A subtle undulation of the land forms an curious, natural spiral in the open ground. One side of the formation rises to create a half-circle or crescent of earth surrounding and encompassing the spiral. The ground is littered with rock and flagstones, both large and small. Someone has carefully gathered up a trove of these and erected a clear fire pit. Flagstones with smooth surfaces have been laid along the upper lip of half circle of earth around the fire pit, turning it into a nice seating area. All debris and flammable material's been removed from within the spiral, and a fire has been laid. Just beyond the spiral's edge, wood has been collected and piled for future use. Surrounding this, the rugged walls of the canyon have been half buried by the Wyld surge, making the upper slope of the valley more gentle than it was before. Stands of Douglas fir and white pines mix with hemlock, lodgepole pines, and western larch trees to fill much of the open space, but the trees here are not nearly as dense as they are in the surrounding forests of the bawn. The sparse woods allows a partial view of the sky, and both sun and moonlight filter down to create enigmatic and beautiful shadow patterns on the forest floor. That floor is blanketed with a thick, soft rug of shed pine needles, lichen and leaf debris. The moss-covered relics of old, dead trees occasionally mark a place where once great sentinels loomed above.
The caern expands in two directions from here. The escarpment wall and raised dais form one point of the new triangle, while the center of the caern and its gigantic, Wyld-influenced tree marks the other. The only obvious way out of the caern is the valley slope that leads to the central bawn.
Compact is the word for him: wiry, maybe 5'6" in his beat-up black combat boots, with a sense of compressed energy and imminence like a coiled spring -- or a cocked gun. Never quite still for long, balance flowing through the balls of his feet. There's a striking intensity to his narrow blue-green eyes, the colour contrasting with his fair skin and spiky copper hair; just below the left is what at first appears to be a faint mole, but closer inspection reveals as a small, long-healed scar. His features are appealing, with high cheekbones and a good jawline, but it's the confident mien and roguish smile that most often seem to draw people in.
He's in a well-worn biker jacket of the traditional sort, all fairly closely fit black leather and silvery zippers and snaps. Beneath it, he's got old black jeans with a rip in one knee and the cuffs half walked off and a faded plain black t-shirt which fits rather snugly, in a flattering sort of way. There's a couple leather-and-bead bracelets on one wrist and a length of ball-chain disappearing beneath his collar; his nails were apparently painted black some time ago, since they're starting to show chips. Late teens, most likely, and when he speaks it's in a mellifluous, southern-accented baritone voice.
Though only 5'4", her slim athletic body is well toned with tight, sleek muscles. Her skin is a pale cream, left free of most cosmetics. Faded lines of white mark her wrists and arms, barely seen on her light complexion. Noticeably, however, is an ash-darkened scar running the length of the top of her right hand. Normally hidden by clothes is another - a jagged, large scar that runs from the back of her right shoulder blade up across and over her collar bone to her chest. Her eyes are a dark brown, ranging from neutrality to expressive. Her hair is long and wavy, a rich, dark auburn brown that is generally left loose, but occasionally bound. Her clothing is mostly cotton and denim, all of it generally casual and leaning towards a laid-back bohemian style.
This man is somewhere around six inches above six feet and looking to have about three hundred or so pounds of muscle on him. His beard is thick and long, bound by three iron rings down the length of it, worn on a face which is a haunted mask of concentration. His eyes, dark enough to seem black, are full of shadows and have a habit of quickly dancing in random directions. Hair that has turned a silvery grey, cascades down the Godi's back, hanging to just about mid-waist.
Jamethon currently wears a light green linen shirt under a pristine brown leather jacket and a pair of black, well-fitted and heavy canvas jeans. On his feet are what appears to be some kind of thickly bound, sheep skin boot.
Scars on his forehead, just below his bangs, are the tips of a set of three jagged scars that travel up and back, the rest covered by the Fenrir's hair. A large myriad collection of scars adorn his visage at other various points as well (+detail Jamethon's scars).
This kid is heavily scarred; it looks like he's been through a war, though he can't be much more than twelve or thirteen years old. He's only a few inches over five feet tall, skinny and pale, with long black hair that's just past his narrow shoulders. Thick scar tissue rips down the left side of the kid's thin face (his eye on that side is blind white), while another line runs crookedly across the bridge of his beaky nose. There are pockmarks from old shrapnel wounds as well, and half of his right ear has been torn off at some point. His eyes (the good one's dark brown) are deep-set under thick black eyebrows. The kid limps a bit when he walks, favoring his right leg, and his left hand is missing its smallest finger and half of its ring finger. And marking the right side of his neck, just under his jaw, are three small teardrop-shaped scars, easily unnoticed.
