NPC/GM: White Bear's Uktena Test, Finale
5/14/2005
12:19 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.
Red's Forward Command(#3015RFJs)
Box frame tents and prefabricated buildings. Very posh living for the hip 'on the move' dictator.
Contents:
White Bear
Nascha
[Other cast of characters:
Cougar - an angered Cougar gaffling
Yenaldlooshi (aka Big Boy) - A large and powerful servant of the Defiler Wyrm
Larry, Moe, and Curly - The Scrag Pack stooges]
Obvious exits:
Out
As Elder and Cliath move through the tall, baked grasses, above the entire vault of heaven opens up with the passage of the clouds that had hid the sun's setting. The clear, pale white face of the half moon shines overhead, frames by an uncountable number of white stars that are like diamonds woven into Luna's black hair. The old man pauses, looking up onto the moon with both palms turned upwards and he murmurs something, bowing his head. Black Sky moves on, stepping into the faint red-gold ring of firelight that comes from the village and makes his way for the smaller of the two wooden huts. His home.
Various families and villagers have gone to sleep by now, or retired to their huts to do whatever nightly duties might possess them. A couple of the warriors are left outside, still armed with spear, club and knife, still waiting for Black Sky's return with or without the stranger. The nightwatch mutter to each other as White Bear returns as well with the elder.
White Bear doesn't look up as he passes the nightwatch, head hung eyes on the feet of the Elder before him as he follows along with a nervous sort of tension about him, ill at ease even for an Ahroun. His lips are pressed together, having not opened his mouth once after having been chided by the ancient man.
Black Sky is not so physically weak as his aged body might seem, for he still has the wolf, and it's strength oozes out of him like an invisible shroud. He is a wolf, lord of this place, and he nods to the night watch like a king to his guards before stepping through the richly painted skin that covers the door to his pavillion. The smoke still persists, rising out of a hammered copper pot hung over the dying coals of a fire pit in the center. To either side are deerskins, set fur up, as places to sit or lay. At the far end is a pallet of sorts where Black Sky must sleep. The rest of the room is filled with trinkets. Rattles, drums, strangly carved fetish figures, and rolled hides that look older than he is. "Sit." The Uktena says in accented, but otherwise clean english. "You may take the wolf if you wish. None will enter without permission."
The nightwatch clearly show their respect to the elder, and move to a side as the two enter the abode. The sounds of their footsteps moving off fade, but their chatter is still heard on low tones brought by the breeze.
White Bear slowly lowers himself onto his haunches at the elder's bidding, hands planted in front of him with the palm against the ground. He doesn't need much second bidding before he shifts, the ahroun quickly sliding between Homid and Lupus with his typical ease in the task. His submissive posture is more readily apparent in the wolf shape, holding stock still as he doesn't dare begin to communicate other than this.
Slowly, Black Sky lowers himself beside the flames across from the white wolf, letting out a slow breath but no other indication of the effort it takes upon old joints. His withered and useless arm remains against his chest, so very much smaller than the other. "Are you the one sent to me?" He says, muses by the half-spoken way he murmurs it. "Tell me who you are."
White Bear's head ducks down and under, almost as if he was moving under an invisible bar while he sits in place. White Bear is Cliath Warrior and Guardian, he tells the other tepidly. Beta of Ridgeline pack under Bison. There's a significantly long pause, before he hesitantly adds: White Bear does not know if he was sent to Black Sky-Rhya.
The Uktena's old, black eyes linger on the wolf across the fire, creased mouth tugging back at the corners. "Many introductions have I heard. Things are not left out unless one wishes them not be known. What blood is in you? You have no breeding." He says this without insult, simply pointing out the obvious.
White Bear's posture lowers even more, head tipping downward as his ears scoop backwards. White Bear is no-tribe, he tells the other with more than a small flourish of visible embarrassment. Mother is weak-blood Fianna kin. Father is tribe changer, and he does not know from from what blood he was born.
"Unfortunate to not know your true family." Black Sky says as he collects up a bag, sprinkling fresh herbs from it into the suspended copper pot and stirring the fire. As the herbs burn, they set up a thick, dark smoke smelling of the earth and fire. He takes up a wrapped skin nearby, brushing off the ash that has settled on the surface. "I would see if you can help me. There is a thing I would have you do." From the fire he takes a burnt shaft of wood and into the flattened, bare earth between them and to one side of the fire he carves a fluid design that slowly molds itself into the shape of a lithe, hunting cat. "There is a spirit who hunts the Umbra, screaming with Rage but says not why. It searches, but for what none know. I would have you find out why." And as he sets the stick back into the fire, the old Uktena unwraps the hide to show a wide, thin slab of hematite, polished to such a bright luster it is like the surface of a black mirror.
