Cleansing Salem

[hazlogs]

[2/15/98]

Currently the moon is in the waning Gibbous Moon phase (77% full). 
Currently on this calm and freezing winter night in the general St. Claire
  area, it is 25 degrees Fahrenheit (-3.9 degrees Celsius). The wind is
  coming from the west at 1.6 mph. The ground is normal. Skies are clear
  with a definite chance of precipitation.

Forest North of I-90(#2354RAh)
The forest is thinner here than it is south of the highway, though it is still 
  difficult to see for far. Signs of human habitation break the stretch of 
  woods every few miles; roads, paths, farms, and the occasional 
  out-of-the-way home remind you that civilization is encroaching, though in 
  this area, the battle is not yet decided. Hardwoods mix with towering firs 
  and smaller trees, still concealing some of nature's hidden places from the 
  nearby humans.
The forest spreads north from Interstate 90, which delineates the souther edge 
  of this area. Marked by logging areas, farms, and other signs of human 
  presence in places, the woods are still relatively unoccupied by humans.

Sepdet glances back at Alexandra. ~Well, looks like this is the place.~

Alexandra nods. "That it does.

Morgan makes sure Salem walks ahead of her, as they emerge out of the 
  treeline. She has a restrained, but tense mood swirling around her, and she 
  gives a terse nod to both Striders as they make their way closer. Glancing 
  over to the Ronin, she says, "This is Jack Salem. He's our pack's 
  reclaimation project right now." Her eyes glitter, reflecting her emotions 
  and the moon. "But he stinks of the Wyrm. I'm glad you could help me."

Sepdet falls into step behind and to one side of the Fury, eying the ronin 
  warily. ~Oh, maybe that's why he was acting that way,~ she mutters under her 
  breath doubtfully. More loudly, ~Arlen said you had a problem. Glad t'help. 
  Alexandra here's not a theurge, but she's got strong hands.~

Alexandra smiles, nodding. "If nothing else, I can incline him to take a nap 
  while you're working on him."

Salem has the leather duster closed and belted, with the collar turned up 
  against the night chill. His expression is tense and surly, at best, and the 
  rage that pulses under his flesh is almost tangible. A muscle near his right 
  eye twitches slightly, but he says nothing.

[Sepdet]
        This tiny brown slip of a Strider moves with a halting grace, often 
  supporting herself with an unadorned staff of gray polished wood. Arms, 
  hands, and bare calloused brown feet are lean and bony, showing traces of 
  old scars. Her face is no longer quite a child's, but grown wilder with age: 
  African features slightly distorted by a thrust-forward lower jaw which, 
  however, has a deer's delicacy; full lips; angular cheekbones; and slightly 
  weathered mahogany skin dusted all over with a fine black down of fur.
        She wears an enveloping dark wool kaftan or cloak smelling of herbs, 
  now so ripped and travel-stained that its form and color are impossible to 
  determine. Gifts of friends living and dead cluster on a leather cord around 
  her neck: a red fish, a silvery-white knife curved like a crescent moon, a 
  wooden ankh stained brown down one side, an engraved cartouche, and a small 
  beaded medicine wheel.

[Morgan]
She stands just over 5' 8" tall and has the lean, toned twenty-something 
  athletic body of a dancer, kept very much in form. Her movements are 
  graceful, carefully chosen and economic of motion. She makes even the simple 
  act of walking seem like some step in a dance that she follows unconsciously 
  in her mind. She has a subtle, ethereal beauty: delicate, high cheek bones 
  in her face are set off by a pair of intense piercing blue eyes, further 
  highlighted by her long, deep brown hair, currently pulled back in a pony 
  tail. 
The collar of her heavy forest green corduroy shirt peeks out over her 
  insulated, down quilted coat. She's wearing a pair of snug black denim 
  jeans, and she's got a pair of Timberlake hiking shoes. A delicate gold 
  chain circles her neckline.

