~I am so. Very. Fucking. Glad.~

[hazlogs]

31 July 2003, Thursday, near dawn.
Currently the moon is in the waxing No Moon phase (13% full).

The Sept Compound(#2075RAM)

Sweeping branches of trees form a sort of natural roof overshadowing most of this clearing, no more than an open space of grasses and beaten earth in the heart of the forest. Some pains have been taken to keep wear and tear on the area to a minimum, so the firepit tends to shift from time to time. The firepit, several sawn logs polished from use, and a stack of firewood discreetly piled up at the base of an old spruce under a tarp, are the only signs of constant occupation. However, a student of such things might think that some minimal landscaping or planning has been done, for the meadowlike profusion of grasses and other plants has an unusually high concentration of brilliant flowers, which attract a number of bees and butterflies.

Sepdet is, predictably or perhaps not so predictably, since her presence these days is a passing scent at most sitting with her back to the same tree, arms folded on her knees, apparently meditating with eyes half-closed.

Salem is heard before he's seen; while not completely useless in the woods, the Sept's newest Alpha is, indeed, a city Garou, and his home jungle is made of concrete and glass, not trees and dirt. He pauses as he enters the compound, lingering for a moment at its edge and looking -- just looking -- at the two Silent Striders. His expression is blandly neutral.

Reggie is unpredictably wandering the bawn, his route dictated as much as by the whimsy as by desire to find out what people are up to when he's not around, and he edges the clearing in search of the latter.

Tobin is kneeling on the ground not far away, talking quietly to himself under his breath as he lays out the implements of the ritual. There is a largish earthenware flask, tightly stoppered, a thick bundle of dried sage, and several birch branches. A small fire has been kindled nearby and provides flickering light in the predawn hour. Eventually his muttering takes on the cadence of a chant, but he speaks so lowly the words cannot be made out. His movements are calm and confident as he prepares.

(Sepdet)

With her tapered ears, tilted dark eyes, and slightly elongated face, the metis makes no effort to hide her otherworldly nature in the shape she wears most often. Even in this guise she is a small slip of a woman, lean and lithe and less than most humans in height, commanding attention by will not weight. Her dusky brown skin is dusted with a faint velvet sheen of black fur, and the uneven line of cornrows betrays the ghost of an old burn across her forehead. She carries a road map of faint scars; the white tooth-shaped mark at the side of her neck and the slightly paler patch of skin on her forehead are the most obvious.

Clothes seem to be a concession to human tastes, but barely. She wears a battered jeans jacket, a spaghetti-strap gray tank top, and rust-colored leggings that reach to mid-calf. Her bare feet bear the callouses of many long roads. Waterskin and beltpouch hold her worldly belongings, and a handful of charms around her neck speak of friendships' gifts: a wooden cartouche, small curved blade, beaded medicine wheel.

Sepdet raises her chin at the scuff of boot on dirt, and merely nods, the gesture a touch more formal than he used to receive from the Strider. ~ Alpha.~ Her voice is low and quiet; while Tatt's unconscious form is slumped only a foot away, the theurge is turned ninety degrees away, shoulder turned towards her, and she doesn't glance down as she stands and brushes off her knees. ~I must once again apologize for the work that keeps me away: I meant to offer my support at Moot. But it seems the Sept is doing well.~

Someone's singing Bare Naked Ladies. Coming in from a completely different direction than Salem, Kaz, almost unaware she's singing, belts out, "If I had a million dollars, I'd build a tree fort in our yard... If I had a million dollars... You could help, it wouldn't be that hard. If I had a million dollars... Maybe we could put like a little tiny fridge in there somewhere... You know, we could just go up there and hang out." She breaks off when she actually sees people, and calls, "Yo!"

