Rite of Passage: Julian Hugs-the-Earth & Caitlyn Second-Try
2/25/2009
03:33 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.
Currently the moon is in the waxing New Moon phase (8% full).
It is currently 15:29 Pacific Time on Wed Feb 25 2009.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 41 degrees Fahrenheit (5 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the southwest at 10 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.68 and falling, and the relative humidity is 82 percent. The dewpoint is 36 degrees Fahrenheit (2 degrees Celsius.)
Sai's GM Room(#3497RJ)
Do you know where you are? I don't even know.
Obvious exits:
Nexus Out
It's in the middle of the night that cubs are grabbed. Somehow their elders have snuck up on them and surprised them with ugly brown burlap canvas that smells a little bit like dry potato skins overhead and tied them tied. Growled commands are given. Don't struggle. Don't speak. Hands are tied rather loosely, easily able to be slipped out of if one were to try. But none are given much time to react, let alone wake up, before they're marched through the darkness. Rocks and roots try to trip them. Branches and bushes catch on their clothes like thin wooden fingers grasping for their very skin. Until eventually, they are brought towards a source of orange-yellow light that can be seen glowing through the canvas. Shadowy figures move along as the cubs are arranged in certain positions. Then, silence befalls the area. Only the quiet crackle of the central flame and the night's forest orchestra are heard harmonizing in the night. It's punctuated by the sounds of breathing.
Julian gives a few muffled grunts of agitation and struggles, regardless the orders he is given. He seems to take notice of the losseness of the ties on his hands as he struggles for a moment against then and then stills. He turns his head one direction, then the next, trying to ascertain the whereabouts of his captors.
Caitlyn refrains from struggling, or speaking, though she does cast her head about in curiousity, and her form is quite tense as she stands... wherever they are.
There are the sounds of muffled voices, perceivable as both male and female, but also disguised by the low whispering volume. It's after a short conversation of their captors that they hear the sound of one of them and see the silhouette coming towards them being backlit by the flame. There is the feeling of their bonds being cut from their hands. "Julian. Caitlyn." The voice is a quiet one, accented with a certain British-infused air to an undercurrent of Asian tone. "You came into this world, blind and bound by your human breeding. You were raised in the ways of your birth kind. Now you have come to a second birth. Your bonds are cut from you as a symbol of your connection to the world you knew. Free yourselves of your masks and reveal yourselves to the light of the true world you enter."
Julian tugs off the burlap mask and rubs at his wrists as he blinks away from the firelight. As his eyes adjust he looks around and peers at the individuals responsible for his rough treatment (if there is more than one visible).
Caitlyn reaches up to pull off the burlap, blinking and frowning. She casts her gaze around, the frown deepening but only a little.
They are greeted with the sight of a merrily crackling fire, and Yi the Bone Gnawer ragabash having shifted to her scar-covered war form, looming over the human cubs. The rusty red and ivory whites of her fur are lit by the glow of the flames. There are others in the shadows, but they remain out of immediate view. In the Gnawer's clawed hands, two bowls which she has mixed a pungent smelling liquid that is fast becoming a stickier, paint-like mix. Once the cubs pull of their hoods, she holds out these bowls to them to take. ~Hugs-the-Earth, your elders have called you. What have you seen in this world of the Garou? Speak your story. Write it upon your skin.~ She turns to Caitlyn, rumbling, ~Second-Try, your elders have called you. What will you seek in this world of the Garou? Speak your wishes. Write it upon your skin.~
Julian takes the bowl and shivers a bit from the cold. He reels a bit at the smell of the substance hits his nostrils. After settling he sets the bowl down an pulls off his shirt. He dips his finger in the paint-like substance and writes the glyph for Ahroun on his left thigh, (pulling his shorts up enough to keep them out of the paste) then the glyph for Philodox on the right thigh. He draws the glyph for claw on both forearms and the Glyph for Glroy across his chest. Finally he paints the glyphs for Fianna and Galliard on his forehead, it is all sloppy but readable. He stands in the firelight and gives another shiver against the cold, clenching his fists to steel himself.
Caitlyn takes the other bowl and frowns at it for a moment in thought, watching Julian. Then she takes the paste and writes upon her arms the glyphs for Honor and Wisdom, and then finally, after a moment's frown, the words "justice" and "truth." She holds the bowl back out, shifting from foot to foot in the cold.
The crinos'd Gnawer takes away the bowls once they've painted themselves with the substance, which on their skin feels quite cool to the touch in a way that sucks the heat from the places where it contacts, making the night even colder. In reality, it even smells a little bit like it's part medicinal analgesic, the kind found from a pharmacy. Then, the Gnawer shifts back to her breed form herself, setting these down and picking up instead a second pair of bowls. These she hands carefully to the cubs. "Come to the fire," she tells them, "where the warmth of a hearth and home are born from its flames. Kneel and in the light see yourselves within the pure waters contained. Reach into the Otherworld beyond the Gauntlet, young cubs, and there find the one who will guide you into the lands of the spirits on your path to rebirth. From here on, may Gaia watch your paths, and Luna light them well." It is only once the cubs begin to reach that the Gnawer ritemaster shifts again to her lupus form and howls out an entreatying cry. Eerily, the shadows of the forest take up this call to fill the air with a dischordant melody of wolfsong that rings in the ears even as the cubs reach across into the Umbra. And there, when they've fully come to the other side, is a brilliantly glowing white hart with a full rack of antlers. The many points dip in their direction, and into their minds comes a feeling of understanding of the spirit's way of speech. *Children of the Wolf. Long have your kind sought My patron, from the beginning seeking to further the understandings of prey and predator and hunting a guide for the future. Should you have this patronage as your own, then you must complete my tasks. If you succeed, it shall be so. If you fail...* The stag stomps a hoof, leaving that emphasis there. It looks upon the pair with eyes that seem to see right through their spirits.
Julian gives the spirit a humble bow and kneels. "I entreat your patronage Great One. Please... task me as you will." He remains kneeled, his head bowed and his eyes focused on the ground before him.
Caitlyn follows Julian's lead, kneeling and saying, "Great Stag, I too ask your patronage. Give us your tasks."
The Stag tosses his head approvingly and turns. *Your first task, then. Keep up!* And off the hart leaps away into the Umbral woods. The cubs would be hard pressed to keep up as each bounding leap of the antlered one takes the creature further and further from them. And so the hunt begins.
Julian blinks for a half second before shifing down to lupus. He looks over to Caitlyn and nds before taking off after the hart. The first few paces are full out sprint before he slows and keeps the stag in his sights, or at least as much as he can.
Second-Try shifts down to lupus and takes off after Julian, pacing herself from the start and doing her best to keep the stag in sight as they run.
They're forced to shift into their lupus forms to keep up, but even then they're taken through the winding forest trails at a mind racing pace. It isn't before long that they've nearly lost sight of the stag, but the scent of the creature lingers in the air. Their path takes them out of the woodsline where the scents have changed. The climate, too, has completely halted to be the freezing cold that is familiar to their home in Washington by the Hidden Walk, but that of a different atmosphere, a different air. It smells nostalgic in a sense, envoking of memories of the past. It's in this chase's end that they find themselves no longer with any forest at their backs at all, but rolling hills scattered with rocks. It's a picturesque form of what some might call the ancient lands of the Celtic peoples. And for Hugs-the-Earth, at least, it /really/ feels like home.
Hugs-the-Earth blinks a few times at the abrupt change. He looks to Second-Try. This feels like home to this one. Does Second-Try feel the same? He rolls out his tongue and sniffs at the air.
Second-Try takes in a deep whiff of air through her nose, casting her head about. Then she looks to Hugs-the-Earth. Not quite home, but... familiar. Comfortable.
