Visions in Firelight

[hazlogs]

The Sept Compound(#2075RAM)
This clearing has recently undergone a bit of construction, though it seems 
  that at least some attempt has been made to keep the new structures 
  harmonious with the landscape around them. The central area is dominated by 
  a cookfire; in the southwest corner a shelter has been dug into the earth 
  and covered, while to the northwest, an open-air cabin of sorts has been 
  built. Except for the area around the fire, it seems nature has been allowed 
  to take its course. However, a student of such things might think that some 
  minimal landscaping or planning has been done, for the meadowlike profusion 
  of grasses and other plants has an unusually high concentration of brilliant 
  flowers, which attract a number of bees and butterflies.
A faint trail leads off to the east, and a bit north.
Contents:
Paul(#2146PJOce$)
Jessie
Moon Raven
Fledge(#3122Jq)
Current Compound Residents (Updated: Apr 27)
Windchimes
Obvious exits:
Ash Grove  Groundskeeper's Shelter  Faint Trail  

It is currently 17:34 Pacific Time on Thu May 1 1997.
Currently on this breezy and warm spring sunset in the general St. Claire 
  area, it is 67 degrees Fahrenheit (19.4 degrees Celsius). The wind is coming 
  from the north-northeast at 9.45 mph. The ground is wet. Skies are clear 
  with a definite chance of precipitation.
Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent Moon phase (36% full).

Paul waves to the folks in the clearing and drops down on a log.
Jessie yawns and heads to the Shelter.
Erik appears at the edge of the compound, lingering in the shadow of the trees.
Jessie walks around the length of the low mound in the southwest edge of the 
  clearing, ducks down, and disappears from view.
Jessie has left.
Paul's brow furrows as he absently gives the fire a branch or two, lost to his 
  surroundings for the moment.
Erik steps forward into the light, his arms across over his chest and his head 
  lowered, his movements slow as he sits down by the fire.
Randall enters the compound.
Randall has arrived.
Erik pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them, burying his 
  head.
From inside the Groundskeeper's Shelter, there comes a noise. Distressed, 
  female, carrying to the clearing easily.
Erik's head comes up immediately, turning toward the shelter.
Paul looks sharply towards the Shelter, abstraction fading a little.
Randall emerges from the forest at an easy pace, heading in the direction of 
  the cook fire.
Siobhan climbs out of the entrance to the buried shelter nestled among the 
  trees to the southwest.
Siobhan has arrived.
Siobhan steps out from the shelter, looking as unrefreshed as one possibly 
  can, after having supposedly rested. She makes her way over to her Elder's 
  side, nodding greetings at all present, although admittedly distractedly.
Paul asks towards the Shelter, "Wayf?"
Moon Raven nuzzles Siobhan peacefully, and returns to gazing at the fire.
Erik shifts his weight a little, vaguely uneasy.
The fire crackles and pops abruptly, shooting sparks into the air that land 
  and roll on the dusty ground before sizzling out.
Erik twitches visibly, like a startled deer.
Randall frowns uncertainly, looking at the Garou in the clearing to try and 
  determine what is amiss.
Siobhan jumps a little, before returning to her usual mask of calm. She darts 
  a quick, almost apologetic glance at Moon Raven.
Paul looks back at the fire sharply. Jumpy too. And still a little distracted.
It seems the fire changes some, gathering itself together, colors rippling 
  across the edges. There seems to be-- something else in the Compound now, 
  something watching.
Erik leans forward slightly, clearly nervous now, as evidence by his body 
  language and scent, the rasp of his breath.
Siobhan looks skyward, eyes searching. Her posture is tense.
Paul seems to be splitting his attention twixt Siobhan, the oddly behaving 
  fire, and something internal.
Abruptly, the fire stops crackling, and begins to shimmer, and a shape appears 
  in the flames, moving slowly.
Randall eyes the fire and the rippling air above it, his hand straying to the 
  hilt of his Klaive. "What on earth...?" he utters.
Paul says quietly, "No wyrm."
Erik utters a soft, quiet moan.
Paul watches the flames, but asks absently, "Is this what woke you, Siobhan?"
Siobhan looks back down at the fire, eyes widening. She edges back a little. 