From the shadows, the youngest of the Fianna Theurges makes her enterance into the Sept Compound. Her golden irises flicker in the light of the small fire. As assistant to the Gatekeeper, Sheeaghan has arrived from many such duties to her sept and pack of the evening and into the morning hours. The pale wolf shifts her gaze to Kaz, listening to her singing. A sigh is issued from the Theurge before she shifts into homid form and approaches the nearby packmate, Tobin.

The Glass Walker gives Kaz a nod, then turns his eye back to Sepdet. "It survives," he says, answering her. "It continues. As usual."

Kaz tells Aubrey, cheerfully, "Hey."

Tobin looks up as people arrive and greets them all with nods or bows as appropriate. Salem gets a deeper bow than anyone else. He scratches Aubrey's ears fondly, then goes back to arranging things. At last, there's nothing more to be done and he breaks off his chant. He looks to the east, as though he can see the sky lightening through the trees and mountains.

Sepdet quirks a grin that is a little off, preoccupied. ~As usual.~ She swings towards Kaz and notes Aubrey with another faint nod, inquiring of the exuberant Bone Gnawer, ~Are the urrah planning on putting extension cords out here for a 'fridge', now, since the balance has swung back towards Rat and Roach?~

Kaz and her exuberance just stare at Sepdet. "Uh. That would be a big ol' fuckin' no. This ain't someone's back yard, this is a fuckin' Caern." After a moment, she adds, "Um, not that I don't know a joke when I see it. Really..."

Salem snorts softly at Sepdet's question, with meager humor at best, and paces further into the compound. The Philodox steers clear of Tobin's Theurgely preparations as he surveys the bound and unconscious Tatt.

Aubrey smiles softly and gives Kaz a friendly wave in return. Her eyes look also to the east, and she mutters something softly under her breath before giving her eyes a light rubbing. "I hope this goes well," she says solftly towards her packmate.

Reggie takes a step, then another, into the clearing of the compound, casting a leery eye at the evident preparations. He then stretches his head upwards to evaluate the lightning of the sky and estimate the time of the day.

Sepdet looks at Kaz wryly. ~Well, it seems overdue for the swing, and alpha and groundskeeper together gave me high hopes there would be a 'karaoke bar' here. Perhaps *that* would keep her from seeking out the best way to shoot herself in the foot in town.~ The elder theurge's dry humor is definitely strained and wearing a cocktail-party smile tonight. She seems planted in place. Kaz may know her well enough to catch the haunted look in her eyes veiled well enough that few others would be able to read it.

Tobin nods minutely at his packmate. "As do I," he says quietly, in a tone that suggests reverance for the hour and the coming Rite. He looks around again at all those who have come before settling his gaze towards the east again. "The only thing more I might ask for would be a fuller moon, and to be in the Shadow, where we might deal with the spirits involved more directly."

Kaz's grin is tired. And wry. And pained. "I don' think no karaoke bar is gonna... stop her from shootin' herself in the foot... But fuck, if it /did/, I'd fuckin' /sponsor/ it."

Tobin turns a puzzled look over at Sepdet. "Now how did 'garden and basin of water' get translated into 'karaoke bar'," he asks in a mock serious tone. One corner of his mouth twitches towards a smile.

Salem looks sidelong over at Kaz and Sepdet, and for a moment it seems like he might comment. However, he confines himself to a grunt and paces the compound, restless despite the lack of moon.

Aubrey adds, "Kaz is the karaoke singer."

Sepdet shakes her head. She finally looks down and whispers something urgent under her breath. "Shemayit merita 'n ka'i."

Kaz looks at Aubrey in not-so-mock horror. "Dude, those places suck. They got no soul. And they're loud and you can't hear yourself think."

Reggie stifles a yawn, and hurries off to parts unknown as the dawn comes near to breaking.

Sepdet exhales. ~Seriously, I do not know what adders' nest she found this time. Is it some main threat to the city, or merely a problem that /la gitarrista/ discovered all on her own with her usual knack?~

Tobin shakes his head sadly. "I don't know, Rhya," he answers in that same quiet tone. "I only know that Renee and some others found her at the farmhouse and saw that she was Tainted. They brought her here."

