Moot: August 2002

[hazlogs]

It is currently 18:33 Pacific Time on Tue Aug 27 2002.

Umbra: Center of the Caern

Once a place of wonder and beauty, the heart of the caern has changed
drastically. The lush grass is gone, replaced by scorched and salted
earth. It is dead and lifeless, a wasteland. The lucky trees that
surrounded the caern have been hewn down, while the unlucky ones are being
poisoned towards a slow death. The nearest trees still standing are dead,
leafless, and beginning to rot away. The waterfall still brings forth what
looks to be pure water, but the pool it falls into has a faint acrid odor
to it--and one would imagine tastes foul. The very center of the caern and
the white boulder that resided there is coated in a toxic petroleum sludge
dredged up from the bowels of the earth and spread across its surface.

The air that once crackled with spiritual potency now lacks that tingle of
power. This holy place is now dead.


Peggy drifts into the spirit world on a risk of water. Her gleeful,
expectant expression turns to one of despair as she surveys the waste.
Hugging her arms tight to her sides, she steps cautiously forward.

Already sitting and waiting, Fights-For-Hope paces his eyes over the caern
impatiently.

Popping through and trying not to be late, Cameron slips into the Umbral
Caern and makes his way over to Andrea. He gives her a respectful - if
perfunctory - salute and nod, before clearing his throat and murmuring a
question about further instructions.

Sith-Fhuil appears amongst the gathered in a pulse of light, easing into a
slow stretch before straightening up, and scanning the crowd for
tribesmates.

From By the Waterfall, Little Bear can be heard to howl, ~We moot! Come to
the caern to call upon Gaia's blessing and a new totem!~

Little Bear crosses over after howling for the stragglers, and takes a
place besides Andrea, arms folded, scowl on his face.

Luke's expression is pained as he sees for the first time the consequences
of the fall on this side of the gauntlet. Layne gets a small wave, but no
more than that.

Salem, once he's made the trip through the gauntlet, pushes his hands into
the pockets of his coat. The Walker's expression is characteristically
dour and tight; he's in a less than pleasant mood.

Peggy sets herself down cross-legged, eyes on Andrea. Her hand sinks into
the earth and absorbs some of its odour, and she rubs it on her jeans.

Three-Blades bulks up a bit to a hispo form, feeling more comfortable in
the Umbra with the dire wolf. She sits a bit on the fringe, and looks
around at the gathered as well as vicinity.

Andrea shifts with the ease of this side, flowing into crinos as her
totem's protective shadow billows around her. Turning to Nightfire, she
says, ~We will be calling as soon as the Litany is finished. You may want
to organize before we begin.~

Receiving a few soft words from the Alpha, Cameron nods, winks at the
Wendigo standing beside her, and then just sort of manages to stand around
looking untidy, with his hands resting casually in jacket pockets.

Susan remains in her birth form, but moves -- still cloaked -- a little
ways away and takes up the position of the fool.

Sith-Fhuil brushes past Luke with a faint nudge and a plaintive: It is
very bad, I know. The wolf makes her way to a spot some ways off to the
side of Andrea, eyes quietly surveying the crowd.

Sepdet shoots a bemused grin at her dour packmate, ensconsed as usual near
the senior theurge. She seems to be practically bouncing on her feet, arms
folded as if holding herself in check until the moment comes.

Little Bear eyes Cameron and shifts up to crinos easily, cracking his neck
slowly with several loud 'pops.' He watches Susan take her place, hands on
hips.

Touch Deer, the dark shroud of protection from his pack's Totem clinging
to him like an ink-clooud, is completely naked except for a rough-hewn and
worn-looking deerskin breech clout. He gazes about, standing near Andrea.

Nightfire shifts instantly into the warform, the change coming more easily
in the Umbra. He rises onto two legs, that his voice carries more easily
across the caern. ~When the call is made, we do not know what will answer.
We are throwing the caern open for any that wish to come. Expect trouble.
Spirits can disguise themselves. Those who have the gifts for it, check
any that arrive here. The Enemy is subtle when it wishes to be.~

The faintest silvery shimmer of passage through the gauntlet heralds the
arrival of Quentin, his pale-patterned dark fur shadowing his slight lupus
form as he settles close to where the others of his tribe can be found.
Remaining for the moment in the form in which he arrived at the caern.

Watching the Wendigo shift suddenly into crinos merely makes the tall
young Aussie grin broadly. He looks around the group for a while, before
finally taking the warform himself.

Bitter Cup lets Nightfire's words sink in before nodding to Little Bear to
begin.

The other representative of Those Who Walk Among Glass spots Quentin
coming through and gestures the cub over with a jerk of his head.

Fights-For-Hope, by Ouro, watches carefully all that conspires to occur
this night.

Little Bear steps up, tilting muzzle to the sky and sucking in a deep
breath before letting loose a howl that shakes the very heavens, more than
likely scaring the piss out of anyone not paying attention.

Peggy hugs herself tighter as the howl rattles the woods, not visibly
nervous or afraid, but simply small, particularly in comparison to the
crinos springing up all around. She looks like she's trying to collapse
herself into a singularity.

Golden-Eyes slips over to the Aussie Fianna, shifting into warform. Her
ears flicker forward into fine points towards the sky as a faint echoing
rumble is heard deep in her throat.

Three-Blades joins in with a deep howl ringing from her throat in response
to LB's opening.

Cries-No-More bursts into Crinos. The scarred warrior bends down and takes
to all fours, head parellel to the ground as he emits a low and dissonant
howl to match his tribesmate's.

Chaser stalks up from the south, long barefoot strides careless of the
salted earth. She is silent through the howl, her expression grim and
fierce.

Runs-at-Dawn shifts up to the warform, adding his voice to the growing
cacophony.

As the howls swell into the night sky, Rides-Fire slips into hispo,
shifting his weight from paw to paw. He splits his attention between the
surrounding woods and the coming Litany call.

Seeker's long, low howl joins the others, gradually descending in tone.

Salem inhales a deep breath, then stretches himself upwards into crinos.
The Glass Walker bares his teeth, then adds his voice, tinged with
repressed rage, to the rest.

Sith-Fhuil's howl begins in her wolven throat, mournful and lilting, then
merging strongly with the others' as she rises up into crinos.

Susan remains in homid, yipping gleefully as she joins in the call to
moot.

Little Bear lets it go for far longer than necessary, apparently rather
revved up this night. He takes one long, penetrating look of the crowd,
crouching with one clawed hand lightly touching the ground before him. If
werewolves played football, he'd be almost ready to hike. ~ These are the
laws that Grandmother gave us! Listen, believe, and give voice! Garou
Shall Not Mate with Garou, she told us! ~

Reggie joins the group in person and in eager howl.

On pale-furred paws does Quentin come up alongside Salem's darksome form,
his ears briefly flattening at the abrupt howl.. and then he follows suit
with the rest, his lupine form shifting upwards into the massive form of
crinos with a crackling of bone and shearing of flesh beneath growing
muscle. His head thrown back this time more freely than at his first moot,
his howl joining clear and low with the others before fading away as they
do.

Susan takes up her roll as Fool and drops the light cloak that she is
wearing to reveal what used to be her working clothes. The skin-tight
micro mini and brief halter-top glisten in the dim light as the ragabash
takes a provocative step forward. Sliding her hands seductively down her
body, Susan calls out harshly ~Ancient Laws. Modern Medicine. Why worry
about who you fuck when there are birth control pills, sperm banks and
abortion clinics? As long as there's no risk of metis, and no worry about
someone finding out, go ahead.~ Her clothing rips as human form melts into
that of the crinos. ~After all, it's just sex, right?~

Cries-No-More spits. ~Modern what? Do not try to find holes in Her Law.
Follow it.~

Nightfire seems, unsurprisingly, unimpressed by the Fool's choice of
attire. He calls back, ~Honor means more than following the laws only when
others might see. It matters not if someone finds out -- right is right,
wrong is wrong.~

From the lupine throat of the Get Godi rips a snarl to cow an ahroun in
combat. ~You would poison with the Weaver where there is no need to delve
into those lowly depths. Our bodies would be tainted with fear of our own
children, and we would lose /love/. This must be avoided.~

Three-Blades growls deeply. ~Weaver or not, to bring one who would be
guilty for their parents' wrongs into the world is wrong in itself.~

Little Bear calls out the second, Combat the Wyrm, and again the Fool
mocks and the crowd shouts her down. Then: ~ These are the laws that
Grandmother gave us! Listen, believe, and give voice! Respect the
Territory of Another, she told us! ~ He eyes the crowd, panning slowly
from face to face, as the Fool speaks.