White Bear doesn't pick his head, affirming that he will do what the Elder asks of him with a short, silent gesture. His hind end starts to pick up, but his butt goes no further than hovering about a half inch off the ground; it's almost as if he's waiting for permission to even stand.
Black Sky takes the stone mirror and sets it down onto the ground between them. "Cross." He says as he takes the hispo form. Even in the dire wolf, the old Uktena is lean and wirey, his left foreleg curled up tightly to his chest. Even over the pungent scent of the herbs, the wolf gives off the ghostly scent of the Umbra as well as another smell. It stinks almost of old, lingering mildew, the scent of rot and decay, faint but unmistakable. He dips his black muzzle down to stare into the polished surface and without any effort at all slides across the Gauntlet and into the world just beyond.
White Bear lifts himself, likewise sliding to the Dire form with a shake. He lumbers forward, sniffing at the hematite for just a few seconds before he begins to stare past his reflection and into the spirit world as well.
As soon as the Garou have crossed over, the Umbra becomes a myriad of purple and blues, the rocks black as pools of void and shining with strange inner pinpoints of light like the stars. The village itself has no shadow, though small webs no bigger than a thumbnail reside where the huts are. The angered yowl of some sort of cat-spirit sounds distantly to the east.
The only connection back is the thin sliver of stone Black Sky wears on a thong around his neck. For all his age, it is only in the Umbra the Uktena can be seen in his true light. The absence of something, the distance of him that surrounds him in the Realm is whole here in the Umbra. The strength of his spirit radiates off of him like an inner pulse of life, as strong as the day he was first born. His ailed, scarred, and broken body does not seem to suffer him so greatly here, and the ruddy and black wolf throws up his great, grizzled head and gives voice to a howl years younger than himself, a wordless rejoice of a Theurge brought back to the place he truely calls home.
Easily getting worked up, the Ahroun joins in with the other without thinking; it's likely he doesn't even know why the other is howling, only the fact that the is. The squat, even in the dire shape, ahroun pitches his head back to the 'level' when he tapers off, nostrils flaring as he sniffs and scents the wind.
Black Sky flags his tail high into the air, turning his nose and ears to the east and the sounds of an angry cat. And just like that, he returns to buisness. ~Come. Be wary, the moon is still small.~ And with that, he sets off at a limped sort of lope, lacking the use of one foreleg to make his travel smooth.
White Bear stands still as he sniffs at the air once more, before he more easily slides after the other, posture still lower than the other as the Elder Garou Sets the pace and makes the direction.
The wind brings scents - all the so-called scents of the spirits that have passed, and strangely those that perhaps will pass at a later time. Such is the way of the Shadow realm. The clouds themselves that dot the sky with a pink-purple hue seem to look down upon the two Garou from afar, changing color as they drift over them. As the cheered and anticipatory howls from the two wolves roll into the sky, another angry cat's roar answers, this time feeling closer, tingling the ear drums like whiskertips on skin. It comes from the black stone cliffs in the distance, colored almost the same as the stone sliver strung around the elder Garou's neck. As the two lope along, though, a heated amount of tension seems to fill the air around them. It feels like Rage. It would smell like Rage, if it had such a thing, and taste like it too. The wolf's instincts that run deep within know that something is definitely wrong, as they lope along.
Black Sky moves with a steady determination, moving right for the sounds of the cat, nose turned into the smell of Rage. ~You will speak. I will translate.~ The ruddy-black wolf says to the white wolf without looking at him. ~It is angry. We must know why.~ He voices with all the intention of a little child desperate to learn a parent's secret.
White Bear's hackles bristle at the feel of rage, almost like how the smell of blood flowing would catch the attention of a shark. His teeth crack open for a moment, before he narrows his jaws and squints. ~Has Black Sky-Rhya spoken to it before?~
Then suddenly, from atop a giant black and glimmering boulder formed agelessly ago, appears a spirit of the Cougar shape as it leaps atop gracefully and huddles. Its coat is deep red, lightening to a ruddy earthen color on its belly and patterned with all manner of geometric looking shapes of black, white and yellow diamonds. One might imagine it should have been a snake-spirit with those patterns, given the cold smoldering ferocity contained within the spirit's glowing white-blue eyes. It has no pupils. Wicked claws and canines like knives bare themselves as it yowls angrily to the Garou. *WHY have you come here?! Go Away!* Like a glowering guard, the cougar swipes its paw in a threatening feint. Those very claws seem to carve rifts and burn scars into the very air itself.