Kaz shrugs. "There's always problems, citywards. I don' think there's been a big ol' rash of shit, though. Not," she adds, wryly, "That I'd be able to say for sure, lately."

"The latter, I believe," Salem says flatly. "She disappeared not long after Smith died. I saw her... once, not long afterward, and she was far from sober. She's only recently re-emerged."

Aubrey crosses her arms against her chest and listens in silence. Then, she questions after a moment, "I thought I had heard that she shifted in public?"

Salem grunts a dour affirmative, mouth tightening.

Sepdet's shoulders tighten. ~Alpha?~ Her voice is brittle. ~If this should fail and the sept deem her threat enough to require culling, I need to remove her.~

Kaz's gaze tightens on the other metis. But she shuts up.

Salem turns his gaze onto Sepdet, one eyebrow lifting. "Remove her?" It's difficult to read his face.

Tobin's hands grip into fists around the edges of his coat as Sepdet talks about Tatt possibly having to be culled. He stares hard at the eastern sky, hoping and willing that he won't fail.

Sepdet waves a hand vaguely around herself. ~From St. Claire, this continent, and possibly to a location where the Veil and those damned /poisons/ do not exist and she will not be able to find her way back without Anubis himself as a guide dog. I have a nice cozy plot in the umbra all picked out.~ Again, it's hard to tell whether she's joking. ~Hopefully it won't come to it. Tobin, I think we may have put the singer out a little harder than I meant to. Shall we give it a try?~

Kaz chews her lip. "Me, I think she'd just find another way to self destruct. Th' drugs ain't the actual problem."

Salem grunts. "Hopefully, no, it won't come to that." He starts pacing again, prowling really. "Too bad Andrea left without teaching anyone that Erebus rite." This last is muttered, as much to himself as anything.

Sepdet says grimly, ~The Silver River happens to be the scenic route to the place I have in mind.~

Kaz just gapes at Sepdet. Then she snaps her mouth shut and nods.

Salem lifts an eyebrow, then likewise nods.

Tobin's looks sharply at Sepdet when she mentions the Silver River, but nods after a moment. It makes sense. One more look to the east, where the sky is lightening and the barest sliver of the crescent moon is rising. He takes a deep breath and looks around at everyone present. "I will need your help with the ritual. Your will, your thoughts, your spirit. Will you help me?" he asks levelly.

Kaz nods. "Can do, boss. Want me to do the guardin', just in case?"

Salem turns his attention on Tobin, arms folded across his chest. "You have to ask?" he asks rhetorically, his voice dry.

Sheeaghan shifts once more into lupus, her pale form shifting from one paw to the next. The Fianna Theurge nods her head slowly in response to her packmate, with her eyes on the center of the sept compound. She gives a soft huff at Salem, although replies to nothing.

Sepdet simply stares down at the unconscious Galliard, still standing by her with arms folded.

A rustling of branches, as Quentin slips through the underbrush towards the tree-shadowed clearing.. raking his fingers back through his hair as he steps along up over towards the others, though he keeps a respectful distance for the moment. "Hey," he greets, simply.

Tobin simply nods at Salem, then turns to Kaz and considers her question. He's distracted by the entrance of Quentin, who he looks at sharply for a moment before turning back to Kaz. "Either you, or Quentin to guard. I need five besides myself for the ritual," he says, then glances to the east again. "Decide quickly, we begin soon."

Kaz glances at Quentin. "I got it," she murmurs to him. "If anything comes, I wanna whap it good."

Sepdet speaks up then, more for the others than for the Ritemaster: ~I will be assisting the ritual.~ She has gone more remote than ever, apparently already fixed, mentally, on the job at hand.

Quentin's lips crook up a bit at one corner, as with a wry nod to Kaz he admits, "You'd probably be more capable of dealing with whatever it was, anyway."