Tempered-Blade howls mockingly. ~Sure, but only if they're doing what is
right! Besides, isn't it better to take over someone's territory if they
can't handle it?~ She looks over the assembled Garou and then finally
turns her attention back to the talesinger. ~Might makes right, isn't that
our way? If I can take your territory, I don't have to justify it with
anything except my claws, and you should be glad that I took it before
something else did.~

Salem folds his arms across his chest, the points of stark white fangs
standing out sharply against his snarling black-furred muzzle. Unlike the
previous Moot, he seems to pay little attention to the Walker cub at his
side.

Cries-No-More barks, ~That is not respect, that's domination.~

Sepdet states wryly, ~Those whose /only/ strength is their claws will
quickly fall behind those who can also think.~

Three-Blades answers the Fool, tail lashing. ~Like the Dancers who tried
to take territory here? Look where that got them.~

~Fool!~ Sith Fhuil calls out. ~Brute force alone is the worst way to solve
disputes over territory--and the best way to be caught unaware in this
War!~

~Simple answers to simple problems, anyone can do that,~ the grey-furred,
black-faced Aussie Fianna rumbles, under his breath. ~Where are the shades
of grey...~ He stands with his arms folded.

Faces-Shadows just snorts. ~Intelligence and cunning will go at least as
far as dumb strength any day. There is a difference between /taking/
somthing and /holding/ it....~

Little Bear calls out the fourth, fifth and sixth, and again the Fool
calls and the crowd shouts her down. Accept an HOnorable Surrender.
Submission to Those Higher in STation. First of Kill for Greatest in
Station. He goes, reciting the ban against manflesh, then lifts his muzzle
to the sky. ~ These are the laws that Grandmother gave us! Listen, believe
and give voice! Respect for those beneath you, for all of Gaia! ~

Tempered-Blade puffs herself up and struts proudly. ~Of course, everyone
is of Gaia. But if they don't give me the respect that I deserve, fuck
'em.~ The new fostern buffs her claws on her chest fur and then looks down
at them smugly. ~I earned my rank. Why should I respect those who haven't
shed as much blood for Gaia as I have? They should be respecting me.~

Chaser growls despite her human form. "Fuck that noise. Leading is about
setting an example, and you can't fuckin' lead by fear and strength
alone."

Stands-his-Ground smiles toothily at that refute from the Get.

Cries-No-More glowers. ~That would soon lead to resentment and open
defiance in the Nation, until cubs openly waged war upon us.~

Rags snarls at the Fool with yellowed teeth. ~Someday they will have shed
as much as you, and where will you be when they look you in the eye?~

Little Bear straightens, sweeping the crowd with a baleful look. ~ These
are the laws that Grandmother gave us! Listen, believe and give voice! The
Veil Shall Not Be Lifted! ~

Rides-Fire growls. To every wolf there is their place in the pack. He
falls quiet again as the Caller goes on to the next law.

Tempered-Blade says, ~Unless, of course, they're someone you love. Even if
your lover's not kinfolk, you can tell them anyway.~ The Fool lifts her
shoulders in a shrug. ~It's not like that'll matter. They won't tell
anyone, and it will make your life so much easier.~~

Fights-For-Hope just snorts a laugh, incredulous that the fool would even
try that one.

Salem utters a short, cynical-sounding snarl. ~Until they leave you. And
take our secrets with them.~

Three-Blades rumbles, ~Whisper a secret to the wind, and it blows around
the world.~

Rags tosses a quick, angry response. ~Loose lips sink ships!~

Cries-No-More laughs out loud. ~Someone's always listening.~

Sith-Fhuil's lips curl into a smug snarl. ~You overestimate those who are
not aware. If humans were intended to know, the delirium would not exist.
Gaia knows the /foolishness/ that fear and lack of understanding can
cause.~

Fights-For-Hope adds to Sith-Fhuil's words, ~As do we.~

Little Bear's voice rings out again, and again. Suffer Not They People to
Tend Thy Sickness. Again the Fool mocks and the crowd shouts her down. The
Leader May Be Challenged Any Time During Peace. Again the Fool mocks and
the crowd shouts her down. The Leader May Not Be Challenged During War.
Again the Fool mocks and the crowd shouts her down. Finally, the last law
is snarled. ~ These are the laws that Grandmother gave us. Listen, believe
and give voice! Last but not least she said, Take No Action That Causes a
Caern to be Desecrated! ~

Tempered-Blade looks over the caern, and her voice is grim as she looks at
the evidence of destruction still to be found. ~But we are only mortal,~
she says softly. ~We make mistakes, lose our focus. Don't you know that
it's hard to be forever on your guard? Surely no one can blame you for
wanting a day off, for ducking out of that early morning patrol, or for
thinking that someone else will cover you. Surely they'll understand that
you never volunteered to die. Won't they?~

Fights-For-Hope roars up to the crinos form and bellows out in fearsome
tone, more deeply angered by this then all else said tonight, ~We were
born to die! Not to rest! Our caern is our heart and mother! We protect
her with our lives and blood's dedication! To waiver for one moment is to
/fail/!~

Three-Blades turns an ear to one side. ~Let us not make the same mistake
twice.~

Sepdet intones simply, ~The caern /is/ life.~

Stands-the-Charge winces at Sith-Fhuil's estimation on the reason for the
delirium, but simply remains standing with his arms folded, and blue eyes
focussed on either the caller or the fool. His expression sours
significantly at the more vehement response. ~Words are cheap,~ he
mutters, under his breath.

~If that is what you believe, you have forgotten who, and /what/ you are,~
The Fianna halfmoon spits, through teeth.

Dane says "And when others die because you could not be bothered, what
then?"

Nightfire lifts his chin in response to the Fool. ~We were created to
fight, to defend, and when necessary, to die. We exist to protect
something far greater than we. If that burden is too great, then leave. We
cannot suffer those who will not dedicate themselves completely.~

Bitter Cup's quiet voice states calmly, ~We all bear the weight of our
actions. It is not an issue of blame. We must do all we can, or die in the
trying.~ The alpha of the caern when it fell stands straight as she says
those words, looking directly at the Fool.

~Of those of us still living, many are guilty of breaking that law.
Breaking that law when we obeyed an order to retreat. I recall allowing
the Dancers in through my own running away with a dozen other cubs. Those
of us with furious rhetoric should place themselves in that night again,
picturing that swarming army of blackness before they call too loudly.~
The Aussie Fianna speaks out lowly, with arms still folded.

Little Bear finishes the calling by reiterating, ~ These are the Laws that
Grandmother gave us! Listen, believe, and give voice! ~ He sets up another
howl, long and low and full of conviction.

Tempered-Blade turns and bows to Little Bear, thanking him for playing
caller to her Fool. Then she turns to see what is next to be done.

Little Bear finishes the howl, and nods back, looking to Bitter Cup with
arms folded.

Three-Blades doesn't join in the finishing howl, but looks appreciative of
it. Her gaze goes around the caern's Shadow again. Just making sure.

As Bitter Cup begins preparing for the ritual, Nightfire and Rides-Fire
step back from the cluster at the center of the caern, taking up a
defensive position on the ritualist's west side. ~Form a circle,~ he
calls. ~Defend those inside. Most of us have defended Rites before. Give
them room. Look to the outside. Stand your ground!~

Quentin's head tips slightly towards Salem's larger war-shape, ears
flicking slightly as he looks questioningly back to him for a moment.

Chaser paces in Yi's direction, shifting up to the Crinos as she walks.

Little Bear takes position next to his packmates, arms outstretched and
claws flexing as she scans the umbra for signs of opposition to the rite.

Dane follows instructions and moves to the outside of the circle, where he
can watch into the shadows.