Though the Stag is nowhere to be seen, this home like area doesn't come without a faint overtone of tension of its own. The land itself seemingly waits with bated breath, and on its sighs upon the wind comes the faint cries of human voices. At least, that's how it sounds to their wolf ears. Males and females in struggle and distress, the sound of metal clashing, the scent of fire and smoke burning... And it's not far to the north of them.
Hugs-the-Earth turns to the north and rushes toward the sound. He slows his approach and crouches low to the ground as the smells and sounds become stronger, hoping to catch sight of what the disturbance is before the disturbance catches him.
Second-Try turns and follows Hugs-the-Earth, eyes keen and nose pressed forward. As he stops, she slows, dropping to a crouch and inching forward slowly.
They come upon the scene faster by virtue of their keen senses and long limbs, cresting up one hill to find the source of the distress. The sight of a supply wagon is on fire along its canvased top, racing along a winding road cut by years of wooden wheels rolling ruts into the ground and mud. The occupants are fleeing as fast as they can from mounted raiders, a few of them having already been knocked off, their horses galloping off without the riders. Small skirmishes have come up between the people and the bandits. However, these are not merely people. Two of them explode into furred Crinos, one grey and one red, and together they tackle down one of the bandits whose animal-skin covered form hides whip-like appendages that flail and tear at the crinos' fur and flesh. Others keep their human shape, but the sounds of axes clash with shield. "Go! Go! Head for town!" calls out one of the voices of the men, circling his horse back to try and help drive off the raiders.
Hugs-the-Earth growls and shifts himself up to hispo. ~I will assist the two Garou. You... help the wagon.~ Then he bounds down the hill in full sprint heading for the group of bandits and the two Garou.
Second-Try also shifts to Hispo, with a single nod of the head for Hugs-the-Earth before she bounds toward the wagon, keeping somewhat clear of the rider so as not to frighten off the horse.
And the pair of cubs come rushing in like cavalry to the corps. The grey and red crinos tear apart the whip-handed fomor, turning on the second that falls upon the grey's back to sink huge fangs at his neck. The red helps tear away at the fanged fomor, but pauses as Hugs-the-Earth comes rushing past. The red looks unaware of a third and fourth fomor running forward. One breaks off to confront Hugs-the-Earth with a heavy pike and hand that's overgrown to the size of a club, this one complete with spikes protruding out of it - perhaps those at one time were fingernails, or bones. The other jabs his blood slicked sword into the back of the red, who howls in pain.
Meanwhile, Second-Try's run takes her close to the trio of riders' backs. The mounted defender on his horse spurs the roan beneath on towards the fomori, but the horse seems to lose its nerve once the lead rider throws up the visor of his mask, rears his mount up and hisses loudly with a serpentine feel to the tone. The remaining defender roars out, "Rowen! Get off that coward of a preybeast and fight on your own damned two legs! Grraah!" A hard heave, and an axe goes flying end over end to slam into the back of the right most fomor of the trio of riders, knocking the creature off its horse and sending the horse galloping off in a fright.
Hugs-the-Earth utilizes that which Gaia gave him and burns forward in Rage. He drops low and attempts a feint to the left of the clubbed fomor before jumping right and lunging for the creature's leg hoping to hamstring him.
Second-Try flinches back from that voice, but does not run. Instead, she leaps at another one of the riders, intending to knock the thing off its horse if she can, with bared jaws.
The club-handed fomor shrieks a pained shout as he's hamstrung and crumples to a side, missing with his clubbed hand. He's forced to use his pike as a makeshift pegleg, the point of which sinks into the earth a little deeper than he'd like and making movement awkward on the enemy's part. Still, the creature snarls a curse of defiance. The other pair of crinos blur in Rage-sped movements that tear their enemies away and down. Their battle is quickly over but not without bloodshed.
Second-Try tackles down not just the left flanking rider, but her weight tips over the horse he rides on at the same time. They go down in a heap of jaws, claws, hoof and weapon. The philodox feels a stab a weapon into her muscles, but it's hardly a wound at all compared to what she can do in return to the trapped fomor beneath her. The axe-throwing man has rushed up to yank his axe from the back of the fomor that was felled, only to bring it down with a mighty yawp and chop, severing the fomor's head from the body. Seeing his pair of flankers taken care of, the hissing fomor rider curses in another grating set of tongues that sounds like many voices at once all speaking in a whisper and then spurs his horse away from the defending party and into the night.
Hugs-the-Earth keeps his distance from the clubbed hand of the fomor. He circles around his prey and again uses his Rage to wrap around to the creature's back and jump for its neck, fangs bared and ready.
Second-Try slashes at the fomor with claws and teeth, ignoring any pain, hoping to make short work of the thing in rather inelegant style.
Hugs-the-Earth manages to get missed by another hefty swing of that clubbed hand, and the fomor he leaps upon from the back squeals before being torn into from behind. Second-Try is stabbed twice more superficially, but the energy and rage displayed by the two cubs tears apart their respective targets, and soon enough they find the 'battlefield' to be still again. The fog of night has begun to settle in. The four defenders of the wagon approach these helpful strangers warily, none of them looking particularly worse for wear. Rowen, the mounted leader, rides up to a distance. Somehow, the horse he's on does not shy from the Garou present. "Your help is received with great thanks and gratitude, Brother and Sister Wolf," he says with a nod of his head. The man looks particularly closely at Hugs the Earth for a moment, looking almost puzzled by the male cub. "What are your names?"
Hugs-the-Earth looks at the rider and his crew. ~I am Hugs-the-Earth, Galliard of the Fianna.~ he rumbles in Mother's Tongue before looking to Second-Try and noting her wounds.
Second-Try backs away from the fomor's body and looks to the defenders, raising her head. ~I am Second-Try, Philodox of the Fianna.~ She eyes the defenders a moment before glancing to Hugs-the-Earth. ~Just a scratch or two.~
"Hugs-the-Earth. Second-Try. Thank you both for coming to our aid," Rowen says acknowledgingly. "I am Rowen O'Dwyer, that's Waiting-Flame," he indicates of the red who rumbles slightly in greeting, "and Slash-of-the-Lion," of the grey who doesn't. "The big guy is--" "I'll tell you who I am. Pups... I am Cathan O'Connor, One-Path-to-Victory, Adren Ahroun o' th' Fiann. Now, are you two going to stand there gawking or chase down that damn bandit who got away?" he asks gruffly, hefting his axe up on his shoulder and scratching at a thick and wiry beard.
Hugs-the-Earth looks to One-Path and nods. ~We can take him down easily, Honored One. Right, Second-Try?~ He looks more enthusiastic about this than one might expect.
Second-Try seems to be paying attention to something beyond sight, her eyes unfocusing, but replies to Hugs-the-Earth, ~We can inde--~ The growling of Mother's Tongue is cut off as the cub staggers, shaking her head. ~Yes. We can.~
Second-Try isn't the only one who looks a little off, as Waiting-Flame's ears slick back with a small whine. The red Crinos tries to shake it off, but the violent movement only serves to unbalance him and he falls with a thud against the earth. This causes alarm in the others. ~Waiting-Flame!~ "Adam!" Rowen hops off his horse and Cathan stomps over. "What in the name of the Three Knots..." The adren moves towards the jagged sword that the fomor who had stabbed the red with fell, inspecting it. "Damn! Poisoned." This news brings Rowen's head up. "Now we /have/ to get them back to town," insists the man. He looks towards Hugs-the-Earth and Second-Try, a little unsure about them still.
