Patrollogs
Morgans Ghost Banishing 240723
On a haunting night in Arkwright Cemetery under a waning gibbous moon, a trio of eerie spectral figures dressed in an amalgam of ballroom and pirate attire emerges, armed and aggressive. Morgan, amidst a group including Jordan and Nikolai, finds herself immediately engaged in battle with these spirits. The group's dynamic is complex, with Nikolai criticising Morgan's disdain for cars and technology, revealing her ancient lineage and distaste for modern advancements, despite their utility. The ghosts, relentless in their assault, test Morgan's combat skills and patience, prompting a blend of old-world magic and modern tactics in response. Nikolai, lacking finesse in magical affairs, employs his own unorthodox methods, attempting to purge the spiritual residue with divine fire, while Morgan transforms into a wolf, asserting her dominance and connection to the natural world.
Jordan, inexperienced yet determined, focuses on banishing the spirits back into their graves using ancient Egyptian chants of binding. Despite initial mistakes and the overwhelming sense of danger, their dedication to the ritual slowly begins to draw the spirits down, their efforts supported by the combat prowess of Morgan and Nikolai's fiery interventions. As the cemetery air fills with the sounds of battle and enchantment, the ghosts eventually succumb to the combined force of physical might and ancient rites. With a concluding howl from Morgan in her wolf form, the spirits are compelled back into the earth, granting peace to the once-disturbed grounds of Arkwright Cemetery. This collaboration, albeit fraught with tension and differing approaches, showcases the power of unity in diversity, as ancient magic, brute strength, and the resolve to face one's fears come together to quell the unrest among the dead.
(Morgan's ghost banishing)
[Mon Jul 22 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is night, about 76F(24C) degrees, There is a waning gibbous moon.
A haunting piano melody suddenly creeps over the graveyard as one by one, three spectral forms raise up into sight. Each is somewhat decayed and dressed in a mix of ballroom gown and old pirate garb, one wields a pair of flintlock pistols, another a wicked cutlass and the third a pair of sharp looking knives.
Morgan nods to Jordan. "Wise to keep it that way," she murmurs testily, keeping her gaze toward Nikolai. "Are you sore about your multiple struggles in that battle against her?" She asks, curiously. "And I am fine with appropriate use of mancing, beckoning spirits of nature, and the like. What I cannot stand is the profane use of rituals, and all that come from the dabbling." She growls low. "Technology is fine, however, these...phones are handy." She grumbles. "Cars are gross."
Morgan says "And besides, I was just having a bit of fun, one most embrace the joy of battles."
The three spirits surround Morgan, attacking and harrying her from all sides.
Morgan weathers this assault placidly. She shifts and steps light, weaving between attacks and bearing the rest that make it through. Like her previous encounter, she seems content to study them more than she hurries herself swinging at them
Jordan holds stiff, eyes locked on the three spirits. Their fingers tremble, but they do *move*, slowly reaching into their bag and pulling out a set of bells in leather wrappings. They fumble with the leather, getting one loose only to have it tinkle loudly, setting the spirits on the attack. They flinch, holding the clapper, then shakes their head, slipping the casing back on. "Not... gonna work d...dh... *that* way," they grumble, putting it back in their bag.
"Blyat, always with the fucking pirate ghosts," Nikolai sighs. The hammer in his hands blazes to life in a congregation of scarlet flames, which he directs towards the spectres in a sloppy stream of fire. He's no sorcerer, it's quite clear - he doesn't have the precision /or/ the control of one. Still, that isn't to say his inner fire doesn't burn hot, especially where an errant tongue might lick against Morgan's skin as the ghosts surround her.
"My car is electric vehicle," he protests. "Bought specifically to be easier on shifters. You still complain. Besides - I bring Selina low with my bare hands, first time. Second time she spends entire operation flying away from me. I feel perfectly secure dealing with her."
Morgan growls at Nikolai and his careless flames, a warning. She might not be able to be as subtle as him in her response but she looks content to be overt. She turns her attention back toward the spirits. "Yes well, let our future battles settle any discrepancies, no sense in trying to let words do so, and my fear of cars has not only to do with their environmental impact, and wide spread ecological destruction via roads, but because I have been hit by them, and it is not pleasant."