Salem rumbles an acknowledgement to the order. He unfolds his arms and,
before heading to a defensive position, glances down at Quentin and shakes
his head sharply. ~You're not ready.~ Coldly. ~Go back.~

Bitter Cup waits until some of the mutterings from the Calling die away
before walking with fluid grace into the very center of the caern.
Something about the Gaian's demeanor does not invite closeness, as she
wraps the dignity of her rank about her as she so rarely does. ~Garou of
the Hidden Walk,~ she calls to those that surround and defend. ~Tonight we
call for a totem that will bind to our sept. Tonight we howl and, if we
are strong enough, Gaia will answer. But we do not howl for a name.~ She
glances around the caern again. ~We are a sept of many tribes, of many
ideas and wishes. We could not call for a single name in unity, so instead
we will call for what virtues we wish, what needs this place has in the
eyes of our hearts.~ The Gaian kneels, digging up a handful of the earth
that has just the beginnings of life returning to it. ~I call on the word
Gaia!~ she states commandingly. ~That whatever spirit answers tonight will
be of her essense, to protect this place of power so dear to her!~

~Yes, Salem-rhya..~ No resentment or disagreement, merely acknowledgement
of the other Walker's appraisal as Quentin backs away.. shifting down to
the rather smaller form of lupus, barely a shadow of the war-form he was
in before.

Seeker moves toward the outer part of the umbral caern, patrolling the
perimeter. He steels himself in preparation of facing any possible enemies
that may arise.

Sepdet steps forward when Andrea has finished, letting that sink into the
soil before she picks up the call. Her high clear voice rings out like a
bell, as she raises her right hand to cup the sky. ~'The battle will not
be fought by tooth and claw alone, but in the hearts and minds of the
Garou.' I call upon Inspiration.~ A small flame sparks to life in her
palm, growing larger and brighter with every word. ~Spirits are the living
souls of dreams, aspirations, all that's best in the world! Fire our
hearts, stand before us as a guide that we may emulate your strengths and
be worthy of your mantle. You are our beacon.~

Wildfire moves out to keep by his packmates, his head held high and higher
still as the Alpha makes her intentions clear for the calling.

Salem then stalks over to join the other defenders, arms hanging loose and
claws twitching, ready.

Three-Blades stands to her paws when the ritual is announced. Her eyes go
a moment to the performers of the rite, then to the outer edges of the
Umbra that she can see.

Sith-Fhuil, poised on the outside of the circle with the others guarding,
keeps her eyes fastened on the darkness surrounding. Her ears are cocked
back to catch the voices of the elder Theurges.

Tempered-Blade takes her place with her pack, watching out into the umbral
landscape as her alpha calls for the Totem.

Overhead, clouds start to form in concentric circles around the caern. The
moon's light is not cut off from the caern's center yet, but arcs above to
cut bands of light and dark across the Umbrascape. There is a heightened
tension in the caern, the expectant moment before a storm.

Cries-No-More, senses trained outward, stands with Tempered Blade.

Three-Blades takes a glance upwards, eyeing the stormclouds.

Chaser strokes the claws of her left arm along her right, slowly, tracing
over the marks in the brindled fur.

Salem cocks his head, tilting his good eye skywards for a moment, then
returns to a more general scan of the Umbral environment.

Nightfire glances skyward, his hackles rising as the sky turns ugly.

Little Bear keeps an eye on the area immediately surrounding his position,
ignoring the light show above.

Wildfire silently starts to sharpen his claws on the edge of his axe.

Seeker looks up at the sky intently, narrowing his eyes at the gathering
cloud in search of any sign of the enemy.

Elan howls to the spirits that may listen. ~Hide, sneak, not see me! So
many eyes look this way; deflect them, let them see us not; make them see
other things instead, or nothing at all. Our trails, let thme end in
stones and scree. Our scents, let them be twisted by plant and stream and
dust into nothing. The evidence of our passing, let it be as shadows on a
stone. Our howls be as wind, our kills be as the normal passing of
seasons. Cloak us from the eyes of humans, defend us from those who would
mark our trails!~

Runs-at-Dawn calls out, ~I call upon Protection. This caern _fell_. Her
defenders were beaten and bloodied, many were killed. We lost what was
most important to us. We _allowed_ it to be taken from us.~ The Fostern
continues, with a low snarl, ~Never again!~ He takes a deep breath, ~A
spirit that will come to this place, that will call it home, that we would
serve, must protect this place from Gaia's enemies with all the strength
that it possesses, but it must do more than that. It must aid us in
protecting this place and each other, because only together can we be
strong enough to protect Gaia!~

Fights-For-Hope, already in the warform from calling down the fool's last
statement, steps out and dips his muzzle forward, placing hand to his
forehead. This done he calls out in the mother's tongue with a powerful
conviction and belief. ~Wisdom honor defines us, and glory is in our name.
Wisdom however, is often slighted and sorely needed. We can all bring our
claws to bear on an enemy, we can all take the dread and powerful crinos
form. But we must think our way through our problems. Can we all discover
real solutions that involves less of our kind having to die? Our caern
needs guidance in this. We call for wisdom for it is our greatest asset I
shall be calm. I shall be prudent. I shall be temperate. I shall be
merciful I shall be just. This is Wisdom's call. Enemies surround us, and
we must use more then claws and teeth. We must harness strategy, lore, and
vision. We must hold and protect what we have fought and bled for, and
wisdom shall be our shield and our guide.~ With this he steps back in
place and returns to his still massive homid form.

The Aussie Fianna Theurge takes his turn - he lifts his head high,
canine-like jaws hanging open wide, as he takes a deep breath for his
long, loud call. ~Spirits of the Wyld! The Sept of the Hidden Walk calls,
and it calls for /Strength!/ In these days, so close to the Final Days, we
witness the fall of Caerns around us. The failing of their warriors and
their totems. We suffered the fall of our own Caern, but have reclaimed it
to restore some measure of pride. We did not claim it with stealth, wit
and guile alone, but in the finish, in that final battle, with strength!
Strength of numbers! Strength of /will/! Strength of tooth and claw and
fighting prowess! The Strength of our /desire/ to set things right. Might
and power sealed our victory! We call upon you, sprits of Gaia--- we call
upon those with not only the strength to match ours... but the strength to
lead us, help us better ourselves.~ Lower, Stands-the-Charge rumbles,
~Lest that travesty occur again.~

Golden-Eyes sings out in a low howl to the skies above her in her cry to
the spirits. ~Healing.~ She places her palms up as she continues, ~It
mends, it corrects, it cures, and it renews. We have seen these results
with our own eyes; whether it was though yourselves personally, our pack,
our tribe, our sept and our very own caern. Healing is not just essential,
it is essential for life.~ She takes a deep breath of air, almost closing
her eyes. ~Our very existence is supported on healing and for many of we
would not be here tonight if it was not for these very asset . A seed that
is planted and nourished will remain healthy in good soil. May the spirit
who guides us have an understanding of healing.~

Light starts leaping across the clouds above, and strokes of darkness
start leaping between the clouds as they begin swirling, giving even more
of an impression of concentric circles the momentary bridges between them.
The tension in the caern becomes more of a gathering of power as small
motes of light, the tiniest of lunes, begin sparkling the Garou.

Bitter Cup's ears twitch, though she continues to hold her handful of
earth toward the darkening sky.

Peggy licks her lips, staring out at the assembled sept and the umbral
pollution. "I-" She coughs quietly, raising her thin voice to be heard. "I
don't know a lot about the way things work in this life yet, but I think
that there are some rules that stay the same no matter where you are, and
no matter what you do." She squares her shoulders, rising to a full five
feet tall, then suddenly bulges and explodes upward into Crinos. ~I wish
that we might be led by a spirit that exemplifies Temperance!~ she calls
out, her novice tongue slipping on some of the large words.

~Temperance,~ continues the newly-shifted Tumbleweed, ~is about restraint,
but that is not all it is about. It is the spirit of balance. Too hard a
sword will shatter; too soft a sword will not cut. Gaia has tempered her
blades well with the dual merits of spiritual acuity and righteous anger.
We, as, uh, as Garou live a life of balance: we are in between the human
and the wolf, in between the ephemeral and the tangible. Temperance is
clearly a virtue of Gaia, and we can best achieve it under the auspices of
a temperate guardian and leader.~ Her voice strengthens and solidifies, a
quivering cord drawn taut and still. ~Man the bellows with one hand and
the water with the other, great spirits; guide our steps along the
righteous path, for it is narrow and the way is ill-lit. Try us when we
are weak, and humble us when we are strong. We place our Rage and our
Gnosis under your command; protect us from those intemperate passions that
threaten to consume us, and that saturnine despair which threatens to
drown us. Light our path with your forbearance and moderation! Come,
Temperance!~

Tumbleweed takes a deep breath and steps aside, looking to Andrea and
Sepdet for a sign of their approval. Her form shrinks dramatically as it
reverts to homid.