Hugs-the-Earth looks at Second-Try in alarm. ~If he was poisoned then she too is ill.~ He turns to her and moves closer to support her, ~Go with them... they will help you.~ Looking back at Rowen and One-Path he growls, ~Take care of her, I will go after the last bandit and I will tear his throat out with my fangs.~ It is clear that he is quite angry.
There's really no time for Second-Try to respond... she staggers a bit more and then slumps to the ground in a crumled heap, as "out" as Waiting-Flame.
It's Rowen this time who looks to Cathan, who in turn straightens from his inspection of the sword and growls in a deep thought. He's still thinking when Second-Try faints away too. The ahroun eyes the angered Hugs-the-Earth and says, "If you want to go, go. Rowen, Slash, you two carry the girl and Flame." There's a significant Look at Julian. "You need a weapon?"
Hugs-the-Earth looks at the man for a moment. ~I have my claws and fangs. A weapon, while useful would slow my progess in this form.~ He sniffs at the air a bit, ~Unless you have other ideas.~ He glances at Second-Try briefly.
"Take what you need of us. The village is a few miles northwest of here," points out Rowen in the direction of the village. "I'd beware the forests, though. Especially at this time of night." He helps Slash-of-the-Lion lift the swooned Caitlyn and Waiting-Flame (whose breed form looks like a young boy not more than thirteen), the former being laid across the back of Rowen's steed, the latter carried. Cathan grunts in dissatisfaction. "If you hurry, you might catch the coward. But don't stray too far off this road. We'll look for you come dawn."
Hugs-the-Earth looks to the group. ~I only take my leave. I shall see you come dawn.~ He then turns and shifts down to his smaller but swifter lupus form and with a last look at Caitlyn, takes off in the direction of the last bandit.
--- CAITLYN'S SIDE ---
Faint voices muffled in the dark run on into the conscious mind. A blurry orange-yellow glow greets the eyes once the cub wakes. There's a general feeling of weakness and a dull, aching pain all over. "Shh! Think she's comin' around." "Thank Gaia!" "But, what about Adam?" "No sign... th' bastards took their blades t' his back and..." "Curse them to their graves!" A soft, muffled sobbing can be heard.
Caitlyn groans a little and tries to reach a hand up to her eyes as she opens them to peer around. "What's... where am I?" If she can talk, that is.
A damp cloth is brought up to her face, brushing it lightly. Talking is easy, but everything feels a little sluggish. "Easy there now, lass, easy," comes a recently familiar voice. The face of Rowen O'Dwyer, the man on his horse who'd been fighting off the bandits from the earlier attempted raid, looms over. "You're safe," he continues. "We're in th' healer's cottage. How're you feeling?"
"Weak... aching... a little blurry. What happened?" Caitlyn squeezes her eyes and then blinks up at the man, trying to clear her vision.
Other hands gradually move to help her up to a seated position. Rowen pushes the cloth into one of her hands for her to hold and use. It smells faintly of some herbs as well. "You and your friend came to help us," explains Rowen. "He's gone off to hunt the last raider, the poor fool, but when you fainted, we brought you and Adam back into town. The poison... we're trying to find a solution but, this is the Wyrm's work. And we don't really..." He trails at the end of his statement, looking away.
Caitlyn bites her lower lip, nodding as she takes the cloth and brushes it along her face. "Am I gonna die, then?" She sounds apprehensive, worried, and she frowns.
"Gaia willing I certainly hope not," Rowen says in clear resolve and determination. His eyes return to her face. "We'll find a way. Same as we'll find a way t' survive our situation no matter how dire it gets. Can you stand? Maybe a bit o' fresh air will help you." He holds out a hand to help her up as well. "The others have gone to look for your friend. In the meantime, I get to look after you and Adam. Lucky me, eh? Watching over a pretty lass as yourself." A bit of humor injects into his tone, even as he looks towards the still, comatose form of Adam Waiting-Flame, the red crinos from the other night.
Caitlyn quirks her mouth to the side a little in a wry sort of smirk as she uses the hand to help her stand. Even if she wobbles a bit she seems determined to stay standing, and casts a glance over to Adam, the smirk fading to a frown. "I could use some fresh air. Is..." She shakes her head, then, looking away, toward the door instead.
Rowen O'Dwyer helps her out, fixing a steady arm. She can see once the cloth sheets are removed that she's been dressed in bandages and a simple peasant's clothing. Outside in the sunlight, the low roofed huts of families can be seen dotting along the town's main street. They're in the healer's cottage at the end of that street. It definitely helps to have that fresh air, which feels a little more rejuvenating. "So tell me, lass. How was it you and your friend came all the way out here?" asks Rowen.
"We... we... umm..." Caitlyn frowns for a moment, taking in a deep breath as she looks around. Finally, she offers, "We followed Stag." Which is as good an explanation as any, right? Eyes used to modern cities look around the village with a faint smile.
If the street is a muddy path that looks like it's had much foot traffic, then a tiny offshoot that they walk along might as well be a trail Rowen's chosen to walk on out of whimsy. "Stag? Well that's a good omen. You see, the town's been under a bit of an attack. We're... surrounded," he admits slowly. "Our supplies are far off but we /have/ to take the journey out to get them. There's raiders and robbers, monsters and the like all just waitin' for us on the trails. And everyone's got an idea of how to fix things. We're in a right mess, lass, no doubt. But we make do and we live. By Gaia, we /live/. You know what I mean?"
"Yeah. Where I come from... things are hectic, sometimes." Caitlyn tilts her head a bit, considering. "Where *are* we? I'm not really sure, we just... followed Stag."
"Where?" Rowen echoes as he looks around, then back to her. "Why, you're /Home/, lass. The home of every born 'n bred child o' Stag that e'er there was. If Stag lead you here... then He must've had a reason." Just as he's about to say more, though, the poison seems to make the landscape blur just that little bit more, and waves of dizziness wash over.
Caitlyn stumbles a little, putting her head up to her head again. "Oh, Gaia, I think the stuff's... ugh." She takes a deep breath, tries to steady herself. "Yeah, we were... being tested."
Rowen O'Dwyer quickly helps to keep her propped up with a "Careful!" reminder. "It's a harsh test to be living through, coming this way. Worse still, the poison in you..." He looks rather sympathetic. Once he's kept her steady and the dizziness passes for now, the sounds of people shouting and a murmur of a crowd can be heard from back the way they'd come. Should she turn to look, a gathering is happening at the town square. Rowen looks too.
Caitlyn turns, wobbling a little, but keeps herself upright as she stares down toward the gathering. Curious, she takes a step that way, if she can manage.
Again the poison makes everything sluggish, but she does manage. By the time they work their way down to the gathering, the arguments are going in full swing. "There aren't enough supplies to go around! We need to go back!" "We don't have enough warriors to go out again this soon!" "That's because they're all off chasin' that fool who left his friend with the rest of us." "Well we can't just stand around. We've got to do /something!/" "Send out the wagon again, they'll be fine! They said they'd gotten a good number of the raiders last time!" Rowen frowns as he holds on to Caitlyn, looking a little worried. Leaning into the cub's ear he explains, "We lost some of the supplies in the last run but we did get out alive. The only trouble is, it's making things hard on everyone. At this rate, we might not last 'til the next run."
Caitlyn frowns as she listens to the arguments. "All this trouble just for us?" she murmurs. Then, "Well, no, the problem's probably already been going on. I wish there was something I could do." She shakes her head with an annoyed expression.
