Rite of Reawakening
3/19/2006
05:13 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.
Currently the moon is in the waning Gibbous Moon phase (66% full).
It is currently 17:04 Pacific Time on Sun Mar 19 2006.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly sunny today. The temperature is 54 degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from variable directions at 3 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.94 and falling, and the relative humidity is 43 percent. The dewpoint is 32 degrees Fahrenheit (0 degrees Celsius.)
Umbra: Light Woods
These sparse woods stretch away, north of the place of power that is the Caern, hemmed in on the west and north by unsubtle swaths of decaying, web-covered grey that denote roads in the Realm. The entire area, all around, is a vivid reflection of the physical world: colors are brighter, scents are sharper, sensations more crisp. The trees reach upwards, impossibly high, towards the heavens, while the airts of various animal spirits wind crazily through the undergrowth; the land is replete with life, a place where Spirit and Realm are still close together.
A number of landmarks punctuate the woods: a massive thrust of bright, almost crystalline rock that juts upwards, out of a clearing, like a shoulder of the earth; a pair of giant arcs of bone that glisten with fresh blood, between which hangs a luminous bundle of ephemera; a bright clearing, beneath a broad, steep cliff, across which wind spirits dance incessantly. Faint pathways lead off in three directions.
Contents:
Dillen
Olga(#4061PJceq)
Red
Rite Preparations
Shield-Bearer
Obvious exits:
South Northwest North
Shield-Bearer sits at a bowl of water, clean and prim. She has a large bronze shield slung over her back, painted with a bloody red Black Fury glyph, that seems to hinder hinder her motions just a bit. Around her is an overturned 'hoplite helmet,' another bowl filled with some dark and viscous liquid, a small fire in a cleared place, and two sticks. The bowl of water sits on a mat of pine branches, green and fragrant.
It appears Gaia started making an upright beast of burden, and became distracted with something else halfway through. Standing in excess of nine feet tall, the creature is a bizarre juxtaposition of features. While it stands on broad, uncloven hooves, the smooth-furred, black beast is topped by a lupine head and sports a similar tail. While its wide, three fingered hands lacks claws, it doesn't lack sharp, pointy teeth.
Dillen makes his way into the umbra with a little bit of trepidation. He joins the others, moving slow and steady as he does so. The first opportunity he has, he finds a place to sit down... Carefully. A nod to the Fury, "Greetings." As he shifts into glabro. The faint smell of a wound can be sensed from the Galliard.
Runner trots into view, daring to travel the Penumbra with a swifter, lightfooted form. Coming into the area of the rite, she sniffs over the ground, then looks towards the shield bearing metis. Her head quirks in curiosity before she seats herself nearby. Another sniff goes towards Dillen, particularly at the scent of his wound.
Olga is slow in punching her way through the Gauntlet, even here where it's thin and wild, where the lines are blurred. She fades slowly out of her old world and into this. Her eyes are dim and hazy, but her attention is sharp; she moves slowly, self-consciously backwards, looking at those around and at the bright-coloured sky, before her gaze settles firmly on the ritemistress.
Shield-Bearer looks up from her preparations, offering a feral grin to the Get before she turns back to the bowl and focusing on her reflection again.
Vera's form appears a short distance away and she begins to walk toward those gathered.
Dillen sits back, trying to get comfortable. A short nod to Runner and then Olga. He reaches a hand to his chest, adjusting the way he sits before then nodding to Vera as well as she approaches. "Greetings, Vera-Rhya."
Olga is unsettled and on edge, it shows in the way her feet scrape the spring-soft ground as she walks, in the defensive slope of her shoulders. Her eyes are on the other Theurge, giving the everyone else on quick, snapped glances of comprehension, before they move back to the Metis. They trace a quick pattern: hooves, hands, and then off to the spirits and children of the Umbral forest, watching them innocently, awkardly; and then again she stares.
Shield-Bearer looks to the paltry crowd, feral grin starting to fade as she sees just how many are gathered. She presses to her hooves, tipping her muzzle back to howl to any elsewhere in the umbra.
Shield-Bearer howls long and loud.
From Umbra: Light Woods, Shield-Bearer can be heard to howl, ~Children of the Hidden Walk! Tonight, on the balance of spring, we quest for the hope of spring! Let the Rite begin!~
Runner chuffs her greetings, looking interested with the rite, but also showing a small concern over the Gnawer theurge. She lopes over and sits nearby within arm's reach of Olga, attentions splitting off as the metis howls.
Dillen just stays sitting, looking about at those that arrive.
Olga's "Hey, Yi-" is cut abruptly short by the ritemistress' howl; the awkwardness snaps from her and she stands stock still, on attention, with an at-ease soldier's reserve. She awaits the beginning of the sacred time in silence.
With barely a ripple, another shape joins the group. Cole arrives, glancing around to take stock of his surroundings as he shakes off his disorientation. Dillen gets a nod and a raised eyebrow as the Fianna settles in.
Vera stands slightly apart from the group, hands clasped firmly behind her back.
Shield-Bearer's jaw snaps shut as she finishes, sitting down again to her ritual preparations. Picking up the sticks, she begins to tap out a rhythm on the overturned helmet, the metallic rattling echoing off the trees.
Shield-Bearer lifts her voice into a chant: *Ancestors, here us! Ancestors, Guide us! Sisters of the past, show us the way.* The rhythm continues to rattle out on the helmet, strangely irregular. *Winds of the north, you have | Guided us through the cold of winter! | Spirits of the hunt, you have | Kept our stomachs full through the lean!*
Dillen watches as the rite begins. He's quiet and just keeps his gaze on the Fury from where he sits on the umbral ground.
Olga's mood is one of anxious solemnity. Her face is impassive except that she breathes shallow, and the hands in her pockets clutch tight at the inside fabric. Somewhere in the strange-beating rhythm her form snaps and slides to Crinos, without her really seeming to realize it: her expression is the same.
Runner stretches up, affecting the form of the nearwolf, eyes peering around at the group's surroundings in a near constant scan.
As she chants, vague shadows of people gather in the distant trees. Her intonations to the wind are answered with a light wind from the north, and to the hunt, with distant howls. She's got someone's attention.
Jamethon arrives good and late, as he approaches he falls from two legs of the homid to the four of the hispo, almost perhaps looking like he is emerging from these shadows.
Cole sniffs the air unconsciously, drawing abreast with the rest of the group. The shadows catch his eyes, and he watches them warily.
Vera's nostrils flare, then she shifts into crinos. The monsters' black form is terrible and regal at the same time, as she scans the treeline.
Shield-Bearer says *Stag! Stallion! Sire new life! | Mother! Doe! Now is the time to give birth! | Let the hope of spring, and the new life it brings | set our hearts aflame!* She stops beating out the rhythm, using one of the sticks to transfer the fire to the bowl of viscous fluid. It quickly catches fire, burning high and bright, and she blows out the stick, and uses the charred end to continue beating out her rhythm. *Wyld! Spread new life all over your lands! May your children bear many more! And sire also.* The last part is clearly amended, and breaks the flow of her chanting and howls. *Doe! Lead us the way!* With that, she lifts the bowl and blows into the flames.