~I tried.~ The Uktena turns his head to look upon the Ahroun, black eyes even and level, before he turns back to face the spirit. ~This is your task.~ He limps foreward, head held high as the old wolf regards the cougar spirit. *I have brought this one. He can not speak in the tongue of the spirits, I will repeat his words.* He says in words that both spirit and Garou can understand.
White Bear's wide brow pitches forward, head rolling to the side as he squints up at the on edge Cougar. Jaws crack open as he hesitates, before following up behind the Elder's last few steps. Words, though, are much longer in coming. ~Great Cougar. I see your anger.~ He begins. ~We wonder if the Wyrm has eaten your children?~
Glowering at White Bear for far longer than necessary, the cougar spirit snarls at the hispo'd ahroun. Its eyes burn brighter and the cougar spirit turns back to Black Sky. *When the Eye was awake, you sent your kin to the big rocks and laid out fat rabbits for my kin. Now I see you brought a sacrifice to appease me. But that will not work, Black-Sky-Dog! This one is weak and stinks like Black Beetle!* The cougar never leaves his perch, looming over the two.
The Elder shows infinate patience as he regards the cougar. *He will not yet be slain. Not by your paw.* But he says nothing more, leaving the talking for White Bear to do.
White Bear's posture archs, teeth shoving together as he regards the Spirit on the boulders. ~And why would you think that I am here to die for you, Cougar? I have not harmed your kin.~
*Liar!* The cougar yowls out, pinning the ahroun with a withering look of accusation. *Not harmed my kin? Your kind has spilled blood, Dog-changer! MY kin's blood!* The cat bares its teeth at Black Sky as well, claws digging furrows into the black rock. *The dog drops waste in his own den and wonders why it stinks in it!? Fool!* Arching its own diamond patterned back, it growls at the ahroun again. *You may not die from my claws tonight, white-blood-dog, but your foolishness will kill you one day.*
White Bear's head turns to the Elder, head ducking down a bit. ~That is why Cougar-Sprit Rhya is angry. Wyrmcomers are killing his children.~ The last part is added with almost a posture of resignation, almost starting to show throat with the observation.
*Garou slew Bastet long ago.* Black Sky says with a long, heavy breath from out of his old lungs. *We of the Pure Tribes teach one another and our kin to hold back out claws and blades, but the Wyrmcomers do not.*
The cougar screams angrily, another paw swatting in White Bear's direction. *You ARE Wyrmcomer! The Black Beetle's blood stinks on you, Skunk-Piss! Black Sky brings one of the Rotted Hearts' dogs to whine at me!* The spirit looks thoroughly offended, snorting and turning its head away, looking off towards the east.
~I Know I am wyrmcomer. It shames me.~ The Ahroun growls low, all his muscles tense at once. ~If I let you take the blood of mine that belongs to Black Beetle, will you stop poisoning the shadow with your rage?~ The Ahroun's paws scrape the ground as he takes a half step backwards, looking down from the Cougar to the Elder Garou with a pretty clear message: He's not sure if he's doing the right thing.
*Blood does not come in different colors.* The old Theurge says. *All is red. It only comes from different places. One cannot be seperated from another.*
The cougar continues to look towards the east, an ear flicking in contrast with the lashing tail behind it. It growls low as Black Sky speaks, seeming to be calmed down from its previous height of rage. The spirit turns back to the two Garou, and from its perch on the rocks it leaps down silently. Opening its jaws, wrinkling back its lips and breathing deep, the big cat seems to taste the air around the Garou. Minutes tick by. It really seems like the spirit considers the offer posed by the white hispo. Then it turns back and leaps onto its boulder post again. *I want no beetle-dog's blood,* the spirit snorts, looking disgusted at the very thought. *I want /my/ blood to run free. To return to the land it was taken from! No matter how hard it beats, it tries hard to break free and weakens; one beating heart amongst the Rotten Hearts.*
White Bear's muzzle wrinkles, head ducking again as The Old theurge makes his comment. He lifts it back when The cougar goes on and Black-Sky Translates. Again, he looks tepidly to the Theurge, before he ventures up to the spirit. ~I will do that for you then.~
Black Sky turns his grizzled, greying muzzle towards the white hispo and pans his ears straight forward. ~You make a pledge not knowing what it involves?~ He does not, yet, translate this time. ~To a spirit, who's mind do not think like ours?~
The cougar stares at the ahroun, claws scratching heavily against the umbral rock. An ear flicks itself towards Black Sky when he speaks, but makes no indication of whether it understood the elder or not. It simply stares at the ahroun examining him.