  "Things in fires...I don't have much luck with, brother. No...not this. 
  Ravens woke /me/." She looks perplexed, eyeing the fire cautiously.
The shape flows into existance, taking source from the air and heat around it. 
  For a moment, moisture dances in the air above, and it is if a tiny bolt of 
  lighting, of storm, arches towards the blade, for blade it is.
"Ravens?" echoes Randall, his eyes leaving the fire only briefly to look in 
  Way Finder's direction.
Siobhan doesn't answer the Shadow Lord, eyes instead on the blade in the 
  flames.
Paul's jaw drops slightly and he says, "Good lord." His attention is ALL on 
  the sight before him now. "I was just thinking about this."
Randall's jaw positively drops as the apparition of the blade appears.
Erik remains silent and tense, one hand closed around the strap of the violin 
  case in a death-grip.
Paul strives not to blink. "I think. Where? WHat's the first step on the road? 
  Finding the storm?"
Randall breathes out, almost inaudibly the word 'Grandfather'.
The blade becomes more and more real, moving away from the fire, higher, and 
  closer to the viewers. The edge, bright and silver, is as clear and sharp as 
  a star, and every detail can be made out on the dark-wrapped hilt, every 
  detail but the glyph inscribed there.
Spirit-of-Words emerges from off the faint animal trail wending eastwards.
Spirit-of-Words has arrived.
Siobhan tilts her head, breath held while the blade approaches.
Blackstripe emerges from off the faint animal trail wending eastwards.
Blackstripe has arrived.
Paul almost reaches out to the image turning solid in front of him. Almost. 
  Instead he tilts his head and watches it intently. Setting every detail that 
  can be made out to memory, or trying.
Randall takes a subconscious step forward before stopping himself, wary of 
  anything which chooses to manifest as a weapon.
Blackstripe arrives at a ground-eating trot just ahead of Spirit of Words, 
  having heard the faint sounds of something out of the ordinary going on. She 
  pulls up at the fringes, nose and ears moving alertly before proceeding in.

Moon Raven pages to Paul, Spirit-of-Words, Erik, Blackstripe, Siobhan, and 
  Randall: And yes, it does seem to be coming towards /you/, whoever you are, 
  whereever you are.

Lightning plays over the edge of the blade, tiny sparks dancing like they're 
  alive.
Erik remains where he is by an effort of will, unable to drag his attention 
  away.
Rosa Pinay creeps closer to the edge of the clearing, behind her shadowed, 
  leafy bower, listening, stealthy.
Paul rises to his feet, eyes narrowing with some belated caution as the 
  manifesting blade becomes both more interesting, and more threatening, 
  moment by moment.
There is something indescribably beautiful about the blade, in its sweetly 
  simple lines and the aura of age and spirit it has. The blade rises up, 
  until it is standing on its point, and slows its advance.
Spirit-of-Words blinks, eyes going very, very wide as the weapon moves through 
  the air. He gives a quick chuff to the Athro, his voice sounding a bit 
  alarms. Do you know what that is, rhya?
Erik murmurs a prayer in Gaelic.
Paul says softly, "Maybe it's time. Or someone wants us to think it is."
Siobhan rises also, hesitantly. She passes a hand underneath the blade, 
  closely, but not touching.
Randall asks out of the corner of his mouth, "You know something about this?"
Spirit-of-Words motions subduedly he thinks it might be the Sword in Sky. It 
  ... the stories of it's coming have been told more and more by the gibbous 
  moons of late. And some say it will return, be found, soon.
Blackstripe is studying the blade and the area around it in focused attention. 
  It is an image. But there is a powerful spirit attached to it.
Paul bites his lip. "Scott told a story," he says distractedly. "I've been 
  putting some thought into looking for the subject. And, um. It could be 
  coincidence entire, but." He reaches out and spreads his fingers to gingerly 
  attempt to touch the hilt, eyes still wide.
Rosa Pinay peers, and measures with her eyes the dimensions of the moment.
The hilt isn't quite close enough to touch, it seems, although there are 
  clearly no strings above or below it. It hangs there for a moment, and there 
  is a growing silence, like the silence before a storm, that muffles all the 
  sounds within it.