Dillen shifts into crinos as well. His eyes scan the shadows and he gets a bit of a worried look in his eyes. He still remains on the ground, unsure of what to do next.
The flames shoot out in an arch, burning nothing they touch and casting the umbra into an incredibly bright light. The snake of fire splits into two, forming a trail between them that leads deep into the nowhere. Standing between the two gouts of light is a nearly translucent, totally flawless doe, heavy with calf. She stand and stares for a long moment, before turning and fleeing down the trail silently and out of sight.
Fat-Ripper pays no attention to shadows, wind, or howls; her world right now ends at the circle of Garou, and begins with the Theurge at the middle of it. Though she's still, though her claws dangle loosely and easily from the ends of her hands, she is filled with an anxious, nervous energy that radiates out through her fur and the intensity of her eyes. Her eyes snap down to the deer when it appears, and then look back up to the ritemistress, searching her for cues or meaning, before watching the spirit slip beyond vision.
Reflection stands near to the others, looking quite light and ready for motion, muscles taut like a coiled spring. He remains silent, but the visible working of his throat indicates a clear desire for growling and howling.
Vera's ears press forward as she watches the proceedings, breath quickening as the Rite progresses. The Adren looks between the Fury and the retreating doe, waiting for instruction from the Ritemistress.
Cole, when he sees the doe appear, looks completely in awe of the apparition. He slides silently into Hispo, settling to all fours as he, too, waits.
Runner starts at the flash of fire, blinking lights out of her eyes before staring at the doe rather eyewidened. She licks her chops, but looks to the Adren Lord, then to the Ritemistress.
Red points after the retreating doe. ~She will lead you to the seed of new life, and the hope of spring. Follow, and I will keep the airt bright!~
Fat-Ripper twitches and strains; it's everything she can do to keep herself from screaming forward, straining against the soft Umbral ground. She waits for her elders to move, and only then bursts forward, rage-fueled and blind to all but the hunt.
Culls-The-Herd's form blurs into hispo and she bolts after the doe, fully intending to take the lead.
Howls-For-Glory moves as soon as Culls-The-Herd bolts forward, jaw hanging open in excitement. He settles quickly into a steady, distance-eating lope.]
Bloods-Bane reaches a hand to his chest and shakes his head. ~I cannot follow.~ He says softly and then rises to his feet to return to the earthen realm.
Runner shakes herself out of the brief bit of awe she gets every time from the whole shebang of the situation, and gradually works her gait into a run after the tail of the Shadow Lord elder.
Reflection does not need further instruction as he rears up on two legs, turning in the same motion. Landing now facing the spirit's path, once the Alpha has made her own motion, he leaps off and is away on the chase.
The path leads through the dark woods, Luna's face somehow not quite enough to illuminate these shrouded reaches. The fiery trail is unmistakable, though, and nearly impossible to lose. The smell of swamp grows as they move along the airt, until one by one, each Garou suddenly finds themselves in a bright enclave.
It's massive, maybe 50 metres or greater around, of a grassy pasture. On three sides, the grassy area is surrounded by dark forest and bog, but to one, the clearing goes on, without another tree in sight. And in this pocket in the treeline is a continuous ring of stone, 30 metres in diameter, buried in the earth so only the stone-washed white top shows. Two groups of two standing standing stones face to the grassland opening. The sun shows, red on the horizon casting long shadows from the stones. Luna seems larger than life, the gibbous face visible over the dark bog opposite helios. A distant robed man is visible for just a fleeting second, before vanishing from sight; the doe can be seen, standing between the twin shadows of the standing stones in the dead centre of the ring. It at once seems fantastically real, and too fantastic to be real.
Culls-The-Herd's jaws hang open and her tongue lolls freely, as she draws in huge lungfulls of air. She continues chasing the deer, all of her attention focused on that single goal.
Howls-For-Glory pauses when he spots the fleeting, robed figure. It only maintains his interest for a moment. Then, he's riveted on the doe once more.
Reflection, once he is able to come to a full halt and take in the view, bows his head and growls a word of hope and praise to Gaia in a language that makes it impossible to understand to any except those with the Spirit's Tongue. *Forever.* After this, despite being further in the back of the group now, he rejoins the Alpha's run.
Runner comes upon the pasture and again, her eyes go wider and her nose works in a furious catalogue. The vanishing man makes her ears perk, and then swivel towards the doe again. ~Where are we?~ she breathes out.
Fat-Ripper slows as she passes the threshold of stones, falling down to four limbs, looking around warily at the circle she's entered. She speaks her uncertainty to Yi's question with silence. She glances at the doe, but her interest in the hunt is flagged, and she merely keeps pace with the pack.
The Garou feel some resistance as they pass through the stone circle, though not much. The doe turns and resumes galloping away from the Garou in hot pursuit, when suddenly it all comes to a crashing end. A mammoth sized arm shoots out from behind the other pair of standing stones, snagging the deer abruptly. It lifts the deer high, who disappears behind the rock the thing that's attached to the arm was hiding behind. A moment later, the remains are thrown on the ground unceremoniously, as the perpetrator strides into view with a belch.
It must be 12 feet tall, and it stinks like it's spent the night in a pig's stye. Off brown, swarthy an blotchy skin covers this hulk from beetled to grimy boot. Two thick arms hang apishly, with some sort of bracer about the one, and the other lugging a crude axe as big as a normal man is tall. Between his broken and black teeth are bits of blood and flesh, and stuck on one of his two tusk like incisors is what looks like part of the doe's spine. He's clothed in chunks of metal and stained and tattered leather, but the loincloth does little to cover his bloated and deformed phallus. A horn protrudes from one side of his skull, like a bull, but it's mirror seems to have been broken off. As flies circle his head, it's hard not to be slightly queasy.
The beetle brow giant blinks at the gathered stupidly, before taking a massive stride into the circle. ~'e can't 'ave it.~ He belches out.
Culls-The-Herd skids to a stop, hackles lifting and ears plastering against her skull. She orders those behind her to halt with a sharp bark and shifts into Crinos. ~Who are you?~ She demands of the spirit.
Howls-For-Glory stops, sharply, staring at the creature. When he looks again to the remains of the doe, his lips peel back and he bares his teeth. He hunches down low to the ground, watching for any suspicious movement nearby.
Reflection halts as he is commanded, though moving to be just behind Vera and slightly to her side. He waits impatiently and ready for his next move.
Fat-Ripper scrapes forward, her claws clinging to the thick grass, the swish and scrape of it hidden by the growl in her throat, her eyes all on the monstrosity that's still got the husk of the spirit they'd followed dangling from its face. She moves forward, fierce and barely contained. ~Kill it,~ she says, practically demands, in a growl full of hate, scratching like sandpaper against brick. ~Kill it!~
Runner backsteps a couple paces, looking shocked at the very sudden death of the doe. Her hackles stiffen up, but she asks no questions yet.
