2020-08-01 TPC: To Cleanse a Firebird

To Cleanse A Firebird

Participants: Flynn, Paola, Addison, Sandy

Storyteller: User:Haight

Location: GreenMotion Labs - Umbra

Date and Time: August 1st 2020

Summary: A surprisingly non-confrontational cleansing.

For those of you who make it across, the umbral face of Westlake North is just as depressing as in the realm. Tight, narrow roads hemmed in by looming buidings, spun thick with silver-grey webbing. Here and there the webs are beginning to peel and part, as if even the Weaver can't be bothered to put in the effort to keep it all neat and regulation-tidy.

In part this is almost certainly due to the bane life around here; spirits born of pain and greed and various mental health issues, feeding on and perpetuating the cycles of poverty and cruelty. There are wailing and howling sounds from many directions, and an ever-present air of despair weighing heavy on even the strongest hearts and shoulders. The air hums with the scents of death and hunger, of essence spilled and lives ruined.

There are a few lights in the darkness though. The Coalition for Humane Imigrant Rights is a bastion of good intentions, where fewer banes find suitable prey. One of the churches is a beacon of slightly-less-awfulness, though the other is a bloated and oversized fortress radiating Patriarchal superiority. And there, quite incongruous in the slums of the neighbourhood, is the surprisingly well-tended laboratory belonging to GreenMotion. Almost certainly built here because it is cheap, the building has a solid presence woven in grey - thicker and more tightly bound than the last time you came - the atmosphere as you get closer feeling slightly less oil-slick and slightly more crisp Weaver functionality.

Sandy arrives first, followed shortly by Addison, then Paola a few minutes later. But there's no sign of Flynn.

It was a poor omen. That was the first thought that hit Flynn's mind as the normally sticky but passable Gauntlet closes around him, pinching his spirit between the physical and Umbral like being trapped under a blunt guillotine. Instinctive panic claws at his stomach and a reflexive attempt to become his native wolf self instead of clumsy human is instead met with searing static and the choking, pained feeling of being entwined in icy barbed wire and industrial duct tape all while being blind and mute. It's a horrible experience and one he hasn't felt in ages. You never get used to it, but all he can do is try to stay calm and hope the others can find him to pull his partly materialized, entrapped self through.

Stepping through first, the Child of Gaia blurs her way into the crinos form, taking a quick moment to survey the area and take stock of what is going on. ~I beat you for a change. You okay?~ She calls through her packlink to Circuit Tracer. ~It looks like they beefed up their security. Also, it sounds dreadful out here. So much pain.~

Addison sits on the Umbral ground, waiting for the others to make it through the sticky pattern web. His shoulders lower in relief when Paola makes it through. Sandy made it before him, so he doesn't worry there. When there's no sign of Flynn Addison's brow worries a bit. Being stuck in the gauntlet was no pleasant experience, even for a Garou who's tribe normally got on better with spiders.

"Does he need someone to shove him?" He asks Sandy, looking up from his seat on the ground.

Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh takes her time, apparently, maybe those born with 'too much spirit' have some hidden desire to remain in between or something like that. In reality, pushing through the Gauntlet in a place as thickly woven as this is just hard. When she emerges, peeling her body through layers of non-being, she looks around for her companions, expecting to see all of them. When the Master of Rites is nowhere to be seen she looks immediately alarmed and drops down to all fours, (she is in homid) and begins to sniff around the area where she came through, focused more on the air than the ground. Out loud, she says, "That took me so long. I should have been last. What is happened? Did the ghostfolk eat him?" A reasonable suspicion. You paged Flynn with 'So you know what is fun? Per the book: While trapped, hes subjected to soul-shattering visions.'.

Stories of calcification always describe a Garou getting dogpiled by spiders, woven into place or their spirits paralyzed until they just stop everything like a grotesque statue. Flynn learns it's not so dramatic. At first he's panicked, and then his emotions calm. Even with his eyes open agonizingly wide and fixed on things no one can see, he just hangs there between worlds unmoving. Bit by bit, everything in his world begins to grow numb like a leg going to sleep from being pinned too long. Only this numbness is within and it thickens like a blanket being wrapped around him. In the pack link, there is nothing but the sense of his panic slowly fizzling out into increasing silence.

