5/5/2005

08:00 PM

Currently the moon is in the waning New Moon phase (19% full).
Currently in Saint Claire, it's a sunny day. The temperature is 68 degrees Fahrenheit (20 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the north at 6 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.78 and falling, and the relative humidity is 56 percent. The dewpoint is 52 degrees Fahrenheit (11 degrees Celsius.)
It is currently 19:36 Pacific Time on Thu May 5 2005.

Umbra: Hill of the Stone
This is a great circular hilltop amid the Umbral woods, startling in its lack of trees. The hill is cleared of all but grass from the hill's crown to its foot. A great stone sits on the hill's crown, perhaps three feet in diameter. One face of the stone has been sheared away as though by a great axe, leaving a gleaming silver surface that seems to shine with an inner light. Off to the east, the mountains can be seen, seeming to rise higher here than in the human world. They seem to be watching this place from afar.
Extremely faint pathways descend from the hilltop, leading north and south.
Contents:
Brom
Dillen
Michael
Snaekolfr
Obvious exits:
North  South  

The last bits of daylight have faded from the umbral sky, leaving it purple and blue like a watercolorist's painting and streaked with the silvery ribbon-like flashes of Lunes dancing in the wind. The half face of Luna dazzles the sky, growing small, too small very soon. The great Fenris spirit seems not to mind. Or not to notice. He sits before the sheared stone, a figure of white fur and red blood against the silvery, polished surface with his ember eyes turned towards the mountains. The chains dangling off his broken collar rattle faintly in the wind, like the muted sound of steel dragging on stone.
After crossing through the gauntlet with his pack, and Michael, Brom strides proudly towards the Fenrir spirit, shifting upwards into the towering height of his Crinos skin. Brown and Gray fur ripples over his heavily muscled upper body, revealing the proud scars of many battles and the large one from Snaekolfr's own claws. ~Grandfather.~ He rumbles over to the spirit, lowering himself to one knee, bowing his head. ~We have brought one who we wish to aid your pack and serve Fenrir's claws.~

Michael stands with full regal pride allowed to the Wendigo by their ancient heritage. He looks upon the Fenris spirit with an impressed aire, but shows no fear at Snaekolfr's visage. He looks iron-wrought for all the rigidity of his composure.

Kenneth only looms off to one side, silent as a stormcloud as he waits for some kind of judgement. Or a fight.

Dillen stands off as well. Having just met Michael, he is anxious to see what he has in store for the pack.

Snaekolfr sits as tall and proud as a king upon his throne, but it is no throne of gold and silver like Falcon might perch upon. His is of blood and flesh, built on the bones of the Wyrm's servants who have fallen before the claws of he and his brothers for millenia. The great, powerful wolf turns his eyes on Michael with their unblinking, Alpha's stare. ~Who is this, who claims himself worthy to fight for me?~ He booms out in the Mother's Tongue, accented with the ancient lilt only the very oldest use.

~His name is Michael, he who knows how to Kill Wisely, Ahroun and Wendigo. He has a good head on his shoulders and some has spoken well of his claws.~ Forath Ripper says, standing up to his full height and motioning to the Native. ~I would not have brought him forth to you if I felt he would not serve this pack proud.~

It is only a second after Brom speaks that Michael's form rises to the crinos with a quickness denoting great rage held within. He steps forward beside Brom in middle of his speaking for Michael. His arms cross over his chest and his head lifts to be held high, ~Kills-Wisely, called Darkfeather among the Wendigo. A twice born of both city and woods. One who knows to fight for the future, some parts of the past must be set aside. Ahroun, an eager warrior with ready and willing claws. I have stood till victory in all my battles, recieving scar and glory to prove it. I look forward to proving it to you."

Ken folds his arms over his relatively thin chest, only watching now.

Dillen lets a smile cross his face. He shoves his hands down and into his pockets, watching intently.

Snaekolfr wrinkles his broad, stained muzzle at the Forsetti and shows the ends of his teeth. ~Can he not speak for himself, Alpha of My pack?~ He demands, turning fiery eyes onto the Wendigo when he does with his white hackles flared, anger perpetually oozing off the spirit. ~Then prove it. Step forward and show me if your claws are as sharp as you claim.~ The Fenris snarls, rising up to his four massive paws, tail and ears swept up into the full posture of a dominant wolf.