~'m "Mont Sain' Michel"... or 'm from it, 'ne of the two.~ He rumbles back while he scratches thoughtfully in rather unthoughtful places, taking a few steps forward. You can almost feel the steps as he takes him. ~'M here, ta say Ques'n Beast and me? We don' like ya. Iseul'. Doesn't like ya either. An' we don' gadda give ya spring back. Soon'r fuck yer' mother, than let you 'ave all the fun.~ He licks his lips exaggeratedly, taking a moment to get the flesh form between the black pegs.
Howls-For-Glory gives voice to a growl, his hackles rising as 'Michel' speaks of witholding the season from Gaia's defenders. The growl peters out a moment later, and a look of consternation appears on the Galliard's visage.
Reflection growls over to the Alpha, ~The wyrm does not hold sway here. Let us teach this idiot a lesson as we would a petulant problem cub. Beat the submission from it.~
Culls-The-Herd's muzzle wrinkles up as she bares her teeth at the putrid spirit, a flash of white against black. ~You cannot deny us what is ours!~ The Ragabash cries out, as glares at the beast. ~Gnawers, take out its legs!~ The Adren orders, spittle forming around her mouth. ~Howls-For-Glory and I will deal with his front. Warder, give us aid!~ Orders given, the Adren throws herself into battle, claws aiming for the beast's right arm.
Runner takes a step forward, lips curling back. Her head jerks up at the orders, and without further question, the ragabash jumps on towards her left to take on and take out the trollish creature's right-side leg.
Howls-For-Glory seems only too eager for the fight at that moment. The indecisive look disappears, and the Fianna obeys orders with a will. While Culls moves for the right arm, he opts to try to attack the left. Black talons flash in his auspice moon's light.
The Alpha's command is like snapping a leash, and Fat-Ripper screams forward with snarls and spittle: it's all she can do to keep pace with the Ragabash and do as she's told. She charges, claws bared, though at the last Rage-filled second she's five feet shorter and hurling her now Hispo bulk straight at the monstrosity's leg, hopefully underneath any defences, and any attack.
Vera's teeth fail to penetrate it's swarthy flesh, the Shadowlord only getting a good taste of whatever smells so foul about him. As Yi tackles it's leg, her claws sink into it's flesh, pulling a bit free from it's theigh. Cole's luck is even wore than Vera's, as he only gets to bat on the left arm's bracer to not much avail. Olga's claws tear at it's leg more successfully than the Galliard's luck with the arm, causing him to go `Oooh` and lift it slightly. Swinging his axe arm, being some what slow on the uptake of all this, he takes a swipe at one of the Gnawers, smashing Yi square in the chest. She flies backwards considerablly, like she was a golf ball and just whacked with a club, but aside from the giant axe gouge runny across her chest and side, she looks... mostly fine.
Reflection erupts up into Crinos, and spreading out his hands as he arches his back, a howl almost painfully explodes from Reflection's throat. ~The Mother will not be denied!~ With this he lurches forward and points a claw with a powerful and willful command to that which stands before them. *Fall on your face like the sniveling idiot you are!*
Culls-The-Herd's leg muscles bunch beneath her body and she jumps at the ogre of a spirit. Using her claws like meat hooks, she tries climbing up to the beasts head and ultimately its eyes.
Howls-For-Glory only seems to be enraged by his inability to do serious harm to the creature. A snarl of hatred escapes the Fianna. Rearing up, he tries to draw his claws across the creature's face and blind him.
Runner gets tumbled back, sent flying and crashing on the pasture with a crumply heap and yelp of pain. But, she struggles up to her feet again, shaking off the initial fires in her mind, and with a growl charges forth again. Wound or no wound, that thing is going Down.
Fat-Ripper tries to latch on to the creature's leg, to grab, tear, and savagely yank, to unsteady it enough that in the tumult of force and fury it topples. Her paws scramble and strain against the soft Umbral earth.
Jamethon points and snarls all he wants, but it doesn't seem to do... well, just about anything to the spirit. It keeps on fighting like the several ton, ugly smelly thing it is. Meanwhile, Vera scales the thing like it was a tree and she was a cat, making it all the way to head level with her claws dug into it's outfit to support her. Cole's luck is just rotten, striking metal and leather, and maybe giving the giant a nasty bruise at worse. Olga's skill is just maybe a bit too good, and her control maybe a bit too bad, as she not just bites into the leg, but sheers the whole thing off. The brute topples onto it's side, wildly swinging it's weapon. Wildly, but successfully. Cole's left arm is cleaved right off, as well as a good part of his shoulder.
The Axe is now well and burried into the ground, though. Small favours.
Howls-For-Glory is flung back by the sheer force of that wild, lucky strike. The Galliard is already back on his feet before the injury registers. But oh, it does register. The Galliard crumples under the sudden imbalance, letting out a howl of agony. For the moment at least, he's of help to no one.
Culls-The-Herd clings to the beasts clothing as the beast topples to the ground, determined not to loose her grip. Once the monstrous spirit hits the ground, her claws aim for its eyes.
Reflection growls out, ~Well fine.~ He then leaps in to the uncovered end of the severed leg and starts to dig in like he is burrowing a new den hole.
Runner only just does her part. The giant's down, and she works on making sure it stays that way. Her teeth look for its leg tendons, searching to shear them in two.
Fat-Ripper's rage finds some slight pause in the realization that she now has a deformed leg siezed between her jaws. Her hesitation, though, is only slight: hten it's all claws as she dogpiles on with everyone else, the creature's limb still ramrod straight between jaws held unintentionally tetanus-tight from anger and effort.
Yi and Olga get maybe too frisky, but the Gnawers are doing considerable damage. Leg, stomach, it all gets torn open and apart. The monster is pretty well and cooked.
And then Giant's head pops off. It's almost like there was a smaller man wearing the ogre's body as a costume, and he's had quite enough of that now, thank you. He escapes from the Adren's claws just barely, running away screeching. The head gradually shrinks down considerably until it sits on top of the bright red imp's wiry body like a bobble-head. It sweats profusely as it runs, one hand on a pair of brown slacks to keep it from falling. Far from the deep, booming voice, it's scream is a little more high pitched. And a lot more annoying.
James, in the meanwhile, gets most of his buried treasure out of the ground as dirt splays behind him like a fish tail. It's far from a lovely sight, the arm.
~Heal the Fianna!~ Culls' howls at the top of her lungs and throws herself at the fleeing imp, claws digging into the Umbral earth.
Howls-For-Glory is slowly but surely making his way over to the site of his severed limb, growling with every inch. ~Fuck!~ Eloquent to the end.
The Shadow Lord isn't the only one to go after the little imp. Runner snarls, head shooting up, and snaps to in action, chasing after the guy. She takes point with Vera, choosing a path that would close in and cut off escape routes.