Pausing for a long moment and listening, Protects The Fallen's ears flatten back against her skull. ~Brother? Are you okay?~ She starts to pace, her speed ticking up a bit more frantic as she searches the surrounding area. As the pair of Uktena come through, she takes in a deep breath. << He is trapped. I can feel him. We need to yank him through. >> She rumbles out as she prepares to dig back through the web to retrieve her packmate.

The Ragabash knits and unkits his fingers together. "He hasn't made it yet," Addison says to Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh, sitting cross-legged on the ground. Outside the anxiety of waiting on the others, Addison looked comfortable sitting on the ground in the Umbra, almost /too/ comfortable. As if the Velvet Shadow was his living-room floor. Though the Ragabash didn't have a living room. He gently reaches out to the metis to tug away a strand of pattern web that had been torn free from one of her antler points.

He studies it for only as long as he swears it starts to turn his finger a shade of gray. He splays both palms on the ground and pushes himself up into a stand. Just like he'd done when entering the umbra he puts out a hand, fingers pressed together into a flat shape. Addison would focus, pushing his fingers forward slowly, the fabric of reality rippling around his hand like heat rising from the east LA roads.

The Uktena would push his arm in, gently feeling out for one of Flynn's hands or paws. Hopefully the Lupus wouldn't panic and also drag him to a shared doom.

The Mule stops when Addison points out the problem and immediately sits down on the ground--stealing the spot he had been sitting in, to watch the Ragabash as he fishes around in the Gauntlet, searching for their elder. She tilts her head from one side, and then to the other, watching carefully. The spread of her antlers almost looks comical when she looks back and forth like that--but the setting is so far from it, and she is a somewhat faded thing here. "I am glad the ghostfolk didn't get him. What would we do if they did?" It's not a hypothetical. She looks to Sandy.

It's fortunate that Addison succeeds in finding Flynn. The cold logic of reality doesn't claim the Theurge this day as he's pulled through the velcro-like bonds of the web with the combined pull of first Addison and then Sandy as she joins in. As soon as he hits the Umbral ground and awareness and wholeness come rushing back, a surge of terror lances through the Ritemaster who reflexively twists and jerks back into his Lupus form and scrabbles a few steps away. He doesn't fly into a frenzy, but it's evident his heart is ready to leap out of his chest and every bit of his fur is on end with his tail tucked as tightly as his ears are to his head. Blue eyes with the whites fully showing look to each of the other Garou as if he was shocked to see them. << ...safe! Fine. All fine. I saw-- pain. So much pain. >>

When her packmate is brought through to the other side, Protects The Fallen lets out a loud, relieved sigh. She sinks down to her knees and wraps her strong arms around her brother to give him a firm hug. << I know, I know. You're fine. We've been through this before. Come on, we have a mission to complete. You can still lead us? >> Her ear twists towards the Ragabash and gives him a thankful smile, then rises up to her feet. << We won't have to worry about that now. >> She says to Paola.

"Ask them to give him back? Nicely?" Addison feels around, not enjoying the numb sensation the sticky webs left on his fingers as he was feeling around. It was like that numbing sollution for tooth-aches, only in places where he didn't want to feel that. He grimaces as, at some point, he's sure he feels a Spider skitter over him.

The Ragabash's eyes light up when he touches something that definitely felt more Flynn textured than sticky webs. His hand latches on to pull Flynn all the way to the other side, releasing him into Sandy's waiting Crinos arms once he's free. "Hopefully the Spiders won't make it harder for us to get back to the other side," he worries, knowing the tear they made would attract them. "It'd be a pain to half to walk all the way down to Vista Hermosa or MacArthur park where the Gauntlet is thinner and then all the way back to get the vehicle."

Addison huffs as he dusts sticky web off of himself, waiting to hear what the plan was.

The expression on Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh's face is one which clearly indicates that she is not mollified, and still has questions, but she regards Sandy and now the escaped Flynn with narrowed eyes and catches her own tongue. Instead, she gets back up from where she was sitting in Addison's spot and shifts with ripping muscle and popping bones, but in a surprisingly casual fashion into Glabro--a step closer to her natural form, and walks--still four-limbed--up to Flynn and /rubs/ her flanks along his side before pressing her face into his shoulder--always mindful of the dangerous extensions of her skull.

