Seeking the Source

[hazlogs]

11/14/2015

Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (20% full).

Location: The Umbra

It's a hard hike, even on four legs, though far less arduous in the Umbra than the Realm, where toppled trees and landslides have blocked many of the usual trails upward. Here, there are also signs of the quake--a strange thing in and of itself--and also obstacles, though the three quickly discover that most of the hazards they have to navigate are not fallen trees and landslides, but thick growth and over-inquisitive Wyld spirits. Several times they have to take long, roundabout detours to get around new trees, or thorny bushes, or undergrowth that's just a little too alive to safely traverse. Several times they also have to take detours to avoid particularly large Wyld spirits that, fortunately, they spot before they're spotted. And yet, the further up they go, the more things seem out of sorts. The new growth, new life doesn't get less powerful, the air remains chilly, if temperate, and there's no sign of snow or ice on the ground, or even the potential for it in the air.

Brings-the-Pack pauses every now and then to stop, seemingly listen to something that can't be heard, and then indicate what direction the group needs to go in. He seems to know where to go, but not the best route to get there without bumping into an unhappy spirit. For that, he relies on the two garou. "This way," the cougar announces in clearly spoken English before moving onwards.

Little Silvertip lags behind the group, moving along in crinos instead of the much easier to manuver lupus form. The reason is clear: the Uktena has a bag strapped over her shoulder, carrying something bulky. "A fetish, just in case." was the official explanation. She seems ill at ease as the amount of wyld increases in the area, though the small crinos doesn't remark on it as she scrambles over some logs. Instead, following after the friendly-neighbourhood-cougar-who-speaks-English-and-clearly-isn't-a-mage, she remarks, ~You think this is bad, you should see what happend in the animal lands.~ She says. ~My territory is a mess.~

Scar limp-jogs along, occasionally stumbling when his legs kind of forget which way they ought to go. The Glass Walker is out of his element here despite his part-time Bawn excursions and says nothing, too focused on the environment to make conversation.

Onward and upward. They clear the treeline, or what should be the treeline...there are new trees here and there, small saplings at best, even past where they shouldn't grow, and flowers of all descriptions are in full or partial bloom as the forest clears out. A little further and they're treated to a magnificent view of the valley below, surrounding peaks, and a silver bathed starry sky. But just ahead, seated on a large, flat bolder, is a bearded, rough looking white man. His clothing is both familiar and not; boots, simple shirt, canvas pants, a fur and leather parka. None of it carries the manufactured precision or materials of modern clothing. His expression is pensive, and he's looking toward the three as they arrive, as if they were expected.

Brings-the-Pack pauses as the man comes into view, letting the garou take point here. He considers the situation, switching from English to what's surprisingly similar to the garou gift of Mindspeak, leaving the mysterious man out of the conversation--probably. "The epicenter is nearby. This may be a spirit. You two are better suited to handle speaking with a spirit. I will hang back and, if need be, help if things go poorly."

Little Silvertip gives a small non-verbal affirmation to Nicodemus's guess as to the nature of the man, rising up from a four-footed stance to stand bipedal. With a look to Salem, the Uktena starts limping forward in a less confrontational stance. *Weird weather, isn't it, grandpa?* She continues with Mother's Tongue.

Scar shakes himself and falls in at the Uktena's side, doing his best to keep his body language loose and casual, though he's more than a little tense and nervous.

The man laughs, though there doesn't seem to be any real humor in it. "Well, and here you are." He pushes up from his seat on the rock. The words themselves sound, to Nick and Salem, perfect english. To Silvertip, he's speaking the spirit tongue. "Figured you'd be coming. Now, before you ask, no, we ain't met before, exactly." He looks them over, with his gaze lingering for a longer moment on the mage-turned-cat before he looks more toward the Garou. "Definitely ain't met. But I know you, more or less. You've all been around long enough to get familiar."

Scar cocks his head to one side, then shifts up into Glabro form. "How familiar, exactly?"

Little Silvertip glances over at Salem for a moment when the spirit starts talking in English, head cocking slightly. It takes her a tiny bit longer than the philodox to entirely parse the spirit. *Maybe you're acquaintances with some of my helpers in these lands?* She ventures, hooking a clawed digit under the strap to the bag.