Fat-Ripper moves slower now, rage muddying her thoughts and breeding confusion as one enemy bursts from another. She lopes after the Ragabash but takes her cue from them, the urgency and the anger is largely dissipated.
Reflection finishes digging up the arm and brings it over to Cole. ~On the count of three, I want you to drop to the homid form. Focus all your will on staying conscious. When I'm done, change right back to crinos. Got me?~
Vera's fast, but that little thing's much, much faster. The little screaming red bog imp runs along, barely able to hold his pants as he zigs and zags about. The hispo Yi has considerably greater success, though, and she's able to bolt along to cut off it's path. Her teeth sink into it, using it's momentum to fling it along like if Jaws played discus. It has enough time, though, to rasp at Yi's muzzle, taking off some flesh. It lands in front of Vera with particularly good aim, and a particularly sickening thud.
Howls-For-Glory bares his teeth toward Reflection, though it's not particularly aimed at the Theurge. ~Understood.~ The Galliard sucks in a heavy breath in preparation.
Culls-The-Herd snarls and reaches for the creature with her clawed hands. ~You! You pathetic excuse for a spirit, /YOU/ would deny us spring! You would deny Gaia's chosen what is rightfully theirs!~
"Noo! Don't hurt me! You can't hurt me!" It squeals, falling over backwards and scooting it's butt along the ground. It's pant's can't seem to say up as he reaches up to try and ward off the attacks, and everyone gets a good look at (And unfortunately good wiff of) it's whitey tighty underwear. The gangly little beast's cries are for naught, though, as Vera's claws bears down on it. But Vera's attack goes right through, seeming to hit nothing but air as her attack does... nothing? None are more confused than the imp himself, who seems shocked and amazed his words were actually true.
Culls-The-Herd's nostrils flare, as she continues to bare her teeth at the small beasty. This time, she merely attemps to pick up the annoying creature. ~And why,~ she rumbles, ~why shouldn't we hurt you?~
Runner barks out a lupine curse, but she sees her work is done. For now. The ragabash licks at the side of her muzzle as she approaches the vicinity of the Shadow Lord and the imp.
Fat-Ripper's heavy thudding lope slows to a cautious, curious walk, her ears pricked intently forward, her nose sucking in scents. She stares at the spirit, and then looks around quickly, warily, eyes scanning the bright umbral trees and the odd stones encircling them.
Reflection brings the arm to Cole's shoulder rotating it to be in line properly, looking like some kind of bizare Frankenstein thing going on. He counts to three, and when Cole drops to the homid form, he starts to perform the Mother's Touch pouring much of his essence into his work.
Vera's clawed hands doesn't seem to be able to touch the little disgusting thing. It's like picking up air. Pulling his pants back up, hastily, the Imp stands up again. His imp's astonishment gives way to jeering, making a face at the Garou while grabbing it's crotch. This is short lived, however, as it suddenly scowls, and starts spitting out curse after curse in anger. "Stupid! No! I wasn't supposta...!" Hacking a little, the disgusting little thing turns to scowl at the garou.
Like an angry child at a recital, it seems to grump out some prewritten line: "Before you can stab the beast of Iseult, One, and one alone must answer the question of..." Stopping there, it sort of mumbles off, glaring at the ground. "... my foot." He supplies shiftily, almost muttering. What was that last rhyme again? "'ny how, 's why you can't. So pick yer sharpest mind among ya', if you think 'e can match my awesome wits." he finally jeers loudly, jabbing his forefinger into his temple and peering at werewolves while rolling that finger in circles.
Jamethon's healing proves successful, binding flesh to flesh and bone to bone. But the arm is just too mangled to be of much use for a while. The wound to his shoulder where the axe went through doesn't help.
Meanwhile, the giant's body seems to rot away supernaturally fast, leaving just bleached bones while the imp rambles on.
Reflection pats Cole on the (good) shoulder and hitting hispo, turns and runs to join the rest of the group.
Culls-The-Herd snarls savagely, teeth snapping at thin air just in front of the creatures red face. ~I accept your Challenge.~
Fat-Ripper seems to find this oddly appealing; at any rate a wicked, vindictive, sharp-fanged bare of teeth looks as much like a smile as a growl. ~Maybe we could just find a big enough rock,~ she suggests, half in jest, half in maliciousness.
Runner doesn't look all too amused at the imp, but remains alert and standing as a guard. On occassion, she licks at her muzzle. Cole utters a grateful grunt and shifts to a form that would be more suitable for traveling, in Hispo. He moves gingerly, eyes and ears listening to the creature.
The imp peers deep into Vera's eyes, leaning forward, brow furrowing deep. He just stares for a minute, like as if in the deepest thought ever. Finally.. ~If yer running a race...~ He squeaks out. ~... which you would never do, because yer too fat 'n ugly, and you passed the person in second place... what place would you be in?~
Culls-The-Herd snorts loudly. ~You'd be in second. Try again, you piece of putrid shit.~
Reflection comes to stand near the Alpha, regarding the little spirit with a growling viciousness.
Runner flicks her ears, listening to the riddle. She eyes Vera, then eyes the imp. Gradually, the Gnawer ragabash scoots back around to poke about the bones left of the giant frame.
The little foul creature lets out a loud hmmph! at Vera and turns to dart off full-steam ahead towards the Bog.
Reflection shouts out once more with the force of power from before, more focused on the true target now. *HALT!*
Culls-The-Herd snarls and charges after the beast, form flowing into the swifter Hispo.
Though she's quick to notice the creature's retreat, she's slow to move that massive Hispo bulk, but soon Fat-Ripper is steaming after the Alpha, trying to chase it down before it reaches its retreat.
Howls-for-Glory is alert, and no less angry at the little imp and in pain. The Fianna presses on after the others, followed very shortly after by Runner, who overtakes him and also charges after. She snaps her jaws in annoyance, running to catch up as well.
Vera's one chance at getting it is to no avail, once more passing through the little creature before it tears on ahead. It passes through the ring with no trouble... Vera, however, slams into the air like it was a wall. Jamethon, for all his pointing, fails to have any effect on the little thing. Olga, Yi, and Cole manages to stop before she joins the same fate.
It stops and sticks it's tongue out at the Garou in one last jeer from by the bog, before it hops into dark, murky waters below. The Garou don't have time to celebrate, as no sooner does the little red imp disappear into the water than a massive head erupts from the same spot. A black, scaley skull surges out from the depths, followed by a long serpentine body. It's scutes propel the limbless beast across the grass as it slithers to the ring, and it's bifurcated finally emerges from the water. Tip to tail, it's easily 20 feet long, and as big around as a 55 gallon drum. It's hollow looking skull has sunken eyes and crushing jaws, nose tipped with a beak, and head accented by bony ridges. It coils, now fully inside the the stone circle, and roars deep.
It's a safe bet that's the Beast of Iseult.