Jordan tries again, this time licking their fingers before reaching into a pouch, digging their fingers in the powder within and pulling them out covered. Another deep, calming breath, and they start chanting. They flinch, the words wrong, and try again. Slower, careful. Despite their evident disinclination to deal with ghosts, they've still studied the rituals. A banishment ritual, taking the slow method of sacred chants, fingers in slow movement marking theurgic symbols to slowly draw on the essences of the ghosts, pulling them closer to the ground.
The double knife weilder appears suddenly behind Morgan, cackling right in her ear before rearing back to stab her in the back.
If Nikolai were the arcane type, he might point out to Jordan that the ghosts are already within the graveyard, and so banishing might accomplish little. However, he is not an arcanist, nor a ritualist, and has not a clue what Jordan might be attempting. A spectral broadsword appears on the demigod's hip, which he draws and slashes at the ghost with the pistols - which goes right through it, despite his weapons similarly ghosty nature. "I hate these shitheads," he grumbles.
Jordan starts to lose focus on their surroundings, focusing on that which is easier to deal with. Words, gestures. Words, gestures. Chant, and shape. Pull the threads, bring them in. Tie them down, twist and knot. Draw them in - easier, since they're already in the graveyard - and hold them down. To their graves, to their graves, in their beds, laid to rest. Not to walk once more, but to sleep. Tie them down, twist ad knot.
Morgan nods. "They are quite persistent spirits. Yet, they seem to be largely...unburdened as most spirits are. More simulacrum than ghost," she mumbles under her breath. "I've dealt with many ghosts in my time, they do not...behave like this." She turns her gaze to Jordan, warily.
The cutlass-wielder attacks Morgan, driving her back as the flintlock lady appears behind her, using the distraction to go through her pockets.
"Ignore the apprentice," Nikolai directs Morgan. "Ghosts are difficulty for them at present. You focus on getting stabbed by ghosts. It is useful role." He moves to the gravestones, tapping his hammerhead against one with a bright, metallic Ting! before that divine fire climbs from his weapon to burn along the surface of the stone, consuming any spiritual residue that may have been left upon the thing for fuel.
Jordan tilts their head, having a comment to be made to Morgan on the ghosts' behavior - but they don't make it, concentrating. It's a banishment, but more focused. Rather than just sending them to the cemetery, Jordan is sending the back under the earth, into their graves. At least, that seems to be the intent. Jordan raises their own awareness, and spreads it out until they can feel the essences of the ghosts. Looking for their loose threads. Looking for their graves, their cores, their bodies. Finding their anchors. And then, drawing them in, tying them down, wrapping and knotting the threads of essence around their bodies. But slowly, carefully - a tug draws their attention. Too loose, and they drift away.
Jordan wavers as they stand, their eyes staring sightlessly as they completely disassociate, preferring to focus on their actions than the terrifying reality before them.
Morgan turns her gaze towards Nikolai and nods softly. She does fight, of course, scowling as her pockets are rifled with and then yelling out loud, but her attention remains largely focused on the individuals present, Jordan as well, especially even.
The double knife weilder appears suddenly behind Morgan, cackling right in her ear before rearing back to stab her in the back.
Jordan is careful, and slow. The privilege of having two other to attract attention and do the fighting for them. It means they can simply work. Rather than the Celtic knotworking style, their workings come from ancient Egypt, in the mixed traditions of Isis and Nephthys... assuming either of the others have the knowhow to recognize it as such. Binding and releasing, practiced to keep gods and pharaohs from roaming the land.
"Take time, Jordan," Nikolai directs, moving to the next of the grave for a little purifying action. Oh, baby, that fire burns bright. Gonthorian wishes he had flames like these, probably. "No need for quick spell. Set up for big movement, maybe." He can only really recommend what he's seen from other practitioners, after all. "As for getting hit by car," he grunts over to Morgan. "That is mostly skill issue. I have been hit by car, once. I learn from mistake; I have not come close to getting hit again." Of course, he's big enough that he probably fucked up the car in turn, like one of those giant asshole deer that jump into the road at the last possible second.