"Familiar enough that your new look isn't fooling me," the man replies to Salem, before shaking his head at Silvertip. "Nah. I'm a bit out've my element here. This place has never been my home." He holds out one rough, calloused hand. "Name's Jebediah Regan. Jeb to my friends."

Salem hesitates, glancing at Silvertip, then steps forward to shake hands with the man. "I've, ah, heard of you," he says, then adds politely, "Sir."

Little Silvertip looks like she has an almost instant follow up to the observation about Salem's new look, but when the Walker's demeanour changes, she hesitates considerably. *Regan as in...* she stars, mentally connecting the dots.

Jeb's grip is firm and rough. "Figured you might've," he replies. "Yeah, that Regan. Though not the human, in case you're wondering." He drops his hand once the shake is finished. "Just Jeb though. Ain't sure you'll feel like sir-ing me in a little bit. You're looking for what's causing all this turmoil, I figure. Quakes are getting worse. Plopped myself down to wait for whoever was gonna come along."

Salem steps back, absently dragging fingers back through his hair. He's frowning now, thick glabro brows furrowed. "We did come looking for information, this is true."

Little Silvertip looks back the direction the Cougar went off, before flicking an ear in a nonverbal agreement. *Destroying my home, killing the innocent. No good.*

"It ain't intentional," the spirit says, though his expression has turned grim. "Truth is, it doesn't have intentions, really. No concept've any harm that goes on. It's just being. The trouble is, just being's...well, it's gonna get a lot worse if things go this way. That's why I'm here. What's going on, all this mess?" He pauses. "It's my fault."

Salem's frown remains. He glances sidelong at the Uktena -- and continues to avoid looking directly at the mage-cougar, as if that would mean anything to hide Nick's true nature -- then turns back to "Jeb". "How is this your fault, precisely? What happened?"

Brings-the-Pack does more or less what he said he'd do earlier, staying back, lingering, letting the garou get in closer while he keeps an eye on things and just listens, pivoting puma ears as needed to better catch what is being said by all. Still, he seems mildly distracted while simultaneously--paradoxically--aware of many things. As Salem speaks, his head cants downwards, as if staring at the ground or perhaps beyond it and into the heart of the mountain itself. He suddenly starts, the motion muted immediately afterwards so as to not create a panick among the others present and to not broadcast that he's about to attack or that an attack is coming. Something--and perhaps something unseeable by others--merely startled the cougar-mage.

Little Silvertip returns Salem's look, cocking her head to the other side as the spirit admits fault. The ahroun crosses her arms, almost non-verbally echoing Salem's question.

"That's a story and a half." Jeb takes a step backward and settles back onto his rock. "Pull up a stone, and I'll see if I can't tell it quick-like. While back, that Caern've yours was coming to some trouble. At the time it hadn't come about yet, but a whole lot've you were having warning dreams courtesy of your totem. You got together to tell riddles and try to honor her, maybe get some insight. Chimera being particularly courteous, what you got--well, not you, you, but a number of your Sept anyhow--what you got was a meeting with me. I introduced myself, offered to help you get your Caern back once everything had blown over. Offered a deal, really. See, I wanted...well, I wanted what I've always wanted. Support. People remembering my city's past, keeping the good things we valued. Hard work. Industry. Self sufficiency. I wanted the city and the Caern to go on like they'd always done."

Salem settles down crosslegged on the umbral ground. He listens, absently gnawing on a glabro 'claw'. "...You're talking about when the caern was overtaken by the Wyld, and the wasps."

The cougar, seemingly satisfied that nothing harmful is immediately coming their way, pads closer to join the two garou. Next to Salem, he settles back onto his haunches and wraps his long tail around the base of his body. Listening, it would seem, is the polite thing to do at this juncture. He tries to not look threatening, an interesting feat for a large cat, but there is a crinos nearby afterall.

Little Silvertip's lips peel back into an sickly 'grin' for a moment at the telling from the spirit, ears slicking back. Looking to Salem for a moment, *I... wasn't here, then.* She says, though not in a way to interrupt the spirit.