Listeners present:
Name                Sex  Form    Doing
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Salem                M   Homid   Surly. Grumpy. Cranky. 
Morgan               F   Homid   - 
Alexandra            F   Homid   - 
Sepdet               F   Glabro  -

[Alex]
Alexandra stands all of 5'4", with deep red (nearly black) hair that's caught 
  back in a single long braid that hangs to her knees. Her features are fine 
  and sharp, but with the fineness of damascus steel, rather than that of 
  china. Her skin is dusky, and if she weren't alive and breathing, she could 
  easily be mistaken for a statue of Isis. Her deep green eyes blaze with a 
  passionate fire. She's wearing a tight black leather motorcyle racing 
  jumpsuit, zipped up the front as far as needed for what she's doing at the 
  moment. Above the left breast is a cloisonne pin, interlaced pink and blue 
  triangles producing a purple triangle in the center, all overlaid by a large 
  red Germanic 'Z'. High boots come nearly to her knees, strapped down tight 
  around her calves like a racer's boots. Crossed belts hang low on her hips, 
  one holding the holster for a big gun, the other holding a mucking big knife.
Alexandra returns your gaze with a regal, unwavering gaze of her own.
Her voice is low and husky, almost caressing each word as she says it.

Sepdet succeeds fairly well in concealing her disquiet at Salem and dons a 
  neutral, purposeful expression. She does keep darting wary glances at him, 
  however, like a bird monitoring a sleeping cat.

Morgan's lips curl into a faint smirk, and she nods again. "Unfortunately, 
  Jack doesn't believe there's anything wrong with him." Her voice pauses, as 
  she take an opportunity to draw a calming breath. "We're playing with simple 
  rules tonight, ladies." She once again eyes the Ronin, wary of his size and 
  his auspice, though she looks outwardly fearless, like a true daughter of 
  Weasel. "If he frenzies, he's dead."

Salem's eyes flick toward Alexandra, unimpressed, and then move toward Sepdet. 
  His eyes narrow as he stares at the tiny Strider, a frown tugging his lips 
  as his mind tugs at the edges of recognition. Morgan's words distract him 
  from the mental game of place-the-face, and he scowls.

Alexandra cocks an eyebrow and looks over the male, appraising him with the 
  confidence of experience.

Sepdet scans him boot to glaring eye, taking mental notes. ~Very well,~ she 
  says, with faint resignition.

The muscles in Salem's jaw clench as, in the periphery of his vision, he notes 
  Alexandra's stare. Taking his hands out of his pockets, he folds his arms 
  across his chest and glowers steadfastedly at the ground.

Morgan swallows once and unhitches the backpack she's brought along. It falls 
  the ground with a soft thud, and soon she's spreading out an old blanket on 
  the forest floor. "Strip and lay down," she tells Salem. She pulls out a 
  bowl, a packet of sea salts, a small red velvet bag. Arranging these beside 
  the backpack, she starts off into the forest. "I need to find the right tree 
  branch. Watch him, please, until I get back."

Sepdet takes up position on opposite side of the ronin from Alexandra and 
  shifts up, taking no chances.
Sepdet contorts and blurs as she is transformed.
Sepdet shifts into Crinos form.

Alexandra leans on her staff, watching Salem with....interest.

Sepdet mutters something in Egyptian to Alexandra that translates roughly to, 
  "Don't poke the croc."

Salem eyes Morgan for a second or two, then shrugs and does as instructed, the 
  hawkish planes of his face set into a tight mask that in its stillness 
  reveals the depth of his tension. His skin goosepimples immediately in the 
  cold air, but he still says nothing. His build's athletic, ropy and lean of 
  muscle, unmarked but for two places. One is a scar, the honor glyph slashed 
  through on his right shoulderblade. The other appears to be a handprint on 
  his chest. A Crinos-sized handprint, with seven fingers. This latter mark 
  is... odd. It's not a burn, a scar, or a tattoo... more like a light 
  impression made in clay, unnatural. Without looking at either Strider, he 
  lies down on the blanket and laces his fingers together on his stomach.

Alexandra smiles and nods to Sepdet.