The combined presence and physical contact of both Sandy and Paola help to reassure Flynn that everyone is well and actually here and this isn't just some horrible dream. It still takes him a couple of minutes to get his emotions under control and settle himself enough that he can utter a quiet, << Thanks. >> Embarrassed? Probably, given the splay of his ears. But he remembers Sandy's question and the reason for them being here and the Theurge looks towards the direction of the lab. << Yes. Come on. I cost us enough time. Let's hurry, I don't want to miss the dawn. >>

<< We won't, we will be fine. >> The Child of Gaia assures as she pushes up to her feet, then calls upon her armor as she rumbles out a low prayer to Luna. She trudges on after her packmate, letting him lead.

"No need to rush," Addison attempts to soothe the nerves of the lupus. "Let's take our time. Make sure the job is done right." He'd squat down and brush his hands over the Lupus's front left forelimb. He's careful to avoid touching Flynn's neck, especially near the throat. He pulls his pianist fingers away and places his palms down on the ground.

He closes his eyes in focus. He inhales sharply through his nose and then out just as abrupt through his mouth, making a low gasping bark. Human lips turn black and peel back, hands gnarl and become paws. Two legs become four. The Ragabash looks on the world with wolf eyes when he next opens him. He gives the metis a soft headbutt after he assumes his lupus form.

For someone who often moves and operates like she is more comfortable using four limbs, Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh almost never seems to use the forms which that is more natural in. She lopes along behind the others, keeping pace, but not moving into the lead. She tends to weave throughought the group of them as they make their way to their destination. She is relatively quiet--which is not her usual m.o.--and often flicks her gaze to Circuit Tracer when no one is looking, just watching, and thinking.

The lab is not difficult to see. It sticks out like a sore thumb; much better maintained than the neighbouring buildings, and with that slight shift of feeling from 'oily despair' towards 'metallic orderliness'.

The lab's front is bordered by waist-high walls and a metal gate, though the latter is only represented by gossamer-like wisps of webbing as it moves so often. There are no spirits in that front area, though given the webbing over the building has been layered on much more thickly and tightly over the last few weeks, seeing through into the inside of the building through windows or walls is impossible.

One other subtle difference from the last visit, in addition to the tighter webbing, is the temperature. It might only be a degree or two, but it is warmer here than a few meters away.

<< Too much time has passed already. >> Circuit Tracer says as they make their approach and his eyes fall upon the increasingly cocooned laboratory. << Too much. >> He leads the way for the gate and aims to pick his way towards where he remembers the opening was last time. His eyes flick back towards the others as he goes, particularly Paola as he indicates quietly, << Let's find the space we used last time. Hopefully it is still there and we can get back to where the Firebird is. Keep aware. We don't know if anyone else is here. >>

<< Last time we were here, they had net spiders protecting the bird. She also declared Spirals put her there. >> Protects The Fallen rumbles as she stalks along the fencing, ears perking upwards. << Luna has blessed me this night, I can feel it. I will watch our backs and protect you if possible. Keep your eyes sharp. >>

Ghostwalker pads along behind Circuit Tracer and Protects-the-Fallen, keeping pace with the Metis. <<We didn't check meatspace last time,">> The Ragabash comments, <<"not very much">> . When they reach the gate he licks his nose and starts sniffing around, to investigate what he might need to do to get the group of Garou inside.

As they approach, Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh remains at the back of the group--until they come close enough that they are back toward the holes she found in the calcified walls. She looks back toward Circuit Tracer just once, a visual check-in, before she moves forward and head, loping on all fours, and then approaches the wall, investigating it with nose, eyes, and hands alike, searching for the last place she squeezed through. "If it's gotten smaller, I might still be able to make it, but I don't know if I could get anyone else in."

The Ragabash sniffs around until he's sure he's found something that might be representative of the front gate. He turns to Flynn with his ears pricked up. <<"Any enemies inside?">> He asks, the Theurge, wondering if the older wolf could see something he couldn't. <<"Should enter where there are no enemies.">>

<< Trying to dig our way in may alert them. >> Circuit Tracer says towards Paola, disappointed the way is shut but not surprised. << Go through just enough to see what is in there. >> The question of the Ragabash is given a flick of his ear in understanding. It takes only a short time for Circuit Tracer to draw on cybernetic senses as his eyes take on a faint green hue. His head sweeps carefully from left to right and then back while pausing here or there to focus his eyes on specific areas. A few minutes pass before his eyes refocus and he says, << I think the only things are where the Firebird is. We saw Pattern Spiders before. Maybe it is them. The rest of the building seems clear. Not many rooms. When she reports back, we will decide which way to go. >>

Giving a nod of her head, Protects The Fallen watches her packmate scan about with his glowing eyes, then flicks her ears over towards Paola and gives

The Ragabash bows his head slowly and then slinks into a lower position, almost laying down. In his wolf body doesn't quite belly quite touch the ground. He watches as Flynn's eyes light up, and then watches as Paola attempts to slither in through one of the holes to scout the area more thoroughly.

Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh finds a hole that seems just big enough for her to squeeze her head into, and she tilts it, shifting and squirking, and her antlers bend back against her malforming skull as she shoves in. She pauses mid-movement, though, with her head and shoulders in the hole and the rest of her still sticking out where everyone can see her. A muffled voice says, "I don't think this is going to work."

<< Then we go another way. >> Circuit Tracer states as Paola fails to get through. ~ Help her get out if she needs? ~ He says more covertly through the pack link towards Sandy. The spiders did their work well. He looks back to the doors and then over towards Addison. << Can you open the doors? If you can't, I can try. Mine is... less subtle than the gifts of a Ragabash. >>

Heading over to the wall, Protects The Fallen reaches out to grab the stuck Uktena and looks to dislodge her from her mistake.

Ghostwalk's canine brow furrows with that 'worried dog' expression as he watches from out of the corner of his eye as the Metis get stuck in the webs. He stands up and presses his nose against the entrance. A few moments later he comes awake hawking and spitting and sneezing. He paws at his nose and tongue.

Despite his almost allergic reaction to the taste of the Weaver structure, the webs sealing the gate come undone like a sweater unraveling. The door swings open...

A wide, shallow room is the entryway to the GreenMotion lab, almost certainly a reception area. There is the shape of a standing desk and various office electronics about eight feet back from the door, while to the right are the semi-solid outlines of what look like sofas and a coffee table. On the right wall are two doors which appear much less solid than the walls they are set into - a casual glance will show the slowly solidifying shapes of toilet basins and sinks, while a third door leading deeper into the building is woven just as solidly as the walls you just got through.

Through the small quarter-sized gaps in the webs of that internal door, flickering blue and purple lights can be seen, often accompanied by gusts of heated air.

Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh is not /stuck/ necessarily, and was working on wriggling her way free, but the truth is, a little assistance made the whole process a lot easier, and with some worming and de-wedging, and the significantly stronger assistance of Protects-the-Stuck, she worms her way out, and presses herself against Sandy as they make their way toward the alternative entrance. She has some colour to her already dark cheeks, but is relatively silent about her failure to make her way inside as she did the last time they were here--and so easily then. "Hey look, a door for everyone."

With careful steps, Circuit Tracer leads the way inside once the doors are open and the group reformed. His eyes retain their green hue as he looks towards the lab. << Five. >> He reports. << Spiders and the Firebird. >> He confirms with his voice more certain than it was before. << Ghostwalker, can you open this door too? Then stay to the back, since the spirit is not fond of new moons. I'll go through first and speak to the Firebird. Is everyone ready? >>

Giving a wolfish grin to the Dox', Protects The Fallen nuzzles her, then follows after Circuit-Tracer carefully as she sweeps her eyes about. << That's a lot of spiders, even for me. If they attack, we can try and create a bottle neck, let only one of them come out at a time. >>

There's more flickering of purple and blue lights through the small gaps in the webbing, and then a taunting voice. Speaking the Garou tongue in the tones of a noble creature, the kind of voice that Roman politicians might have orated to their senate with. << I can hear you, little wolves. Are you going to huff and puff and blow down my door? >>

The Ragabash wheezes. Though he opened the way, he was last inside. He swings his head around to look at all the doors Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh had pointed out but before he can respond the Firebird's voice rings out. <<"What's wrong with New Moons?">> He asks with a darting glance to the Dox and Theurge. <<"I'll uh... just open this up and hide so it doesn't see me.">> He'd slink cautiously closer to the reinforced door.

Just like with the outside door, he sticks his nose right up to it, appearing as if he's whispering into the lock trying to seduce it into opening for him. The threads again peel back. It's oddly satisfying to watch it unravel like this. Again, Ghostwalker seems to not like the 'taste' of this as he slinks away. <<"It's like gargling moth-balls...">>

"What? It would not be much of a door if you could blow on it and knock it down," Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh comments, sincerely confused at this particular statement. She looks to Circuit Tracer, wondering if the Theurge would have more insight into this spirit riddle than she would. She reaches into the side of her overalls, digging around for a moment, and produces a mean-looking, but rust-mottled knife, holding it in her left hand and keeping sharp to Protects-the-Fallen's flank--as if she were going to protect her.