Rosa Pinay sees enough, and withdraws the way she came, the acrobat's high 
  road through the branches.
Rosa Pinay has left.
Spirit-of-Words flicks an ear in acknowledgement to the other Fang, and takes 
  a half step closer to the blade, sniffing at the air as he does so.
Spirit-of-Words squints at the blade, tilting his head to the side. He 
  addresses the air, or the image, it's hard to tell which, asking a single 
  question. Where?
Siobhan admires the blade, cautiously still, and then lifts her eyes to her 
  packmate's face. "It could be." She echoes.
A cold wind blows, bringing sudden mists into the Compound. The blade shines 
  brighter yet, the light turning whiter as the mists start to obscure it.
Paul murmurs, "Fog. Secrets. Clouds."
Blackstripe turns an ear towards Spirit of Words, picking up on the fact that 
  he spoke, but puzzled as to the cause. Her attention seeming to be straining 
  to focus on a spot above the sword, she asks in spirit *Why do you show us 
  this?*
There is a chorus of voices in response, a rumbling one, a hissing one and a 
  bleating, sad voice, voices that bounces off the trees and have no 
  discernable source. *It is time...there is no more time...*
Erik utters another quiet moan.
Paul lets out a breath. "Well, hell." *And who shall seek you?*
Siobhan lifts her face to the wind, and sends out a questioning tune, softly.
The light from the sword fades, and for a long moment, there is only cold 
  mist, growing thicker and thicker.
Paul mphs. "Don't suppose anyone has favors owed by fog?"
There is one last hint of the chorus, before the silnce and cold of the mist 
  overwhelms it. *Many shall be called...* And then there is only silence, and 
  cold, and loss.
Paul whispers something into a breath of wind, eyes still on the fog.
Spirit-of-Words looks over to the Athro Fang, and swallows hard, asking what 
  the spirit said?
There is a brisk east wind, then, blowing away the cold mist and bringing a 
  breath of spring, and the mist is gone. All is as it was, the fire dancing 
  merrily.
Christian enters the compound.
Christian has arrived.
Siobhan nods faintly, looking at Paul meaningfully. "Many..."
Paul says, "From all sides, no doubt."
Blackstripe sniffs at the wind, then relaxes, looking over to Spirit of Words. 
  It was a Chimera spirit. She pauses, tilting her head, then rights it. Which 
  makes sense. It says it is time, there is no time, and that many will be 
  called to seek it. What do you know of the sword, you seemed to.
Paul smiles broadly, and chuckles to himself.
A shudder goes through the tall, masked figure by the fire.
Paul whispers under his breath, eyes turning to the Athro and Galliard after a 
  glance at Erik.
Christian comes into the Compound, amazed at the number of people gathered. He 
  bows slightly. "Evening."
Spirit-of-Words's expression darkens as he hears the part about there being no 
  time. He relates to the other Fang that the coming of the falling star that 
  does not fall in the night sky is supposed to be a portent of the return of 
  a great weapon. A lune was so impressed by the deed of one of our kind that 
  it gave itself as weapon to him, in the form of a Klaive. Near the time of 
  his death, he flung the weapon into the great nothing, saying it would 
  return when it was needed most. He adds after a pause, during the Last Days, 
  so it might be wielded by a great hero in the Last Battle.
Siobhan settles back, sparing a quick glance towards Erik, before slumping a 
  little. "Ravens in dreams. Blades in flames. Just an average night, 
  methinks." Her wry tone is quiet, and doesn't travel far beyond those 
  gathered by the fire.
Blackstripe looks at the spot the image once was, then back to the Galliard. 
  And you think that the Chimera was showing you this? Why?
Paul shifts a little uncomfortably on his log.
Spirit-of-Words shifts his weight a little. He is not sure why a spirit does 
  what it does. He thinks it is because it is time for the weapon to be found. 
  A quest and great trials will be put forth before those that would claim it. 
  But one of the Chosen will be the one to win it. He assumes the spirit 
  showed those here because one here is fated to quest for it, if not bear it.
Randall remains on his feet, standing with his arms folded defensively, a 
  little way away. He wears a frustrated expression, and keeps silent rather 
  than display ignorance.