White Bear's head ducks again as the Elder looks his direction, ears flashing backwards his feet drag backward across the ground. White Bear apologizes to Black Sky-Rhya, he tells the other. White Bear thought the Black Sky-Rhya told him the spirit was being bad for Black Sky-Rhya's kin.
The Uktena elder sneezes, nose wrinkling up as he gives a slightly aggrieved look at White Bear. ~Why do you apologize, pup? Listen to the wisdom of an old wolf, do not apologize as though it made your ears bleed. Yes, this one has caused trouble here in the spirit world, but why? Do not seek a straight answer from a child of cat, even one who cannot shift its form. The answer is there, but you must dig.~ And then he looks back to the cougarm patiently waiting once more to translate.
The cougar waits just as patiently as well, tail flicking behind it. When Black Sky turns back to face the spirit, the cat seems wryly pleased. That feeling dissipates quickly though, as it turns back to White Bear. *What will you do for me, Wyrmcomer? Your kind has already killed mine, and now it is not enough just to kill them.*
Long distance to Nascha: Sai will miss 'im when this is done.
White Bear blinks at the Uktena, head looking from it, to the spirit and back again. His head starts to cant to one side, before he gives it a shake, looking back up to the Spirit. ~There is one of yours among the rotten hearts?~
Black, white and yellow hackles puff from the cougar spirit in irritation waxing. *When the sun shows its face again for the third time, the bleeding heart will return to the Chaya. Until then, Wyrmcomer, the bleeding heart still beats among the Wyrmcomers and defies them all.*
White Bear takes his time flummoxing over that, brow scrunching forward on his rough and angular head as he waits for the Spirit to say its peace. ~Who among the Rotten Hearts has the one of yours; who does the bleeding heart defy?~
Angrily the Cougar gets up, turning its head to look eastwards once more. Though it's face is turned from the Garou, somehow the spirit continues to speak. *Where the mist burns away first, that is where the bleeding heart cries. Son of the Rotted Hearts, you dare ask who the bleeding heart defies?* The eyes turn back, burning with white hot Rage. *ALL!* The cougar's tail lashes, and in the distance, thunder rumbles. *None amongst the Rotted Hearts will beat again behind the walls of the dead trees!* At this point the cougar pins the Uktena elder with a smoldering gaze - even though it doesn't stay long. *None, Black-Sky-Dog, or Cougar's children will feast upon the coward's hearts in your camp for the broken promise!*
*It will be done. My kin, who have always honored you, will see to it. My son, Red Thunder, will lead them and see your kin run free once more and share apart of their kills with your people. What has been done cannot be undone, but my people will fight all the same. The children of Uktena still honor the children of Cat.* The ancient Theurge bends himself down on his one good leg in as much as a bow as a withered old wolf can give.
The growl from deep within the cat's throat subsides, and in the silence it pierces both Garou's minds with a warning. *Beware the dawning of the Third Twilight-Bringer's child, wolf-changers.* The cougar then screams again up to the Umbral heavens, biting its paw and scratching the bitten appendage over the black rock. *Go now!* it cries once more. The spirit disappears behind the black rock, not seen again. The tension in the air relieves itself quickly, like steam rising up and fading into the cool Shadow air.
White Bear likewise makes himself smaller against the ground. He lets the Elder Uktena do the remainder of the talking, having sensed his time to do it was well and up. He pulls his lips back slightly in a sickly 'grin' as the Sprit issue its warning; the Ahroun relaxes immeasurably, source of the wafting rage gone. Finally, he moves slightly: White Bear will help Black Sky, if Black Sky wishes.