The wind is knocked out of the Adren as she smacks into the air-wall while running at full speed. She falls to the ground in an ungraceful heap, where she proceeds to shakily regain her footing and draw in great gasps of Umbra air.
The Bone Gnawers have a wide and intricate vocabulary of profanity that's without the knowledge of most other tribes, and Fat-Ripper makes liberal use of it. There's less rage in her now, more fear, though in the Garou those aren't so easy to distinguish: her hackles are up like porcupines quills, her head is down, and her voice, outside of the swearing, is a low, throaty growl. One hand's claws are dug into soft springy earth, and she waits for the Alpha's command.
Reflection comes up to the circle in the slow and careful steps of a hunter stalking prey. ~Let us not fight it. This will be as it will be. Just perform our part of the rite.~ He growls out to the others. He side-step circles over to the alpha as he moves forward.
Runner wheels hard right, just short of hitting the invisible wall, and stares at the beast. ~Not fight? Tell that to the Beast,~ she growls in doubt, backing up a few paces, lips curled back in fear-aggression. Howls also stops short, his eyes are totally taking in everything about the creature. The galliard though, goes speechless.
Uncoiling, the serpent streams forward, bony maw agape as it heads for Yi, Olga and Cole. It's size belays how easily it can move. And it's doing a whole lot of that towards that gaggle.
Culls-The-Herd snarls loudly and takes several steps back. ~And what part would that be, Warder?~ She snaps. And then the beast begins to move and the Adren scrambles to get out of the way. ~Come and get me you pathetic earthworm!~ She taunts.
Runner isn't about to stick around and just wait to get et. She splits off in one direction, sending a look back at Cole and Olga as well. The Fianna turns and gives ground, more guarding of his injured leg and ready to dodge.
Fat-Ripper rises slowly to Crinos, her claws dangling almost absentmindedly from at her sides as she waits for the creature to arrive. While she faces it stoically it'd be wrong to say she's unafraid: it's in her eyes, in her fur, even in the exaggerated ease of her stance. She waits for it with seeming calm, though her legs are tense against soft ground.
Reflection returns, ~Defeat all challenges put before us as it was meant to be defeated.~ The Warder then crouching in a defensive posture, letting those attacked keep themselves alive for now, ~The Beast of Iseult can not be stabbed...~ He cuts off and growls to Vera, ~What did he say to you? Think!~
Undistraceted by Vera's taunts, or Jame's pondering, it bursts forward with renewed speed. The scaly side slams into Cole, driving the wind out of him as he's unable to dodge far enough to get away from it's length entirely. Yi fare's better, untouched by it's sides. It's boney maw doesn't go for the Galliard, though, but for the Gnawer Theurge. It snaps down on her flesh crushing bone around her rips before it rears back, jaws agape as if to strike again.
Culls-The-Herd seems to be ignoring Jamethon, or she merely lacks the breath with which to answer him. Once again, she bursts into crinos and as with the ogre, tries to claw her way up the creatures back. Aiming for its bony head and its sunken eyes.
Runner snarls in momentary triumph, though it turns to anger as she sees her tribemate get attacked. She moves to protect the Fianna, who gets knocked down again, shifting to her Crinos form. Her eyes gaze upon the serpent, wary of attack and looking for some kind of spot /to/ attack.
Fat-Ripper is caught by surprise: she hadn't expected this speed, this ferocity. She takes the teeth around her chest with a kind of shock, as if she doesn't understand what's happening: it's by instinct and rage alone that she manages to try to get out from around any second attack, springing on quick Crinos legs and clawing blindly at whatever comes down.
Reflection rears back and coils up ready to leap upon the snake as soon as he is able to judge the effectiveness of the other Garou's attacks.
Vera's claws manage to avoid the bony protection it's skull is afforded, going right into it's hooded eye with an expert squick noise. Olga's nearly random flails hit more of hit's bony body than flesh, and barely a scratch is made to speak of. But before it can slam into her for a second helping, her projectile dodging takes her from harm quickly.
With one eye blinded, Culls-The-Herd attempts to take out the beasts' second eye with her claws.
Fat-Ripper's quick to notice the creature's difficulty and Culls-the-Herd's intentions. With less worry for her own safety than before she charges, badgering the same target as the Ragabash, trying to blind it or at least, in the wild flurry of blows and movement, obscure its vision.
Runner works out a short plan with the Fianna as he gets up, and the two split off once again in two directions. ~Come on! Bite me!~ yips the Gnawer ragabash, waving around her claw to the creature's good eye. The Fianna heads for the blindside, searching for a fleshy part to sink his own teeth into.
The collar around Reflection's throat now pulsing a dull red glow, he pushes off now with a powerful spring to leap upon the Serpant's body. He first tries to ensure a strong hold using his jaws as a 'hand' then uses a claw to start to dig into skin between the spirit-thing's armor.
The serpent is bucking too much for Vera to plunger her claws into the other eye, though, but she's able to hang on to her one `handhold` despite it's attempts to dislodge her. Cole's jaws sink into the scaly flesh, tearing the hide off of it before getting no further. Olga manages to plunge her claws into it's eye, while hitting a lot of the tissue just around it (And some bone) in the process. It roars again, clearly enraged at it's lack of sight, and tries to shudder them all off. Olga is thrown off, Yi gets the wind wacked out of her, and Vera manages to Cling on. Cole is far enough aft to not worry about it's thrashing. James plunges his hand deep into it's cavity, avoiding bones and puncturing scale like tinfoil; this gives the great serpent it's final drive to get out. The thing bolts forward blindly towards the outside again, streaming along as fast as it can move, with obvious clue where it's headed.
Culls-The-Herd holds on grimly, teeth bared and ears plastered against her skull. Much like an annoying gnat, she slashes at the beast with her claws, aiming at the spot where the skull meets the neck.
Reflection tries to use his other claw to open the wound he has made, pushing with hind legs and pulling up with jaws. Yes, he is trying to climb inside the serpent's body.
Runner tumbles, back, coughing and gasping for air yet again. And again with a growl, she pushes up to her feet, chugging after the snake, claws seeking to grab onto it as it flees. ~You started it, you finish it!~ she swears. Howls tries to grab and hang on gamely, trying to sink his jaws in, but also trying to be an anchor.
Fat-Ripper hazards a few more glancing shots at the snake-thing's side as it scurries towards its fetid exit, or at least harries it on its way, but her movements are half-hearted and she doesn't seem concerned that it might be leaving. Her chest hurts, and its obvious in the stilted, stiff way she runs, four-legged and hard.
Vera's blows severs flesh from bone time and time again, but she can't seem to make the thing stop no matter how much she tears off. As Cole tries to bite down, his head is yanked in a thoroughly unpleasant way by the speed at which it's travelling, and several of his teeth come out, instead of him coming along for the ride. Olga's half hearted blows do nothing but speed it on it's way; Jamethon can't hold on and hold steady enough to stay on the serpent, and tumbles off. Yi can't even touch it. The beast of Iseult, however, seems to only move faster and faster through all this. It's had enough.