Morgan looks to Nikolai and sniffs. "Unless I am wrong, you haven' the centuries to judge me, a long life means a lot more chance for experiences. Plus they are loud," she argues, flipping between old and arrogant to childish by the end of the sentence. She winces at the spirits stab at her and swipes out with a deft slash of her knife.
Morgan's shoulder suddenly burns as the flicklock wielder materializes long enough to fire a shot into her, there's no visible wound.
Jordan uses the word "teat", it seems, in their chanting, but one may presume they're not talking about a woman's chest. It sounds ancient as it rolls from their lips, a word that strengthens the knots the ritualist forms with their gestures, deep beneath the earth. As time goes, the ghosts shift, starting to look as if a wind is blowing at them. A breeze, then a gust, as their essences are pulled towards their graves, calling them home.
"Centuries old and you still did not learn that big heavy object speeding towards you will injure you on impact?" Nikolai smirks, content to play the mocking game as he Tings! yet another gravestone and purifies it in fire. "I am not sure that makes you seem /less/ judgeable." He flicks a glance to Jordan, waggling his eyebrows - is it not fun to dangle your fingers in front of a werewolf's maw, then pull away when it snaps at you? "I think that is all gravestones purified. All I have left to do is blast fire at ghosts and let it drive back where it can - but chances are, I hit Morgan, too. So it is up to the wolf to take heat while you finish spell, apprentice. Good luck."
Morgan scowls at Nikolai. "When you roam the world as a wolf for forty years it becomes hard to recognize human roads while in the wild! They seem to spring up out of the air, overnight, consuming nature. "She growls low.
The double knife weilder appears suddenly behind Morgan, cackling right in her ear before rearing back to stab her in the back.
Jordan is completely unaware of the large man's humor - coincidentally polite in a way - as they've completely tuned out of the material world. Truly, if not for Morgan there to take the heat, and Nikolai cleaning up, they'd be absolutely fucked by anything coming by, ghost or otherwise. Fortunately, though, they get to start their ghostbusting career with baby steps. First, dealing with the situation, gaining confidence, and then, later, learning to do it faster, then under fire. As it is, they focus on the threats, chanting rising in volume as they finish the knots, empowering them to bring the ghosts back.
Jordan brings their voice even louder, their eyes snapping back to reality as they focus on the ghosts. Power ripples through them, and they chant the words, Egyptians words of binding, pulling, home, return. It is time to go home. It is time to go to sleep. Rest.
Morgan flits back and shifts. She takes in a deep breath as her body transforms from a mortal woman into a powerful and massive wolf. She exhales and a rumbling howl escapes from her throat. Maybe it's the spell. Maybe it's the fighting. Maybe that howl commands the dead to just get back to sleep, but at the end of the day, the battle is over.
"Go live in Wilds, if roads and cars bother you so much," Nikolai sighs, pointing his beaten-up little hammer at the ghosts and forcing out a whirl of consumptive flame as he grits his teeth against the effort. It whips around and around, providing a faint suction as oxygen is forced through its font to bolster the heat of the Russian's inner furnace. Then there's that ear-splitting howl, and he grimaces even further, trying to wall out the keening sound.
The three spirits begin to convulse and shake, they quickly move to grip each other, forming a tight circle as they spin faster and faster, strange orchestral music flowing through the air from nowhere before suddenly they are sucked down into the ground and vanish.
A haunting piano melody suddenly creeps over the graveyard as one by one, three spectral forms raise up into sight. Each is somewhat decayed and dressed in a mix of ballroom gown and old pirate garb, one wields a pair of flintlock pistols, another a wicked cutlass and the third a pair of sharp looking knives.
Korina's shoulder suddenly burns as the flicklock wielder materializes long enough to fire a shot into her, there's no visible wound.
Korina eyes Jordan for a few seconds, no hint of realization on her features as they talk about the steps of the ritual. "Earthen magic..." comes the mumble with a shake of her head to herself. "It is belief," she tells them again, glancing around at the vague presence until they manifest amidst the haunting music. "Blood and belief, that is all."
She's relaxed about this, in no hurry to get on with the banishing, no lights or manifestations of magic appearing yet, though she does growl low under her breath at the ghost that fires at her.