Rides-Fire's ear twitches as he shifts uneasily with the growing tension.
Empty shadows gain close attention and are then dismissed for another, as
the Stargazer waits for the hammer to fall.

Bitter Cup ends with a simple, ~Gaia, we call!~ She then lifts her muzzle
into a wordless howl, which rises in full-bodied tones.

Three-Blades digs her blunt claws in, hackles half-lifting at all the
supplications, and looks around again, eyes and ears shifting between
ground and sky.

Sepdet closes her hand and throws her voice behind the alpha's with a high
keening howl, eyes fixed unflinchingly on both the light and darkness
boiling overhead.

There is a rumbling from the clouds overhead, and an answering rumble from
deep within the earth below the ritual. A moment later, there's another
answering cry, this one sounding more like a canyon in the throes of
agony, from the southeast.

Little Bear looks like he's thinking really hard, but keeping his eyes on
the surrounding area, claws at the ready should anything dare to disturb
this most sacred rite.

Jamethon joins quickly in the howl, calling out nothing but the passion
within all of Gaia's protectors.

Stands-Charge's voice adds to the howl, joining the chorus.

Cries-No-More trains his senses to the southeast, eyes narrowed and ears
swiveling in that direction.

Peggy remains silent, but the howl is in her eyes. She thrusts her face
toward the roiling sky, brushing her hair from her eyes with both hands.

Sith-Fhuil howls long and loud, forcing every bit of herself into the
empassioned call.

Nightfire doesn't join in the howl, his attention shifts constantly to the
sounds coming from overhead, then below, all around. His eyes dart from
one shadow to the next, his ears splay outward.

Isaac's howl joins the others, full and rich, and carrying only a sense of
longing and hope in its meaning.

Three-Blades howls aloud, voice dwindling into a deep growl. Her ears turn
towards the cry's direction, but she glances in other directions as well.
Just in case that was merely an echo from elsewhere.

Quentin, having placed himself well out of the circle and settled back
down to his haunches to watch from what he figures is a safe distance,
springs to all four paws at the sudden rumbling of the earth.. ears
flattening as he turns green-gold eyes southeastwards.

Gaia-Will-Judge absently crooks his claws as he sniffs, watches, and
listens to the noises and shadows.

Bitter Cup stays still, though her attention too swivels to the noises of
tortured earth.

Wildfire fnishes sharpening his claws upon his axe. He straightens up,
shouldering the hefty weapon, and fixes his gaze outward from where he
stands, resolute.

Golden-Eyes calls out to the heavens in a long, spirited howl. Her ears
slicked against her skull before she dips off her howl into a silent
linger.

Salem stands quiet, alert and -- unsurprisingly -- tense. His ears stand
upright; his fur bristles.

Runs-at-Dawn throws his head backward and adds his voice to the howl, the
sound echoing with his desire for each of the virtues that have been named
to be present in whatever spirit answers.

Sith-Fhuil is light on her feet as the ground begins to rumble, attempting
to ready herself for...whatever might be on its way.

The feeling of gathering power somehow shifts a little, becoming more
nervous, more like the feeling after someone runs their fingernails down a
chalkboard, less potential power and more a sense of growing unease.

Surrounded by masses of furred muscle, teeth and claws and the fiercest
warriors he's ever known... Stands-the-Charge smiles ferally as he waits.
What can you do?

Little Bear keeps an eye on the north and northwest, letting the others
keep watching in the obvious areas.

Rags tilts his head upwards, examining the skies above for surprises that
could drop in.

Fights-For-Hope seems to need no breath here in the umbral realms and just
throws more of himself into his massive lumbering almost roar of a howl,
defying any but the untainted to arrive at the Garou's call.

Seeker howls not in summoning but in pain as he crumples to his knees in
agony. The howl turns into a warning, ~BEWARE!~ That is the only word he
manages before he is knocked to the ground.

Cries-No-More's nose wrinkles. He quickly shouts to everyone gathered, ~I
smell something wrong. Sickness, the smell of sickness.~

Three-Blades bares her teeth in a silent snarl, not liking how she feels
at the moment, but steeling herself and waiting. Dentist's waiting room.
Caern totem spirit summoning. Nothing much different. And those suspicions
are confirmed when Seeker howls and the badness is confirmed. Bristling
fully now, she growls heavily.

~Here we go...~ the Aussie murmurs, gritting his teeth and crouching
slightly in readiness.

Peggy's eyes widen at the cry of warning, and her body contorts with the
change before she even realizes it, shifting into Crinos. She snarls
lowly, gaze darting left and right for danger.

Little Bear looks all around now, growling low in the back of his throat
in frustration. ~ Beware of WHAT? ~

Tempered-Blade waits. Watches. The small crinos keeps her eyes open and
ears alert as she tries to sort through the various sounds and cries
coming from around the caern.

Sith-Fhuil's ears flatten, and she bristles, hackles stiff. Eyes wide and
warning, the Fianna spins toward the fallen Seeker helplessly, then snaps
her jaws back out at empty blackness.

Nightfire glances over his shoulder, looking toward the center of the
caern and the ritualists there. Eyes wide, he snaps at the empty air,
muscles twitching beneath his white fur.

Golden-Eyes flattens her ears, her eyes widening as she looks over her
shoulder towards her tribemate. She balks and hackles prick against her
neck.

Salem keeps himself to a facade of calm by sheer force of will. Drawing
himself up to his full height, he draws his attention over the area. His
eye snaps, briefly, over toward Quentin, marking the cub's position.

Bitter Cup's head turns from side to side, and she suddenly staggers a
half-step. Her hand drops, spilling dirt to the ground.

Sepdet clenches her hands, but her whisper is calm. ~A chance to drive out
the last of the enemy's legacy, and show the new Totem how we mean to hold
this place. Hold steady.~ It's mostly meant to anchor her packmate, but
her voice does carry. Eyes half-close as she sniffs the spirit-winds and
umbral currents] for clues.

Three-Blades doubletakes and snarls as she sees a shimmer over the
waterfall. ~Waterfall,~ she reports aloud.

Tumbleweed's hands dig deeply into the earth, eyes locked on Bitter Cup.
The twitching of her muscles betrays the difficulty with which she is
remaining still.

The wind starts to blow harder and colder, chilling the air so that small
jets of steam are visible in front of the mouths of the Garou.

Little Bear looks towards the waterfall at Three-Blades' cryptic warning,
narrowing his eyes. He raises his snout to scent the chill umbral wind,
but his eyes light up.

Stands-Charge says, ~Yo Get-boy. What was that you were saying about being
ready to die? Thinking we all need to get ready.~ Stands-the-Charge seems
slightly calmer than most as he rambles away to himself - he's bristling
with tension, but he keeps his movements slow, as he scans the waterfall.
~Good thing I got a will.~~

Nightfire picks up on Sepdet's words, and calls out more loudly, ~This is
what we've sought -- to prove ourselves to the spirits that would come
here. To demonstrate our worth, our willingness to fight -- to die, if
needed -- to defend a place that has already fallen too many times. Hold
fast, and know that no matter what comes, what horror strikes at us, we
stand united, and we will prevail, as we did against the Betrayers!
Strength, Wisdom, and Courage!~

Cries-No-More crouches and squints as the wind picks up, but he tries to
discern what was seen by the falls.

Quentin's hackles rise as he slinks further back, crouching just a bit in
a defensive posture where he is.. though he doesn't leave his current
position, remaining where he was left.

Sith-Fhuil also looks to the waterfall, breath tumbling visibly from her
nose as she snorts in defiance.

Fights-For-Hope cuts off his howl and growls at that which defies the
Caern, turning as well towards the waterfall, not breaking from the ritual
circle however.

The ground of the caern suddenly turns into a marsh, causing Garou to lose
their footing momentarily and making movement more difficult. -I can
fulfil all of your requests but one,- comes a light vibrato drone from
noplace in particular.

Wildfire keeps his stoic stance, Heimdall upon the Bifrost. He keeps his
sentry without motion nor noise, until the ground turns into soup beneath
him. As a voice manifests itself, he looks for the source.

Cries-No-More shifts downard to Hispo, for better chances in navigating
amongst the newly-appeared muck underfoot. He tries to freeze, tries to
scan for some sign of the speaker.

