Because of a dream..
Apr. 7th, 2012 10:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dagnySomething smacked against the window I was sleeping against. It sounded huge, made a crack like it meant to break clean through the space-plastic they use in airplanes these days. But, it didn't. It was snowing like absolute hell. Hailing, even. And at this altitude, the hail was still the size of a fist.
It absolutely pummeled the plane as it bored its way through the night-storm, rocketing over the sleeping country below. The States. Of course, it had been on the news. There was enough wrong with the United States that made the rest of the world turn and look, and often laugh. I'll be honest. Even I laughed at it while abroad. Never was much of a patriot when it came to mundane borders. But, like the idiot cousin was still a member of the family, the U.S. was still 'home'.
I jerked my head sideways, giving my neck a rough crack that made the person next to me jump in their seat. A small man with thin-framed glasses reading the Wall-Street journal. His suit looked expensive. So did the watch on his wrist.
Pathetic. I hated him on sight. I bet he was the kind of man that thought he was powerful because of the digits in his bank account.
Looking out the window, I could see breaks in the clouds. It was snowing at this altitude, but down below it was probably only coming down as rain. St. Claire was just as affected by the strange winter as the rest of the planet, I was betting. Not a lot of snow. More rain. Mud.
Rain, I remembered. It rained like hell the day I left.
Saint Claire was pathetic then. I doubted it'd be different now. Hell, I couldn't even explain why I was making my way back there, but I felt like it had to be done. Maybe it was closure. Who knows.
My shoulder itched. I thought nothing of pulling down the side of my shirt to scratch at the scars that were there, halfway hiding under my bra strap. Mister Wall-Street couldn't help himself; I caught him trying to catch a subtle glance at my chest only to go pale when he saw the scars.
"Jesus Christ.." He muttered before he caught himself. There are some things that we see that make us forget how to act in polite company. Apparently, my scars were the anathema for Wall-Street. "What the hell happened to you?"
I turned to look at him, blinking at his pale face, seeing the indents on the bridge of his nose left by his glasses. They'd slid down a bit when his eyebrows had shot up.
"Bear." I said to him, pulling the necklace up and out away from my chest to display the souvenier I'd kept. The claw was about seven inches long. I was certain Wall-Street wouldn't know that brown bear claws are usually only half that length. I saw no harm in letting him examine the claw I'd kept. Hell, some of my blood was still in the groove on the underside of it, long dried.
I could see his Adam's apple bobbing in his skinny, scrawny throat as he took it in his hand. He looked at me again, and this time I could see genuine uncertainty. I was taller than him, broader. He seemed to be suddenly aware of the differences. I watched the artery in his neck pulse briefly, noting the quickening of its pace.
He nodded politely and turned back to his newspaper, trying to shrink back into his own little world; trying to retreat from having broken the silence between us.
That was fine with me. I still itched. I scratched, and remembered. How had I put it?
Tearing the head from the snake while it tried really damn hard to sink its fangs into my face.
I thought I was ready. And even though Rime-Gjallr thought I wasn't, he gave me my challenge anyway. Something had gone into the woods and fucked with the wildlife. It nested inside the living things. Twisted them, tormented them. Recreated them into grotesque mockeries of what they had been. Even the catterpillars had morphed into spiked, spined things with metal-melting saliva. Needless to say, something had to be done. Rime thought it as good a challenge as any, I figured.
Two others were with me that night. Gold-Bristle, a wiry Ragabash Fostern who could get blown over by a strong wind (Seriously, how did that kid end up a Get?) and Loki's-Grin, another Galliard. He, at least, looked like he belonged.
It didn't take long to find the cave, and the Wyrm-tainted bear that lived in it. It took even less time for that damn bear to come after us. Gold-Bristle taunted him into giving chase; Loki and I were waiting as he sped past us. The bear dove right into us without knowing. It was dangerous, reckless. But it worked. Gee Bee got through, Loki and I dove headfirst into the fight.
Things were going as expected. Until they weren't. Somehow in the fight, Gee Bee got himself knocked into the rocks. He didn't get up. I should have figured then that we might have bitten off more than we could chew, but I didn't. It'd been too long since we had a good fight, and this was an important one. I let it blind me. Loki did, too.
The sound Loki made, though.. Even in remembering it now, it gives me chills. Something between a squeal and a scream. The bear had him by the shoulders and was trying to tear him in two. No clawing or biting I did was distracting enough, now that it had something in its grasp. I almost panicked. But I didn't. I took that inkling of fear and I used it. The Nordic Get would have called it 'putting on the bear shirt' or something.