~You will help me.~ The hispoed Uktena states. ~I am Black Sky, Elder in rank, Theurge in auspice, and Banetender in duty. You already know my family. Not long ago, they were with those being driven from our homelands. There, I did not deal with them much, I had greater duties to perform. But I could not abandon them to the white men and their reservations. I saved them and the few closest to them and brought them to this place. It is poor, but it a freer life.~ It is here Black Sky wanes somewhat, ears tilting back. ~I have been gone to long. The bane I guard is breaking free. It is one of the Yenaldlooshi, a Skinwalker, and a servent of the Defiler Wyrm. I can not rebind it alone. I prayed to Uktena to send me aid, and you have come, and while I still have doubts you will have to do. Come. We have far to travel.~ And with a flick of his tail, the Uktena turns and limp-lopes off towards the north.
White Bear shrinks back even more when the Uktena puts a word to his rank, front end lowering as he almost touches the ground for a moment. When Black Sky explains the task, White Bear pulls himself up slightly, beginning to slink along after the Elder at the Elder's pace.
The journey is long when you only have three legs, even more that in the physical world it is easily a hundred mile journey. Time passes differently in the Umbra, however, and dawn is still a little while off by the time they comes to a place where the grass no longer grows. The ground is flat and glassy and black, leading to a hole in the center. ~Down.~ And down goes the Theurge into a pit that smells of decay and disease and filled with black. Down and down they go, on winding Umbral pathways through the caverns until deep within the earth Black Sky walks into a vaulted cavern full of glassy black spikes from ceiling and floor. In the center, encased in the same black glass, is a monstrous thing. The stink of the Wyrm is apparent to even those who cannot sense it. The Bane would put someone in mind of a half-rotted giraffe crossed with a zombie with several extra arms, all of them ending in various sharp ends. And it is halfway out of its prison, turning it's warped humanoid face towards the Garou and screaming it's Rage with a voice taken straight from nails, a chalkboard, and the grinding of rusted metal.
White Bear's revulsion is clear to read as he sees the thing, posture somewhere between horror and disgust. If he was in homid, he'd probably be looking a bit green at the moment. He warps up to warform behind the other, clenching his weapon tightly. The Ahroun doesn't like what he's seeing, even as his nostrails flair.
Black Sky also take the form of war, holding his withered left forearm even closer to his chest. ~It is a Bane of sickness and decay. Do not let its poison touch you. Prepare yourself and keep me free to perform what I must.~ And in the sickly green light, the burns on the balding fur of the withered arm can be seen. Done by viscous black poison that drips from the Bane's front two arms that best resemble the backs of porcupines. Bringing up his dedicated staff, the old Banetender sinks his teeth into the bag tied on the end, spilling free herbs and tiny bones stained red. He swings the staff, flinging the contents towards the Bane, and then he begins to dance.
White Bear gives a silent affirmative to the Elder, ears splaying back as he regards the monster once more. The colossal spear is clenched all the tighter as he moves along with the Theurge, following on an outside track with a incredibly wary eye on the Bane. The place where he usually keeps the the bundle of herbs and mushroom pieces dangling from the war-spear is empty, though that doesn't keep him from trying to snap it off before he catches himself.
The spiked umbral cavern's rocks hum at the beginning of the elder's chant. The noise is disturbing, assaulting the ears from all sides with no manner of true origin. Where Black Sky chants and dances, the air around the cavern grows oppressively heavy, stirring like an invisible soup all around the obsidian colored boulders as before. The gleaming green light seems to waver, producing shadows that dance along the walls then disappear into the corners and re-emerge elsewhere.
The Yenaldlooshi writhes at the touch of the sanctified herbs and bones, thrashing inside it's prison of black glass and cracking yet more of it away. The sound it voices is a terrible scream, a scream that soon dissolves into a twisted language best used for curses. Not this time! I will be free! FREE! Come closer to me, pup, closer. Your anger is sweet. Sweeter yet when your flesh turns black. The arm was but a taste, Old Wolf, and soon I will eat you whole! COME! FREE ME! The Wyrm's Tongue grates through the caverns like the scream of a dying child, but still Black Sky dances all the more passionatly. He sings out in the Mother's Tongue, crying out the prayers needed to begin the rebinding. Slowly, faintly, tendrils of blue begin to show, the true netting that holds back the Bane, many of them broken and shredded.
White Bear moves along with the Bane Tender, eyes rounding out as the thing begins to speak in that profane language that it calls its own. The weapon is tipped forward, handpaws moving down the shaft slightly as his feet move in an unsure manner.