Seeing her annoyed expression, Rowen again looks sympathetic. "Everyone in this town's got a voice, but usually it's the loudest ones who get heard," he says, "But if you've got any ideas... maybe something'll come of it." The arguments continue to fly. "No no /no/, what we /need/ to do is go to the nobles again! They're the ones who're supposed to be protecting us. They should be helping us!" claims one side. "Hah! Those fools can barely keep the weight of their crowns from crushing their brows, let alone lift a sword to come to our aid! We need to gather our forces and fight back!" shouts another. "With what forces?" asks another, "We can't fight in this condition. Our warriors need to be sound and healthy. We can't think rationally on anger and bitterness." As the pair listen to the arguments continue, there's one young man of dark curls and sharp eyes that spots Caitlyn and Rowen off to the side. He slips over, nodding his greetings at the man before turning to Caitlyn. "Quite a predicament, isn't it?" he observes.
"Yeah." Caitlyn manages a vague sort of smile at the young man, and then adds, "I'd say you should get help... there's always strength in numbers. Where I'm from... a lot of different folks work together." She shrugs. "But I'm just visiting and, umm, this staying upright thing's getting difficult."
The dark-haired man nods sagely. "A visitor you say? Well, unlike the rest of them over there, I gladly welcome you. Finn's the name," he says with an outstretched hand to offer her in a shake. "And I believe you. There is a pool of great strength to draw from, as you say. I can sense it in you, and the others." Rowen doesn't seem so inclined to return the other man's greeting, and Caitlyn can feel his grip tighten a little protectively around her.
Caitlyn takes the hand anyhow, still doing her best to keep that smile on her face, despite the wooziness. "I'd hate to see the place go under... just 'cause people are being... well. Things seem like they're hard around here."
At the touch of to his hand, there's an added sudden warmth to the contact. A flow of strength surges. She can feel the power that Finn has, fighting back against the toxins invading her body and messing with her mind. "I agree," continues the man smoothly, all eyes glittering upon the cub. But just as things seem to be going well, Rowen pulls Caitlyn away and breaks that contact. "We'll be /fine/, Finn," he insists and looks back to the cub. "Now it's time to get you back to rest."
Caitlyn blinks repeatedly as the contact is broken, standing a bit more upright. She peers at Rowan and then at Finn and then nods slowly. "Alright... yeah, rest." She clenches and unclenches her hand, still peering at Finn.
Though the feeling hasn't gone completely away, there's a definite improvement already. Rowen muscles his way around, gripping Caitlyn's arm strongly. The arguments in the town square continues. Finn stands alone, staring after her for a few moments as well.
Caitlyn glances at Rowan as they walk away. "Who is that? Finn, I mean? Who is he?"
"Finn? It's a rumor 'round town that he bested Cathan in combat when they met in the woods one night," speaks the man. "But let's face it, he's a shady character at best. Why do you ask?"
"Well, 'cause, I don't know. And when he touched my hand, it was... warm. There was strength, he kind of... it made the poison go away. Not all the way, but a little. I wondered if it was a Gift or something." Caitlyn's frowning down at her hand as they walk.
That confession seems to alarm Rowen and halts their progress back to the healer's cottage. "What do you mean he made the poison go away?" he blurts out in question, turning to stare at her. When he looks past her towards where Finn was, the man has turned back to listen to the crowds argue.
Caitlyn blinks at Rowan's alarm. "The power, the strength he sent into me. It fought the poison. I still feel better, not as woozy. Is... something wrong?"
"I-- I'm not sure," Rowen growls softly. He looks back to her, conflicted. "Adam has the same poison as you do. And he's worse off. If Finn knows a way to get rid of that poison, then..." He trails again, but it's clear there's a wariness about the man. An uncertainty he doesn't want to entertain. Turning back to Caitlyn, he sighs softly. "Adam's like a brother to me. His sister is my brother's wife. I'm not sure what to do. No one in their right mind would ask Finn for help. He's... he's just not trustworthy, lass."
"Why not?" Caitlyn peers at Rowan. "I mean, just because he bested... Cathan, you said? I mean, you could ask him, anyway, if he knows a way to help Adam..." She frowns, muttering, "'Course, the only Finn *I* can think of off-hand is Finn Mac Cumail, and I doubt this is the same guy..."
Rowen has no excuse for her save to shrug his shoulders. "Cathan never spoke of it," he says, "and there's no /way/ this is the same! I refuse to believe that /he/ could be anything like the man of legends. No. Impossible. And if you think you trust him enough, /you/ ask him. Anyway. Let's just drop it shall we?" Looking uncomfortable, he finally leads her to the small hut. Rowen opens the door for her, looking back towards the square warily.
"Alright, alright." Caitlyn steps inside the hut with one last glance for the square and a sigh.
Rowen guides the cub back into the healer's cottage and settles down himself to sit beside Adam's bed. Even from their position within, they can hear the argument in the square go on for a very long time. It gets to the point however, that the crowds escalate to a point that there sounds like there's a brawl going on. Rowen listens, but he doesn't leave the safety of the cottage. The fight goes on for some minutes longer, but then even that fades off. A knock raps against the door. "It's Finn," announces the visitor. Rowen looks up sharply at that name, standing from his seat.
Caitlyn sits quietly this whole time on the bed they'd had her on before, looking between her hand, Adam, and Rowen. At the knock on the door she looks around, but doesn't stand.
Rowen opens the door, revealing Finn standing just outside the threshold. "What do you want?" asks the man warily of the other. "I've come to see the girl," is Finn's reply as he leans to a side, spying Caitlyn past Rowen's broad shoulder. "She needs her /rest/," insists Rowen as he starts to close the door on the visitor. Finn, however, catches his hand on the door. "/And/," continues Finn, "I've come to see Adam." At that, Rowen looks even more wary.
Caitlyn turns a little bit more, watching the interaction. "I'm resting," she says to Rowan. "I can rest while he talks, right?"
Something about the look between Finn and Rowen makes the latter back up from the door, admitting the dark haired man inside. "I know what poisons your body and spirit," speaks Finn as he looks to Caitlyn. "Fear. Uncertainty. These things can bring low even the most confident of kings." Rowen takes in a sharp breath, but bites his tongue. He hovers protectively around Adam's bedside.
"Wyrm-taint?" Caitlyn tilts her head a bit, frowning. "I mean... it came from their blades. The fomori's." She peers at Finn, glancing aside to Rowen for just a moment.
Finn takes a long breath in. "Mm. In a way, yes. Not yet, but..." The reply is cut off by Rowen's outcry and a sudden burst up to take up the smaller Finn by the collar of his shirt. "Stop playing your games! Can you help him or not?" demands the red-headed man. Finn eyes off to a side, back towards Caitlyn. "What do you think, lass?"
Caitlyn stares down at her hand, working it open and shut. "It... helped. It did. I feel stronger than I did, not good yet, but better."
Rowen's frustration is evident. He looks like he wants to ask, but can't bring himself to, and so tightens his grip around the collar of the smaller dark-haired man. Finn doesn't seem worried about this, but continues to watch Caitlyn. "I could help you. But, I would need you to help me," says the man.
Caitlyn frowns at Finn. "Help you how?"
Finn draws himself up and extracts himself from Rowen's grip. In reality, Rowen lets him loose, unsure of the touch of the other man's hand to his own. "I'm gathering a band together," speaks Finn, "to help hunt down these bandits and their ilk. Together we can rid ourselves of this plague. But I can't do it alone, you see," says the man. Rowen's caught between looking at Finn and looking at Caitlyn. "Were you not saying earlier, lass, there's always strength in numbers? Would you join me?"
Caitlyn presses her lips together for a moment and then stands, looking to Finn. She nods once. "I'll join you, if it'll help. Strength in numbers, right?" She manages a smile.
