First impressions.
Tuesday, 10 May 2016 12:20![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trace_logs
10 May, 2016
The moon is in the waxing Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (25% full).
Jamethon sits at the firepit, currently whittling away with hand-machined iron tools at a two-fist sized chunk of cured yellow cedar. The future of the figurine is not yet clear but the intention of the Get is clearly a dedicated one. He has pulled the log a bit further away from the fire than usual, perhaps due to the work he currently performs. At his side is a glass jug of what looks like water but has a touch more viscosity.
Trace is still familiarising himself with this unfamiliar forest, that much is evident in the Walker's manner as he becomes visible. Rather than at any great speed, the ahroun walks slowly, thumbs hooked into his pockets, and murmuring to himself every so often, or looking up. The additional benefit is that he walks quietly enough through the woods despite the heavy combat boots he's wearing. When he spots the Get— or perhaps the fire, given that Trace has his jacket pulled around himself— there is a nod of greeting, and a twitch of the lips that becomes a wry half-smile.
Jamethon looks up from his work slowly, the kind of movement that indicates acknowledgement but not surprise. "You're… Trace, yeah?" The Fenrir says as an offer for the other to introduce himself, as he sets down the current work in progress. He then picks up the jug using one finger in a practiced motion that brings it quickly to his lips for a long drink, before setting it back down.
There's a nod. "Trace Garza, A. K. A. Six-Shooter. Ahroun and Fostern of the Glass Walkers." The young man moves over to crouch somewhat near the fire, an appraising glance of the Get, and his gaze settling curiously on the carving in progress for a moment. "Formerly of Steel Angel."
Jamethon returns a steel gaze to the curiosity of the Walker, then his own eyes follow the other's to his work and back up. "I assumed that last bit, yeah. Sorry. I had friends there." The Fenrir shakes his head then looks more directly at the Walker again, "Jamethon Black, Adren of the Fenrir and Godi, that's Theurge. I am the Gatekeeper of the Triquetral Accord and speaker for her Spirits. I have fallen and risen by both the hands of Luna's gift to us and the very touch of Purity itself. I watched over this place for a time as its Warder and was once Jarl of the Fenrir. All that is to say, if you need the help of an Elder, I am qualified to provide it."
Trace listens, and nods, moving to sit down first cross-legged and then half-lotus at some point while Jamethon is talking. "Thank you," he tells Jamethon. "Pleased to meet you. Right now, I am helping out as I can, learning my way around the Bawn, finding and arranging to complete the teaching that is my chiminage here." He chews on his lower lip. "I'm afraid yesterday morning wasn't particularly my shining moment."
Jamethon watches the other sit, and takes another swig of the large glass jug that contains not-quite-water, though he has no outward reaction to drinking whatever is in that jug. Finally the Fenrir shrugs and offers, "No. It wasn't. Luckily, I do not consider first impressions to be final ones."
Trace rests his hands on his knees after holding them near the fire to warm them briefly. "That's a relief," he says. "This strikes me as a good place, a good sept."
Jamethon raises an eyebrow at the assessment and then nods. "It is, and can continue to be if the Garou here can learn to put aside their differences and tame the rage within. To channel their strength and dedication. To being what Gaia needs us to be." Here, the Fenrir picks up the block of wood and what looks like a pretty heavy bevel edged iron chisel with a leather bound wood handle.
Trace watches the fire and glances back to Jamethon once, an easy-enough silence as he considers the other's words. "Neither of those are easy things to do, but both of them are… what is it in English…" he pauses for a moment, "necessary." The Walker sighs, but the slight smile doesn't go away.
Jamethon considers the last word for a time then shakes his head, "I prefer to think of it as a gift. We have been granted the privilege of being the generation of Garou that figures out how to make amends for the past. To heal." The Fenrir gouges out a chip of wood that falls to his feet. "To cut away the cancer that has held us back for generations. Do not confuse me with a Child of Gaia however," another chip is cut away to fall at his feet, "I am of Fenrir. I know that we need to fight, to kill. I am also a Theurge. We must understand our power and where it must be applied, wisely."
Trace tilts his head, and there's a slight hint of teeth to the smile at the moment. He's quiet again for a bit. "And therein lies the catch," he says, "that wisely part, though you'll hear no disagreement from me. Combat the Wyrm. Wherever and whenever. Then again, I am a full moon." He lifts his shoulders and shrugs. "But we get further when we work together, and not against each other, and not caught up in politicking or anything like that. I just… hope that it is enough."
Jamethon swallows deeply at the last thought from the other and another chip falls. This sliver of wood manages to catch a little air and floats over to the fire, where it gets too close and is quickly consumed. James watches this with clear interest and then finally looks back up to Trace, "What is it that you are teaching?"
"Most of what I know are minor rites, a few gifts," Trace says, holding his hands up to the fire once more. "Apecraft's Blessings, the tool mastery gift; and Impergium's Shadow, a rite that teaches the past, so we can learn from it to understand and guide our actions in the present, understand how our presence affects humans now, and the Curse."
The Fenrir Godi is listening rather passively, having seemed to double the focus on his work, until the second rite is mentioned. Here, Jamethon looks up and considers the Walker carefully, "If you would teach me, I would learn the Rite of the Impergium's Shadow from you."
Trace nods, and sits up a little bit straighter, though he was not particularly slouching to begin with. "Of course," he says, and then continues, "I will seek you out when I have finished teaching the gift I am teaching to Felix." The Walker looks off into the woods, and then pushes to his feet. "And maybe I'll see you before then, as well. Thank you, for your time and your company." He tilts his head in the direction he was looking. "I should be going, I have a lot of ground left to cover today."