Jeb nods. "That's right. The time right before, specifically. See, your Caern...well, getting ahead've myself. Anyhow, so we parted ways. Trouble is, shortly after that meeting, someone else set up a meeting with a few've you. Guess you could call her my rival. Claire. Now, Claire, she's a bright kid, I ain't saying different, but she's got no use for history, no use at all. She don't care about what's come before, she only wants to look forward. Progress. The future. And she went and made the same deal. Support her interests, and she'd help retake the Caern. Heh. Gotta admit, I figured, giving my pitch first, especially to a lot've Garou more attached to tradition, I had it in the bag. Didn't turn out that way. You folk didn't make a deal with either of us, not really, but it was real clear which way the winds were blowing. Most've you favored Claire more. My own fault partly, was a bit cagey when it came to some've the questions that got asked. I don't think that won me any favors."

"Cagey doesn't tend to put people at ease, no," says the Philodox.

Brings-the-Pack mulls over the spirit's words and asides to the garou, in English and out in the open instead of via Mindspeak (or a damn close equivalent to it) like he'd done earlier, "This is about an earlier totem spirit selection process for the caern?" His tone is about half the volume of the spirit's, pitched with the intent to neither disrupt nor disrespect it.

Little Silvertip flicks an ear in the affirmative to the Cougar. Otherwise, she gives the spirit most of her attention.

The spirit looks down at his hands for a moment, the fingers interlaced. "Nah, not the Caern. Neither've us had any designs outside of my...of our city. Just being here's got me all out of sorts. I don't belong. So, time went on, and Claire, she was winning. Still winning, mind you. And me...well. I got desperate. I didn't want to change. Didn't want my city to change. I figured I needed an edge, something Claire'd never understand. See, like I said, she don't have any use for history. But me? My city, this land...I know it. Know its history. Some secrets. So I came out here, 'cause I know what's to be found. Figured I could get a little more power. Just a little. Just enough. Wasn't gonna hurt anything, I figured, let alone this old sleeper." He shakes his head. "What I'm saying is, I messed up. Don't know if it was all me, or cause it'd just caused so many changes already, but it started waking up. I been trying to keep it under control, but there ain't any hope of someone like me keeping something like that at rest."

Salem leans forward, head tilted to fix his good eye on the spirit. "What exactly was it that you woke up? What was the power that you were intending to use, and how?"

"Anti-Ooze," the cougar-mage surmises as he softly lifts and places a paw upon the ground, indicating its location. "And it is /massive/."

Little Silvertip's ears perk back up again, the Uktena unfolding her arms. There's a momentary puzzled expression. *You didn't try to tap one of the old fires, did you?* The Uktena asks, concern becoming evident. *You didn't wake the mountain, right?*

"The mountain." Jeb laughs again, and it's even more humorless than before. "It's the mountain alright. And the rivers, and the foothills, and the valleys. The lakes. This old sleeper...it ain't got a name. Too old. Too big. Been here so long just about everything's a part've it somehow, for a good long stretch. Did you ever wonder...why the Wheel? It breaks down and remakes itself over'n over again. The land. The totems. Even the Garou. I figure some've you've always felt there was something about here that was different. Special even. It comes from this old sleeper. It made it. It remakes it. That whole Wyld mess a while back, this's where it came from."

Salem swears quietly in Serbian and rubs his forehead. "Anti-Ooze and Ooze. Maker and unmaker. You woke it up... and that woke up... the other?" He drags fingers back through thick black hair, grimacing.

Brings-the-Pack inhales a large breath, holds it momentarily, and then exhales it completely. He adds nothing further to the discussion.

"That other thing?" Jeb gives a grim little nod. "Apparently so. The sleeper, it ain't fully awake yet. Takes a long time when you've been napping that hard. And it probably goes without saying that you don't want it fully awake either. These rumbles, the quakes, they're like...yawning. Blinking. Real small time for it, but getting worse. It wakes up for real and I don't want to think about what happens then. But that other thing, it'n the sleeper have got some history. Could make up all sorts've fanciful stories about it, but I don't actually know what it is, except they're linked. Connected somehow. Maybe just 'cause they're each other's opposites, I dunno. But that other thing's coming for this sleeper. Could even be trying to stop it waking up in its own way. Its got its rot in my city now, down deep, seeping into old wounds. We can both feel it now, Claire and I."

"So, we sing it a lullaby and soothe it right back deep sleep and everything's fine, ne?" Salem's tone is a little sarcastic.

Brings-the-Pack asides to Salem after his sarcasm, "That is what I sensed beneath the ground in the city earlier. It is indeed spreading underground like a giant cancer." He hazards asking the spirit a question, too. "And why is it trying to erase Hilliard Hospital from reality?"