The sheer amount of violence that this barely-adolescent youth has obviously experienced is troubling enough, but the aura of tightly-controlled rage is enough to make most mortals blench.
He's typically dressed in jeans and t-shirt and sneakers, typical casual kid-wear, with a grey hooded jacket for outdoors. Apart from the footwear, his clothing is all a little bit too big on him, but one might imagine that he'll grow into it in a year or so.
"Right!" And Dakota switches back over to verbal regurgitation mode. "So next I saw after the snake was the caern rebirth, the most recent one. I saw Owen when he attacked the Nexus Crawler and this swirling, crazy mass of color and sound. That thing was intense. Owen and the Crawler were.. vaporized, disassembled down to beyond nothing. Then that storm thing was gone. Then, after that, I saw a cavern full of what I think were Shadow Lords in the middle of a rite. The rite failed, I guess, because the whole cave collapsed. I'm guessing that's what set this Whatever loose. I fell down further, below the cavern I'm presuming, and there was this eyeless.. face.. growing skin. Humanish. Wherever it was, the pit it was in went down far far deeper. I saw the snake again, only this time there was a second - pure darkness, the very definition of it. The other was the earth - trees, lava, rock, grass. They were apart of the land itself it seemed, trying to destroy one another. Mountains rose as they fought, there was smoke. Volcanoes maybe? Then I saw a Crinos female Garou fleeing from Hanford. Grey and black fur, heavy green glowing scars, definitely Wyrmish. Now.. I didn't get a good look, but I did ask the Elemental about Ghost and what connection there may be. I don't presume anything but part of me itches that it may have been who Ghost was before coming here? Whatever may have brought her to who she is now. I know she's checked clean, so not accusing her of anything, but that might explain the connection."
Salem frowns and pulls a knee up to his chest, propping his elbow on it. He scratches at his forehead. "I checked Ghost when she first came here, and used Truth when she told me her story. Which is... wild enough but doesn't involve Hanford at all, from what I recall. In any case, there /was/ a caern that way, and a Hive. In fact..." The newly young Philodox cocks his head, thinking. "I seem to remember hearing about the Garou who visited here from the Last Days, and one of them was a female Shadow Lord named..." He pauses to think some more. "Mercy."
Jamethon has been mostly silent this whole time. Not even, in fact, commenting on or asking about Salem's condition.
"Like I said, I could be totally wrong there, I know I don't have all the stories." Dakota says with a nod towards the Walker. "There were shadows chasing her possibly, but I didn't get a good enough look at the Garou to pick out any real defining features minus the scars. I know about the fallen caern so I'm wagering I was seeing when the Lords dropped the ball, so to speak. The last parts I saw was the old hospital site. Hillard, which no one normal seems to remember being there. There's something involving the parking garage. It showed up pretty distinctly. I remember the old Crawler lived on the hospital. Probably not a coincidence this anti-existence Nothing would show up in relation to a reality-breaking creature. The last bit of note was the earthquakes happening. Related to the snake-beings fighting? Maybe. But that's what I saw. Who was this Mercy?"
Jamethon considers aloud, "Most Theurges are of the mind that Nexus Crawlers are not of this reality. That in fact, they don't exist at all. Not how we think they do."
Salem rubs at his nose. "I honestly don't know more than that. The whole Last Days affair was before I arrived, so I only heard about it in stories. She was one of several Garou who came here when their caern was taken, and then left with some help and took it back. They were mainly Get of Fenris and Shadow Lords and, I gathered, eventually fell as much to infighting as to the Wyrm. Though Hanford being a massive shit-zone certainly didn't help, I'd wager."
"What happens when you destroy utterly what might not exist?" Dakota murmurs in a somber tone. "...and what's strong enough to do it? Hmm. Was the fall of Last Days before or after the caern battle? And what happened to the hospital? It was standing when I left."
"...beside a mountain stream, see her waters rise," Felix is singing to the world at large as he passes into audible range, carrying a plastic grocery-type bag and scooping something out of it to tuck next to one of the flagstones, "Listen to the..." He trails off at the presence of numerous people talking, giving the group a curious look, then flashes them a quick grin and an, "Evenin'," and continues about his business, humming more quietly to himself. He sets another handful from the bag on top of a smaller stone a bit further away, and something shiny from his pocket beneath the edge of another.
Jamethon adds to this with a sore tone "The hospital is still standing. I mean, you can just feel it there. I don't care if you can't see it."