Morgan disappears into the surrounding treeline and occasionally there is a 
  distant rustle among the underbrush and then she returns, carrying with her 
  a willowy young branch, still semi-tender, even though it's winter. She's 
  frowning faintly as her selection and glances at Sepdet. "It's all I could 
  find," she mutters. "Winter's still here." She makes that comment grimly. 
  She comes to stand over Salem and offers him an easy smile. "I don't expect 
  this to take too long," she tells him. "So don't be thinking about the cold. 
  You can help this go faster if you concentrate. I know the moon is still 
  fat, but try to shut out... everything but your connection to Gaia." She 
  sets the branch next to the backpack and looks at the other two Garou, with 
  a faint smile. "No two tribes have the same Rite of Cleansing, I think 
  sometimes," she begins in explanation. "I'm going to use each of these items 
  to represent one of the four basic elements of nature. Once we're finished, 
  he should be purged."

Sepdet doesn't look too closely, but there is a split second's caculation 
  while she attempts to figure out what on earth kind of spirit or gift could 
  have done _that_. However, she is mostly watching Salem's hands, these being 
  the next best signal besides eyes that someone's about to bolt.,
Sepdet picks up a waterskin (which, doubtless, she would have remembered to 
  bring having been doing this rite since cubhood.) ~I use water,~ she replies 
  softly, ~But know your form too. Water helps with the purging especially. 
  So.~

Salem grunts his acknowledgement to Morgan. Otherwise, apart from the 
  coiled-spring tension and barely-controlled rage, he's being a good boy. So 
  far.

Alexandra slips back a half-step, allowing slightly more maneuvering room.

Sepdet uncorks the waterskin (its cap is attatched by a small red cord) and 
  reslings it over her shoulder, circling the area once to test the currents 
  and scan sideways for any unwanted visitors, Realmside or Shadow.

Morgan gives a quiet murmur of agreement to Sepdet, and nods towards the bowl. 
  She picks up the wooden container and hands it to the Metis Strider. "Let's 
  start with water, to air, to fire, and finally earth." Running her hand back 
  through her hair, she sighs. "I should have found a fourth so that each 
  element could be someone's responsibility. But, I don't want to waste any 
  more time. Sepdet, why don't you and I alternate elements?"

Sepdet takes a step backwards, almost stumbling, before shaking her head to 
  clear it. She holds out a hand for the bowl a bit distractedly, giving 
  Morgan a thin wan smile. ~When Arlen said tainted, I didn't realize she 
  meant he had the devil's circus playing toss-stones over him. Yah.~ She 
  takes up the bag too, looking bemused.

Morgan frowns at Sepdet, glancing at Salem. "What do you mean?"

Salem moves his eyes toward the tiny Strider Crinos, his frown deepening, lips 
  compressing into a thin line.

Sepdet flutters the hand with the bag towards the air over Salem. ~Big cloud 
  of Wyrm stuff about here. Bane. Little tag-alongs fluttering around. We may 
  have to fight, if the damn things try to come through the Gauntlet.~

Alexandra's eyes light up and she smiles.....

Salem folds his arms over his chest, jaws and teeth clenched. He mutters 
  quietly under his breath in Serbian, irritation straining against the bonds 
  of his self-control.

Morgan gives a small growl of annoyance, but nods. "Maybe their poisons are 
  seeping into his spirit," she mutters. "Shall we begin?" she asks Sepdet, 
  her mood even more taut than before.

Sepdet nods, having fallen into that wind-inspired distracted calm which helps 
  steady her nerves for any spirit-magic. ~Check.~ She takes a deep breath and 
  moves to the head of Salem, standing over him and breathing deeply for a 
  moment and if grasping for something. Then she pours the bowl half-full, 
  dips her fingertips into it, and starts scattering drops over him. ~Water, 
  Gaia's tears, wash away the bitter storm. Calm the sea.~

Alexandra slips around to cover the area where neither theurge is.

Salem twitches slightly as the water hits his skin, upper lip curling briefly 
  upwards. His throat works, brutally suppressing the growl that wants to pass 
  unbidden from his lips. He fixes his gaze on a point in the night sky, 
  shivering.