Forath-Ripper snorts loudly at the Fenrir spirit, then glances over to Kills-Wisely. ~ Kick his ass in and shut him up. Do your thing.~ He says, cracking his neck from side to side.
It is not even before the Fenris is finished changing his posture that Kills-Wisely rushes forward with a blood-curdling roar, ducking down and coming up into the Fenrir with claws and fangs at the fore, rage speeding his violence like it only can with an Ahroun.

A wicked, brilliant light touches the spirit's eyes as the Ahroun rushes forward. One might call it madness. Others might call it delight. The monster rushes in, seemingly unconcerned with the flying of Garou claws, as he opens his massive jaws and barrels forward to try and sink them deep into the soft underbelly of the Wendigo with the single-mindedness of a true predator. He does seem to like that spot. It is, afterall, the juiciest.

As the two clash, Kills-Wisely turns into a massive Cuisinart machine. The Wendigo's claws and teeth blur with the fury of the fullmoon, and slice deep into the totem's spirit form, once, twice, thrice... and on the tail end of the furious attack, he stumbles. In but the span of two seconds, Snaekolfr bleeds ether from massive gouges to face, neck, and shoulders. The spirit's ichor is deep red, so deep enough to be called near black as his huge fangs lock onto the Wendigo's belly. Yet, with the speed of the ahroun's attack, the fangs only slice through skin and thick Crinos muscle, missing the ahroun's soft guts inside.

Kills-Wisely is not about to show weakness from the first wound he recieves, and though a strange growling emits from his throat, he isn't about to slow down. Rage speeds him onces more and his claws come over and down in a windmilling action, once, twice, three times an Ahroun as he tries to rend the spirit's head downwards, and apart.

The spirit boils with pure, undiluted anger as he erupts into motion. For all his size, he's able to move, and aims to swings his bulk to one side of the Wendigo and try to get behind him while he's still occupied with attacking.

The Wendigo's claws strike out once more in a flurry, but this time the spirit pulls off battle tactics that would serve well in example. The Wendigo's claws rake out at the moving spirit, slicing down once more through the totem first. But, with the Fenris avoiding the better portion of the blow, Michael's claws only furrow small cuts into the Fenris' spiritskin. The second strike goes wild from the Wendigo as the ahroun tries to take Fenris in a finalized blow, only to slip on the Rain-spirit slickened umbral grass! The Wendigo stumbles and falls forward, just Barely catching himself for the sake of his quick reactions, absorbing the impact with his stretched out paws. Snaekolfr, to say the least, looks worse for wear, but isn't down and out.

Kills-Wisely rolls forward with the stumbling, gaining whatever distance he can in the one action before turning with a three leg manuver. Rage doesn't let it stop there, and he lopes back into the fray claws and fangs seeking purchase in the crafty spirit, ready for a move to the side, or a rush forward, he lets his strikes fly when he nears.

Snaekolfr doesn't miss the stumble, drinks in the sight of it. Like a lame deer. He twists around with the slickness of an eel to face the Wendigo as he gets himself back to his legs. The Fenris is on him, lunging like a cannon loosed at full speed and with nearly as much force. He aims to leap right onto the Ahroun's back and sink his jaws deep into the soft spot high on the shoulder where the neck begins and wiery tendons and ligaments allow the arm to move.

As Michael rolls and gets up, Snaekolfr lunges. The Fenris spirit and ahroun collide, as Michael's Rage speeds him to turn around with an attack. Fenris' jaws sink in, but don't break the skin as the Wendigo's own strength of spirit seems to embolden his power. The Wendigo's strike, though, is once again deflected by sheer inertia. Claws rake into the Fenris' belly, but only a passing five-set of slashes that do little to hurt the great wolven legend.

It is the position between the two that gives Kills-Wisely inspiration for the next attack, rage and will collide as two hand's worth of claws come up into the Fenrir's throat as the Wendigo throws his feet slightly forward, and leans back in such a way to fall back and away from the spirit's grip.

Standing on his rear legs is not something the wolf spirit is thrilled with, and while Kills-Wisely has the intention of dragging the spirit with him, Snaekolfr has other ideas. The Fenris shoves his forepaws against the Ahroun's chest to throw him back so the spirit can get the room needed to drop back down onto four paws. He's snarling, nearly foaming as he bleeds across the ground, angry at the continual denial of blood-letting on his part. But who is faster?