Rowen voices his protest. "But, lass!" Finn, however, ignores Rowen and instead turns to Adam's bedside. There is a smile that he gives, approving of the cub. Finn's hand reaches out to touch Adam's exposed arm and suddenly there's a surge of breath sucking into the comatose patient, color seeming to return to the sleeping man's cheeks. Rowen stands there speechless then, and Finn turns back to Caitlyn. His hand comes out, stretching towards her in invitation.
Caitlyn takes a deep breath, straightens herself, and then reaches out to take Finn's hand.
Though not quite as strong as before, there's a feeling of strength that manages to slip into her at the touch. It's almost a /passionate/ touch at that, alluring and elating. The toxins seem to be broken down and dissolve away from within her, and that last bit of strength returns. Finn slowly backs up, walking through the open door and guiding her with him. "All for one," he states softly, voice sounding distant despite his being right there. "Come ride with me..." The doorway seems to light up with a bright, almost blinding light as he pulls her in.
Caitlyn follows easily, smiling more widely as the strength flows into her, step light and sure.
As she steps through the light, the scenery changes to that of the edge of a wide and vast forest. From there, she can see Finn is no longer a dark-haired man, but the sight of a fearsome looking stag, colored completely black. His antlers are so dark they look as if they've been carved from obsidian. His eyes are like the night shining with the glimmering of stars in a clear sky. When the stag 'speaks', it's with a voice that resonates into her mind. *Come ride with me, young one. And we will hunt the Wyrm forever. Come, sit upon my back, and make yourself one with me...*
Caitlyn stares at the stag in awe for a moment, and then reaches out to place a hand on the stag's neck, using the leverage to lift herself up and onto the animal's back.
The stag barely waits for her to settle on his back before the creature bounds off. The pace is inconcievably fast, such to the point that their surroundings blur around them. Onward and onward the stag runs, always untiring. With each passing moment, a little bit of her mind begins to disappear and instead is replaced by a wild instinct. Even if she wanted to stop now, though, the stag's scent fills her head and spurs her on to cling to him. And on into the night they continue to run through the endless forests, never stopping, never halting on their wild hunt.
--- JULIAN'S SIDE ---
It's into the night by the time Julian sets off to hunt down the last bandit. Thick, murky fog rolls in to settle over the endless moors, creating pockets of directionless scape. The dirt underfoot is moist but springy, which while suited for comfortable resting places is not so suited for tracking in. Hours pass with not a sign of the galliard's target. At points, it's so bad that he could barely sense the end of his nose some times, let alone where the raider has gone. And it's in the long hours that his mind finds time for a little distraction in the form of faint voices from within. "You're never going to find him..." says one. "You don't even know where you are..." comes another. "And you're all alone. No pack, no home..." whispers yet another.
Hugs-the-Earth growls warnings to the voices. ~I will find him. She will be avenged.~ He does what he can to block these voices from his mind as he continues travelling through the night.
"Foolish little pup..." "You couldn't protect her..." "Can't even track down a simple preybeast..." The scent has grown quite faint, almost non-existant by the time he realizes that he's come around full circle and smells his own tracks. A frustrating discovery, were it not for another distraction. One voice pushes out the others. *Where are you going, Hugs-the-Earth?* It's a warm and noble tone. Familiar. It comes from a distance, yet seems close all at once.
Hugs-the-Earth seems to be more distracted by the familiar voice than any of the others. *I... I need to find the last one. He needs to pay the price...* He doesn't utter any words but he knows that he is communicating. He keeps running regardless of his senses' betrayal, regardless of direction.
Again, it's the voice that comes through the mind of the cub that seems so familiar, yet alien. *Your Rage drives your heart and mind, Young One. It must not always be this way,* whispers the voice, even fainter than before. As he runs, the fog on either side of him is like an impenetrable wall. The scents are gone now, the trail as well. He's just running.
*We are Garou, born of Rage. Or is this not the way?* Hugs-the-Earth seems unaware of the fog surrounding him, of his foward motion suspending, of anything. He focuses on the voice. *Please, Red, guide me... this is your home.* The name 'Red' is filled with hope and urgency.
The voice grows fainter, but leaves with almost an amused note, *Your kind have always borne the burden of your passions. And are not without a little bit of luck.* When the voice fades away completely, the galliard finds himself running over more solid ground. It's muddy with two wheel ruts trailing along the path. And in the distance, there's the faint sight of a light bobbing in the air, yellowish orange in its glow. A man's voice sings brightly, "Oh I'm a man of whimsy and mood, a singin' lad of things fair and good, can ye pour me three of the cellar's loot, and we'll drink 'til there's mead drownin' in me boot!"
Hugs-the-Earth slows his pace and sniffs in the air to catch the scent of the man. This two legs does not seem like the creature I was hunting. The wolf lowers his posture and slouches on the ground in hopes of avoiding notice.
The man travels along the side of the road, getting closer without being the least bit bothered by the fog he travels through. The lantern bobs on the end of a sword hilt, the weapon strapped to his back. The singing dissolves into whistling of the jaunty tune, but that too fades off as he nears the wolf's vicinity, like the man has sensed the predator nearby.
Diarmuid o Foghladh(#4076Pcr)
A man of bright flame-red hair, sparkling blue eyes and fair complexion. He's dressed in traveller's clothing with an awfully green motif save for the red-green-gold-white plaid sash wrapped around him. Everywhere he looks, he does so with a roguish demeanor.
Hugs-the-Earth stands still and uses the fog to conceal his prescence. Hopefully this two legs will not pose a threat, killing of one such as him would serve no purpose. The lupine's eyes are ever watchful of this man though, just in case he decides that a wolf is not welcome.
The man still doesn't move on, but he does reach a hand back to unhook the lantern and holds it out with a squint towards the foggy scape. "Ay, who's there? Be ye friend or foe? If foe, beware, for ye face the fiercest fighter o' all the land, a master swordsman, a hero o' legends!" His other hand reaches up to slide the sword from his back, wary eyes scanning.
Hugs-the-Earth peers at the man and seems to take his threat with seriousness. If the spirits have led this one to the two legs there is reason to trust them. He shifts under the coverage of fog and lays on the ground for a moment before he stands. "I am not a foe. Simply a man who desires assistance." He suddenly realizes his lack of clothing and shivers a bit against the balmy night.
The man tenses briefly as he spins around to face the speaker, brandishing his sword as it glimmers in the lantern's light. "Hoy! Who are--" He starts to bark out an introductory demand, but pauses entirely when he sees Julian with a considerable lack of clothing. And then, his swordtip dips down. Teeth bite on his lower lip as he tries very hard not to burst out laughing, but the glimmer in his eyes is quite telling of what he thinks of the other at the moment. "Lad, what in th' bonny blue blazes are ye doin' out here? Chasin' a lass and gettin' chased by her father?"
Julian seems rather embarrased by his appearance, but realizes something. "Actually sir, bandits. He... he killed my friend and took off into the night. I tried to chase him down, but I lost him. I was wondering if perhaps you had seen anyone on this road." He sniffs a little. "I told her I would take care of him... she... she was dear to me." He looks down in pain.
Scratching at his brow, the man frowns at the young galliard. "Now now there," he says with a shake of his head in sympathy. "I've seen a'plenty o' travelers and bandits and spirits and creatures o' all kinds. You've got t' be more specific lad. Sure I've seen a few o' those bandits tonight, chasin' down one o' th' wagons from the town. That's where I'm headed, sure as the fog's come in."
Julian thinks for a moment. "He was on a horse... and his voice... it was odd. He sounded like a snake or something... he hissed and it sounded like a bunch of voices talking at once." He shivvers as he remembers the fomor's voice. "It was... scary."