Morgan's breathing laspses into a practiced calmness, as she concentrates on 
  the rite and it's form, as the small crinos Strider begins the process of 
  purging the Ronin's spiritual wounds. "Air, breath of life, and of sustained 
  life, breathe new life into this Garou's spirit. Sacred wind of the Earth 
  Mother, hear my words." She waves the willowy branch over the Ronin, causing 
  a small breeze to pass over his naked form.

Sepdet begins to hum in a low, soothing voice, a subliminal sound more felt 
  than heard. ~Fire, bearer of life's heat, burn clean his spirit.~ She shakes 
  out some of the red dust from the bag, which falls in puffs and scatters 
  like small sparks from a grass-fire.

Salem _does_ growl this time, the sound mingled with a curse in Serbian. He 
  squeezes his eyes shut, pressing the heel of one hand against his forehead 
  like a man plagued by a sudden stabbing headache.

Ash arrives from the south of I-90.
Ash has arrived.

Alexandra spins her staff, suddenly flipping it from planted in the ground, up 
  and across her shoulders, then tucking it under an arm like a spear....

Sepdet resumes her humming quickly, but keeps it steady and soft, a soporific 
  mantra that at least is _trying_ to serve as a lullabye.

Morgan drops into a graceful crouch by Salem's side, as Sepdet finishes and 
  gathers a handful of dirt. Her outward facade is still calm, fearless. 
  "Earth, food of all life, root of our strength and the body of the Great 
  Mother, fill in the holes of this Garou's spirit, so that his connection to 
  Gaia might flower again brilliantly." Staying crouched, she grinds the dirt 
  slowly in her fingers, letting the small chunks diffuse across the Ronin's 
  torso. Brushing off her hands, she puts her hands lightly on Salem's 
  forehead. "I call on the strength of Gaia to infuse you with new spirit, a 
  pure spirit, whole from Her, and with Her love." She then rises slowly, 
  exhaling a tight breath.

Sepdet circles around to his feet, placing her hands on the ground behind 
  each. ~Gaia, ground and anchor him against the storm. He now has the power 
  to breathe free.~

Salem's hand moves as Morgan touches him, a jerking spasm, a slap quickly 
  aborted, almost too late. Gritting his teeth, Salem folds his arms across 
  his chest again, breath puffing out in clouds that dissapate in the winter 
  air. He doesn't seem any less calm, and in fact seems -- if possible -- a 
  notch tenser.

Morgan grumbles, as she watches her charge. "Fuck," she mutters in a harsh 
  sounding whisper. "Something's not right," she says, pointing out the 
  obvious. She limbers her back, as her face turns into a feral rictus of 
  teeth, followed shortly by her transformation to crinos. ~Perhaps it's time 
  to chase off the collection of spirits he's attracted.~ She lopes out into 
  the forest on all fours. ~There's a stream not far to reach through.~ She 
  looks glad, for once, that's it still a big moon.

Ash slips among the shadows of the trees like a black ghost.

Alexandra nods and stands guard over the male.....

Sepdet chugs after, not bothering to shift down. ~Grotto,~ she echoes curtly. 
  ~I was afraid of this.~

Salem unfolds his arms and sits up in one swift movement, scowling. "What the 
  hell--?"

Ash scrambles back out of the way of the crinos kloping through the woods, 
  ears pricked.

Sepdet says curtly to Ash as we head for the brook, ~Bane in the umbra. 
  Garbage pickup time.~ Then she flickers through, and comes jogging back, a 
  bit more warily as she starts trying to figure out how the heck to deal with 
  this kind of mess.

Ragedancer crosses over just before Sepdet, and then waits for the Strider to 
  show her where she had seen the enemy.

Ash tilts her ears towards each other and pads a bit closer to Salem, nose 
  twitching.

In the Umbra, the Wyrm spirits continue to hover over the place where, 
  Realmside, Salem's still sitting on the blanket. The main spirit is a 
  medium-sized gaffling; it looks like a cross between a human-sized 
  thundercloud and a swarm of tiny gnats. All around it are smaller banes, 
  hanging around like feeder fish following a shark.