The moon is in the waxing Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (25% full).
Jamethon sits at the firepit, currently whittling away with hand-machined iron tools at a two-fist sized chunk of cured yellow cedar. The future of the figurine is not yet clear but the intention of the Get is clearly a dedicated one. He has pulled the log a bit further away from the fire than usual, perhaps due to the work he currently performs. At his side is a glass jug of what looks like water but has a touch more viscosity.
Trace is still familiarising himself with this unfamiliar forest, that much is evident in the Walker's manner as he becomes visible. Rather than at any great speed, the ahroun walks slowly, thumbs hooked into his pockets, and murmuring to himself every so often, or looking up. The additional benefit is that he walks quietly enough through the woods despite the heavy combat boots he's wearing. When he spots the Get— or perhaps the fire, given that Trace has his jacket pulled around himself— there is a nod of greeting, and a twitch of the lips that becomes a wry half-smile.
Jamethon looks up from his work slowly, the kind of movement that indicates acknowledgement but not surprise. "You're… Trace, yeah?" The Fenrir says as an offer for the other to introduce himself, as he sets down the current work in progress. He then picks up the jug using one finger in a practiced motion that brings it quickly to his lips for a long drink, before setting it back down.
There's a nod. "Trace Garza, A. K. A. Six-Shooter. Ahroun and Fostern of the Glass Walkers." The young man moves over to crouch somewhat near the fire, an appraising glance of the Get, and his gaze settling curiously on the carving in progress for a moment. "Formerly of Steel Angel."
Jamethon returns a steel gaze to the curiosity of the Walker, then his own eyes follow the other's to his work and back up. "I assumed that last bit, yeah. Sorry. I had friends there." The Fenrir shakes his head then looks more directly at the Walker again, "Jamethon Black, Adren of the Fenrir and Godi, that's Theurge. I am the Gatekeeper of the Triquetral Accord and speaker for her Spirits. I have fallen and risen by both the hands of Luna's gift to us and the very touch of Purity itself. I watched over this place for a time as its Warder and was once Jarl of the Fenrir. All that is to say, if you need the help of an Elder, I am qualified to provide it."
Trace listens, and nods, moving to sit down first cross-legged and then half-lotus at some point while Jamethon is talking. "Thank you," he tells Jamethon. "Pleased to meet you. Right now, I am helping out as I can, learning my way around the Bawn, finding and arranging to complete the teaching that is my chiminage here." He chews on his lower lip. "I'm afraid yesterday morning wasn't particularly my shining moment."
Jamethon watches the other sit, and takes another swig of the large glass jug that contains not-quite-water, though he has no outward reaction to drinking whatever is in that jug. Finally the Fenrir shrugs and offers, "No. It wasn't. Luckily, I do not consider first impressions to be final ones."
Trace rests his hands on his knees after holding them near the fire to warm them briefly. "That's a relief," he says. "This strikes me as a good place, a good sept."
Jamethon raises an eyebrow at the assessment and then nods. "It is, and can continue to be if the Garou here can learn to put aside their differences and tame the rage within. To channel their strength and dedication. To being what Gaia needs us to be." Here, the Fenrir picks up the block of wood and what looks like a pretty heavy bevel edged iron chisel with a leather bound wood handle.
Trace watches the fire and glances back to Jamethon once, an easy-enough silence as he considers the other's words. "Neither of those are easy things to do, but both of them are… what is it in English…" he pauses for a moment, "necessary." The Walker sighs, but the slight smile doesn't go away.
Jamethon considers the last word for a time then shakes his head, "I prefer to think of it as a gift. We have been granted the privilege of being the generation of Garou that figures out how to make amends for the past. To heal." The Fenrir gouges out a chip of wood that falls to his feet. "To cut away the cancer that has held us back for generations. Do not confuse me with a Child of Gaia however," another chip is cut away to fall at his feet, "I am of Fenrir. I know that we need to fight, to kill. I am also a Theurge. We must understand our power and where it must be applied, wisely."
Trace tilts his head, and there's a slight hint of teeth to the smile at the moment. He's quiet again for a bit. "And therein lies the catch," he says, "that wisely part, though you'll hear no disagreement from me. Combat the Wyrm. Wherever and whenever. Then again, I am a full moon." He lifts his shoulders and shrugs. "But we get further when we work together, and not against each other, and not caught up in politicking or anything like that. I just… hope that it is enough."
Jamethon swallows deeply at the last thought from the other and another chip falls. This sliver of wood manages to catch a little air and floats over to the fire, where it gets too close and is quickly consumed. James watches this with clear interest and then finally looks back up to Trace, "What is it that you are teaching?"
"Most of what I know are minor rites, a few gifts," Trace says, holding his hands up to the fire once more. "Apecraft's Blessings, the tool mastery gift; and Impergium's Shadow, a rite that teaches the past, so we can learn from it to understand and guide our actions in the present, understand how our presence affects humans now, and the Curse."
The Fenrir Godi is listening rather passively, having seemed to double the focus on his work, until the second rite is mentioned. Here, Jamethon looks up and considers the Walker carefully, "If you would teach me, I would learn the Rite of the Impergium's Shadow from you."
Trace nods, and sits up a little bit straighter, though he was not particularly slouching to begin with. "Of course," he says, and then continues, "I will seek you out when I have finished teaching the gift I am teaching to Felix." The Walker looks off into the woods, and then pushes to his feet. "And maybe I'll see you before then, as well. Thank you, for your time and your company." He tilts his head in the direction he was looking. "I should be going, I have a lot of ground left to cover today."