Again, the man tries not to be amused at Julian. "Well lad, you're not going to get anywhere without a bit o' help, a bit o' warmth in those cold bones, and more than a bit o' drink. Aye, I know who ye speak of. I could help ye, but if I helped every poor boy who I came across... well, I'd be as stark naked as ye are right now."
Julian thinks for a moment. "I don't know what I could do to play you... but... whatever spoills come from the man you can have. I have no use for them." He tries to be as open as possible, giving off an air of need.
"Ohho, givin' me your scraps are ye?" the man says with a disapproving frown. Deftly he slides his sword back into his sheath. "Just who do ye think y' are?" says the man with an unimpressed air.
"I'm no one in particular, at least not here...." Julian frowns. "Look, if you can't help me out of simple kindness, fine... I'll go on my own." Without thinking he shifts down to lupus to once again take up the search.
It's with a cry of surprise and nearly a drop of his lantern that the man scampers back when the boy shifts to his lupus form. "Corr! A loup Garou!" He reaches reflexively for his sword hilt.
Hugs-the-Earth hunches down and and readies for a dodge if the sword comes at him. He bares his teeth and gives the man a disarming growl.
Out comes the sword. The man's scent is ridden with fear. "Back! Back ye brazen beast! I once stood a hole up to me waist and with naught but a wooden shield and hazel rod, fought off nine warriors! I can run through the forest without breaking a twig or tearin' my clothes on a bit o' bramble! I can jump o'er a branch as high as me head and run under anoth'r as low as m' knees, and I can pick a thorn from m' foot without stoppin' at top speed! If ye come at me, I'll split ye stem t' stern, I will!" Loudly he shouts at the wolf, circling around with swordpoint waving at Hugs-the-Earth.
Hugs-the-Earth stands firm mirroring the man's cirling movements. He gives the man's shouts little heed and begins to back away from the man. His posture and stance indicate not a hostile nature but a weary nature.
"Go on!" yells the man, maintaining the wary distance between them. "Ach, Diarmuid, ye've got y'self in quite a predicament..." bemoans the traveler to himself as he keeps his distance and his eyes on the wolf. "Next thing y' know, this one's going to call his pack and then! Then time's up for ye, Diarmuid o Foghladh. Well, ye led a nice long and fruitful life... Too bad ye ne'er ag'in will be seein' th' wife an' children. Ay, think 'bout it. They'll be singin' tales o' ye 'round the fire, how he bravely fought against th' Beast o' th' Bog, the Menace o' th' Moors... and all 'cause ye challenged a loup Garou t' a braggin' contest without 'is knowing and ticked him off! Oh Diarmuid, lad, ye were a good man, but a better fool!" Rambling on, his predicament culminates as he lifts his sword, takes a breath, and with a hearty yell makes a wild charge at the wolf.
Hugs-the-Earth doesn't waste any time. He huffs out a breath and charges the man hoping his wolf speed will assist him in disposing of this annoyance. He charges with his head down, hoping to tackle the man rather than tear his flesh.
A swing of the man's sword, coupled with the flying tackle of the wolf, winds up both impaling the lupus upon the blade at an angle through the wolf's neck painfully, all while achieving his initial goal. Diarmuid falls back with a low cough as the wind is knocked from him, though adrenaline and fear fuel the rest of his actions. He kicks at the wolf, attempting to drive the galliard's mass off of him.
It could be the sword sticking from his neck or simply the fear in the man.... no it's definitly the sword through his neck that causes Hugs-the-Earth to shift up to hispo. He jumps away from the man and attempt to pull the sword out with his front paws, growling and gurgling as blood begins to trickle into his throat.
The wolf that grows in front of the man's eyes cause him to widen even more, but as the hispo is occupied, Diarmuid takes that moment to get up and start running. It isn't long before he disappears into the fog. The sword is eventually pulled out, painfully so, but by the virtue of the supernatural healing the wound begins to close on its own. In the end, the cub is left with a bloody sword lying on the ground, the man's tracks running off, and still more fog surrounding them.
~Wonderful....~ Hugs growls sarcastically in Mother's Tongue. ~Just what I need.~ He shakes his head and shifts up to Crinos before picking up the sword left my Diarmuid. He looks it over carefully and then looks off into the direction the man fled.
"Took your frustrations out on the innocent, did you?" "Doesn't matter, he was a fool." "He was a stinky ape!" "You could catch him, finish him off. Claim you got the last bandit that way..." The voices in Julian's head start up again, suggesting, teasing, taunting.
Hugs-the-Earth looks about in frustration. ~Are you going to sit and bug be all day or are you going to come out and fight like the wyrm-beast you are?~ He growls at the voices, whether or not they understand. ~I am growing tired of your cowardice. Come and face me or leave me be.~
"Ooh, look at that big bad wolf, he's getting angry." "But don't worry, he can't see us." "Maybe not, but he can probably smell your bad breath!" "Hey, who're you saying's got bad breath?" As the galliard looks around, the fog rolls away, clearing much of the vision on the landscape. There, dotting the landscape that he can see, are small three-foot tall elfin-looking creatures. Each one of them carries a three-prong pitchfork, and from their brows sport mini-antlers that look more like twisting sapling branches than antlers. They seem preoccupied with chattering with themselves, ignorant of the fact that the fog that hides them has moved on.
Hugs-the-Earth walks up to the creatures and plant the tip of the sword in the ground. ~Ah... you must be part of the fae peoples...~ he growls. ~I suppose you are responsble for the fog and the voices...~ He cocks his head in a somewhat threatening manner.
The chattering screeches to a halt and flat football shaped heads all turn as one. When creatures realize he's looking at them as much as they're looking at him, all chaos breaks loose. "Run!" "Run away!" their voices cry and the small pack of goblin like creatures scatter haphazardly, clambering over each other, accidentally smacking into each other with pronged pitchforks and bodies. They're fast though, the little creatures.
Hoping that his size will assist him in catching on the the little folk he sets off after them. He even goes as far as using the sword as a form of makeshift broom to sweep at the creatures.
The sword despite its smaller length in the hands of the large crinos, acts like a good tool that clangs against the spear of one mini-elfin and sends it tumbling into a couple others. The galliard's longer stride brings him upon them in no time, and while the others get away, he's managed to catch himself three. They cringe and cower. "Please don't eat us!" pleas one with red streaks over its face. "We'll do anything!" cries another, striped in blue. "Eat them! I don't taste good!" claims the third one that sports a golden dipped lower jaw.
Hugs-the-Earth smiles maliscously. ~Oh really?~ Hugs sneers at the creatures. ~Very well you are going to do three things for me. Only these three and no more and no less. I will state the stipulations and then you will swear to abide by the rules that I set out. You will swear three times thus binding you to the contract... if you *are* what I think you are.~ He shows his teeth in what could be considered a grimace more than a grin. ~Am I understood? If not... I can devour you... you do not seem to be human and therefore... are outside my laws jurisdiction.~
"Wait, wait. What do you mean, we are what you think we are?" asks the golden one. "Swear? Swearing's impolite!" pipes up the blue. "And if we're outside your laws, then you've got no right binding us to 'em either!" whimpers the red.
Hugs-the-Earth frowns at the creatures. ~You are fae, no? Faeries... umm... the Fair Folk? Right?~ He seems to look the creatures over a bit more closely as if only now seeing them properly.
"We're not for eating," evades the red one, cringing some more as he looks at those nice, huge fangs that could eat them right up. "That is, if you decide we're not for eating," bobs the blue in a quick agreeable head movement. The golden jawed one clears its small throat and apparently has decided to try and not answer the threatening galliard, as if this will get him not to notice it.