Sepdet sets her hands on hips. ~This is why I was hoping the cleansing might 
  work. But it's just a damn rage.~ She grimaces. ~We're gonna get chewed up 
  on this, Morgan, but I don't know any other way to get at these wretched 
  things.~ With that, she starts circling in with claws, eyes squinted against 
  the stray wyrmy gnat.

In the Umbra, many of the tiny 'feeder' banes flit off at the approach of the 
  Garou, zipping away toward the west with the speed of terrified minnows. The 
  cloud, though, continues to hover, pulsing slightly; it emits a low buzzing 
  noise, just out of range of hearing.

Ash crouches for a long moment, looking at Salem. Then she glances at 
  Alexandra warningly and turns to dash to the stream and blink through.

Alexandra nods and keeps her post.

Ragedancer gives a warning howl to the spirits, and then she charges for the 
  central gaffling, her lupus challenge succinct and obvious. She goes in low, 
  quickly, and speedy, imitating her pack's totem spirit.

Sepdet goes in high with claws, aiming for glancing blows and strikes like a 
  nettling overgrown horsefly. Her old coyote-training is still somewhat 
  hampered by her stubborn joints, so she's not half as quick or tricky with 
  this as she used to be.

Ash slides through the Gauntlet and freezes for a moment, studying the battle 
  with bright eyes before trying to offer assistance.

Salem scowls at Ash, then at Alexandra, then at an innocent clump of dead 
  grass. He rubs at his forehead again, muttering under his breath, counting 
  slowly backwards from fifty, in his father's tongue.

In the Umbra, the Wyrm gaffling buzzes in anger at the Fury's howl, his cloudy 
  form oozing slowly upward as Morgan and Sepdet's claws pass through the 
  boundries of its shape. Though there is no blood, and indeed no sensation of 
  hitting anything, the Bane's buzzing pitch goes up several notches, giving 
  both Garou the unpleasurable sensation of having tiny bugs in their ears.

And, in the Realm, Salem jerks as the Bane is hit, hands going to his forehead 
  as if in sudden pain.

Ragedancer grunting out a feral sounding snarl, she utters a word in spirit 
  speech, her voice carrying the full tonal weight of one of Gaia's gifts. 
  *Leave!* she bellows, still swiping with her claws.

Alexandra watches Salem quietly, keeping her post

Ash decides the two of them are handling it and slips to the other side to 
  check on Salem again, creeping closer to him.

In the Umbra, as soon as the command leaves Ragedancer's muzzle, the spirit 
  lets out a buzzing shriek and vanishes, leaving a handful of the tiny 
  'feader' banes to mill about like confused fish.

Alexandra stands guard over Salem.

Sepdet, umbraside, gives Morgan a rather envious look as the roiling cloud of 
  excrement takes off. She gives an irritable swipe at the small fry and 
  mutters something under her breath.

Realmside, Salem's head jerks, face twisting into a grimace of fleeting pain. 
  He rubs at at his temples again, muttering.

Umbra-side, two of the feeder banes shrivel up and die, vanishing, while the 
  rest dart off and vanish.

Ash crouches near Salem, staring at him.

Ragedancer takes a slow breath through her muzzle, reining in her own fury, as 
  the spirits wither or seek greener pastures. Her lip twitches, as she 
  watches Sepdet, her eyes still lit with her anger. ~Thanks,~ she growls, as 
  she takes the more lithe wolf form.

Salem, still shivering -- and no wonder, with nothing but skin against the 
  cold -- unfolds himself from a hunched position and turns to glower back at 
  Ash.

Listeners present:
Name                Sex  Form    Doing
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Ash                  F   Lupus   - 
Salem                M   Homid   Surly. Grumpy. Cranky. 
Ragedancer           F   Lupus   - 
Alexandra            F   Homid   - 
Sepdet               F   Crinos  -

Sepdet looks faintly more satisfied. ~Thank _you_. Gotta learn that one soon.~ 
  She follows back at a slower pace to the stream near the grotto.