Fat-Ripper is done: let others have the glory and the hassle at this point, it's obvious in the proud but wounded way she slows and lifts her head that she feels the battle is won. One hand clutches at the savage wounds that horseshoe around her middle, rubbing at them, feeling the pain, trying to acclimate to it, while her ears twitch and wince, and a low, meaningless whine escapes her throat. She looks around, warily, at the shadows of trees that surround the circle of stone, searching for the glade children that should inhabit them, for some friendly face.
Culls-The-Herd attempts something different, as her allies are cast off the serpents body. She throws herself from her perch and as she falls towards the ground, claps her hands together.
Runner makes a short, but aborted effort to kick the snake's tail, and then thunks down on one knee briefly. The pain in her chest is throbbing pretty strong. The poor Fianna is dealing with a muzzle of less than enough fangs and more than enough blood. He spits roughly in lieu of a set of swearing that makes Garou babies cry.
Reflection hits the ground and rolls side over side ending up on his side. He scrambles up quickly to his feet and looks towards the Serpant. He apparently has a strange idea and starts running along side the Serpant in the same direction it heads, dropping to lupus to get the speed of a lighter frame.
The earsplitting thunder rolls through the sky, despite the otherwise cloudless, perpetual dusk this place is shrouded in, but neither werewolf nor serpent slows or stops, no nor slows. Well, except for Jamethon. Like a concrete wall stands before him, James smashes into air and comes to a crashing halt, while the serpent coils outside the ring, rumbling in pain.
Then, like the whole thing was on a turn table, the bulk of the creature turns around, the coils becoming legs and cloak, and the back of it's head becoming a new, covered face. Standing in the place of the beast of Iseult, is an armoured man. From bucket helmet to booted feet, he's wearing solid plate armour that seems to cling to his form with unnatural ease, and it's all black. Spilling down from his back is a black cape. The only sign of colour is a bright red plume from the top, and two gold and black scabbards to his left.
Reflection hits the barrier with a loud exhalation of air and as he sees the new threat he growls lowly and in the growling is some power.
Culls-The-Herd hits the ground and rolls, ready to continue battle she she regains her feet. Clearly winded, the Adren snarls at this new figure.
There's that unique profanity again, pointless and resigned, as Fat-Ripper turns from her study of the lush umbral woods to look at this new feature, with skeptical and wary eyes, and ears still pained from the sting of too much sound. She treads forward slowly and cautiously, step by step.
Runner groans under her breath, seeing the Get smack into the air wall. Her profanity doesn't match Fat-Ripper's, though there's a certain similar spirit to it. Ears tucking back against her head, she growls out, ~What's next?~ Cole, in the meanwhile, has finished getting over the loss of a few teeth and bares a bloody maw at the armored man.
"Well done!" The voice echoes metallically from inside the visor, "But I doubt even your finest Ahroun could best my skill without weight of numbers. Never proper like!" He struts arrogantly forward, hips moving suggestively for a man. "Go for the eyes. Ha! Seems hardly fair to me!" He stops, helmet tipping back as if he's looking down his nose through the visor slit. "Shall I smack one of you anyhow, or do you understand my meaning?"
Runner snaps back a quick retort, ~And you are wearing armor! This strategy you say is fair?~
Culls-The-Herd snarls and straightens up, every ounce of good breeding and pride coming to the forefront. ~We have no Ahroun with us to fight you. What would you do, do battle with a Theurge or a Ragabash instead?~ The Crinos sneers. ~Where would be the Glory in that, tincan?~
Fat-Ripper continues her wary watch, approaching by half-steps now, wary, quiet. The conversation between the man in armour and the Garou is watched as if it could any moment explode, though yet still that's not where her primary attention lies. ~Fights-for-Hope-rhya,~ she says, with soft, contemplative intent, her mood quite changed now. ~Look. There are no spirits in the trees, here, none in the air. Are we in the penumbra at all? This is not a normal place.~
Howls-for-Glory snorts, stepping up and spitting more blood out. He rises up into his Crinos form, glaring at the black knight, then eyeing Vera. He sharply reminds, ~You don't have an ahroun, but you have a /galliard/, Culls-the-Herd-rhya.~
Reflection growls out and takes on the glabro form as he steps back from the ring's edge. "Iseult. Questing Beast. Arthurian Legend." he speaks as his bruises heal from impacting the wall as some significant speed. He nods to Olga's words, "I had thought as much. These too, are not just spirits as we know them."
"Well, It's not my fault you left either your Ahroun and your Amour at home. And look at that, I'm not an Ahroun either, even if I was intrested in anything beyond having coitus with your aforementioned mother." He gibes back, strutting over the ring of stone with no ill effects. He stops, thrusting his hips in Yi's direction, before standing straitening up. "Come now, one of you. I even brought you something, make it more fair. You can heal, I don't have... AH! Excelent!" He stops his gloating when Cole shifts to crinos. "Is he man enough to fight for you?"
An ear lays back at Cole's retort, as Culls-The-Herd sighs heavily. ~But, you are sorely injured. Warder, you are to heal the one who wishes to fight, if necessary. Are any of you prepared to face this Tincan? If not, I shall do it.~
Fat-Ripper is silent for long seconds; in her Crinos form her thoughts are bare: fear and anxiety, and, most of all, decision. She stops in her place. Her ears are flat. ~The Rite of Reawakening requires sacrifice and will, not success,~ she says, though her words are barely audible. As if it were a thing of itself, not following from the previos, she speaks strained and purposefully, ~I would do it.~
Jamethon stops moving back and stands tall. He looks over the Knight and adds to Olga's words, ~As would I.~
Runner shakes out her ruff, looking from Warder to Alpha. ~Us three, are the strongest.~ She looks down at her wounds, then back up at the knight. With a savage grin, she replies to the black knight, ~Armor or no armor, I could tear you apart. Warder...~ She glances to Jamethon. ~Let this Gnawer show that the lowest of the Garou could kick this honorless bastard's ass back to the hole he spawned from.~
"Well good! Glad to know! You're all willing." His voice echoes from the metallic suit. "But I am not about to fight all of ye again, is the particular problem with that plan." He circles slightly, walking deeper towards the shadows cast through the circle.
When another offers, Fat-Ripper's flat-eared, worried expression changes to one of base relief. ~Well, hell,~ she swears, quite happily, moving back with slow steps, offering to either. ~Be my guest.~
Culls-The-Herd grunts heavily. ~Then show your prowess in battle, Runner of the Bone Gnawers.~
The arrogant knight, with his blackened armour, pulls out a battered looking sword from one of the two scabbards, and shoves it partially into the ground. Wordlessly, he walks another 5 metres to turn about and face the Sept's Garou again.