Three-Blades starts in surprise, before making a short leap up to little
avail. The ragabash growls still, looking for the voice and partly
watching that waterfall still. A good thing she'd chosen a form with four
legs.

*Yo, stinky. That one's kind of the most important... you got a sister?*
Stand-the-Charge mutters, looking around warily. *Making me wish I'd said
'untainted' a few times for the hell of it.*

~Wyrm!~ Bitter Cup warns as she staggers, though she raises a finger to
point at an empty spot between the windy spot and the waterfall. Her voice
rips with command. *Appear!*

Salem turns a glance downward, a curt, startled growl as the firm ground
turns treacherous; he stumbles, then drops to a lower stance, remaining in
the war form as he crouches down.

Little Bear moves his back legs up and down, trying to keep from being
sucked into the muck. He snarls, tensing and ready to pounce.

Rides-Fire staggers once, then shakes himself as he steps up atop the
sinking surface of mud as if it were solid ground.

Runs-at-Dawn drops to four legs, though he holds to crinos, hackles
raised. All but one isn't good enough, not for something like this, though
he leaves that for the Alpha to actually say.

Rags drops to his knees, and braces himself up with an arm as he looks
around with anxious concern, most of his attention on the waterfall.

Tumbleweed lurches to her feet as the ground cheats her, only to sink up
to her knees in the mire. She scrambles to find purchase, winding up on
all fours again. ~Come out!~ she snarls, unthinkingly.

Fights-For-Hope is as a golem in his stiffness of posture, his hackles
raised to an impressive height and fur standing fully on end.

Tempered-Blade snarls a challenge to the spirit as she shifts into the
form of the dire wolf.

Nightfire turns, trying to locate the source of the voice. His feet sink
into the ground and he snarls, trying desperately to get firmer footing.
~Luna grant me strength. Luna grant me protection. Luna grant me the sight
to find my enemy.~

Cries-No-More suddenly stands /atop/ the muddy water of this new marsh. He
looks about ready to charge in the direction of whatever it is Andrea has
pointed at. But he holds for a brief second, waiting for more indication
of this threat's exact location.

A growl of surprise leaps from the Fianna halfmoon's jaws as she finds
herself mired, but she's quick to regain balance, fixing a hard stare on
the spot Bitter-Cup indicates.

A slightly startled yelp as the ground begins to soften in a spill of mud
under Quentin's paws, scrambling a bit to find firmer ground.. grateful,
at least, for four legs to spread his weight less centrally. A cautious
gaze aimed in the direction that everyone is pointing at, edging a bit
further back as best he can.

Faces-Shadows unsurprisingly takes to the air with a loud *schlurp* as the
marshy ground finally releases his feet. He frowns a touch, looking in the
direction his packmate indicated, but not totally ignoring the rest of th
area, either.

Sepdet shudders at unstable footing, one of a Strider's least favorite
hazards, and casts around for any rocks or solid earth that may be
unaffected by the change.

Three-Blades eyes the higher ground area portrayed in the Shadow, thinking
she'd very much like to be atop a rock slab. She acts upon that thought,
squelching along.

Isaac shifts uneasily, one paw raised from the muck beneath.

Golden-Eyes growls under her breath. ~This. Is. Not. Pleasent at all.~ She
picks up her paws to say on top of the marchy land.

At the command from the Alpha, there's a screech, then a towering form of
green flame appears. *Ask more nicely, bitch,* the thing says, then
launches a dark bolt at the Gaian, but it's absorbed into the darkness
surrounding her.

Nightfire starts in the direction of the green flame, though his progress
is slowed by the swampy ground. ~Behind me!~ he calls to anyone who will
listen, and tries to make himself a shield.

Rides-Fire, moving easily over the land that most others can not, charges
the creature on Nightflash's right side. Unintentionally, he outpaces the
Gaian slightly; intentionally, he slashes and bites at the creature with
an almost unearthly blur of natural weapons. Wildfire steps in line at
Nightfire's command. He doesn't charge in like the rest, instead snarling
a viscious curse at the Green Thing. Nightfire, rage-fueled, closes the
distance to the green-flaming thing and tears into it with claws. No
teeth. He's raging, but he's no fool.

Salmon's Leap suddenly mentally gathers together. The Wisdom of the
packtotem becomes the gift of moving in more liquid bits of ground.
Three-Blades and Little Bear call upon the gift simultaneously, to gain
better 'footing'. The Wendigo slogs out of the muck, and the Gnawer hispo
wheels from her search for firmer ground to face the green flame spirit.
Sepdet snarls and lunges too late in front of the alpha. A curt yip for a
query is all she can spare before she starts to move forward behind the
front line and her packmates. Isaac looks around, expecting an order to
charge. Rags continues to stand where he is. Tumbleweed wheels backward,
scrambling to find solid ground from which to defend herself.

Ouroboros, plus Fights-For-Hope, whirl into action. Bitter Cup swivels
around from where she rolled with the force of the blow, raising a
challenging stare straight at the column of green flame. Again, the Garou
of the Walk hear her voice as Mother's Tongue, though the spirit can
certainly understand her. *I don't speak nicely to the Wyrm's children,
nexus crawler! Leave this place!* Cries-No-More screams in a furious
war-scream and plunges forward at the Bane, lashing out with his claws. A
loud warcry calling Fenris' name bellows from Fights-For-Hope and his
fetish collar glows a bright red that dulls only slighty after that intial
burst of light. This done he waits for the rest of his would-be pack to
act, working in concert with the rest. Tempered-Blade attacks with her
pack, following after the ahroun to rake her claws against the foe. The
Uktena elder blinks a couple of times at the alpha's words, then flies
around the flames, looking for a better angle of attack on the creature.
Shadow Eyes follows at Cires-No-More's side, seeking to rend the creature
with his claws in sync with the elder Wendigo.

The Get Ragabash, Walker Philodox and the four Fianna--three Theurges, and
the halfmoon--charge after toward the sickly flame near the waterfall,
quick as paws will carry them through the muck. Sith-Fhuil leaps through
the marshy earth as best she can, trying to cover as much ground as
possible. Closing in, she looks for the most advantageous angle, guaging
weak spots. Golden-Eyes swings her form towards a group of Garou, finding
herself to be nearby a number of her tribemates and her packie,
Stands-Charge. The pair of the trio seem to hold their ground as they
watch for the nexus crawler. Stands-Charge lightly grunts and Golden-Eyes
growls on her breath, giving an unapproving look to the crawler.
Runs-at-Dawn heads up the rear of the group, breaking formation as they
close in, to strike, when possible.

As Reforged and Ouroboros reach the flames and start to slash at it, their
claws pass through the image futilely, and there's another vibrato chuckle
on the cold air. -Not as easy as it looks, is it?- comes the reply that
all the Garou understand, though some in English and others in the Mother
Tongue. There is a swirl in the air, and a nearly-invisible black shimmer
appears between Rides-Fire and Nightfire as the sickeningly sweet smell of
illness grows almost overpowering in the split instant before the entire
caern is filled with yellow gas.

Chaser, just looking over her shoulder to signal something to Salem, sees
the sudden burst of yellow--and abruptly clamps her snarling jaws shut.
She puts her head down and makes for the closest dead trees, and the edge
of the gas cloud--as fast as she can manage. Salem's just a bit slower to
react than the Get Ragabash, and it's the first floor of the damned Walker
safehouse all over again; he gags on the gas and stumbles backwards,
uttering a choked snarl.

~Here,~ roars Nightfire, his glowing form turning to face the ribbon of
darkness that hovers between him and Rides-Fire. Again, his claws slash at
the spirit, trying to find some purchase, to rend its ephemeral body.
Wildfire seethes through the fumes, following whatever trace the spirit is
leaving behind as it moves. He continues with his throaty snarl.
Rides-Fire snarls, a choking sound as he inhales the poison, as his claws
pass harmlessly through. He turns toward the sound of the voice and the
darkness, trying again to slash and tear.