Salem eyes Jamethon, then tells Dakota, "It blew up," in a perfect deadpan. "I forget why, but that's when the Nexus Crawler started roaming around the city again and Wyrm activity increased city-wide for a while." He notices Felix then and eyeballs the stranger (to him, anyway).
"So physically it's blown up but there's still the spiritual echo of it?" Dakota says with furrowed brows as she looks between Jamethon and Salem. "...so hospital 'blew up' - do we know why? - then the Crawler went wandering. Did the Hanford visits come after the caern rebuilding?" She tries to clarify again before she's distracted by the arrival of Felix. The Ritemistress gives her chin a quick bob in acknowledgement. "Argh!" She grumbles as she drags her fingers through her scalp. "Crawlers, Nothing, Hanford, Ghost... what's connecting all of these?"
Jamethon glances at Dakota, then Felix, then Salem. "If others wish to seek the Mountain's wisdom, I can facilitate this. I'm curious how this Ghost would handle it. In passing through the Mountain's eye, one becomes a part of it for a time. And time to a mountain is... something we can not fathom. I do not know what it might show or do to... one affected, such as yourself."
Salem grimaces, nose wrinkling. "Thank you, but I'm quite full up on reality-altering experiences with spirits for the time being. But I will mention it to Ghost."
Jamethon nods and his tone is even and calm when he offers, "I understand. If that changes, I would lend my knowledge and power to help you."
Felix glances back at the group while he works, managing probably not coincidentally to stay within earshot of the interesting discussion, but not interrupting. He pulls another tiny thing from his pocket, light briefly glinting from it, and glances around consideringly before putting it back in the pocket and setting his bag down by the trunk of one of the larger trees here. He eyes the conifer up for a moment or two before starting to climb it.
"Besides the mountain," Dakota continues, "There's only one other spot in the visions I can pinpoint to go check out and that's the parking garage. So, if anyone's willing to go check it out then we can see what's hiding down there. A Walker had been scouting that at one point, wasn't there?" She asks of Salem curiously, though Felix's climbing of the tree distracts her and she squints towards the Gnawer. "Don't damage the tree."
Salem eyeballs Jamethon sidelong for a moment, mouth thinned, then turns to Dakota. "Ishmael or Riley, though I believe it was Ishmael. Not that anyone's heard from him in a while." He rubs his chin. "Didn't that pack of Thane's poke around there as well at one point?"
"Don't worry, ain't aimin' to," Felix assures Dakota from about six feet up, and continues several feet more before digging in his pocket for the little sparkly thing again and leaning out to set it carefully in the join between a main branch and one of its offshoots. The ground gets a considering look, then, as do the branches around and below him, and he jumps down, which is possibly not the best idea he's ever had. He does manage not to harm the tree, but doesn't land squarely on his feet, instead ending up doing something of a shoulder roll to get there. But it works, so hey, maybe he meant to do that. Certainly he acts as if he did, anyway, humming again as he picks up the bag again and moves to the next spot. It's closer to the group, so it's clearer that what comes out of the bag is some kind of animal innards.
Dakota regards what Felix is doing with a considering eye but she sees distracted enough not to question it. "Right. I think so? I heard something of it. Guess it's worth seeing what they may have found. I'm going to start touching base with some folks and see what I can find out, but tonight I'm going to see if the spirits will give me any other pointers. I'll be on the other side if anyone needs me." And with that said, the Child of Gaia shifts into her Crinos form and makes her way to cross the Gauntlet.
Salem nods to Dakota; after she's gone, he shifts himself closer to the firepit, sitting crosslegged. Felix gets another look, scrutinizing. "You're new here, ne?"
Felix looks to the group again when Dakota sounds like she's wrapping things up, and at Salem's question he goes ahead and directs his attention that way entirely, strolling a bit closer with a nod and scrutinizing Salem in return. "More or less, yeah," he agrees, "been here... 'bout three months now, I reckon? Felix T. Sinclair, Lets-Them-Eat-Cake, Cliath Bone Gnawer Galliard, packed with Tactical Frivolity, under Coyote." He makes about half a bow, although it's the half that includes a gratuitously sweeping arm movement, thankfully not of the arm carrying the bag.
The scarred boy remains seated, his manner guarded. "Jack Salem, called Scar. Adren Philodox of the Glass Walkers and alpha of pack Sagacity, under Chimera."
Jamethon follows as if coming out of a mental fog, "Jamethon Black. Godi of the Fenrir. Beta of Excelsior. Gatekeeper of this place."