Ash slowly splays one ear at the ronin, eyes never leaving him, posture 
  otherwise solemn.

Salem grits his teeth and forcibly jerks his eyes away from Ash, one hand 
  closing on the edge of he blanket, twisting it in the prison of his fingers.

Ragedancer trots back from the grotto, having crossed the Gauntlet there. Her 
  ears splay in curiousity as she looks at Salem, and makes her report. We are 
  finished. The spirits are gone.

Wears-the-Blue trails back after her, slower to pass through the gauntlet. He 
  looks at the nekkid ronin with thinly concealed amusement.

Arlen steps into the forest from Interstate 90.
Arlen has arrived.

Salem frowns, regarding Morgan with the awkward, sidelong glance that he's 
  taken to using to avoid the temptations of dominance stares.

Ash remains crouched near the ronin, staring at him intently. Her eyes linger 
  on the scars, and then dart brightly up to his face again.

Sepdet chugs back a little stiffly, still a bit wiped out from Feralia a few 
  nights ago. As she pulls up behind Morgan, she glances down at Salem 
  professionally. ~How does the head feel?~ She takes a cautious sniff, not 
  getting too close.

Ragedancer's eyes don't stray from the Ronin's, almost inviting him to stare 
  her down. She shows her front teeth to the Ronin, agressively showing her 
  current mood, and her hackles raise. A clear sign she's still not taking any 
  of his bullshit dominance games. Her breath starts to slow some and then, 
  she shifts up and into her homid form, looking placid and controlled.

Sepdet heaves an irritable sigh. ~Hate to tell you, Morgan, but, um...he still 
  stinks. And it's not just his sparkling personality.~

Salem doesn't seem inclined to start any bullshit dominance games, which is 
  most likely a good thing. He doesn't even say anything at Sepdet's 
  pronouncement, though the muscle near his eye twitches and his jaw remains 
  clenched.

"Great," comes the Fury's voice, in a low, soft tone. "We could try the Rite 
  again, I suppose. Perhaps closer to dawn." She closes her eyes and sighs 
  very softly.

Sepdet picks up the bag of sand and shifts down now, confident that someone 
  else will probably deck him if he suddenly gets tired of being poked and 
  goes for the midget's throat. ~I'm willing to give it another try,~ she says 
  cheerfully. ~Arlen could give us a hand this time. And maybe Mr. Blue here 
  or Ash?~
Sepdet contorts and blurs as she is transformed.
Sepdet shifts into Glabro form.

Ash flicks an ear back at Sepdet. Who is he?

Wears-the-Blue flicks a noncomittal ear at Morgan. Clearly, he'll do it if she 
  tells him to.

Arlen comes loping in, nose to the ground, and shifts up, soon after arriving.

"If we're going to wait," says Salem, speaking up finally. "Do you mind if I 
  at least have my fucking coat back?" He keeps his eyes fixed on a patch of 
  ground, and his tone is thick and harsh, colored by an accent that's usually 
  inaudible. His eyes flick toward Sepdet as the Strider shifts, and with an 
  air of resignation, he unfolds his arms and lies down again.

Morgan gives a tired shrug to Salem. "Sure, get your coat. I know it's 
  freezing." She inhales, and then gives Arlen a quick touch on the shoulder. 
  "I'm going back to Davy's van for a bit, maybe catch a nap. Come and get me 
  if you need me, alright?"

Arlen nods at Morgan, putting a soft hand on her arm, and asks, "Take it it 
  didn't work?"

Morgan shakes her head, moving slowly through the forest. "Not yet," she says. 
  "Sepdet can fill you in. I'll try to be back here around dawn. We're going 
  to try again. Keep an eye on our guest, will you?"

Sepdet nods to Morgan and moves over to put the sand-bag back in the Fury's 
  pack for her. ~Tried to paint the pot before shaping the clay. There were 
  wyrm-things otherside, interfering with the Rite. Gone now.~

[Editor's note: By this time, it was about 5am or so and people were
dropping.  Basically, they did the cleansing again, getting rid of the
residual taint.  Salem's Rage was knocked down a point, from 9 to 8.]