The battle of strength is shortlived, as the great Fenris spirit heaves hard. Those powerful haunches meant for leaping upon prey-spirits power the Fenris' shove, which pushes the great Crinos away to a body length of the Fenris and flat on the Wendigo's tail. The Wendigo doesn't leave without a parting shot, however, raking his claws against Snaekolfr's muzzle to send another spray of ethereal ichor off into the umbral air.

Once again, goes with the flow and throws his legs over his head as he is flying back, rolling over and planting them into the ground to stand again. He waits for the incoming attack, knowing it will be coming and with a determined focus dives diagonally to put himself at the spirit's side where he would be ready to rend deep into Fenris' flank on the next go.

The Ahroun is down! Strike! The thoughts can almost be seen to race across the Fenrir's features as he shoves himself off the ground. He doesn't run straight forward, but instead waits until the last moment and uses those powerful legs to shove himself up in the air over the Wendigo while he's moving to right himself. His paws are spread, long claws curling down, ready to pounce like a steriod-pumped fox down onto Kills-Wisely and rend him with his teeth.

As Snaekolfr charges forward, Michael is clambering up. The Fenris leaps high, sailing up to the point where all that inertia would be bound to make a serious mark... had not the Wendigo wisely dodged. The movement is but a scramble, as Fenris' claws and teeth come down hard on grass and air, missing the Wendigo by the skin of his fur. The two titans are right beside each other, nearly nose to tail were it not that one is bipedal, the other quadrapedal.
Where the Fenris comes down upon, the ground cracks with the heavy, thunderous thud of the great spirit's weight.

Kills-Wisely roars with out-pouring rage as his attack is forged once more. Leaping onto the spirit's side with gaping maw and spittle flying free, he rakes his claws up the other side of the spirit and makes to bite deep and hard into Great Fenris' spine.

Snaekolfr aims straight for the thick, Crinos haunch of Kills-Wisely. In specific, the ever so critical hamstring. The Fenris roars out with his anger as he drives for the mark, teeth ready to sink deep and drink blood, to grind against bone and pull black and strip the muscle right from the leg.

Brom continues to watch the pair go back and forth with a hungry desire in his eyes, rumbling loudly in his throat.

The Wendigo's roar shakes the very air around the two wolven giants, echoing deep into the air as the ahroun sinks his jaws down. If spirits had bones, the wolf-spirit would be in dire straits. As it were, however, it is not the bite of the Wendigo that causes the worst - it is the Wendigo's claws. 10 hook-knives of pure feral fury nearly tear out the spirit's entire side, causing one to think that had he any guts, the arena would be flying with them. The Fenris' bite sinks down deep, and his fangs bite hard into the Wendigo's leg right at the knee, but the final strikes from the ahroun cause the Fenris' jaws to weaken, its power slagged to nearly nothing.

Forath Ripper grins widely at the sight of them, then lets out a rumble of satisfaction in his throat. Broad arms cross over his chest, shifting his weight.

Though the Fenris crumples to the ground, beaten in body (so it were), his eyes show no defeat. If most of his matter wasn't smeared across the ground, he'd get back up and keep fighting, but he barely has the physical form to do so. He is literally bits of a spirit that slowly grow more and more transparent, until only his eyes still seem at all solid. Snaekolfr snarls, faint and fleeting, the sound of a wolf knowing it is beaten but unwilling to give up. His essence, however, does as the last of it leaks out in whispy puddles. And so fades the great wolf, his gore dissolving with him. But he'll be back and it's a good bet he'll want a rematch.

Kills-Wisely falls forward as the spirit fades, and it takes a few moments of violent huffing to regain his breath. Seconds past though, and he pushes up with his hands, rears up to his feet and arching his back howls mightily into the air, a victory call that seems like it should elicit bleeding from the throat.

Tilting his chin, Forath Ripper shares the roar with Kills Wisely, puffing his fur out about his body. ~Good job Kills-Wisely! That was a glorious battle!~

The Shadow Lord's arms unfold as the pack totem's form fades away to retreat to the umbral sanctuaries and empower itself once more. Though his face is hard to read, the Shadow Lord himself boils up to the Crinos for a long, victorious howl that mixes with an undertone of gratitude for the fight from Fenris. He doesn't stay long in the warform, rather, slipping down to his birthform once more. To the Wendigo he speaks but two words. "Well fought."