"You find a strong enough lullaby," Jeb tells Salem, "and I'll sing right along with you." His gaze shifts to Brings-the-Pack. "That other thing don't really deal much with whys. I don't think it's trying, I think it's just doing by being. Or not being, in its case. Old Hilliard...if only he knew what his legacy had turned into." The man rubs his face. "I ain't exactly in tune with that other thing, but I can give you my best guess."

Salem nods to the cougar, then eyes the spirit again. "Please do."

"We've had very little luck on our own," the cougar adds, further encouraging the spirit to share its knowledge.

Jeb holds up two fingers. "There're two things it likes. One's energy; any kind've energy. Gnosis, magic, electricity, radiation, you get the idea. It eats that right up, and it's always wanting more. Spirits, we're more'n energy, we're ideas given life, so it really likes us. And the second thing? Reality gets a little frayed in places. You can call it the Weaver being weakened if you like, though it's a bit more'n that. Not the webs that you can see, but the basics. Stuff that holds everything together, gives it rules, gives it form. Usually, reality's a flexible, resilient sort. She'll spring right back when she's bent, and you give her long enough and she'll usually heal right up even when she's torn or broken. Sometimes though, she gets injured enough and it leaves some scars. Places her rules aren't so firm. That old hospital's been one of those places for a good while now, and Wyrm was all good and comfortable there. Attractive spot for that other thing, I'm thinking."

Salem starts chewing on his thumbnail again as he listens, brow furrowed. "So, energy and... places where reality's fractured?"

Brings-the-Pack says "It will unfortunately be coming for the glade in Harbor Park before long, if it looks for places of energy and bent reality." That's said primarily to Salem. "Do you know if the agents of the Wyrm still reside within the top floors of the GENOM tower?" the clearly-not-actually-a-cougar asks of the spirit."

"Oh we know of her," Jeb says. He sits up a little straighter. "Ain't no missing that one. She's gone and set up a little palace, thinking she can own my city, putting her little fingers on everything. I'll tell you something else too, she ain't escaped the notice of that other thing. Her place's full of big fat banes, Garou, her own children. She's even got herself a magician warping things to her liking. You think it'd like my old park?" this last to Nick. "Nah, boy, not with the beacon she's set up."

"/Her/," Salem says, then snorts. "Queen's Tower, of course." He looks at Nick, then Jeb. "Why hasn't it taken the tower already?"

Brings-the-Pack stays silent, curious about the answer, and sharing a pointed look with Salem. This seems to be a topic they've recently discussed.

Jeb crosses his arms and braces one boot against the stone he's sitting on. "It's there," he says with confidence. "Been there for a while. Think the Garou first brought it in, when they ran away from Hanford. Maybe some've her defenses have worked. Maybe not. She's been trying to root it out, or was, but she can't get rid of it. Even when she thinks she's taken care've every infected minion, it's in the walls. As for why it's not eaten the bunch've them? I dunno. Maybe the old sleeper's distracting it, or maybe it's just taking its own time. Like I said, this other thing doesn't really try to do half've what it does. People, places, reality...it gets warped just by this other thing being around."

Salem looks down at the ground, thinking hard. "So, we have a giant sleeping spirit, the Maker-Remaker, too old for a fucking name I'm guessing, is disturbed. It's not awake, but it's waking, and if it does, the whole area is in deep fucking shit. How widespread a devestation are we talking here?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "Its other, the Ooze, the Nothing, is linked. Disturbed and drawn here by the Maker's waking? Or just drawn here, because it was already disturbed by the Dancers, or the last survivors of the caern of the Last Days."

Brings-the-Pack waits until the spirit answers that--if it can--before he speaks.

Little Silvertip doesn't say much anything, the Uktena absorbing the interchange between the two.

Jeb shakes his head. "I don't think I'm qualified to even begin to estimate that, but like I said, it's part've most everything around in some way. Mountains. Rivers. Your Caern, my city. Ain't just these mountains either. You took the wasps to old St. Helens, didn't you? Found a font of Wyld energy that'd keep them happy? That comes from the old sleeper too, so its got at least its toes out that far. As for...the Nothing, alright, I'll use that. Drawn by our old sleeper, yeah. The Nothing's always been a little restless. Ain't never fully asleep, but nothing like this. From what I understand, it was mostly content to sit under that Caern out there, but now the Caern's gone..."