Kaz quirks a grin. "I'm a bruiser, a'right."

Salem's mouth twitches into something that, for a moment, comes close to approximating a smile as he glances at Kaz and Quentin. His face is bland again as he turns back to Tobin.

"Good," Tobin says shortly, then gets to his feet and picks up one of the birch branches. "Salem, Sepdet, here and here," he says, starting to draw a large circle around the tree and indicating where people should stand. "Quentin, Aubrey, here, and here." He works quickly in drawing the circle and arranging people. Kaz ends up outside the circle. He slashes symbols into the ground in front of everyone standing within the circle, then takes his own place directly before Tatt and slashes the ground before him. When everything's arranged, the five participants of the ritual mark the five points of a pentagram around the tree.

Kaz shifts down into hispo, ranging back in a circle around the ritualists, wary.

"Yeah, I'd be scared to run into you in a dark alley.." A teasing murmur to the other galliard, before with more seriousness to his manner Quentin steps along over to where he's been directed, shifting uncertainly on his feet as he listens and watches Tobin for cues.

Sheeaghan moves herself into position, remaining with her attention solemly on the Silver Fang.

Sepdet falls into position, monitoring the others in the ritual as much as Tobin's directions. She whispers a soft prayer under her breath-- /Asat nedh-ten merita'i./ -- and takes out her waterskin, which isn't customary for the rite, but an idiom of the desert tribe to which she and the patient belong.

Tobin picks up the bundle of sage, pulls a lighter out of a pocket and lights it. He uncorks the earthenware jug and cradles it in one hand. He gives one last glance towards the east, takes another deep breath, and shifts to crinos as he lets it out. The ridiculously large bundle sage now fits his hand, and the jug seems merely a flask now. ~Mother,~ he begins. ~Gaia. Your child is sick, and has need of you.~ He drifts the smoking end of the sage through the air, tracing symbols with the smoke. ~The Enemy seeks to take her from us, body and soul...~ His voice falls into a rhythm as he invokes the names of spirits, the elements and Gaia, the Shadow and the Realm. He weaves the symbols out of the smoke, and though they drift away, they do not dissipate. The circle slowly fills with the power of the participants.

Salem, arms folded, remains in his birth form, listening to the Silver Fang Theurge, his gaze focussed with burning intensity on the Strider Galliard.

Kaz prowls.

Calls-Spirits works through the Rite, never ceasing the words of his prayer. Over and over the plea for cleansing and purity and healing, the invoking of the names and the weaving of the symbols. After a time, he developes a faint blue aura which becomes stronger as he burns more of his spirit, putting it into the wreaking. He takes a moment to glance at everyone, cueing them to add their own power at this point.

Quentin, remaining as well in human form, shifts slightly before stilling once more.. gaze sliding from Sepdet, to Tobin, and back again.

Sheeaghan lifts her head, however closes her eyes. The pale wolf's maw cracks slightly as she holds back her ears against her wedged shaped head. In this silence, the Theurge offers her plea to Gaia. Her eyes squeeze shut, concentrating deeply into her prayer of cleansingness to the sickened Silent Strider. Struck heavily with emotion, the expression is even clear on the female's muzzle even in lupus.

Sepdet has prayed in silence, but the words become audible again as she cups water in her hands and casts it high: rain falls once, twice, three times, tiny drops pattering against the grass and the faces and fur of the participants, dappling the prone Galliard's skin. Brows drawn together, the scarred young elder seems to be lost in her own private battle, only tangentially aware of the others. Even in that state, she is too practiced in this dance to miss a beat with them, weaving her own power between and through the threads of spirit, hope, and will of the other Ritualists as if Tobin were the weaver, she the shuttle flying almost of its own accord between the other threads.

Salem keeps his eyes open and fixed on Tatt. His face remains a blank -- if anything, it grows even more stony as his jaw clenches determinedly... as if his former packmate can be cured by sheer force of his will.