Paul offers to the listeners, "And the Glyph wasn't shown, so that no one 
  would be discouraged from seeking the blade. Just in case the seeker isn't 
  of the tribe that made it, maybe. Or in case the seeker, and the winner, 
  wouldn't be the wielder."
Paul looks over at his packmate with a little concern. "Would you like some 
  soup or something, Wayf? You look horrible."
Blackstripe listens, but motions negatively. Why do you think that this image 
  was the same sword?
Paul waits for Siobhan's answer, but looks faintly guilty. Or worried.
Spirit-of-Words says that this image, what happened reminded him of the stuff 
  of legends. The legend of that sword has been told more of late, and as he 
  said, some have whispered that it is to return, soon. It also said, there is 
  no time. That would indicate the Last Days are close, perhaps, and said 
  sword was supposed to return then.
Blackstripe's ears flicker with agitation. It could perhaps mean this. If it 
  was truly the sword of legend.
Spirit-of-Words wonders what the Athro thinks it is?
Siobhan dips her head. "No, I'm all right, Paul." She rises to her feet. "I 
  need to do something."
Blackstripe thinks that it was an image of a sword shown by a Chimera, a 
  spirit whose purposes are often shrouded in mystery and puzzle. Whether the 
  truth which you see, or some other will need to be determined.
Randall says "Is there a geographical connection, suggesting the sword show 
  itself here rather than elsewhere? Or might other Garou at other Septs be 
  seeing the same visions?"
Spirit-of-Words has heard nothing from other Gibbous moons of other visions 
  such as this. But that does not mean it has not happened.
Paul mutters to himself, "Dream. Exactly. And possibly a mystery and puzzle 
  that shouldn't be overcontemplated." He looks up at Randall, "If it's real, 
  signs or visions should be popping up multiple places. Of course, I was 
  dreaming about it before I came out here, possibly because of the chimera. 
  And something asked me... Anyway, probably."
Blackstripe looks from Randall to Paul, and notes that if they are speaking of 
  this, they should shift to a more proper form in which to do so.
Paul looks over towards the Fangs. "Excuse me, rhya? What form would that be?"
Paul sounds more honestly confused and surprised that smartassed.
Siobhan darts a glance sideways, at Randall, and then makes her way off 
  towards the path, purposefully. She offers distracted, but polite, farewells 
  as she passes her elders.
Siobhan leaves the compound.
Randall naturally keeps half an eye on any Garou of Blackstripe's standing. 
  ~Forgive me, elder,~ he growls, and explains himself. ~I was merely asking 
  why the sword would show itself here, if the Galliards do not... 
  'exaggerate', in saying it idestined for the hand of a great hero.~
Spirit-of-Words notes to Paul that the Athro prefers to be adressed in the old 
  form of Mother Tongue or in that of lupus, if neccesary.
Paul ahhhs and shifts up enough to manage that more comfortably.
Paul contorts and blurs as he is transformed.
Paul shifts into Glabro form.
Paul says, ~I wasn't aware you had that preference, rhya.~
Spirit-of-Words also replies to Randall that not all Heroes start out great. 
  Many have beginings that are not so. And it seems many a legend have a young 
  hero finding their destined weapon before they find greatness.
Erik lowers his head slightly. It's clear that he's aware and listening to all 
  of this, but the Metis keeps silent.
Randall grins humorlessly. "Then let us hope the sword has the right of it, 
  and that this signifies that Ragnarok is still some little way away," he 
  comments. ~A homid joke,~ he explains for the Athro's benefit.
Blackstripe relaxes a little, and motions appreciation at Randall for 
  repeating himself, then to Paul when he switches as well, head tilting to 
  him curiously, then straightens her head. I am surprised your packmates did 
  not mention it. She looks over to Randall, not understanding it, but does 
  not seem to mind not understanding it. The Sept will wish to be told of this 
  visitation.
Spirit-of-Words's expression shows brief, dark amusement at his packmates 
  words. Let us hope that indeed.
Paul mutters, ~Bad timing for a warning that time's up, though. Hopefully 
  we'll come off of a Wartime footing soon, if it's really about to be found.~
Randall says, ~Quests are... not a concern for such as myself. If you'll 
  excuse me?~
Randall backs off respectfully a couple of steps, and then turns to stride off 
  into the evening forest.