Hugs-the-Earth seems to think of something for a moment and then shrugs. ~Great.. I sure as hell hope this works.~ He then takes his right hand, and uses his claws to tear into the flesh of his left arm, nothing incapacitating but enough of to cause a fair amount of blood to flow. He then takes the right hand and flicks it out toward the creatures doing his best to aim the droplets of blood at their faces, their mouth's more respectively.
The creatures squeal in surprise and fear as the galliard tears a wound down his own arm. However, once they've smelled (and tasted) his blood, the creatures go from friendly to outright slavering. "Ooooh, that was lovely," smacks the lips of the red one. "You've got plenty more where that came from?" asks the blue hopefully. The golden one tries hard to resist, spitting licking at its lips, but it eventually stares back longingly at Hugs-the-Earth and grimaces in a small, toothy grin. "It's been a long time since we tasted wolf's blood," chitters the golden one with a delighted shiver.
Hugs-the-Earth nods to the little creatures. ~I had thought as much. Now... do we have an agreement? You will assist me. In return you may get more of this.~ He dips a claw into the wound and lets a droplet of blood drip from it to the ground.
As one, the creatures eye that one droplet longingly, then bob their heads and lick their lips. "Will you let us up?" "Ground's kind of cold if you didn't notice." "Did you know that if you lay down too long, you could get bedsores?"
Hugs-the-Earth blinks for a moment. ~My apologies.~ He releases his pin a steps back. ~Alright. First of all, I need assistance in finding a creature. He is a follower of the Wyrm. He wears a mask and his voice sounds like a buch of voices at once, with a hint of a whisper on it.~ He looks at the group curiously. ~Do you know the creature I speak of?~
The red, blue and golden creatures get up and pat themselves down (despite not having any real clothing nor need for it). They look amongst themselves at the description of that is given from Hugs-the-Earth and nod some more. "We've seen him." "Heard him." "He's ridden his 'mare into the black moors," answer the three.
Hugs-the-Earth thinks on this. ~Black moors?~ he asks. ~Where is that?~ He spreads some of the blood on his hand and holds it out for the creatures to consume.
With excited squeaks and chatters they fall upon the galliard's hand. The feeling of their tongues are like cats' tongues, lapping up the blood eagerly. Finally once he's cleaned up, they look eagerly for more, eyes drifting towards the wound he'd opened upon himself - the source. "The black moors lie past the shadow forest." "We can take you there." "Yes, yes we've all been there."
~Alright, beyond that... I may need assistance getting home. I'm not from here, if you haven't gathered that.~ Hugs looks to the creatures and frowns. ~Hmm, I'm not sure I could carry all of you on my back and still make good time. Do you have any other means of transportation? Wings? Or something?~
The creatures look at Hugs-the-Earth quizzically at his comments, but they shake their heads at him. "Silly wolf." "Tasty!" "Silly, tasty wolf. Come on! You'll lose the trail if you don't hurry. The moors aren't far!" They scamper away and turn briefly to wait for the cub to follow.
Hugs-the-Earth nods ~Alright.~ He heads off after them. ~Slow down before we get there... I need to get the jump on him. He's not exactly fond of me or my kind.~
If they've heard the galliard, they don't acknowledge him. The run is quick and chaotic. First, though, the scent of the moors can be smelled a ways away. It rings with the instincts of the wolf, telling Hugs-the-Earth that really, this is a place to be cautious in. The three creatures run on and then stop at the edges of the deceitfully stable lands. "In there!" yips the red one with a point of its pronged pitchfork into the foggy bog. "Be careful Wolf, you'll fall in," cautions the blue. "Can't have that!" squeaks the gold. True to its name, the black moors are a desolate looking place. The air smells of sulphur and standing water. Sticks and wetland like bushes grow, and in places there are ponds of algae.
Hugs-the-Earth attempts to sniff through the big with his crinos senses, hoping to catch a wiff of the fomor he is seeking. He pees at the fog. ~You are certain he is there?~ he whispers to the fae surronding him.
"Yes, yes!" "There's his tracks." "See?" The creatures point down at what looks like a muddy river rather than an actual trail. "If you go real quiet..." "And don't fall in..." "... You'll find him."
Hugs-the-Earth looks at the 'trail.' ~I'm supposed to walk on water?~ he whispers looking down at the fae.
"Not water!" claims the red, jumping forth and stamping a foot onto the puddle. For a creature that's three feet tall, the water comes up to its mid-thigh only, around a few inches in. As if in further demonstration, the blue one hops onto the red followed by the gold, and then leapfrog over each other onto the trail. A few splashes of muddy waters are made here and there, but they demonstrate the way. The only trouble is they're a little noisy about it, chattering encouragements and bragging at each other.
Hugs-the-Earth holds out a hand. ~Stop, stop!~ he quietly urges. ~Alright. I understand. I need you guys to stay here.~ He moves forward and gingerly places a foot down on the 'trail.'
The creatures stop where they are when Hugs-the-Earth bids, and they wait. Each footfall squelches with the mud and water that close in around the crinos' paws, but for now it appears as if the land is holding him. As he proceeds, there are a few dangers when he manages to catch himself before stepping into the wrong spot - but how he knows where these trails are is just a matter of what feels, for the moment, like a different force guiding his steps. Despite being further from the guiding fae, he can move with confidence in tracking down the last fomor.
Hugs-the-Earth he looks back at the creatures. ~Thank you. Stay, I won't be long.~ He shifts down the lupus, hoping the shift won't cause disturbance in his footing.
The smell of the moor is still strong, more when his nose is closer to the stagnant waters. Eventually though, he finds that the ground is firmer as he goes. Once he's passed through the marsh, the grasses form something more of a flat land where he sees the trail of the horse. The fog might obscure the view, but not the scent. Keen lupus ears pick out the low grunts and exhaled breaths of horses. Further, he can hear at a distance somewhere in the fog ahead, the crackle of a small fire and low men's voices. One of them has an odd snake-like hiss to it, the other a baritone growl. They speak in tongues he doesn't understand, but both of them clearly carry a certain menace.
Hugs-the-Earth creeps closer on his belly. His hope is to catch the men (or whatever they may be) unawares so to ease their deaths. He sniffs at the air as he moves closer and lowers himself as much as possible on the approach.
Again, there just screams something about the place that makes it uncomfortable for a lone wolf to be in, but it's countered by the focus with which the galliard approaches. The horses stomp, as if sensing the predator nearby, but three men sitting around the fire just seem to dismiss the danger. One of them is huge and bulbous in body, the tartan draped over his putrid, greasy looking skin only barely covering the curling hair that covers his back - which at the moment is closest to Hugs-the-Earth. "Aye, we'll need to lure a few of those bonny lassies out when we get the chance," says this man as he reaches with not a hand, but a protrusion of thick sludgy looking appendages towards the fire to poke it back to life. "Ye won't be leadin' none o' that out of yon village lookin' th' way you do!" scolds a wispy, skeletal figure whose eyes are on the flames. He looks so light, he might be just be skin and bones. And lastly, the one who's 'cleaning' his sword by oiling it with a black goop on a cloth, is the quarry of Hugs-the-Earth's long hunt. "Oh ssshut it," hisses the man, still dressed in a partial armor. "This is the lasssst time we're going to be working this sssstretch. Next time, we take the whole town." He is, though, missing his helm which sits on a rock nearby.
Hugs-the-Earth peers at the three of them. He thinks with all his might how to best the three of them on his own seems to settle on a plan of attack. He slinks back into the darkness a bit and begins to shift up to his dire wolf form.