Quentin's chin tips up slightly as his gaze naturally follows the casting of water into the sky; a few droplets scattering over cerulean hair and fair skin, a breath drawn in as he looks back towards the ritualists with a slight set of his own jaw and a murmured prayer whose meaning is doubtless personal. The galliard's own spiritual energies flow out to weave into the rite's power, mingling with the others in offering for its use.

The power in the circle rises with a feeling almost like being in the caern. It's not as deep a feeling, though it's pervasive. It weaves throughout them all, and even Kaz can feel the power rising steadily. The light around Tobin intensifies as he pours more of his spirit into the ritual and his chant goes from quiet pleading to harsh demanding that the Taint leave their sister and leave her pure. He swings the jug in an arc, spraying everything with the water in it. Those with keen noses might recognize the scent of the water as coming from the pool in the caern, and it has a feeling of power about it.

The flames in the little campfire have burnt lower and lower during the ritual, and aren't much more than coals at this point. So it is that they don't cast enough light to throw another shadow, but a presence is forming on the other side of the clearing and a cold wind sweeps through. Seconds only it takes to appear, and the giant of black ice is among them. Kaz is the first to notice and growl a warning, but in two huge strides it's reached Calls-Spirits who, intent on the ritual, does not heed the warning in time. Great hands sieze him and he's lifted into the air, caught completely by surprise.

Sepdet's face is haunted, strained. She seems to be having to work harder than usual for this ritual, which may explain why she, too, is caught off-guard. Only for a second. Aware of the other Garou at hand standing like living swords ready to spring into action, she takes a precious moment to drop to her knees, trying to ground and hold the ritual's power as the Fang is yanked skyward.

Sheeaghan squints her eyes open, adding in her spiritual energies with those gathered around her. The Fianna Theurges remains unchanged in expression. With that comes a look as if she is made of stone, even when sprinkles of water fall on her pale pelt. Growling, Sheeaghan does the first instintive motive and attacks what lifts her packmate up into the air. Her form shifts from lupus into crinos with rage as she attacks. No such thing is going to happen to her packmate.

You paged the room with 'How, um, big is this thing, then?'.
Calls-Spirits pages to the room: It's about, oh, 16 feet tall.

As those dark hands sweep out to sieze the Silver Fang, Quentin's head snaps upwards as the attention he was giving the ritual's goings-on is shattered; he drops back a step, eyes widening as he breathes out, "Holy shit.." That startlement lasts only a moment, as flesh and fur erupt in a tide as he claims the war-form, his shadow cast long.. but not anywhere near as long as the frozen giant's.

Salem's attention is snapped away from Tatt toward the ice giant and, like the others, the Alpha shifts into Crinos. Rather than immediately attack, though, Salem lifts his muzzle and howls a warning to the Sept's Guardians and any other Garou within hearing distance, wordlessly crying out the presence of the Enemy on the Bawn.

Calls-Spirits's eyes go wide with shock and confusion as he tries to tear his mind away from the ritual. He starts to struggle, but his arms are held fast to his sides. The giant open its great dark maw and is about to, literally, bite the Fang's head off when Kaz blurring with the speed of her Rage, crashes into it from the side, slashing great furrows with her claws. The giant is taken aback by this and howls a cold, bitter howl of anger. Not entirely willing to let his prize go, the giant turns and starts beating at Kaz with Tobin. Evidently this works, because Kaz slumps over unconscious and Tobin's snarls are abruptly silenced. The Fang hangs limply in hands, but now he has Sheeghan and Quentin to deal with, coming at him from the other side.

Sepdet stays where she is, only shifting to crinos to set herself over the patient who can't defend herself now. As the ritual's currents begin to break apart, and the other Garou to leap to the Ritemaster's defense, she gathers her will and channels it into a flat, brittle command charged with quiet fury at the interruption: ~Drop him and /grovel/, you pathetic patch of dirty snow.~

Sheeaghan, in a fury of rage and emotion, comes down hard as she can on the black ice spirit. Fangs and claws are eager to tear the piece of tainted shit to fragments of nothing. The Fianna emits a bellow from the deepths of her as she attacks.