Salem curses in Serbian and looks at the other two.

The cougar speaks. "What if we had a means of making the Nothing move, and it were possible to direct it--very rapidly--directly into the top of the Tower where the Queen and her minions resided. Would you assist the garou in destroying these forces of the Wyrm as they fled from the Tower?" He adds, "It would likely give you an advantage over Claire in the future. Or perhaps you could be the one to invite her to assist in their destruction. This would free up the sept's resources for dealing with the Nothing and, also, that which sleeps below us."

Little Silvertip glances at Salem when he looks her direction, but any response is forestalled by Nicodemus's question.

Jeb regards the cougar directly when he answers. "You don't need to go trying to sweeten any deals when it comes to dealing with her. Me'n Claire will gladly do what we can, though I'm not sure how much that'd be. Combat isn't exactly how either of us tend to work, but it is our city, and we'll defend it in our way. Your idea though..." He rubs his beard again, slowly. "Well, you ain't really getting the Nothing to move, but I could see you accelerating things in there. Could be good. Could be bad. Suppose it's a matter've weakening one enemy while strengthening another. It'd make wiping out Her Nastiness much easier on you. But I ain't sure what it'd ultimately do to that tower."

"Her Nastiness, as you call her, is an active, intelligent malevolence," Salem says, resting his cheek in his palm. "The Nothing is a... force of nature. Ancient, dangerous, corruptive, but as you say, it's not /trying/ to be an evil shitbag, it's just... bad for our health."

Brings-the-Pack suggests, "Then perhaps, if you and Claire are not skilled at fighting, the two of you could find a way to prompt people to not be in or near the Tower at a certain time? And perhaps you could assist in not having it crumble?" He adds, "We don't want to kill any people by accident."

"You'd get the least of them after hours," Jeb suggests in return. "But there are always things that can go wrong. A car breaks down. Bus delays. We'll do what we can." He looks to Salem. "That's true enough. The decision's ultimately yours of course. I'd just warn you not to let it linger. We can both feel what's under old Hilliard's hospital. Two of those don't sound pleasant."

Little Silvertip tips her head towards the Mage's direction. *The quakes you... indirectly caused... they've killed those in the animal lands. It hasn't been... good for the city. A good turn could prevent things from being worse, still, for the rest of the... people.* It's a fair bet she wasn't going to call them people until she caught herself.

Salem nods at the spirit's warning, nose wrinkling at the thought of two giant pools of Nothing rather than just one.

Brings-the-Pack stays silent, mulling things over in his own head rather than out loud. He's clearly not keen on injuring any people.

Jeb nods at Silvertip. "Let's be frank. I've made a damn mess and it's cost people, and that ain't anything I ever wanted to do. I didn't come up here just to jaw at you and leave you to clean up. Whatever I can do to help, you've got it."

Salem looks at mage-cougar, then reaches out and pats him lightly on the shoulder before turning to address the spirit again. "Where /is/ Claire? How can we contact her?"

Brings-the-Pack seems to actually appreciate the pat. He again speaks. "And what do you know of the Queen's magician in the Tower that you spoke of earlier?"

"Not that she makes herself known," Jeb says, "but she's been hanging around your people's tower a fair amount. You could try there. As for the magician, I don't know much. Sticks close to Rancordiant. Ain't sure he ever leaves the tower these days. And he's been getting more powerful. He don't tend to do much with it, but when he does, it's noticeable. He's the one that put up those magical barriers on this side've the gauntlet."

Salem nods. "If we need, or want, to talk to you again, will you be here?"

"This has been an extremely fruitful discussion," the cougar adds to Salem's words.

Jeb looks off to the side for a moment, before he slowly nods. "Yeah, I'll be keeping an eye on the old Sleeper. Least I can do for now. You can summon me too, if you need. I'll come around."

Salem nods again, combing clawed fingers through his hair. "This has been a lot to take in, and think about. We'll need to talk to the others."

Brings-the-Pack pushes to all fours. "A pleasure to have met you, spirit." He falls in with the other Walker.

Jeb gives both of them a nod before settling back onto the stone he's chosen for his seat, clearly intending to make good on his word about sticking around.

Salem shifts back down to lupus for the long trek back with the others.