For now, it appears like the fomori haven't noticed him still. The horses grow a little more nervous, still sensing the presence of the Garou. They're tied to a fallen log nearby just a short distance from the camp. The fog which was the bane of his tracking earlier now is his boon, covering his presence from view. The shift is easy. Easier still, thinks the Fianna with a little bit of help from 'Red'... To bowl the fat one into the flames and then use him as a leaping point to get to the skinny one. Then... it's one-on-one.
Hugs-the-Earth nods to himself and sprints forward he doesn't use Rage, just natural lupine speed. He rushes the bulbous one and leaps for his back hoping to throw him onto the fire and springboard to the skeletal figure.
The fomor and hispo collide and the small encampment bursts into chaos. Hundreds of pounds of muscle slam into the hundreds of pounds of greasy fat, and into the fire the fomor falls. The grease on his skin must contain a substance that is expressly flammable, as suddenly he's set alight and there's a piggish squeal. The hispo's balance is a little off as he leaps towards the next target, but he clashes with the skin-and-bones fomor. Sickening snaps of bones muffled by skin are heard, but the galliard cub feels those broken bones pierce into his skin, leaving shallow marks, but the shards embed themselves like splinters. Red-River-Burns-Fire guides his jaws to strike around the fomor's neck and in one fell swoop tears the head nearly off the body. Then squeaked warnings. "Behind you!" "Look out!" "Roll!"
Hugs-the-Earth does as he is instructed and tucks himself as he rolls to one side, hopefully avoiding the distaster intoned.
The black blade pierces down, but into the heart of the skinny fomor just as the hispo rolls away. An annoyed hiss blows out of the sword's wielder as he yanks his weapon up and brings it back to bear. Hugs-the-Earth can see the three fae he'd previously instructed to stay out in the moor have not exactly done so. Instead, they've followed him in. En masse. A swarm of them harrass the flaming fat fomor with their comparatively small pitchforks, poking and prodding and pushing the enraged fomor into a battle off to the side. The galliard doesn't have the time to watch though, as he faces down the fomor. Closer up now, he sees the man's lower jaw has morphed. It splits into two juicy halves, and from it spills a serpentine tongue that flicks and twists when not rolled inside. "Ssso... come to ssssee me?" taunts the creature.
Hugs-the-Earth growls in respnse to his opponent. ~More like destroy you. What you and your friends did Second-Try will *not* be tolerated!~ He startes to circle the fomor and a low rumble begins to grow in his chest.
As Hugs-the-Earth circles, so does the fomor do so in a counter circle. "Which one wasss that?" dismisses the enemy rather lightly.
The rumble in Hugs' chest grows in volume. ~You vile piece of--~He cuts off as he rushes the fomor, tapping his rage and slashing with one of his massive paws for the sword arm hoping to disarm the creature of his tainted blade.
The fomor is no fool however, and spins away from the disarming slash. He's fast, counterattacking with an equal if not surpassing ferocity. It seems like the creature has its own inner wells of Rage to tap into, and in a blur of motion the blade bites into the galliard's left forelimb, cutting near to where he'd previously self-inflicted a wound upon himself. As if purposefully to goad him, the fomor's attack changes into a retreat. The black blade now also sports the galliard's blood dripping down its blood grooves. "You'll die here," grates the fomor. "Alone. Forgotten. No one to sssing your ssstoriesss."
Hugs-the-Earth grows and starts after the creature. ~You will be the one to die.~ he growls, ~now turn and face me like a man!~
A discomforting chortle accompanies the fomor's voice. The black blade is brought up to bear again. "Why face you like a man, when you face me as a beassst?" The fomor lifts his blade again, and this time it's he who charges forward, hacking and slashing with great ferocity.
Hugs-the-Earth does his best to dodge the blade and looks for an opening in the creatures defenses, if such a thing exsist. He ducks and weaves as he backpedals and rolls, using every ounce of training he has been given. He thinks on Jason, Cole, Devlin, Gareth, and most of all Caitlyn. He lets their memory course through him hoping they will give him resolve to dismiss this monster he faces.
The situation starts to grow worse. First it's a stumble here, which gets him a slash of that blade. Then a blur of vision and a weave wrong into the pummeling fist of the armored fomor, his gauntlet splitting the galliard's tender nose skin and bloodying it too. From the front, facing the fomor head on, the Wyrm-creature's defense is as good as his offense. The toxins seeping into him take away his strength little by little, until that final memory of seeing Caitlyn fall, coupled with the laughing, hissing taunt of this armored foe... causes something in mind to snap. The vision grows blurry, but this time red. The last thing he might remember is the crunching sound of bone and metal, the painful sting of the sword piercing into him. But most of all the satisfying feel of slick blood spattering onto his fur. When everything settles, down, the fomor lies dead at the galliard's feet. The sword is broken, the blade still embedded in his shoulder.
Hugs-the-Earth looks around, ignoring the stinging pain in his shoulder and the waves of fatigue passing over him. He turns to see what has happened to the faeries he travelled with.
Nearby there's a sizzling heap of flesh and bones, looking like it's been half-devoured. The fatigue combines with the poison he feels coursing through him. As he's looking around, though, the voices of the three creatures he can hear more in his mind than anything. "Aw, poor thing." "He's going to fall!" "No he's not." Circling around him from his back to his front, the trio of fae creatures, all newly dyed in spatters of Wyrmblood, smile toothily at him. "You killed him!" "Congratulations!" "Elations!" they praise.
Hugs-the-Earth staggers a bit. ~Good you are all, safe...~ He looks about with drowsy eyes. ~I have one final request of you... I need... to get to a viilage... my friend is there... Along with more Garou... they expected me to be there by dawn. They need to know that I killed the Wyrm-creature. Second-Try... needs... to know she was avenged...~ This last seems more than he can stand and he stumbles down to his hauches with a staggered breath.
The three creatures look amongst each other, but in those moments as they chatter their voices grow faint to the ears of the galliard. "What village?" "The one with the Garou?" "He's a Garou too." "But he promised us!" "Don't worry, he's going to keep his promise." "How?" "I know..." The voices grow fainter and fainter until the world goes black. It's an indeterminate time later when the galliard wakes again. And this time, there is white, warm light. No longer is the rancid scent of the moors filling his nostrils, but the clear, crisp scent of a much more real, much more familiar to his own mind area. Hugs-the-Earth when he comes to finds himself in the Umbral Grotto. Standing over him is the white stag spirit from before, many points sitting atop his head like a crown.
Hugs-the-Earth blinks from the light and looks up at the creature before him before bowing his head again. ~Great One...~ he offers in reverence. ~Did I please you?~
The Stag tosses his head, snorting in a vague sense of non-committal noise. *With all things come a price,* the spirit answers instead. *Predator and prey know this sacrifice well. Your sister knew this, for she rose up from her bed and joined the Hunt. Her spirit will do as you have done for her, striking vengeance against the Corrupter. Now you know this. Return to your kin and kind, Child of the Wolf. Tell them your tale. And do not forget your guides.* The Stag steps forward, breathing a misty breath upon the galliard's shoulder. There, where the fur doesn't conceal, is a scar in the shape of a triquetra, the triangular, unending knot. If he were to look more carefully, the ends of the tips are lightly tinted in red, blue and gold.
Hugs-the-Earth closes his eyes. ~Of course not, great one! They will be given the respect and honor they are due for eternity.~ He looks up at the Stag, ~Thank you.~
Approval radiates from the white stag spirit and then it turns. With a quick stomp of hoof and a powerful spring away, the spirit retreats into the woods again, leaving the no-longer cub behind. The toxins are gone, but his wounds are not yet totally healed, save for the one peculiar scarification on his shoulder. And still with it, the knowledge of the spirits, their Gifts gained. And the story of the pair of cubs still waiting to be told to others.
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