Randall leaves the compound.
Paul looks a little perplexed as Randall leaves the compound.
Blackstripe nudges Spirit of Words. Add this to the story of the sword. And 
  that I wish to speak to the theurges.
Spirit-of-Words blinks and gives a small nod, and then a flick of an ear in 
  assent. This one will, rhya. With that, he nods shortly to the others and 
  heads out along the trail, towards the Caern, vaguely.
Paul says to the Fangs, ~My friend Selene is a chimera. Can either of you 
  think of a reason I shouldn't talk to her about this?~
Spirit-of-Words leaves the compound.
Blackstripe looks at Paul with some small surprise at his asking. No. She may 
  perhaps have some insight into this.
Paul looks at Scott's departure a little grumpily but nods to Blackstripe. ~I 
  can hope. It was also a thought that since a Chimera brought the word, that 
  it, or someone or something else, might want us to think it through somewhat 
  first.~
Blackstripe continues to look a little bit puzzled. Of course.
Paul waves a hand and takes a deep breath. ~Sorry, rhya. Rambling the why's 
  I'd asked the question of you in the first place. My thoughts have been a 
  little muddy recently."
Blackstripe motions understanding, then offers, Maybe they should be washed 
  then.
Dusty enters the compound.
Dusty has arrived.
Paul mmmms noncomittally. ~Maybe a little rinse by moonlight would do me well, 
  yes.~
Dusty walks down the path, singing to himself in a rich tenor, a song 
  appropriate to the clear spring evening. "Come let me love you // Come love 
  me again..."
Blackstripe lolls her tongue a little, then turns from where she is speak to 
  Paul to note Dusty's arrival, giving him a warm greeting. She turns back to 
  Paul, and notes that she goes to hunt.
Paul says, ~Water and shade along your trail.~
Erik through all of this, has remained silent and withdrawn.
Dusty stops immediately on hearing voices close by, though he does offer 
  Blackstripe a tentative smile.
Erik lifts his head at the sound of the boy's voice, turning toward Dusty.
Blackstripe flicks an ear, then turns to pad out of the clearing towards the 
  deeper woods.
Paul nods towards Dusty in polite greeting then asks Erik with a quiet smile, 
  "So what are your thoughts on all this?"
Paul contorts and blurs as he is transformed.
Paul shifts into Homid form.
Dusty, much quieter, approaches the fire and sits down to listen as 
  unobtrusively as possible.
Karl has left.
Erik turns toward Paul, his eyes shadowed. "Er." He pauses. "It... it reminds 
  me of... King Arthur."
Paul smiles brightly. "My thoughts exactly, when I heard Scott's story the 
  first time."
Paul says "Just remember that the Sleeping King had to have his knights 
  recover the Grail..."
Erik murmurs, "'Til England's greatest need..." He stops, as if embarrassed.
Mikhail enters the compound.
Mikhail has arrived.
Paul smiles. "If it's the end of the world, as we know it, I'd say England 
  need is pretty great too. I'm actually looking forward to seeing if he DOES 
  come back."
Dusty muses softly to himself, very softly, "It may be the end of the world as 
  we know it, but I sure don't feel fine."
Paul nods to Dusty. "You and me both."
Erik lowers his head slowly and seems to agree.
Mikhail makes his way down the compound trail, looking vaguely nonplussed.
Dusty looks up suddenly, realizing that he was heard, and shrugs. "Sorry."
Paul ehs? "For what?"
Dusty grins weakly. "The quote."
Paul laughs."You picked up what I was aiming at better than I did. No need to 
  be sorry."
Mikhail grunts as he approaches the fire,"What news while I was away?"
Paul says, "We've had a visitation from a chimera. Giving a vision of a sword."
Mikhail's eyesbrows raise,"A sword?"
Paul nods quietly. "Me and Scott both think it's the Sword in the Sky that he 
  told a tale of not to many days ago."
Erik gets to his feet and, after a slight bow to the others, vanishes off into 
  the woods, moving quickly.
You leave the compound, making your way northeast through the meadows to the 
  denser parts of the forest.