Soon as the blue weaving tendrils glimmer into existence, the giant bane's screeching Wyrm Tongue is echoed all throughout the cavern. Like a call from the Wyrm itself, the cries of its minions are summoned forth from the deepest depths of the cavern. A pack of Scrags, warrior banes of the Wyrm, come tearing out of the void with ear-piercing shrieks flowing from their tongues. The lead Scrag skitters and skids to a halt, slavering green slime from its many-toothed mandibles. Opening its mouth wide, it bellows forth an incredibly loud cry - one loud enough to shake the walls of the cavern and grate hard against the Beast within the Garou's breasts, tearing at the bonds of will that hold the Rage back. The second of the scrags flanks left, the other, right, and both charge forward with speed amazing. Both go straight for the elder Garou, not paying mind to White Bear whatsoever.
The Beast inside thrashes as much as the Bane, but for this time, both Garou fend off the frenzy. Black Sky can afford to pay the Scrags no mind, all of his concentration is focused on the Bane who continues to rail and fight. Louder, does the Bane Tender chant, hindclaws scraping the floor as his pace quickens.
White Bear throws his arms wide, roaring back into the face of the lead Scrag a wordless bellow from the pit of his being. As the two charge, the spear is hurled like he was harpooning whale, with a full stroke of the arm and a level follow through as the thing snaps through the air powered by his strength. He moves to intercept the other one, putting himself in the thing's path as he leans in to take its attention with Claws and teeth.
The scrags all targeted on the elder Garou, the leftmost (Moe) leaps towards the elder Garou, only to be impaled through by the spear hurled with such force to throw off its trajectory. It lands messily with a tumbling roll, the shaft of the weapon cracking and breaking in half at the shaft. As Moe scrabbles back up and shakes itself to regain its senses, the third (Curly) leaps full on at ahroun in its path with no fear. Its teeth dripping with saliva, Curly attacks the same time as the ahroun, fangs seeking for a tender part of his midsection. Larry the Leader snorts, seeing his 'packmates' being taken on by the ahroun, and with a screech lunges forward. It too, heads for the dancing elder as was its packmates' original target.
Ahroun and Scrag meet in a collision that jars and rattles bones. White Bear can feel the scrape of toothy mandibles against his middle and the dark ache of his blood seeping out and mixing with the Scrag's saliva. Thankfully, only his skin is opened as teeth and claws manage to hold back the brunt of Curly's assault, for now. Larry scrambles for the pair, threatening to quickly pass the battling pair and reach the Bane Tender who has by now circled around to the far side of the cavern, his feet tracing a slow circle around the Yenaldlooshi who writhes within his blue net and blck glass which continues to crack.
White Bear's furious, snarling out loud at the superficial wound with that unearthly noise that people make when in pain. His handpaw lashes out, but instead of using claws he uses the back of his hand and the old Ahroun gift to send the spirit tumbling. He immediately disengages the moment the gift is used, moving to block Larry and grab him with either handpaw; The Ahroun wrenches around with all his strength, trying to physically throw Larry at Moe.
The insane screeches of the scrags pierce the air all the while, matching the ahroun's ferocity with their own. The ahroun's backhanded slap only manages to unbalance Curly to a degree, though the Scrag quickly rights itself as White Bear disengages from fighting with it. Curly snarls but the call of the bane inside the glass sounds again, its zombie-giraffe form writhing as the elder's chantings strengthen. Curly breaks off, jumping up onto the tendrils that bind the bane and starts chewing away like mad. Larry is grabbed as the ahroun's claws hook into some of the chinks of its spiny skin-platings, but as the full moon tosses the leading scrag back towards its other packmate, Larry slahses out with its claws and dig into the ahroun's midsection, taking either the ahroun, or part of the ahroun, with it just before it collides with the unfortunate Moe once more.
Flesh and fur are tore off the Ahroun's midsection with the cleaness one might expect of peeling a banana, the sliced muscles underneath taking a moment to fully realize what has happened before leaking blood free and fast. Meanwhile, the tendril Curly chews whines in protest like an abused harp string, the noise thrown to such a high pitch it makes the glass coffin ring. It is only by the effort of Black Sky the string does not break outright, the forced of Bane and Bane Tender clashing in a a chorus like the orchestra of hell. The Theurge turns, approaching 3/4 around the trapped Bane who screams its fury.