Bitter Cup leans her head back to the sky, arms spread as is inviting
herself as a target. Her breath comes out somewhat ragged from the poison,
but she still stands firm as she calls to the moonlit sky, ~Gaia, answer
us!~ The rest of her pack springs forward: The adren Uktena's eyes narrow
for a moment, then he looks towards the faint shimmer, getting his
bearings on it before attacking. Cries-No-More, sensing that his Uktena
packmate somehow knows the true location of this thing, lashes out where
Patrick has attacked, claws blurring with two quick slashes even as he
tries to hold his breath against the deadly yellow gas. Tempered-Blade and
Shadow-Eyes do the same, following the pack's war-leader in deadly attacks
of their own. Fights For Hope hacks out weakly with the poison's passing,
glad for at least the gift to dull pain. He looks to the sky and joins in
Bitter Cup's call, ~All that heard us was not this foul affront to your
beauty Gaia! Another must come! Please, answer!~

Little Bear coughs and gags, also remembering the Safehouse, and does what
he did then: makes for higher ground. He runs for the base of the cliff
and starts climbing, trying to get above the foul mist. Three-Blades gags,
head momentarily swimming with the sudden influx of poison gas in her
lungs. She backs off, staying low where there might be a bit of air. ~Come
on, where are those bloody Wyld spirits?!~ Sepdet instinctively snaps her
hands outward, summoning as much clean air as she can to surround those in
front of her. Isaac tries to get close to Sepdet, not sure what to attack.
His ears twitch and his tail stays low and close to his body, a sign of
his unhappy confusion. Choking on the toxin, Rags struggles to keep his
footing on the unstable ground, as he snarls at the bane's taunts.
Tumbleweed throws her hands to her face, howling in pain. She rubs wildly
at her eyes and nose with the back of her forepaws, trying to regain the
use of her assailed senses.

Sith-Fhuil wheezes violently as the gas permeates her nostrils, and she
bends over a moment to clear her eyes and nose. When she can, she forges
on through the yellow fog. Runs-at-Dawn attempts to evade the poison, but
it forces its way into his lungs. The Theurge presses in again.
Golden-Eyes and Stands-Charge take up position right behind and off to the
side the two other Fianna. Golden-Eyes narrows her gaze as the sickly gas
envelops the caern. She slides closer to Stands-Charge as they come closer
to the enemy.

There is a whirl of action around Reforged's position as Nightfire and
Rides-Fire claw into the shimmer, heedless of the gas's effects, and much
of Ouroboros also attacks at the spirit, clawing wildly. There is another
vibrato screech, and the yellow turns into a shimmering silver-white just
before it is blown away by a particularly strong gust of froxen wind, and
a large, blue hairy humanoid is standing on the northern cliff,
overlooking the caern.

Nightfire's skin cracks open and begins to bleed, but he ignores the
relatively minor wounds done to him by the silver dust. ~You are not
welcome here!~ he snarls at the floating black shimmer, and again he
swipes at it with his claws. No longer is he moving with the speed of
rage, but he doesn't cease his attack. Wildfire can't stand it anymore.
Torn apart as he is and yet he's done NOT A THING appreciable. He charges
in beside his packmates, rage sloughing off of him like skin from a leper.
Rides-Fire takes a dose of silver to the face, and weeping burns being to
inflame the linings around his gums and eyes. He simply sounds agreement
with Nightfire, continuing to attack the spirit that warps reality around
the Garou.

Gaia-Will-Judge watches around Ouro for anything that might try to take
advantage of their current state of occupation to slip past them.

Chaser's eyes narrow in satisfaction as the mist clears, and she voices a
soft growl of thanks to the spirit that has answered. With a speed fueled
by rage and need both, she launches herself to aid Patrick and his
packmates, attempting to flank the distorted creature opposite the
Uktena's attacks. The mark on her right arm glows a dull, wintry blue as
she claws not at the visible, but the unseen. Salem coughs once more as
the gas clears from his abused lungs, then straightens up as he wipes the
foam from his muzzle. His eye goes up toward the blue giant at the north;
the Shadow Lord turned Glass Walker regards the spirit for a moment, then
turns away with a snarl to move back in toward the fight, looking for an
opening.

Little Bear gets to the top of the cliff, looking down uneasily. He
instead uses the height advantage to look at the battle from above, and
notices Ouroborous attacking something that's not the big honking flame.
He glances up, then to the southeast, getting a full lay of the land. Upon
sighting mighty Wendigo striding over the hills he lifts his voice in a
crazy, triumphant howl before picking up a huge rock over his head and
launching it at the target Cries-No-More and pack attacks. Three-Blades
glances around, finding her Wendigo packmate having gone from her side.
Once the air clears, the Gnawer growls haltingly and moves to help the
others in smacking this not-quite-wanted guest down. Sepdet musters will
not to gag as the noxious gas changes from choking to burning, eyes
squeezing shut for a moment. Rallying at the first kiss of wind, she tells
Isaac urgently, ~Circle the caern! Howl if there's any other enemies!~
before sizing up the situation and falling back on her favorite trick.
Waiting for several of the Garou lunging into the Crawler to strike at
once, she snaps out a forceful, *Begone, child of Apophis!* Isaac looks to
Sepdet for confirmation and then charges toward the strangeness that
Ouroboros fights, looking for an opening to attack. The attack is aborted
though, as he moves to follow up on the Strider elder's commands. Breath
wheezing and eyes tearing, Rags stumbles in the gas, and inhales with
relief the chill air of the rejuvenating fresh wind. Tumbleweed hacks the
remainder of the filth from her lungs, badly weakened but refreshed by the
chill breeze. Frost clings to her fur as she stands as tall as her
injuries allow, preparing to flee at the next sign of gas.

Sith-Fhuil and Runs-at-Dawn pause only long enough to clear their lungs
completely, and charge in, full-tilt, to find an opening and attack.
Golden-Eyes and Stands-Charge hang behind them only slightly, prepared to
engage anything that comes their way. The four Fianna send up a ghostly
howl, in unison.

Fights-For-Hope seems to feel less pain, and more aggrivation as the
silver dust swirls about burning him, but none the less he looks more
ragged and worn afterwards. He doesn't however pause in running in to join
the rest of Ouroboros, double swiping massive claws at the place where the
Crawler is being assualted. Bitter Cup stands like she is, spread arms to
the sky, until she sees Wendigo's appearance. Then, with a snarl of her
own, the alpha leaps toward the throng of Garou attacking and attempts to
join her pack. Faces-Shadows slashes at the thing a couple of times from
above, using the speed born of rage and frustration. Touch Deer blurs into
the Nexus Demon like he was its equal in power, claws flurrying blows
through the air with a speed and strength that only great amounts of rage
could bring forth. Susan likewise throws her claws driven by rage, though
not as much so, into the Crawler.

Peacekeeper joins the fray as the Garou literally dogpile the
nearly-invisible spirit, and claws go flying into the thing, finding
purchase in hard-to-see spots on the creature. There's a whistling sound
below as the boulder thrown by Little Bear comes flying in, and
Tempered-Blade and Sith-Fhuil barely manage to react in time to get out of
its path, though it's difficult to tell how much damage it does. From
behind the spirit, the silver dust swirls, bits and pieces of it
coalescing into hundreds of tiny mirrors that launch themselves at the
nexus crawler, rflecting the faint shimmer and making it more visible as
well as perhaps cutting into it. There is a flicher in the air as the
screeching voice says, -Not this time. Perhaps later. My offer stays
open.- The air screams as a void open up behind the black shimmer, and the
spirit steps back into it and disappears, the hole in reality itself
sealing up immediately behind it. This watching closely might see it
flicker for the briefest of moments into a hideous form of mouths and
tentacles as it crosses the threshold.

Bitter Cup takes a few steps back, allowing the thick knot of Garou to get
space from each other. She searches for the seeming of the Wendigo spirit
as she moves back. Rides-Fire doesn't move so far as he stands and pants.
Bloody froth spills from his nose and mouth where the silver dug in.

Gaia-Will-Judge relaxes slightly and moves to where he can fill in with
his claws for anyone who needs to be healed.

Little Bear grins like a lunatic at the top of the cliff, raising a howl
of victory as the nexus crawler retreats. He resists the urge to chuck
another rock.

Nightfire slices at the air a final time, his growl following the nexus
crawler as it retreats. ~Your offer is refused.~ Gasping for breath, his
fur stained red from a hundred minor bleeding wounds, the ahroun looks
around the caern, and finally seems to notice something. Looking into the
space beyond where the Wyrm spirit stood, he bows his head. ~You have
come.~

Three-Blades eventually extricates herself from the fray, in time to see
the spirit disappear. The Gnawer bares her teeth and coughs again, lungs
smarting all over the inside. She moves off, growling to herself. ~Poison
gas. It -always- has to be poison gas. Next time, I'll fart in its face.~
She shakes herself just to be sure the remnants of silver dust is not
going to come at her, and looks at the others.