Squinting through the gap in the door, a few changes are immediately obvious. The Firebird's cossack, previously the size of a small car, now takes up a significant portion of the back wall. It is approximately the size of a shipping container, dark blue with flashes and flickers of purple and blue coming from the many square holes of varying sizes.

The Firebird is perched atop the structure, looking down imperiously at the door the wolves have created an opening in, and four housecat-sized spiders with too many eyes and legs hang from the walls and skitter across the floor, their articulated joints having an almost mechano-like structure to them.

At the voice, Circuit Tracer holds up his tail in a gesture of both lead and halting as he steps forward in front of the other Garou as the door opens like a stiff, dense lace curtain. Dormammu, << I am here to make a deal. >> The Theurge states as he stands at the threshold of the door with the glow of the cossack tinting his coat purple. << I said I would return and I have. << You hunt knowledge and I am offering you a chance to learn what no other spirit can give you. Will you hear me? >>

Flanking the Glass Walker, Protects The Fallen glows like a silver star with her armor rippling around her heavily scarred crinos frame. She looms over the Theurge, ears pricking as she looks towards the Firebird, silently. He has the stage and this is his performance.

The Ragabash backs off, padding backwards. He'd call upon some gifts to try and hide from the spirit bird and prepare himself to pounce on any spider that scurried at them aggressively.

Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh shifts from where she was flanking Protects-the-Fallen to instead flank Circuit Tracer, knife at the ready--it may look useless, but at least she looks like she knows how to hold it--she is /not/ watching the Firebird, however--her gaze is sweeping around the space for spiders that might assault them. Her free hand--her right hand--is stuffed into the breast pocket of her overalls, fondling something within like she is ready to whip it out and toss it at an enemy, whatever it might be. As the grow closer, she starts blowing in the direction of the Firebird, without looking that way, anticipating that perhaps it is afraid of their breath.

Head cocking slightly, the Firebird considers Circuit-Tracer's offer for a long, tense few moments. It has a duty, but it also has an innate nature too, one that the former-Fang has just appealed to. It glances to the spiders, who had begun to lift their forelegs menacingly, and there's a brief burst of static from the bird - those with Spirit Speech recognise it as an order to stand down for now, and the spiders comply, backing off to the walls to resume their endless spinning.

<< You may approach to within one point five meters, >> the Firebird tells the Glass Walker in that imperious voice. << With two companions only. >> It does cast a faintly curious look at Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh as she huffs and puffs, a sense of bemusement colouring the avian body-language. A ripple of pale blue flame skitters down from crest to tail.

Stage One complete. Circuit Tracer looks over his shoulder towards the other Garou and chuffs a single note of reassurance before saying, << Protects-the-Fallen, Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh; come.>> He doesn't look towards Addison, even if there's the chance he could spot the Ragabash. Let stealthy new moons remain hidden. The Lupus isn't a master of the metric - or imperial - measurement system, and so just stays a few body lengths back.

<< My offer is this. I will help you learn what it is to live. From the rising of the next moon to the rising of the next, I will allow you to ride in my body. I only have two terms.The first is that neither you nor I will take any action to go against the laws of the Garou. The second that I will not be put in undue harm. If this happens, the deal is broken and you will return to the Umbra. >>

<< Five feet >> Protects The Fallen murmurs through their pack link to her packmate. She will reach out a paw to settle on the Glass Walker once they reach the desired distance to halt him. As she moves along with him, there is a confident demeanor about her, a calm, quiet confidence. As she settles her gaze upon the bird, she gives her a nod of respect, sweeping her upperbody a bit.

The Ragabash happily remains hidden in the shadows, ever listening. His ear flicks when he hears that the Glasswalker will make his offer to the Spirit. His snout turns towards the room, attempting to see what was happening. Spirit Horsing? Could Glasswalkers do that? His eyebrows make that worried canine expression over in the corner again.

Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh is here to assist and protect her elder--not that she is the most physically intimidating Wolfgirl in the world--in fact, she might be the least, as even in Glabro her musculature and build are really nothing to speak of. But looks can be deceiving, especially when it comes to one of the Horned Serpent's children, and who knows what kind of hoodoo she is carrying around in that rusty looking knife...or it might just be a knife she found in the garbage. Who can say? When Circuit Tracer offers the Spirit Horse to the Firebird, she loses her cool just long enough to look at him with widened eyes, but then she is back to watching the room for any potential threats.

There's a low rumble from the Firebird, like the roll of fire in a cheery hearth, as it considers the offer from Circuit-Tracer. << I have no power to possess a corporeal being, former servant of Falcon. How exactly would this work? And what are you seeking in exchange? >> That proud voice again, flame-hued eyes focusing on Flynn while it speaks, then sweeping out to check on Protects-the-Fallen and Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh before returning to the Walker. The Spiders remain busy doing their own thing.

<< I know. >> Assures the Theurge as Circuit Tracer continues. << I have a talen made to assist. For that span, the bond will be made with no change to either one of us. This is a chance of a lifetime for me, to know what it is to be close to a spirit of your power. So I offer the same experience to you. My terms remain the same, I cannot break our laws. This means that you will need to be Cleansed, as I cannot carry the taint of the Wyrm. What you do after the bond is done is your's. I will not force you against your duty or purpose. >>

As she listens, Protects The Fallen continues to keep her eyes subtly glancing about the security of the room as Circuit Tracer negotiates with the great Firebird. She twitches her ears upwards. << I am Protects The Fallen. I am a Galliard of great influence and power amongst our people, and I hold the title of Talesinger. I will, on top of Circuit Tracer's offer, deliver you a story of our people in relation to the Silver Pack of old, a pack led by Phoenix herself. Surely a bird of your prestige would find such a tale intriguing. >>

Ghostwalker's ears flick at the mention of a Talen. He peers into the room, innately curious. He doesn't break from hiding, though.

Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh is trying to keep her focus on the other threats here, but there are things being said that is hard for her to not pay attention to. Unlike Protects-the-Fallen she does not make an offer to sweeten the deal, instead she says, very quietly, near to those two. "Are you sure this is safe?" There is no small amount of concern in her voice--and it's not about the Master of Rites' lack of capability in the least. She has already shared several times that she holds concerns about losing vital leadership. Again, to Sandy says, "What do we do if it goes wrong?"

Glancing back to the Galliard, the Firebird allows, << I know of you, Protects-the-Fallen, the rising spark escaping the festering green balefires. >> Likely it knows of Circuit-Tracer too given his history, but it is choosing not to acknowledge him in quite the same fashion. Pride is a problem for spirits, too. Then, with a low whistling sort of sound, it opens its wings and glides down to land on the floor in front of the Garou. << Very well. I agree. >>

One ear of Circuit Tracer turns towards Paola, silently acknowledging her concern but all he can do in that moment is give her a quick look with a relaxed and assured expression and a brief wag of his tail. Anymore may be seen as rude to the spirit, like talking on the phone while having a work meeting. Another look, far more vague and distant, is turned to Sandy as he passes another word to her. Then he looks back to the Firebird and bows his head to the spirit.

He takes to his Crinos form as the deal is made so that he can retrieve the bag he bound to him in which are his Cleansing supplies as well as a single sphere of mirror polished volcanic glass. He gestures to the other Garou with him to begin the assistance portion of the ritual.

More than anything, Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh serves as an assistant. She knows plenty about performing Rites--and certainly a lot more than the average Cliath, or even Philodox in some cases. She helps Circuit Tracer perform the rite, but all of it is as a right-hand-monster, and all at his direction.

Having come prepared, Protects The Fallen supports the RitesMaster with the ritual as she chants and howls with her song to Gaia. She knows the dance steps by heart and the words burned to memory.

Croaking now and then in pain as the corruption swaying its actions is slowly lifted, peeled off the essence of its being and howled away into the dawn, the Firebird undergoes something of a transformation. The blues and purples remain, but as underlaying colours to a more brilliant red-gold-orange-yellow colour scheme. Each feather seems tipped in a gleaming jewel or bit of curly gold, and it stands taller, prouder (if that's even possible?). When it speaks again, the voice is the same but softer, that of a caring ruler rather than a despot. << I will see you at moonrise, Circuit-Tracer. Be well, all of you. >> And then it turns to its cassock, singing a warbling melody to dismantle the light web so it can be rebuilt elsewhere.