Felix looks the boy over again, one brow lifting slightly. "...well, nice finally meetin' you; heard you mentioned a bunch. 'course, the description was a little different... an' nice meetin' you too." He gives them both a smile, though the regard for Salem is still curious.
Salem bares his teeth in a thin, humorless smile. "Only a little?"
"Well, I was expectin' someone taller," Felix replies, deadpan, and then, "...and also there's the bit where you got mentioned as havin' been around longest of anyone 'round here."
Salem drags fingers back through his hair, grimaces, then pulls out a twig that'd gotten stuck in there on his run over. "Longest? Maybe. I think it was '98 when I first came into town." The kid squints. "'98 or '99, I forget. It's been a long time. Longer, subjectively."
Jamethon pushes himself to his feet and looks to Salem. "I'd like to meet with Mouse." He glances at the bits of carrion spread around. "I'd like to make a connection from forest to city on this." With this he nods, and looks to start off. "He's seventy years old," the Godi offers helpfully with no further explanation and heads off.
"I was born in '98," Felix says, studying Salem again, "...mosta the time." Jamethon's remark gets a blink at the Get's back while he goes, and then a look back to Salem. "Well. Y'don't look a day over 45," he tells the Adren, "What happened? I mean bein' baby-faced's one thing, but it don't go THAT far. You find the Fountain of Youth or somethin'?" If there's any skepticism, it's well hidden under being intrigued by the suggestion of an interesting story here.
Salem eyes the departing Get with a frown; he nods at Jamethon's request, but there's clearly no love lost there. To Felix, he says, "I accompanied a tribesmate on a quest for Stag's favor so that he could learn a Gift known only to the Fianna. This quest involved Fae. I came back like /this/, and he doesn't remember a goddamn thing about anything."
Felix sits himself down on the edge of the next-nearest flagstone, setting down the bag. "Do you?" he asks, "...an' are you tryin' to undo it? I know people're always lookin' for ways not to be old, but I'm pretty sure ain't none of 'em aimin' for junior high instead." A slight pause, and, "Did he get the Gift?"
Salem shrugs. "The idea was to get Stag's favor, and then the Fianna would feel comfortable teaching him the Gift. But even I've got very little memory of the trip itself, so." He lets that hang for a bit. "And he has a lot more on his mind than working out if he knows that one Gift. Such as remembering all or any of the Gifts he /did/ know." He pushes to his feet, stomps his sneakers a little into the ground as if waking his legs up from sleep. "As for me, while I don't know a great deal about the Fae, my instinct tells me that I'd rather go through puberty again than have any further dealings with them."
"Damn," Felix says, brows going up again, "So, pretty shit trip all around, then. Sucks. Can't say as it's makin' them sound real appealing from here, either, but maybe there's somethin' else can help sort shit out?" He gets to his feet as well, too much energy to stay settled at the moment, and stretches.
"Maybe," says the Philodox. "I'll certainly consider if something presents itself, but for right now..." He shakes his head. "There are bigger issues afoot, ne?"
"Well, there's always stuff afoot," Felix says, "but yeah, I guess it's always priorities, too. I feel like I still dunno about a lot of it, here, though. Y'all were talkin' about Hanford an' Crawlers an' the hospital that isn't there an' all, an' I ain't heard much 'bout any of that. An' I been told to avoid Queen's Tower an' the sewers, but not a lot 'bout just why. Only thing I'm pretty sure I'm kinda up to date on's the vampire thing."
Salem scowls. "Oh good fucking goddamn Christ on a pole, we have a vampire issue again?"
Felix sighs, glancing skyward and then back to the Walker. "Yeah, we got some in the city. We been lookin' into it, an' we told folks who're supposed to tell other folks, but I dunno how much they did 'cause we ain't hearin' all that much back. 'bout when I was real new in town, we had homeless folks disappearin' in one neighbourhood, so Justin an' Watcher went lookin' into it. They found this old church, turned out the 'priest' was a vampire, an' he attacked 'em, fled when he found out they're Garou. They found this trap door, there was the missin' folks chained up an' tortured, an' an assload of other vamps that tied 'em up with shadows an' beat 'em unconcious, left 'em on the street with a message they're comin' for us an' to spread the word. Then they, the vampires I mean, burnt the place down, captives an' all. No one's seen 'em since, they been pretty quiet, but we're pretty sure they're still around. So, we been lookin'. Still are."
Salem says, "I'll pass that along." He sounds calm though clearly isn't. "Excuse me." He heads off, moving at a quick limp, heading for the woods and just about radiating rage.