Jordan takes a step back, trembling, but they don't run. Their breathing quickens, and they reach into their pouch, then licks their lips, wincing at the leftover salt, before sticking their fingers in again, pulling them out coated. This isn't how that ritual is supposed to work - but, apparently, they did it last time? They start the gestures, poorly done, and chant the words - badly pronounced. One with true ritual knowledge, presumably Korina, can assume that, while they probably helped, it wasn't their ritual that did the work last time. At least, not mostly.
Jordan, inexperienced yet determined, focuses on banishing the spirits back into their graves using ancient Egyptian chants of binding. Despite initial mistakes and the overwhelming sense of danger, their dedication to the ritual slowly begins to draw the spirits down, their efforts supported by the combat prowess of Morgan and Nikolai's fiery interventions. As the cemetery air fills with the sounds of battle and enchantment, the ghosts eventually succumb to the combined force of physical might and ancient rites. With a concluding howl from Morgan in her wolf form, the spirits are compelled back into the earth, granting peace to the once-disturbed grounds of Arkwright Cemetery. This collaboration, albeit fraught with tension and differing approaches, showcases the power of unity in diversity, as ancient magic, brute strength, and the resolve to face one's fears come together to quell the unrest among the dead.
(Morgan's ghost banishing)
[Mon Jul 22 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is night, about 76F(24C) degrees, There is a waning gibbous moon.
A haunting piano melody suddenly creeps over the graveyard as one by one, three spectral forms raise up into sight. Each is somewhat decayed and dressed in a mix of ballroom gown and old pirate garb, one wields a pair of flintlock pistols, another a wicked cutlass and the third a pair of sharp looking knives.
Morgan nods to Jordan. "Wise to keep it that way," she murmurs testily, keeping her gaze toward Nikolai. "Are you sore about your multiple struggles in that battle against her?" She asks, curiously. "And I am fine with appropriate use of mancing, beckoning spirits of nature, and the like. What I cannot stand is the profane use of rituals, and all that come from the dabbling." She growls low. "Technology is fine, however, these...phones are handy." She grumbles. "Cars are gross."
Morgan says "And besides, I was just having a bit of fun, one most embrace the joy of battles."
The three spirits surround Morgan, attacking and harrying her from all sides.
Morgan weathers this assault placidly. She shifts and steps light, weaving between attacks and bearing the rest that make it through. Like her previous encounter, she seems content to study them more than she hurries herself swinging at them
Jordan holds stiff, eyes locked on the three spirits. Their fingers tremble, but they do *move*, slowly reaching into their bag and pulling out a set of bells in leather wrappings. They fumble with the leather, getting one loose only to have it tinkle loudly, setting the spirits on the attack. They flinch, holding the clapper, then shakes their head, slipping the casing back on. "Not... gonna work d...dh... *that* way," they grumble, putting it back in their bag.
"Blyat, always with the fucking pirate ghosts," Nikolai sighs. The hammer in his hands blazes to life in a congregation of scarlet flames, which he directs towards the spectres in a sloppy stream of fire. He's no sorcerer, it's quite clear - he doesn't have the precision /or/ the control of one. Still, that isn't to say his inner fire doesn't burn hot, especially where an errant tongue might lick against Morgan's skin as the ghosts surround her.
"My car is electric vehicle," he protests. "Bought specifically to be easier on shifters. You still complain. Besides - I bring Selina low with my bare hands, first time. Second time she spends entire operation flying away from me. I feel perfectly secure dealing with her."
Morgan growls at Nikolai and his careless flames, a warning. She might not be able to be as subtle as him in her response but she looks content to be overt. She turns her attention back toward the spirits. "Yes well, let our future battles settle any discrepancies, no sense in trying to let words do so, and my fear of cars has not only to do with their environmental impact, and wide spread ecological destruction via roads, but because I have been hit by them, and it is not pleasant."
Jordan tries again, this time licking their fingers before reaching into a pouch, digging their fingers in the powder within and pulling them out covered. Another deep, calming breath, and they start chanting. They flinch, the words wrong, and try again. Slower, careful. Despite their evident disinclination to deal with ghosts, they've still studied the rituals. A banishment ritual, taking the slow method of sacred chants, fingers in slow movement marking theurgic symbols to slowly draw on the essences of the ghosts, pulling them closer to the ground.