White Bear collapses on down to three on the ground, grasping his torn stomach for as he recoils in pain. The hand does little to keep the blood from flowing freely, running down the Ahroun's white coat. He shoves forward, though, hobbling forward to reach up and wrap his claws around Curly's bulk. He snarls and roars as he attempts to tear the bane off the tendril, muscles wrenching to throw the Scrag.
Larry and Moe scrabble and snap at each other as both fight to right themselves. Larry is the faster, rolling up and snarling angrily at the white ahroun, eyes glowing with Rage as it charges forward. Moe gets up after, not but a few seconds behind but slowed by the spear impaled through it. Curly's teeth snap off the tendrils, pulled off by the ahroun. A set of claws snap out towards the elder Garou even as the ahroun slowly pulls it off the bigger bane's webs, the Scrag howling protest and writhing as it is thrown through the air and thuds against a pillar of rock.
Curly's claws find their mark, splitting ruddy and black fur along the shoulder and letting blood run free. Black Sky's concentration falters, the bitten thread snaps with the sound of a whiplash and the Yenaldlooshi roars out in sinister laughter as it shoves one forearm through the glass prison, shattering the part the thread had kept sealed and swiping out at the Ahroun's back.
[This is one of the porcupine-poisoned arms, btw.]
White Bear drops down to two legs and an Arm once the Scrag is thrown, though, other hand grasping at his guts once more as he scrabbles forward once again as the arm lashes out at him. He staggers forward, pushing his way forward as the bloodloss starts to get to him in increasing severity. He puts himself between the Banes and the Bane Tender, posing himself to intercept Larry before he gets to the Tender.
Larry charges forth, frothing at the mouth and leaping upon the ahroun again, teeth each like boar tusks snapping for the ahroun's throat. Moe hunches down and leaps to pile itself atop both scrag and ahroun, shrieking bloody murder. Curly's on its clawed feet once more, shaking itself out of its daze and looking translucent as it too charges forth.
Black Sky dances. How he dances, darting the flailing spined arm with the ease of a fox despite his age. Further he moves, so very close to where he began with its scattering of herbs. Only a moment longer and the circle will have been danced, the blue threads glowing brightly, humming with a life of their own. The Yenaldlooshi screams louder in frustration, clawing with its one free arm at it's prison, shearing away tiny shards of the black glass. The Scrag-pile topples the Ahroun with the weight, Larry's jaws snapping shut time and again, plucking mouthfuls of fur away so very close to the critical vein, teeth piercing holes into his skin that sting with the Scrag's putrid saliva.
Held against the ground by the Banes, White Bear doesn't go quietly. He roars, lashing under the spirits weight as he snaps and bites. Froth gathers at the edges of his muzzle as he shakes and shoves. Limbs lash out time and time again, shoving and slashing as he explodes in a flourish of rage.
The heavy weight of the scrags atop the ahroun press down, their claws and teeth sinking in again and again as the ahroun's own strike and draw out black essence from the skins of the scrags. Curly charges up again, but one look at the brightly glowing tendrils and the bane howls out in what could be a pained keen. The sound shudders through the cavern, drowning out the rage-filled roars of the ahroun, again coaxing forth the Beasts that claw inside the breasts all spirits and Garou present.
The cave pulses once, twice, before it all fills with a vivid blue light. Blue turns brighter, the noxious virulant green of Balefire. Then all goes red. The red of blood. The red of anger. The red of primal hatred. Somewhere in the back of White Bear's mind, he might hear the howl of Black Sky, rising louder and lounder until howl of wolf and scream of Bane blend into one single supernatural cacophony. The chittering and screeching of Scrags, the almost physical sound of his own senses shutting down one by one. And then everything goes black and silent. As silent as a moonless night in winter. As silent as death. The Ahroun floats, suspended. Sensations slowly return like the prickle of needles. Curled up, a Crinos in the fetal position, eyes shut tight and ears folded to his head. Is he dead? Is he not yet born? Everything is very dark and quiet.
White Bear doesn't dare move as the world comes back, curled tightly as he lay... where he lay. Nostrils flair, eyes still shut, as he tries to sniff and scent at the air to reassure himself of... something. The motions are more automatic than anything.
There is no air. It is like breathing in thick water, though the Ahroun suffers no ill effects, and the fluid is warm. There is no sound, no taste, and only blackness to the eyes. Then, in the distance, or what would seem so, there are two points of light. Yellow. As yellow as the eyes of a beast.