My mind, like a weapon, pierced into the consciousness of the Wyrmbear. It was an abyss. Empty, cavernous, chilling.. It felt like pushing against a hardened shell only for it to cave inward, finding nothing behind the wall. And then it filled. I felt -things- swarming all around my mind, grabbing and clawing and reaching and shredding. My brain itched. I felt neurons misfiring, neural pathways burning.
If I hadn't gotten out then, I'm certain I would have torn my own head off. But.. the act had done its job. The beast released Loki and, even though he was in rough shape, he managed to drive a torn tree branch through the creature's midsection.
Torn between two attackers, the thing didn't know which to focus on. I ripped its throat out. And then I tore the beating heart out of its chest cavity.
Before we could get Gee Bee back to the healers, I had one more thing left to do. The spirit of the bear that had been tainted was lingering. Confused, afraid. While my tribesmen rested after the battle, I made an offering of my own blood and performed the ritual to help the bear.
I must have fallen unconcious.. or something. Maybe it was the miasma left over from Mindspeaking with the creature.. I don't really know. But, I found myself sitting in a clearing with the bear. He was whole, and pure, and light. He seemed sad, in a way, but also grateful. He turned and left, disappearing.
I woke near the Caern, was given water, and told that our mission had been a success. Gee Bee was recovering, even. The Theurges had gone in to banish the remaining Wyrm taint since the main source had been destroyed. The forest was in rough shape, but it was on the mend.
**BING** "Ladies and Gentlemen, the captain has turned on the seat-belt sign. Please make sure your seat belts are buckled, as we're beginning our final descent into Saint Claire. We'll be getting into gate C3 just after 3am."
I looked at my watch anyway. Fifteen minutes to deplaning. I hated landings. Not because of the bumps or the possibility of crashing and dying horribly. I hated waiting. It made me angry. Knowing that I'd be stepping off the plane and into old territory was also pretty bad.
And despite the whole concept of coming back to Saint Claire smacked of 'Bad Idea'.. I had to do it.
I wonder if Jack's number has changed..
The TL;DR Version:
It absolutely pummeled the plane as it bored its way through the night-storm, rocketing over the sleeping country below. The States. Of course, it had been on the news. There was enough wrong with the United States that made the rest of the world turn and look, and often laugh. I'll be honest. Even I laughed at it while abroad. Never was much of a patriot when it came to mundane borders. But, like the idiot cousin was still a member of the family, the U.S. was still 'home'.
I jerked my head sideways, giving my neck a rough crack that made the person next to me jump in their seat. A small man with thin-framed glasses reading the Wall-Street journal. His suit looked expensive. So did the watch on his wrist.
Pathetic. I hated him on sight. I bet he was the kind of man that thought he was powerful because of the digits in his bank account.
Looking out the window, I could see breaks in the clouds. It was snowing at this altitude, but down below it was probably only coming down as rain. St. Claire was just as affected by the strange winter as the rest of the planet, I was betting. Not a lot of snow. More rain. Mud.
Rain, I remembered. It rained like hell the day I left.
Saint Claire was pathetic then. I doubted it'd be different now. Hell, I couldn't even explain why I was making my way back there, but I felt like it had to be done. Maybe it was closure. Who knows.
My shoulder itched. I thought nothing of pulling down the side of my shirt to scratch at the scars that were there, halfway hiding under my bra strap. Mister Wall-Street couldn't help himself; I caught him trying to catch a subtle glance at my chest only to go pale when he saw the scars.
"Jesus Christ.." He muttered before he caught himself. There are some things that we see that make us forget how to act in polite company. Apparently, my scars were the anathema for Wall-Street. "What the hell happened to you?"
I turned to look at him, blinking at his pale face, seeing the indents on the bridge of his nose left by his glasses. They'd slid down a bit when his eyebrows had shot up.
"Bear." I said to him, pulling the necklace up and out away from my chest to display the souvenier I'd kept. The claw was about seven inches long. I was certain Wall-Street wouldn't know that brown bear claws are usually only half that length. I saw no harm in letting him examine the claw I'd kept. Hell, some of my blood was still in the groove on the underside of it, long dried.
I could see his Adam's apple bobbing in his skinny, scrawny throat as he took it in his hand. He looked at me again, and this time I could see genuine uncertainty. I was taller than him, broader. He seemed to be suddenly aware of the differences. I watched the artery in his neck pulse briefly, noting the quickening of its pace.
He nodded politely and turned back to his newspaper, trying to shrink back into his own little world; trying to retreat from having broken the silence between us.
That was fine with me. I still itched. I scratched, and remembered. How had I put it?
Tearing the head from the snake while it tried really damn hard to sink its fangs into my face.
I thought I was ready. And even though Rime-Gjallr thought I wasn't, he gave me my challenge anyway. Something had gone into the woods and fucked with the wildlife. It nested inside the living things. Twisted them, tormented them. Recreated them into grotesque mockeries of what they had been. Even the catterpillars had morphed into spiked, spined things with metal-melting saliva. Needless to say, something had to be done. Rime thought it as good a challenge as any, I figured.