Jamethon nods to the Alpha's words and looks towards Runner. "Fight well. I..." He furrows his brow, "think Black Knight's are bad. Somehow. Don't trust him." With that he steps over to the Gnawer and lays his hands upon her. After a moment of chanting and prodding fingers unpleasantly into her wounds, the glow from Mother's Touch flows over and into the injured flesh.
Fat-Ripper pulls back from the two combatants, inch by inch; her happiness changes very quickly to a dull, weary guilt, and she says, her voice a thin dry line, ~Gaia is with you, Three-Blades.~
Runner steps a few paces forward towards the sword, licking her muzzle again. Her eyes stray to the Warder, waiting as he places his hand upon her. Her eyes close for those moments, meditatingly, as the injuries upon her muzzle and chest close over. ~No problem,~ she says in response, and strides forward to eye the sword. The ragabash slides down to her Glabro form, jerking the weapon out of the ground and testing its balance.
Jamethon nods his head and steps away to join the Alpha, standing at her side and ever so subtly behind her as well.
The knight snorts as if unamused, pulling out his own blade with ease. Moving one left forward, he lifts the blade at a 45 degree angle to the Gnawer. "It's a shame you aren't a man. I could get your wife as well."
"It is a shame you are not a man," Yi replies, lifting her blade like the many times she's faced off with Tobin the Silver Fang in the past. "But I am sure they have surgery to fix that kind of problem."
Culls-The-Herd crosses her arms and watches the proceedings, ears pressing forward.
Fat-Ripper is blunt, watching there from the sidelines: ~Kick his Wyrm-banged ass, Three-Blades,~ she says, her voice a thin growl escaping between clenched teeth. She strains, putting every bit of vile hate and disgust she has into the words, ~Make sure if he _does_ have a dick it's gone by morning.~
The knight, for once, has no retort. He circles inward towards the Ragabash, and takes the initiative. He lashes out with his blade at the Gnawer, who fails to slip from the blade in time. A nick is cut across her left leg, enough to cut clothes and draw blood.
The knight forces Yi to circle if she doesn't want to present her back, but Yi seems to have other plans. Whatever those plans are, they seem to go oft awry; she stumbles forward, stabbing at the ground, and the knight moves around back. As he turns past, he smacks the Gnawer in the butt with the flat of his blade, injuring nothing but ego.
Culls-The-Herd snarls softly, hackles lifting along her back and neck.
Yi snarls, straightening up like she's been stung. With indignance written all over her features, she yanks the blade out of the ground, and pursues the knight, this time really going on the offensive.
Fat-Ripper continues to yell out encouragement, regardless of whether it's helpful or not: she can't help herself, and the injury to ego just further infuriates her, and ups the volume: ~If you got to, Runner!~ she shouts out, fierce, hankering for blood. ~Just Crinos and rip his Wyrm-fucked head off!~
The blade is quickly deflected, though, the knight just a little quicker on the guns that the Ragabash. The Gnawer, however, seizes the initiative, slashing at the armoured man, who's just barely able to parry the second, stumbling backwards.
~Come on Gnawer!~ Vera bellows towards the combatants. ~Take off his head!~
Oh good. He's off balance. Yi takes advantage of this by slashing his leg, gouging deep into flesh not protected by armour, followed by a blow to the chest which gets stopped by the heavy plate. It's tit for tat, though, as the wounded man slashes Yi across her stomach and one leg in a painful gut wound.
Jamethon growls out in deep tone through glabro throat, "Just fuckin' shift already. Enough playing with the metal stick."
The advice seems to be heeded: Yi shifts up to Crinos, and takes a massive swing, obviously intended to be a coup de grace. But the knight rolls, the sword hitting dirt and cutting a wide arch into the grass and earth instead of through his neck. He jabs downward, nicking the Ragabash in the process as he pries to his feet and staggers back.
The Gnawer throws her sword at the other, clanging uselessly against the armour but nearly knocking him to the ground. The knight staggers back, raising his sword high as he seeks to stop the oncoming rush. Yi's impaled on the sword through the shoulder, point coming out of her back on the other side, but the man is more or less squashed like a bug. Little solace for the Gnawer, who shrinks back down to homid, wounds evident.
Fat-Ripper's about to scream more encouragement when the charge and the injury forces her to dead silence. She's like that for a moment or two, flat, blank, unbelieving, before she comes charging in, heedless of rules or even the opponent, blindly heading straight for her tribemate to try and protect her from further injury by bluntly interposing.
Runner is done and done, and at the very least, she got him. The ragabash slumps and shrinks down, the sword of the knight still sticking out of her.
Culls-The-Herd sighs heavily and shakes her head, approaching the fallen Ragabash with steady steps. ~Does she still breath?~
Yi doesn't appear to be breathing, no. Blood drips from her lips and her wounds, and on down the sword of the black knight.
Jamethon comes in and growls for Olga to get the hell out of the way. He ignores the crushed foe and places his hands around the shoulder wound. It doesn't take a moment later for Reflection to burst into crinos and tilt his head back towards the sky with a howl, ~Luna! Hear your warriors! Grant the rage so she may find her way back to her brothers and sisters of the Hidden Walk!~
The Get's healing magic fails to work. Utterly. Nothing reknits, no flesh joins itself, and blood doesn't stop pouring out wounds. Yet the ragabash stirs, moving from side to side as if trying to get up.
Fat-Ripper pays little attention to Jamethon's command: she is distraught, and her attention is solely on the Ragabash. Wisely or not she siezes the sword and slides it as smoothly as she can from the Ragabash' body; her voice is a string of empty frantic curses that come without thought or purpose. After a few panicked seconds she answers Vera without seeming to understand the importance of her words: ~No.~
Of those here, Culls-The-Herd seems the least distraught. She turns her head away from the drama, scanning the stones and surrounding area.
Howls-For-Glory has come up with the others, rushed forward, and at the Get's howl he too calls up plaintively. The galliard adds quite a few colorful curses at the existence of the black knight, but his attention gets diverted when she moves slightly. His good arm lifts, then drops to his side.
Jamethon sighs at all the activity and looks towards the Alpha briefly. ~Fat-Ripper, Howls-For-Glory, be on the look out.~ He snaps an additional, ~Now!~ violently towards Olga just incase. ~There is nothing you can do for her.~ He moves to try and turn her gently and prop her up as she stirs, ~If there is anything in you left, Three-Blades. Now is the time to shift.~ He growls closely to her face.
But it's not the ragabash. As James props her up, it becomes obvious it's the man she killed... except it isn't. He's old, clothed in silver and red robes, and he definitely isn't the one that Yi fell on. His hair and beard are solid white, and face beset on all sides by wrinkles. He is a man long past his prime for sure. *All right, all right.* The old man wheezes out, trying to push to his feet. *I know when I am finally beat.*
Howls-For-Glory grits what teeth he's got left, ears laying flat as he looks out over the pasture, past the part of the 'invisible wall'. When the old man suddenly appears, though, he skips back a few paces with a snarl of surprise. The Fianna's gaze would burn holes, were he Superman.