The double knife weilder appears suddenly behind Morgan, cackling right in her ear before rearing back to stab her in the back.
If Nikolai were the arcane type, he might point out to Jordan that the ghosts are already within the graveyard, and so banishing might accomplish little. However, he is not an arcanist, nor a ritualist, and has not a clue what Jordan might be attempting. A spectral broadsword appears on the demigod's hip, which he draws and slashes at the ghost with the pistols - which goes right through it, despite his weapons similarly ghosty nature. "I hate these shitheads," he grumbles.
Jordan starts to lose focus on their surroundings, focusing on that which is easier to deal with. Words, gestures. Words, gestures. Chant, and shape. Pull the threads, bring them in. Tie them down, twist and knot. Draw them in - easier, since they're already in the graveyard - and hold them down. To their graves, to their graves, in their beds, laid to rest. Not to walk once more, but to sleep. Tie them down, twist ad knot.
Morgan nods. "They are quite persistent spirits. Yet, they seem to be largely...unburdened as most spirits are. More simulacrum than ghost," she mumbles under her breath. "I've dealt with many ghosts in my time, they do not...behave like this." She turns her gaze to Jordan, warily.
The cutlass-wielder attacks Morgan, driving her back as the flintlock lady appears behind her, using the distraction to go through her pockets.
"Ignore the apprentice," Nikolai directs Morgan. "Ghosts are difficulty for them at present. You focus on getting stabbed by ghosts. It is useful role." He moves to the gravestones, tapping his hammerhead against one with a bright, metallic Ting! before that divine fire climbs from his weapon to burn along the surface of the stone, consuming any spiritual residue that may have been left upon the thing for fuel.
Jordan tilts their head, having a comment to be made to Morgan on the ghosts' behavior - but they don't make it, concentrating. It's a banishment, but more focused. Rather than just sending them to the cemetery, Jordan is sending the back under the earth, into their graves. At least, that seems to be the intent. Jordan raises their own awareness, and spreads it out until they can feel the essences of the ghosts. Looking for their loose threads. Looking for their graves, their cores, their bodies. Finding their anchors. And then, drawing them in, tying them down, wrapping and knotting the threads of essence around their bodies. But slowly, carefully - a tug draws their attention. Too loose, and they drift away.
Jordan wavers as they stand, their eyes staring sightlessly as they completely disassociate, preferring to focus on their actions than the terrifying reality before them.
Morgan turns her gaze towards Nikolai and nods softly. She does fight, of course, scowling as her pockets are rifled with and then yelling out loud, but her attention remains largely focused on the individuals present, Jordan as well, especially even.
The double knife weilder appears suddenly behind Morgan, cackling right in her ear before rearing back to stab her in the back.
Jordan is careful, and slow. The privilege of having two other to attract attention and do the fighting for them. It means they can simply work. Rather than the Celtic knotworking style, their workings come from ancient Egypt, in the mixed traditions of Isis and Nephthys... assuming either of the others have the knowhow to recognize it as such. Binding and releasing, practiced to keep gods and pharaohs from roaming the land.
"Take time, Jordan," Nikolai directs, moving to the next of the grave for a little purifying action. Oh, baby, that fire burns bright. Gonthorian wishes he had flames like these, probably. "No need for quick spell. Set up for big movement, maybe." He can only really recommend what he's seen from other practitioners, after all. "As for getting hit by car," he grunts over to Morgan. "That is mostly skill issue. I have been hit by car, once. I learn from mistake; I have not come close to getting hit again." Of course, he's big enough that he probably fucked up the car in turn, like one of those giant asshole deer that jump into the road at the last possible second.
Morgan looks to Nikolai and sniffs. "Unless I am wrong, you haven' the centuries to judge me, a long life means a lot more chance for experiences. Plus they are loud," she argues, flipping between old and arrogant to childish by the end of the sentence. She winces at the spirits stab at her and swipes out with a deft slash of her knife.
Morgan's shoulder suddenly burns as the flicklock wielder materializes long enough to fire a shot into her, there's no visible wound.
