessly) with feminine curvature. Indeed, there are only nods to femininity here and there, little touches such as makeup, but it's minimal: a hint of eyeliner, perhaps some lipstick, and not much else.

Ruin drops her hand away from her scalp, then offers a rather bland, "Good morning," to Sandra before turning her attention to Jenelle. (At least, she seems to; it's not easy to tell exactly where the metis is looking behind her sunglasses.)

Jenelle quiets under the scrutiny before taking in a deeper breath and nodding her head, "Jenelle Moravec. Wrath's Hollow Storm. Cliath Theurge of the Shadow Lords."

The metis is afforded an odd kind of double-take even as Sandra keeps the bulk of her attention on Jenelle. Something of an 'oh, right,' realization that takes effect in those moments, but it's set aside for the time being-- especially once tribe is mentioned. Her brows raise, "I wasn't aware there was a third lurking around," said mildly, a brief glance cast towards Ruin. "Sandra Ulrich," she says. "Brings Winter's Bite. Fostern Philodox. Shadow Lords." A pause. "And," she says, "apparently," this with a more dubious raise of her brow, "the defacto tribal elder of this sept."

"Brings-Ruin-To-The-Wyrm, or just Ruin," says the third member of the impromptu gathering, after a moment's look at Sandra; she seems unsurprised by the other's declaration of eldership. "Metis Cliath Ahroun of the Shadow Lords."

Jenelle blinks at Sandra, eyes narrowing harshly for a moment. That look hangs heavy on the Get-Lord before flipping briefly toward Ruin, head tilting to look her over. "Because Thane is gone?" is the only spoken reply once introductions are sorted.

Sandra meets the look without flinching, or at least without seeming to take it as an affront. "Yes," she replies, looking a touch curious. "He hadn't mentioned you to me when I met him, and he gave a fairly exhaustive run-down of most of the people I was liable to meet." There isn't an accusation in what's said, but there is a question in what can otherwise safely be classified as a statement.

The metis frowns at mention of Thane and slouches forward to take one of the other log-seats around the dying fire. "Maybe he forgot."

Jenelle gives a faint nod about Thane. "He seemed to be preoccupied with his agenda." A short pause, "And I was busy with my own I suppose." There's no hiding the cold tone that has slipped into her words during the discussion on the old elder. "I've been around. Kind of. Mostly shadow-side. I hadn't made many connections here, so it didn't register how long I'd been out of ... things."

Sandra arches her brow at Ruin's comment, "He forgot a lot of things," said dryly; not quite as coldly as what Jenelle says, but there's definite contempt in there. To what the Theurge says, she replies, "Well-- as it turns out, we're in need of more Theurges these days. I'm not sure how up to speed you are on the threats this sept is facing, currently, but I'd imagine anyone who's spent a prolonged period of time 'shadow-side' is at least aware of it." A pause. "That said, if our illustrious fleeing leader had anything to do with missed connections, I'd like to at least extend the offer to correct for that."

Jenelle studies Sandra a bit more now, nodding after a thoughtful pause. "Well, I came here more as a refugee than answering a call to arms. I didn't get too involved, but I know about the Tower, and the Queen and the Nothing." The last bit causes a shift in her demeanor that she doesn't hide very well.

"It's the last part that's been a more-- immediate threat, of late," Sandra replies, that brow staying arched for the moment, though it takes on a more curious tenor. "Or, at the very least, a threat we're finally paying attention to." A pause. "I take it you've had some dealings with it."

"An Echo. I saw it in the river, but it reacted to-" she pauses, "to something that got its attention and it started chasing me. I mean, it wasn't manifested, but it wasn't /nothing/ either. It doesn't make sense, but none of it ever does." Her eyes dip down then and she reaches up to pull her hair forward in a familiar manner of fidgeting. "Then the Old Mage called me."

Ruin listens quietly, with her head lowered and her visual attention apparently on her fingernails, which are trimmed short and have dirt under them.

"The old mage," Sandra says, her voice-- getting a bit tense for a moment. "How did he call you?"

Jenelle draws in a breath. "On my phone. It's not like he had my number. He called after it happened and it came up unknown. Then he was... very cryptic."

Ruin mutters something that sounds vaguely like, "Too many mages."

Whether or not Ruin's remark is intended to be heard, "Agreed," is still offered as an under-her-breath reply. "So far as I know," Sandra says to Jenelle, then, "'cryptic' is a running theme. But it seems it's a going theme with both of them." A pause. "What did he say, exactly?"

Jenelle brings a hand up to rub at her neck, some tension rolling into her shoulders. "A lot about echoes of what existed, but didn't exist. Like, memories of shadows or something?" She looks between the two, especially at mention of mages in the plural. "How many mages are here?"

"The one that is sometimes a cat," says Ruin, looking up. Her expression is all disapproval. "The one Thane gave territory to."

Sandra's expression gives way to a subtle tic of mirroring disapproval, noticeable enough to be present. "Not the easiest decision to undo when half of what's said to you is 'you couldn't possibly understand anyway,'" she says. "But, apparently, there are enough advocates for it amongst the higher ranks that it won't be undone anytime soon." She pauses-- shakes her head, and looks to Jenelle again. "In any event, that sounds roughly like the notes he's leaving here, these days. We're still trying to piece it together."

Jenelle gives a faint nod at this, "I saw it in the river. An outline. Kind of like maybe a chalk outline in the movies? When I went to touch it, it disappeared and then it got strange. I thought it might have been a spirit, but I don't know if it was or wasn't." She shrugs then, "Nothing's happened to me since though. So it might have been wrong time and place."

Ruin's brow furrows, and her frown deepens. She shakes her head in a 'no idea, above my paygrade' kind of way.

"Apparently," Sandra says, "according to the cat, it's because we haven't been thinking about it enough. He's suggested that it serves as its own 'lure' for the old mage; makes him prone to offer nudges in the 'right' direction, whatever that happens to be." A pause. She looks to Ruin, and says, "I take it all of none of this has been explained to you yet."

"The old mage is connected somehow, and wants to cease his own existence. It's like he's trapped up in this things strange real-not real reality." Jenelle looks toward Ruin as well then, curious for the answer and reaction.

"Doesn't surprise me that he wants to end his own existence," Sandra says, brow raising, "but you'd be the first to point it out. And the first person to whom he's been more-- explicit about it." A pause. "That does lend to the question of whether or not he cares what happens afterwards," is noted, more as a thinking-out-loud aside.

Jenelle looks up thoughtfully, but shakes her head. "It's a tricky scenario. If he's so desperate and so old, he could be very willing to lead toward a working solution. But, like you said, the aftermath does not affect him. So at what cost." She sighs. "Nolan! Is he still around? He was doing some digging on this. And the Mountain. We have to talk to the Mountain."

Ruin shakes her head again and back to her feet. She mutters an excuse me (or something like that; enunciation apparently isn't her thing today) and heads back out of the compound.

From the direction of the Caern, comes a sizable person crunching through the undergrowth at the edge of the compound with a third crunch to each step. He resolves through the trees shortly after as Jamethon, that spear of his used as an idle walking stick causing the third sound. He seems to be not exactly heading here at first, just passing through, but seeing those already present he stops and uses the spear to give a vague sense of a wave.

"Of course," Sandra says as Ruin moves elsewhere. "I'd like to speak to you again soon, if possible. I'd like us all on the same page on this." Then, to Jenelle, she says, "And yes, Nolan is still here. He's also again put forward the trek to the mountain to speak to it. So far as I'm aware, that should be happening fairly soon."

A glance is cast in Jamethon's direction not long after, "Gatekeeper," offered by way of greeting.