Fights-For-Hope snaps his teeth out at the spirit as it does the usual
wyrm tactic... acting like a coward. Stepping away he is finally able to
be viewed, covered in vicious cuts and gashes where silver ripped him
open. He turns to view Wendigo with an apprehencive stare.

Still fresh, if slightly winded, Chaser stumbles back from the slamming
closed of the gate. She turns first to look to Andrea... and then she
looks to the north. The green eyes return to her former packmate, and she
watches the Gaian, breathing hard. ~Lead,~ she growls, softly. ~And we'll
stand with you. Show us what to do.~

Tumbleweed teeters in place for a second, then crumples into a heap of
frozen fur and blistered, malodorous hide. From beneath the heap comes her
contralto wolfish whine.

Sepdet raises her singed hand towards the spirit and slices it with an
opposite claw, a mute token of blood.

Salem gives himself a sharp shake. He gives the spirit another look, then
turns his attention to Andrea. The Glass Walker holds himself very still,
apart from the occasional lingering cough, and his expression is terribly
bland.

Isaac returns from his scouting run, making straight for Sepdet's side.
It's over? All gone? There wasn't anything else bad. He coughs, wincing,
noticing the pain now that the danger has passed. Then he notes the
direction of the others' attntion and stops, quiet, watching and waiting.

Wildfire spits at where the Evil disappeared, the spins his axe a couple
of times in practiced ease until it rests on his cut and bleeding shoulder
once more. ~Fucking cunt-lipped ass-flap,~ he snears. He eventually turns
to look at what everyone else is.

The swirling silver shards coalesce again into hundreds of tiny mirrors as
the clouds once again resolve into dark and light bands, with none of the
bridges between bands. *I have come,* it answers the fostern Gaian ahroun
simply. From above the blue humanoid steps off the cliff, buoyed by the
wind whipping around it.

Gaia-Will-Judge turns his head toward the sound of the wind, notices that
the incoming spirit seems to have plenty of attention, and turns his
attention back to watching for other, less welcome, visitors.

Sith-Fhuil holds her ground when the spirit vanishes violently, spinning,
then to find Bitter-Cup. Her skin and lungs still sting, and her breaths
are raspy. Runs-at-Dawn kneels to the ground when the gate closes, bracing
himself for any further trouble. He remains by the waterfall a long moment
to ensure the thing is _completely_ gone.

Still coughing, Rags looks about suspiciously for more spirits sneaking
up, and looks inquisitiviely at the dancing shards.

Little Bear makes his way down the cliff, moving to stand with his
packmates, giving each of them a quick visual once-over, furry brow
wrinkling in momentary concern. Its enough to sober him for Wendigo's
arrival, and he folds his arms, face once again stoic, though there is a
fierce, cold light in his eyes.

Three-Blades coughs again, a sour taste in her mouth. The Gnawer looks up
at the humanoid spirit coming, then around just in case that Crawler
wasn't finished with them yet. Little Bear gets a 'I'm ok' flick of her
ears.

Golden-Eyes gives her coat a shake and gives the Wendigo glance.
Stands-Charge folds his arms against his chest and lightly weezes, ~Well,
that was fun.~ Golden-Eyes rumbles softly and raises her head to the
arrival of the spirit.

Nightfire looks down at Rides-Fire in Hispo. "Is the Enemy gone entirely
from this place?~

Rides-Fire sneezes out blood, then attempts to sense what his packmate
asks.

Sith-Fhuil's ears press forward toward the voice of the spirit that she
cannot yet understand. She watches in silence, the display of mirrors
striking a strange chord in the Fianna.

Quentin just remains sort of.. hunkered down off to the back and the side
where he was before, paws muddied and breathing painfully hoarse from the
gases and silver-dust that whirled in the air. He stayed, though, right
where he said he would. Now he just watches, green-gold eyes wide as the
blue humanoid makes its way down towards them.

Salem gives himself another shake, then heads over toward Quentin,
shifting down to human form as he does so. His expression remains tight.

Bitter Cup spends long moments looking between the two spirits. Only the
slightest traces of blood mar her coat under the mantle of her own totem's
protection. Though those that look closely can see weariness in her
stance, her voice remains strong. ~Two faces of the Wyld have answered,~
she says, nodding at first the mirrors, then the Wendigo. ~Do you mean to
complement each other? To give this place strength and protection by
force?~ and she gestures toward the blue humanoid. ~As well as wisdom and
protection by illusion?~ And now she gestures toward the mirrors.

The blue furred humanoid rides the winds down to the floor of the caern,
where the extra water in the land is slowly draining. *You have called. As
promised, I have come.* Peacekeeper tilts his head and raises an eyebrow,
giving the moment to the ranking theurge, first. The swirl of mirrors
reflects light at odd angles as it regards Nightfire for a long moment,
then floats over closer to the theurge. *Though three held here once,
three cannot do so again. There has been the time of the three, and the
one. Now comes the time of two, and one is already chosen.*

Nightfire walks over toward the floating mirrors and turns to face the
Sept, making his own preference clear.

Little Bear looks from Wendigo to the mirrored...thing, arching an
eyebrow. He says nothing, just watches.

Wildfire points towards the swirling mass of mirrors and asks of
Bitter-Cup, ~What the fuck is that?~

Sepdet lets out a held breath. ~A good balance,~ she murmurs. ~Wisdom and
strength.~

Bitter Cup's attention briefly goes to Wildfire, then back to the mirrors.
~You speak of the Wyld itself, child of Chimera? That is what is already
chosen?~

Fights-For-Hope as well steps over to join those by the mirrors, he
however seems to be more studying them with a vivid fascination.

Three-Blades looks between the two, not daring to sit down in the low
water. Rather undecided, the ragabash doesn't move at all, save to look
around again.

Gaia-Will-Judge continues watching for unwanted visitors.

Rides-Fire finally confirms to Nightflash. ~The taint of the Wyrm is gone.~

Quentin pads over towards Salem as his tribe-mate approaches, coughing a
bit in obvious discomfort before raising his head with both ears flattened
back and chuffs hesitantly. ~ Did we win, Salem-rhya? ~

Isaac leans up against the Strider, licking at her fingers.

Golden-Eyes and Stands-Charge stand next to eachother, looking towards the
Wendigo and Chimera. As Golden-Eyes shows an expression of curiousity,
Stands-Charge shows one of amusement. The pair of Fianna seem to be
silently observing, however.

Nightfire chuffs in thanks to his packmate.

Wildfire regards both spirits for a moment, his near-permanent scowl
deepening. ~Nightflash has my voice in this matter.~ He turns away from
both spirits and takes several paces to the outskirts of this
conglomeration of Garou, posting guard.

*One is already chosen,* the mirrored-spirit repeats. *And that choice is
its own, as none can force it without changing its nature.* The
Wendigo-spirit glowers at the mirrors for a long moment, then looks back
to the theurge, then to Little Bear. *The call was placed. As was
promised, I have come. Are you now ready to accept me?*

Little Bear stands his ground, eyeing the people choosing up sides then
looking to Andrea, patiently.

Fights-For-Hope walks back to Andrea, his would be pack alpha, and offers.
~He has done us service many times and this is his land. If tempered by
another, it would be wise to welcome Wendigo.~

Salem nods distractedly to the Walker cub; most his attention is on the
other Garou, and the spirits.

Three-Blades sweeps both ears back more out of indecision of what to make
of the spirits.

Layne eases into human form, a grimace painting her features, pain coming
with the shift. She regards the Chimera spirit with a strange and silent
reverence, glancing between it, and Bitter-Cup.

Tumbleweed rises painfully, lifting her eyes toward the crisp breeze.
Though its fur is burnt off in patches and its skin is jaundiced and
seeping, her tail wags violently as she beholds the pair of Wyld avatars.

Sepdet looks up at the dour spirit with another faint smile, the same
reserved for Little Bear when he is being... himself. ~The Striders will
stand by Wendigo, whose home this was before. But can you accept /them/,
whose home it is too?~ she asks, eyes dancing across the varied faces and
forms of the sept.

Salem, at Sepdet's remark, turns his eye consideringly toward the Wendigo
spirit, his back straight, his head held high.

