Weather Advisory

Eaton had made himself scarce in the few days after the return to the Caern. Sure, he had recounted the tale to the King, and had promised that he would lead a Rite of the Departed. Afterward however, he was gone most of the day, appearing at the early morning hours to crash.
When asked about his doings, he replied, "I'm gettin' ready."

On a particular warm, humid day, Eaton approached Zas and said, "Hey Zas. So, for the past couple a days I've been busy, but I think I mighta bit off too much. I gotta make this Rite, perfect and all, but I think I need some help"

He seemed out of breath, like he came running from some distance. "What da ya know about rain dances?"

The Apache nods in almost seeming expectation that he was taking on a lot. His question however catches the Philodox off guard.
"I would like to help however I can...Oh- um, well, I know a good bit about them. I have participated in many, though never as the medicine man. They are sacred ritual dances of my people. The dance if done well is supposed to make the spirits of the storm come and provide life giving water in an otherwise dry desert and to thank the spirits for their blessings. If it is done poorly...well let's just say my people went through a lot of effort to make sure they did not do a bad job."

The Silent Strider looks like he could say more about it, but stops himself, "W-why exactly do you ask? What are you are working on?"

Eaton smiled , “Well, I don’t wanna go into particulars. I thought that a Ragabash’s rememberance gotta be a little unpredictable. Don’t ya agree?”

He dropped the smile, “But I guess that I can tell ya that I need a storm. I asked an air spirit and while it said it was gonna rain, I wanna make sure it’s more than a drizzle.”

He then added, “so if done poorly do the spirits send a tempest or just don’t show up at all? Cause if it’s the former, I may ask ya to miss a few beats for what I’m plannin’.”

The Silent Strider nods in agreement, his voice somewhat lower, "They certainly are unpredictable."

At the Galliards question Zas shakes his head, "No...I am afraid that if done poorly the spirits would not come and in so doing bring death to the camp."

He considers for a moment, "There may be something I could do that would make this into a bit more of a tempest if as you say the air spirit has already assured you that at least some bit of rain could be expected....but I will need to get some stuff together pretty quick."

He turns to look at his packmate, "I won't have any control over what happens though. Once this dance starts-it must be done to completion and the results of this are out of my hands. This will be my first time as the ritemaster and this is a potent rite. You okay with that?"

When Zas mentioned the price for failure, his blinked once. “Well okay then. That’s a no for improv.”

“ I ain’t asking ya to control the storm. Just makin’ it a little angrier is all I need. Just don’t call up the storm eater unless my rite starts really sucking.” He laughed uneasily.

“That spirit said it should start cloudin’ over in 3 days. That give ya enough time?”

The Apache listens to his packmates responses nodding when needed.
At the final question he takes a quick look up to the sky then at the Sun and then down to Eaton's shadow.

He draws a sharp intake of breath and pops his neck tilting it side to side, "Just enough."

The philodox flew into a flurry of activity searching out and making the odds ends and assorted bit needed for the ceremony.

The components were fairly easy to acquire or locate, but assembling them into the finished product was both time consuming and taxing. Weaving the multitude of bird feathers into a head dress and attaching the hundreds of turquoise beads to the strips of leather. Stuffing seeds, loose rock, and shells into a hollowed out snake skull and forging it into a small rattle.

By days end, his handiwork completed, the Silent Strider was more than ready for some shut-eye, but his task was only beginning.

Putting on his new attire and wardrobe, grabbing a borrowed a drum from the septs keepers and his rattle, the lone indian warrior set out to his marked off location.

The woodland clearing had a broad open view of the night sky and a large flat plane that had been cleared of any brush or scrub.

At its center, the philodox had set up a substantial bonfire. Each tree limb or wood spar had a notch of a garou glyph an apache or cherokee symbol denoting the season, the elements involved, and a separate set marker of time.

The night progressed swiftly with the garou spending time in solitude uttering the ancient sacred prayers to both the spirits of the storm as well as to gaia herself.

He howled and cried out beneath luna's light in the tongue of the garou in an attempt to justify why he felt the task was worthy of consideration.

At the first break of the suns morning rays, he began his chants. He hammered away on the drum and shook the rattle in time as he sang to Helios calling out to the great spirit to power and strengthen the upcoming rite.

Zas drummed from sunrise to midday not breaking once. At this point he lit the flames of the bonfire and began his dance.

As he circled round the flames time after time the sun's light began to fade. Each pass around the fire the wily philodox watched as the flames began to draw closer to the first of his markers in the wood.

When the charred wood crossed the first mark, the apache brave threw his head back and howled out in a scream of unbridled fury that was as much a yell in the words of man as it was a howl in the tongues of wolves which startled some of the nearby wildlife and caused more than a few birds to fly off to a safer distance.

The Silent Strider continued in this manner for the rest of the day and on through the night.

By dawn of the following day the Strider was on his last leg; his body teetering on collapse from the lengths of physical exertion he had put it through. His lips were dry and cracked, his throat burned. The lack of water and food had begun to take its toll, and he knew going much further beyond this point would be not only deadly but dangerous as he risked falling to uncontrolled and unrestrained frenzy.

But from somewhere deep within himself, the garou found the will and steelly resolve to push through.

He willed himself on, banging and shaking the drum and rattle with all his might. His voice little more than a hoarse whisper of chanted breath.

The last of the burning spars of wood eventually reached their final mark and as they tumbled into large heaps and mounds of ash Zas gave vent to the loudest and most ear deafening roar he could muster by shifting to Crinos- causing the carefully assembled cloth and beads to shoot out in all directions from the sudden ripping and tearing and an explosion of feathers that were carried up high into the clouds to never be seen again.

As the last of the smoke from the burning remnants rose ever higher into the sky Zas dug into wrist and spilled several heavy drops of crimson, laden with large portions of his spiritual connection to gaia upon the ashes.

The Rain dance was finished. What happened next was up to the spirits and the pack Galliard.