Jordan uses the word "teat", it seems, in their chanting, but one may presume they're not talking about a woman's chest. It sounds ancient as it rolls from their lips, a word that strengthens the knots the ritualist forms with their gestures, deep beneath the earth. As time goes, the ghosts shift, starting to look as if a wind is blowing at them. A breeze, then a gust, as their essences are pulled towards their graves, calling them home.
"Centuries old and you still did not learn that big heavy object speeding towards you will injure you on impact?" Nikolai smirks, content to play the mocking game as he Tings! yet another gravestone and purifies it in fire. "I am not sure that makes you seem /less/ judgeable." He flicks a glance to Jordan, waggling his eyebrows - is it not fun to dangle your fingers in front of a werewolf's maw, then pull away when it snaps at you? "I think that is all gravestones purified. All I have left to do is blast fire at ghosts and let it drive back where it can - but chances are, I hit Morgan, too. So it is up to the wolf to take heat while you finish spell, apprentice. Good luck."
Morgan scowls at Nikolai. "When you roam the world as a wolf for forty years it becomes hard to recognize human roads while in the wild! They seem to spring up out of the air, overnight, consuming nature. "She growls low.
The double knife weilder appears suddenly behind Morgan, cackling right in her ear before rearing back to stab her in the back.
Jordan is completely unaware of the large man's humor - coincidentally polite in a way - as they've completely tuned out of the material world. Truly, if not for Morgan there to take the heat, and Nikolai cleaning up, they'd be absolutely fucked by anything coming by, ghost or otherwise. Fortunately, though, they get to start their ghostbusting career with baby steps. First, dealing with the situation, gaining confidence, and then, later, learning to do it faster, then under fire. As it is, they focus on the threats, chanting rising in volume as they finish the knots, empowering them to bring the ghosts back.
Jordan brings their voice even louder, their eyes snapping back to reality as they focus on the ghosts. Power ripples through them, and they chant the words, Egyptians words of binding, pulling, home, return. It is time to go home. It is time to go to sleep. Rest.
Morgan flits back and shifts. She takes in a deep breath as her body transforms from a mortal woman into a powerful and massive wolf. She exhales and a rumbling howl escapes from her throat. Maybe it's the spell. Maybe it's the fighting. Maybe that howl commands the dead to just get back to sleep, but at the end of the day, the battle is over.
"Go live in Wilds, if roads and cars bother you so much," Nikolai sighs, pointing his beaten-up little hammer at the ghosts and forcing out a whirl of consumptive flame as he grits his teeth against the effort. It whips around and around, providing a faint suction as oxygen is forced through its font to bolster the heat of the Russian's inner furnace. Then there's that ear-splitting howl, and he grimaces even further, trying to wall out the keening sound.
The three spirits begin to convulse and shake, they quickly move to grip each other, forming a tight circle as they spin faster and faster, strange orchestral music flowing through the air from nowhere before suddenly they are sucked down into the ground and vanish.
A haunting piano melody suddenly creeps over the graveyard as one by one, three spectral forms raise up into sight. Each is somewhat decayed and dressed in a mix of ballroom gown and old pirate garb, one wields a pair of flintlock pistols, another a wicked cutlass and the third a pair of sharp looking knives.
Korina's shoulder suddenly burns as the flicklock wielder materializes long enough to fire a shot into her, there's no visible wound.
Korina eyes Jordan for a few seconds, no hint of realization on her features as they talk about the steps of the ritual. "Earthen magic..." comes the mumble with a shake of her head to herself. "It is belief," she tells them again, glancing around at the vague presence until they manifest amidst the haunting music. "Blood and belief, that is all."
She's relaxed about this, in no hurry to get on with the banishing, no lights or manifestations of magic appearing yet, though she does growl low under her breath at the ghost that fires at her.
Jordan takes a step back, trembling, but they don't run. Their breathing quickens, and they reach into their pouch, then licks their lips, wincing at the leftover salt, before sticking their fingers in again, pulling them out coated. This isn't how that ritual is supposed to work - but, apparently, they did it last time? They start the gestures, poorly done, and chant the words - badly pronounced. One with true ritual knowledge, presumably Korina, can assume that, while they probably helped, it wasn't their ritual that did the work last time. At least, not mostly.