The Wendigo spirit shakes its head as it looks over the caern, then
beyond, towards the city. *I have my answer. You do not follow the
bitterest wind in your hearts; too many of you are still soft inside. You
have not had the sorrows of the Wendigo to teach you of how war must be.*
It looks back to the sept alpha, then to the athro ahroun serving as
Warder. *When you are ready, then call again. The wind will blow, and
Wendigo can teach you the realities of the War.*

Isaac licks his nose as he looks from Sepdet to the spirit and back,
leaning against her more forcefully.

Chaser paces toward the winter-creature, expressionless. ~Get, and
Wyrmcomer,~ she growls softly, ~I give you heart's blood, Wendigo.~
Stepping up beside Sepdet, she draws claws across her wrist, and lets the
bright red fall and freeze at its feet. ~And my gratitude, for your aid.~

Gaia-Will-Judge glances to either side to see who's flanking him, then
returns his attention to the shadows outside the circle.

Three-Blades growls, but keeps her thoughts to herself. Her ears lay flat
against her head.

*Not all sorrows turn the receipent bitter, Younger Brother,* Bitter Cup
says, though with respect, to the Wendigo spirit. *But you go with all our
thanks and respect, until the day of that call.* Turning then to the
mirrors, she bows her head more deeply, and says, *Welcome, Chimera, to
your caern.*

Nightfire rises, howling a welcome to the Lady of Mirrors.

Layne whoops loudly in her two legged form, but then sinks to four paws,
welcoming Chimera in a more appropriate fashion. Her howl is strong and
resonant. Welcome!

The blue furred humanoid wendigo accepts the sacrifice from the Get with a
nod. ~You show promise, for a Wyrmcomer. Gratitude is accepted. Come to me
when you are ready, and I can show you much, Get.~ The winds buoy the
spirit back up to the edge of the cliff, where it looks down and catches
Little Bear's gaze, then Cries-No-More. ~Show them, my children,~ it says,
the vanishes into a freezing gust of wind.

Rides-Fire, still bloodied and seemingly in mild shock, answers
immediately, welcoming his tribal totem to his home.

Gaia-Will-Judge turns to glance behind him at the howls, cocks an ear
curiously at the swirling mirrors, then returns to his watch.

Little Bear looks from Wendigo, watching as he leaves, to the mirrored
chimera, then nods to the spirit briefly. He moves to the pool by the
waterfall, staring into it.

Salem inhales a deep breath as the ice spirit departs, but if he feels any
particular relief or triumph or anything, he's too stubborn to show it. He
simply steps forward to bow his head toward the Chimera, gesturing toward
Quentin to do the same.

Three-Blades coughs one more time, and then looks after Little Bear. The
Gnawer's ears stay back, but she howls long and loud for the new caern
totem spirit - a spirit that hits close to home, in some ways.

Sepdet exhales and looks up at Wendigo, following it until the last glint
of ice is gone. ~I will keep my oath,~ she whispers under her breath,
giving Chaser a measuring glance before turning to face the bright
mirrors. She bows her head, then tells Isaac softly, ~We have Chimera as a
Totem. Dylan followed her.~

Tumbleweed bows awkwardly before the mirror-god, shrinking back into a
stocky teenaged girl in the process. A small smile plays across her burnt
and scabbed lips.

Peacekeeper nods reverently to the swirling mirrors. ~As the current
Warder of the Hidden Walk, I welcome you to the caern, Lady of Mirrors. We
are honored by your presence.~

Fights-For-Hope, standing beneath the mirror spirit bows his head in
respect but can't seem to look away from his fascination with Chimera.

Chaser presses the heel of a clawed paw into the wound on her forearm. It
is the only mark of blood on her.

Wildfire keeps his vigil in silence.

Isaac starts, eyes suddenly bright and eager. He looks at the mirrors,
then turns to look in other directions before his ears pullforward, brow
furrowed. Burns Brightly doesn't come too?

Gaia-Will-Judge twitches an ear at the name of the spirit, but keeps watch
on the outer fringes.

At the cue from Salem, Quentin takes a step forwards beside the older
Glass Walker to bow his head towards the swirling mass of shining
mirrors.. a hint of confusion lingering in his body language, but he asks
not.

Sepdet shakes her head at Isaac.

Fights-For-Hope stands now, and shaking his ruff free of blood turns
towards Andrea. ~We are honoring the spirits that are now at home as
totems here. Chimera is but one. We also welcome and honor the Wyld.~

Isaac reaches up to lick Sepdet's chin. Oh. Should we go tell the shining
spirit thank you?

Peggy gravitates toward Andrea, but her eyes never leave the shimmering
labyrinth of light, enthralled by its depth.

Bitter Cup bows her head at the reminder, looking toward the center of the
caern. ~We honor the Wyld,~ she agrees. ~We honor all of this place.~ With
that, the theurge actually lets go with one last, relieved howl, tilting
her head back as she calls to the sky.

Sepdet smiles down at the Fang. ~Go welcome her, Open-heart.~ She stays
where she is, seeking out Three-blade's gaze and lifting her eyebrows. The
unspoken concern is clear.

Three-Blades waits until the howls die off, and rumbles to the totem and
herself, ~Respected Teacher... your tribe and totem is honored in the
lands of the Sunset People.~

Isaac steps slowly toward the spirit, waiting until others are finished.
He lowers himself before her and looks up into the briliance. Welcome to
our Caern. My friend, Burns Brightly, followed you, before, and Hope-Star
says you're good to help us guard this place. Thank you for coming to us.

Fights-For-Hope steps when the time comes and calls out once more like
before. ~I have challenge Owen, Wildfire. Alpha of the Get of Fenris for
the rank of Fostern. Tonight I would hear his terms for this challenge.~

Salem puts his hand over his mouth, muffling another cough, grimacing at
the pain of scorched lungs.

Quentin shifts himself up into his birth form, stumbling slightly for a
moment as he gets used to two legs again.. and coughs himself, spitting
out red-tinged saliva before looking up with a wan smile towards Salem.
"You alright, Salem-rhya?" His voice quiet, a touch hoarse.

Wildfire turns first an ear, then the rest of his bloodied torso. ~Call to
Fenris so that he may bear witness to this challnge. You are to go forth
and bring me the head of one of the Defilers. You may call on the aide of
no one of greater rank than you. Fenris shall decide himself if you shall
pass by your actions.~

~You are welcome, innocence,~ the spirit replies to Isaac. *I thank you
all for your welcoming. I will uphold your virtues, and lend my strength
to this caern as its totem and mediator.* With that, the mirrors melt into
the ground of the Umbral caern and the spirit fades.

Salem muffles another cough and answers the cub with a wordless nod.

Three-Blades tilts both ears at the challenge terms, and glances at
Jamethon for a reaction of sorts.

Sepdet exhales. ~Do you hear that, septmates?~ she asks, sounding very
young for a moment. ~We just came back from the /dead/. We have a caern
and Totems again. Those who died did not die in vain.~

Isaac bounds back to the Strider, pouncing!

Gaia-Will-Judge turns and looks, wagging his tail quietly.

Fights-For-Hope stands in scrutiny a moment and nods to this. ~I will call
on another to bring forth Fenris before I venture to claim one of the
Defiler's heads.~

Layne grins brightly at Sepdet, cheerful as a newborn pup...with charred
lungs. "Wyld /and/ Chimera!" The Fianna halfmoon spins in place, arms
stretched out, head tossed back and mouth agape.

Wildfire shakes his head. ~You are a Get, boy. You will do it yourself or
you will fail. This is your challenge.~

Quentin raises one hand, fingers raking back through the shadows of his
hair as he looks about.. trembling just a touch in the aftermath of
adrenaline just watching the fight, not to mention the pain of the
environmental effects, brought on. "I'll ask who Chimera is later," he
mutters to Salem, before falling silent and watching the recovering
gathering of Garou with wide eyes.

Fights-For-Hope narrows his eyes at Wildfire and snorts, ~Don't you doubt
that for a second. Fine. I will summon Fenris and I will claim for him a
Defiler's head.~

Wildfire nods crisply. ~You have until All Hallow's Eve.~ He then returns
to his vigil.

Three-Blades glances between the two Get, and simply dips her muzzle in
witness.

Fights-For-Hope grunts and takes on the lupine form, stepping away from
the mound towards Ouroboros.

[The rest of the Moot is handwaved.]