Two others were with me that night. Gold-Bristle, a wiry Ragabash Fostern who could get blown over by a strong wind (Seriously, how did that kid end up a Get?) and Loki's-Grin, another Galliard. He, at least, looked like he belonged.
It didn't take long to find the cave, and the Wyrm-tainted bear that lived in it. It took even less time for that damn bear to come after us. Gold-Bristle taunted him into giving chase; Loki and I were waiting as he sped past us. The bear dove right into us without knowing. It was dangerous, reckless. But it worked. Gee Bee got through, Loki and I dove headfirst into the fight.
Things were going as expected. Until they weren't. Somehow in the fight, Gee Bee got himself knocked into the rocks. He didn't get up. I should have figured then that we might have bitten off more than we could chew, but I didn't. It'd been too long since we had a good fight, and this was an important one. I let it blind me. Loki did, too.
The sound Loki made, though.. Even in remembering it now, it gives me chills. Something between a squeal and a scream. The bear had him by the shoulders and was trying to tear him in two. No clawing or biting I did was distracting enough, now that it had something in its grasp. I almost panicked. But I didn't. I took that inkling of fear and I used it. The Nordic Get would have called it 'putting on the bear shirt' or something.
My mind, like a weapon, pierced into the consciousness of the Wyrmbear. It was an abyss. Empty, cavernous, chilling.. It felt like pushing against a hardened shell only for it to cave inward, finding nothing behind the wall. And then it filled. I felt -things- swarming all around my mind, grabbing and clawing and reaching and shredding. My brain itched. I felt neurons misfiring, neural pathways burning.
If I hadn't gotten out then, I'm certain I would have torn my own head off. But.. the act had done its job. The beast released Loki and, even though he was in rough shape, he managed to drive a torn tree branch through the creature's midsection.
Torn between two attackers, the thing didn't know which to focus on. I ripped its throat out. And then I tore the beating heart out of its chest cavity.
Before we could get Gee Bee back to the healers, I had one more thing left to do. The spirit of the bear that had been tainted was lingering. Confused, afraid. While my tribesmen rested after the battle, I made an offering of my own blood and performed the ritual to help the bear.
I must have fallen unconcious.. or something. Maybe it was the miasma left over from Mindspeaking with the creature.. I don't really know. But, I found myself sitting in a clearing with the bear. He was whole, and pure, and light. He seemed sad, in a way, but also grateful. He turned and left, disappearing.
I woke near the Caern, was given water, and told that our mission had been a success. Gee Bee was recovering, even. The Theurges had gone in to banish the remaining Wyrm taint since the main source had been destroyed. The forest was in rough shape, but it was on the mend.
**BING** "Ladies and Gentlemen, the captain has turned on the seat-belt sign. Please make sure your seat belts are buckled, as we're beginning our final descent into Saint Claire. We'll be getting into gate C3 just after 3am."
I looked at my watch anyway. Fifteen minutes to deplaning. I hated landings. Not because of the bumps or the possibility of crashing and dying horribly. I hated waiting. It made me angry. Knowing that I'd be stepping off the plane and into old territory was also pretty bad.
And despite the whole concept of coming back to Saint Claire smacked of 'Bad Idea'.. I had to do it.
I wonder if Jack's number has changed..
The TL;DR Version:
:: Left Saint Claire sometime in 2009
:: Moved to Norway, joined the Sept of Seven Hammers
:: Joined pack (Hrafngard), challenged her way up to beta.
:: 2010 Challenged for Fostern Rank, was Tasked with uncovering and eliminating the source of Wyrm corruption in nearby wilderness, and calming the spirit in the forest afterward with song and story. (Challenge accepted, completed)
:: Learned the Rank 2 Galliard Rite "Dreamspeak" upon completing her rank challenge.
:: Lasting mental damage from the battle becomes apparent (minor memory loss)
:: Hrafngard's alpha slain during battle, Dagny steps up to fill the role and is challenged several times by other members in a short span of time. None are successful in their challenges. The pack settles into a routine with Dag leading.
:: Mid 2011, Hrafngard decimated during BSD invasion, two members survive. The pack is declared dissolved.
:: Late 2011, Plagued by nightmares and hallucinations, Dag seeks the aide of the tribe's local shaman, receives healing, though a single repeating dream remains.
:: Early 2012, ascends to Adren via Gaia's gift to the Garou. Learns the rite "View The Battlefield" from a hawk spirit.
:: Present 2012, Dagny takes leave of Seven Hammers to visit Saint Claire to try and find the source of the dream.