White Bear moves, almost trying to swim his way though the world as he finally moves. The he pushes and gently shoves his way through the medium, visibly dazed and confused.
The Ahroun, should he look down, would realize his gut is still wide open, raw and ugly. However, it does not bleed. Strange. Though he swims, it is the lights that approach him, melding into the faint outline of a long, sinewy figure. <....who are you?....what are you?....> A voice in his head, fleeting as a whisper spoken in the wind.
White Bear's head does drift down, becoming astonished when finally realizes the wound. He tepidly puts his hand over it, as if not believing it's there, or any of this is happening. As the voice wafts through his head, the Crinos's head jerks up and around, still dazed. ~I am... White Bear. I am Garou.~
A pulse of light, coming from just above the two yellow eyes, slitted and cold. It says in the singsong manner of a half-mad child, the figure moving closer, whisking past with the flick of a long, serpentine tail.
White Bear whirls around in his viscous medium as the spirit flits past, the Crinos like some lunatic's vision of a ballerina for a moment. ~You know how to fight the wyrm like no other. Your tribe keeps the ways. I will follow you and learn the wyrm to fight it. Learn the ways to keep them.~ The Crinos' head wanders off through the medium, seeking another glympse.
There is a laugh, or is it? It is the hiss of a snake and the purr of a cat. < I already know the ways. I know more than you do. > It nearly chants, gloating almost, as it loops around from behind with a quick flash of scale and curved cat claws, the shimmer of long horns. < I want to know more. More. More and more. Things the Snake does not. What have you learned? I have watched you. What? Tell me. >
White Bear whirls around again, feet trying to find purchase on the almost nothing to no avail. ~The Restless hid in the scab. They were all trapped in a cycle of pain and torment for some time, but I was taken from the place before I could find what was tormenting them. They called it a demon, and they feared it as they hid there.~ He tells the other, nostrils flaring again.
The jewel in the center of the cat-shaped head glows faintly, whiskers tugging back as it floats in front of the Ahroun. < My children keep secrets for me. Secrets they do not share. I do not share. They are Mine. > The spirit hisses as pearly claws flex. < Mine to taste and keep and use. Can you keep secrets for me, Nameless and Tribeless one? Can you learn the hidden knowledge of others for me and me alone? I have watched you. I doubt it. > Snap goes the tail and the spirit circles around, muzzle hovering at the Garou's ear. < Rebirth will be needed. Your old life is dead, I have swallowed it and the taste was bitter. Choose. Choose. The path of secrets, secrets none can know, or the road you walk alone, free to speak and do as you will? >
White Bear pointedly doesn't look at the jewel, eyes averted from the thing in the centre of its forehead. He slowly turns in place as if the world whirls around him, looking around in circles. ~The hidden knowledge is for you.~ He offers readily, before the latter part is told to him. A few seconds tick by, before he gives a silent affirmative; he vocalizes just a moment later. ~Yes. I choose your path.~
At the other ear. < Fail me, wolfling, and I will devour your heart as the Snake devours the world. Then I will know all you have kept. > The Uktena snarls lowly, airless breath oozing across the Garou's neck. < None. None but I may know the secrets you find. None but my children may know my secrets. You have chosen! > The Uktena shrieks, loud and curdling and the Ahroun can feel the cat-like claws sink deep into his raw, open belly. And then he is falling, fast and free. < ...know...know this. The secret only my children know. You serve me as I once served the Snake. Serve me well, Keeper-of-the-Circle. > The blackness whizzes by, spiraling and sickening, until the newborn Uktena crashes back onto the ground. The ground he has never left. He is in the lean-to that is still filled with the faint haze of smoke, flat on his back, naked and in homid. On his stomach is a deep scar in the perfect, pearly-pink shape of a circle. Cutter has long gone, but Nascha is there, looking down with a perfect, impassive expression.
White Bear once again lies perfectly still, eyes almost blind to the sights around him as if he's refusing to see. Nostrils flair first, The first sign that he's alive being the inhalation of all the scents of the lean-to.
"You need rest." Nascha says from above him as she pulls out a blanket and sets it near him. "In the morning, you can return to the sept and tell them all you have been reborn. Until then, sleep and think on what has been done. You are Uktena now. Sleep."
White Bear's eyes roll up to Nascha unblinking, looking to the Philodox with a blank, unmoving stare before he looks back up to the top of the Lean-to. Without moving in place, he simply closes his eyes and sinks back into dream once more.
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