2020.11.22:Sept of Abundant Waters - KinMagi Scouting
| Sept of Abundant Waters - KinMagi Scouting | |
|---|---|
| Khol does some scrying | |
| IC Date | 11-22-2020 |
| IC Time | Spans 12 hours |
| Players | Khol, with Branton and Killigrew as St's |
| Location | Florida |
| Prp/Tp | Sept of Abundant Waters |
Content Warning: Contains allusions to infanticide, sexual assault, gore, abuse. Spirals are BAD.
Khol has let Johanna know what he is planning to do (She may come out to observe) and then, he prepares himself. Getting a good healthy meal and taking a little time to stretch out, before he goes to the meditation circle. This whole area is his sanctum, and so here his magic is at its strongest. He will take his seat in the center of the circle where the darker and lighter grey stones touch in balance. Then places his feet into a lotus position posturing himself for meditation.
Beautiful, balmy Florida. Creeping close to Thanksgiving and it's still damned near eighty degrees. From far above, the Sept looks beautiful, isolated. A little oasis of stilted swamp houses surrounding the raised land of the bawn proper. The map that was drawn for the planning is pretty close to accurate. The scale is a little off, but that happens with these things.
Coming in closer, the flesh-side reveals algae blooms and spreading decay. Dead fish float on the water, suffocated by the algae and ignored by the local predators - as if they can sense the taint that lead to their death. The Umbra is a twisted, foul mess with the expected Banes and twisted spirits of rot and corruption. Not just the presence of a few lured by the Spirals, but the abundance of Dancers working on making a new Hive from what was the Sept's place of power.
Gator is there, basking on the mud of the bawn, his eyes white with thick cataracts that blind him. From the Umbra, it's easy to see the pulsing, disgusting grey lump that has anchored itself to the great Gator, sinking tentacles into the eyes like a parasite. Fusing to the totem.
Closer still, and as Khol really gets a look around, he can see the pile of bones and corpses, thrown up against the pillars 'round the back of the main Gathering Hall, covered in the slime and the moss of the damp swamp. There's a semi-fresh corpse thrown atop the pile, stripped bare and torn by claws. Male. Or was.
The whole place reeks of despair.
Most of the Spirals are inside the main gathering hall, feasting on the spoils of the area. And parts of the kinfolk they keep. Some of the kin, the females old enough and young enough to breed are kept there as well - even so, they're not much better off than the kin atop the pile of bones. All bear the claw marks of their tormentors, and they've grown thin, broken under the 'care' of the Spirals. One sits in a corner, curled into a ball, rocking, weepng without sound nor tears. The others seek comfort in each other where they can. An infant has been nailed to a wall, like some crude attempt to throw the female into estrus the way males in a pride of lions will slaughter the young of other males tomake room for their own offspring. It also serves a reminder of what has been done, what will be done. What's /inevitable/ as their fate without assistance.
The male kin are mostly in one hut, to the far northwest - as far from their keeps as they can get. One within the hut is female, though its hard to know by sight alone. The face has been ripped off, rendering her blind and hardly able to eat. The kin nurse her, feeding her crush, pulped crayfish and water that falls from the torn remnants of her mouth. This, though, is a Garou. Fallen to despair, crippled, blinded, deafened, with limbs that won't untwist. Left to fester like the rest of the Caern, yet cared for by the failing kinsmen.
The headcount of sixteen seems accurate. But there is no real rhyme or reason to the patrols. They go, they come back when they're tired. The composition of the groups change. It seems to be 'whoever is available whenver to go'. Mostly they use shallow boats.
Their leader and another don't leave the Gathering Hall. They eat, sleep, and focus their attention to building the Hive with the gnosis of what was once the Sept of Abundant Water. Three of their number are made to Dance. Still breaking in the new converts.
Khol has steeled himself for this, his control over his mind and will as inexorable as any Akashic general could be. He knew what to expect. That doesnt mean he doesnt care, but for now that caring is set aside for the practical matter of saving what can be saved. He will examine the other buildings. ensuring there are none in them.. none that need to be rescued.. or that those buildings are being used for anything. He checks the rough number of people that come and go on the patrols, is it solo, or paired.. or is it a small pack of 3, four or five. How many boats does he count? and do they leave any banked for emergency use if the patrols are all out.
The numbers going out vary, but no less than two, more frequently three minimum, upwards of six that then split up and go different directions. Insanity makes discipline harder. Makes them dangerously unpredictable.
There are seven boats moored along the raised walkways, no doubt the vessels used for patrols and fishing efforts before the Spirals moved in. The other buildings are where the belongings of the huts have been tossed. Stripping the living of the comforts of their homes and leaving them with just a small potbellied stove, a few utensils and dishes, blankets.