Reflection remains with his hold on the man, and in fact tightens his grip enough to feel secure that the man isn't going anywhere. He stands, lifting the man up to his feet along with him and takes on the Crinos form, for that extra bit of strength. He growls with conviction and passion right in the man's face in a way that only those with Spirit's Speech could understand. *Where is she?*
Fat-Ripper doesn't try to hide her frustration at Jamethon's order: she lurches forward with snarls and claws dug into flesh, her eyes wide and rolling around, not keeping a lookout at all but only because she's too concerned with keeping her mad anger under control, keep it exploding into action. She whirls when Yi is gone, when the strange man shows in her place, and she looks like she'd be more than willing to kill him in her stead, though again she keeps herself still, stomps down her anger like a person's face.
Culls-The-Herd's attention snaps back to those gathered around Yi, teeth baring in a silent snarl as she notices the old man.
The old man simply slips through the Get's death grasp, moving like water through the umbra as he scoots back, and slowly pushes himself to his feet. *I am old... and I am impotent. So it is ironic that I am here, keeping new life from the young.* He motions with his head to outside the ring. Yi lays there, looking otherwise fine. It's like she was taking a nap outside the entire time. *But its the old who are cursed with the knowledge to tend to new life, while they are so unable to create it.*
Reflection at first seems about to attack when his grip has been easily surpassed. But something catches his attention and he raises an arm in a holding gesture to the others. He steps forward and lowers to one knee. *Spirit of the old world, forgotten by the new. Let us remember you in the same moments we are blessed with the coming of spring. It is not for us that we seek new life, it is for the mother of us all. We would wither and die and be forgotten. We would lay in suffering at the feet of the Wyrm. We would bring low the greatest of Gods with our deeds.* The Warder looks to the Ragabash and then back to the Spirit, *I would be a sacrifice in the place of any other. For Gaia. Help us bring on another season so She may know for a time the joys of birth.*
Culls-The-Herd's ears lay back and she looks between the old man and Jamethon. The Adren shakes her head, then makes her way over to Yi.
Fat-Ripper is wary, contemplative. She's barely paying attention to the other Theurge's words: her eyes are all on the spirit, close-sighted, uncertain. She's definitely thinking of something, though what it is she doesn't reveal. Perhaps it's only all the wonderful kinds of revenge she could take on him for her tribemate's apparent death.
The wizened man just sort of waved James off, clearly under impressed with the words. *I should make you challenge me to one last riddle, but I'm too tired. I'd rather slumber. Another half years rest before, I get to see the sights again, and reap what other's have sown.* His hand folds into the robes, digging about for a long moment as he just rambles on. Finally, somewhere towards the end, he holds out out a single acorn. His hands, thin and ill kept, seem to shake as he holds it out to Jamethon. *I find... it helps if you stick it in the ground. The seed. Not the girl.*
Yi lays around like a ghetto Sleeping Beauty. Only, not quite.
Culls-The-Herd crouches down when she reaches the Gnawer and checks for signs of life.
Reflection snorts and stands, stepping forward to take the acorn. *Well, since you're unimpressed with the conviction. I guess we'll just see you next time. Have a nice rest.* He pauses then after a shrug to no one in particular asks, *Though, if you could teach a young Theurge... Where are we, and who are you?*
Yi, though unconscious, has a heartbeat. And is breathing. Yes, she's alive.
Fat-Ripper is quiet: the only sound from her is thin, fierce breath. She doesn't care about the prospect of a returned spring, she doesn't care about insults exchanged or dishonor, all she cares about is the Garou lying outside line of sacred stones.
The spirit snorts, good nature, but none the less at the Get's expense. He turns, almost seeming to float across as he heads towards the twin shadows cast by the standing stones. *You're in no one's little corner of the umbra, where the sun never stops setting, the moon never stops rising, and from where you're going to go home from.* He waves his hand vaguely, not looking behind him. *Now go. The path of flame will take you home. Make new life with with your wives and husbands. I'm told it is the right time of year.*
Culls-The-Herd places one hand on the Fostern Gnawers chest and shakes her gently. ~Nap time is over.~
Reflection laughs heartily, something in his exchange with the spirit seeming to give the Get a sense of rightness in the world. *Farewell, Old One.* He looks to the others and nods to the Alpha, ~Indeed. We don't have much time. Wake her and let us get back. I'm going to go home and have sex with my wife.~ He says this with a pride and complete lack of any hint he believes himself to be giving 'too much information'.
Howls-For-Glory splays his ears, watching the interaction between the Old Man and the Get. Then with the Warder's proclamation, he barks a short laugh.
Yi comes around soon enough with the shaking, and in growing clarity, groans with a reluctance to get up. Nevertheless she asks, her bearings coming back, "Did I get him?"
Culls-The-Herd smirks, an ear laying back in amusement. ~Yes, you did. Well done Gnawer. We have completed our task and it is time for us to return home.~
Fat-Ripper's long since stopped paying attention to the conversation. She moves swiftly, four-legged and fast, towards the body lying outside the circle of stones; she looks back towards the airt by which they'd travelled, but even the possibility of return gets second priority to the Ragabash' health, or lack thereof. She isn't even sure she's alive when she reaches her, so the discovery that she is brings an elation that nullifies all other concerns. She doesn't say anything, she just stands there, silent, looking down, face inscrutable.
Reflection as he turns to head towards the path levels a finger towards Olga and growls towards her as he walks, ~You and me? We're gonna have a little talk later.~
Yi looks from one face to another, checking her body, finding it to be just as sound as when she came on this crazy quest. Then, looking up to the face of her tribemate, she smiles that classic Yi quirk of a smile. It's just a touch greyer though, as she pushes herself up to her feet. "Well. Let us go home then. The others wait." The ragabash looks to her ranking auspice elder, brows lifting slightly for some kind of signal to go.
The wizzened man doesn't pay any attention, merely wandering off down the alley of lights towards the standing stones. Meanwhile, the Airt that led them there continues to burn brightly, illuminating their path through the swamp.
Even concerns of rank and retribution seem to mean little to Fat-Ripper right now. ~Alright,~ she answers Reflction, understanding of the implications but unconcerned at the moment. ~Three-Blades,~ she says, though she trails off, lacking words to quite explain her meaning, falling dull and earnestly quiet. Eventually she just reaches out and pushes the Ragabash' shoulder, not knowing quite what that's meant to express but not knowing either what else to do.
Culls-The-Herd straightens up and looks toward the sky, then flashes her teeth at the Gnawers in a toothy grin. ~Lets go home.~ With that, the black Crinos starts following the guiding flames home.
Yi wobbles under the push, considering her smaller form to her tribemate's larger. No words need be said, as she just lets her gaze fall understandingly upon the theurge. Then, she too stretches up and down into the lupus form and shakes out her fur, trotting after the tail end of the Shadow Lord back towards the caern.
As the others leave as well, Cole lingers just a while longer to take in the last of the details, and then follows the others back.
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