Speaker hesitates for a heart-beat, taken aback at the sheer viciousness of the giant as it uses the Silver Fang as a melee weapon.. but that moment turns into a defiant snarl, as he lunges forwards just after Sheeaghan, trying to duck past and lash out at the back of the thing's frozen leg with one clawed hand.

The giant, 16 feet tall and made of black ice, is about to start beating at Sheeaghan and Speaker with the unconscious, now-homid Tobin when Sepdet's command cracks like a whip of power against it. It lets go of Tobin on the upswing, and the poor Theurge goes flying across the clearing to land in a crumpled heap at the treeline. It doesn't grovel, though. Maybe that word isn't in its vocabulary. However, its guard is wide open for Sheeaghan and Speaker, who tear into with fervor and score great rents in its icey hide.

Three-Blades bursts out onto the boundaries of the Sept Compound, headed in from a part of the southern bawn. Her paws pound hard, pushing herself to get to the area where the howls of warning sounded.

Scar cuts off his howl, ending it with a sharp snarl. But he's cool, almost passionless, as he joins the younger Garou in combat with the thing, lending his wiser and more experienced claws to the melee.

As black ice splinters and cracks under Speaker-For-The-Dead's claws in long rents along the giant's ankle, he twists to get his legs under him; muscle tensing and bunching beneath his mostly-dark fur for a moment, before he leaps back to slam his full weight against the back of its leg with a challenging growl. The bigger they are, after all..

Sheeaghan is vigilant in her attacks, being watchful of the black ice spirit's attacks. The crinos Fianna continues to score rents into it as she can, trying to do as much damage as possible.

Salem's howl brings Cycle-Breaker bounding through the brush and trees into the clearing. The run slows down to a trot as she stops and, for a fraction of a second, examines the situation. When she spots Tobin flinged from the frightening thing, that's all she needs to see; she shifts up into crinos and races at the ice spirit, claws ready to help the others in the attack.

Sepdet hesitates for the barest fraction of a second before zipping towards Tobin to make sure there's nothing broken that can't be fixed in a day or six, watching the melee with eyes narrowed for the first sign the others can't handle it. Her own method is not one she'll use while there's Garou in the way.

That bitterly cold, hollow howl screams from the giant's great maw as the Garou collectively tear into it. It lays into them with fists like boulders of ice, and talons like incredibly sharp icicles. Salem takes a punch to the side and ribs crack audibly. Sheeaghan gets a long row of gashes down her left shoulder, though she doesn't bleed as the wound immediately freezes over. Quentin only manages to escape damage, this time, as the giant hasn't started kicking yet.

Three-Blades crashes into view, the lupus having shifted to Crinos at the first sight of a 16 foot tall spirit that doesn't seem to belong anywhere without permission. Gauging distance, the Gnawer ragabash circles, runs, and makes a leap for a leg or even is possible to back of the spirit, claws out and ready to dig in for purchase.

Sheeaghan gives a short howl with pain as her shoulder feels a deep set of frostbite into the gashes down her shoulder but that does not stop her nor slow her down. The racking of her claws continues as Garou from other parts of the bawn come onto the scene to aid their fellow septmates.

No doubt it'll only be a matter of time before the kicking starts. Speaker slashes down into the giant's frozen leg with his claws while he can, bracing himself and pulling back as he tears at the black ice in splintering, cracking discordance; gold-green eyes flashing with anger as he hears that crack of ribs, rage flowing hot through his veins as he redoubles his efforts.

As the battle rages on around her, the bound Strider in the center of the circle twitches once or twice.

Sepdet presses her hand against Tobin's shoulder, rises to her feet, and strides determinedly towards the frenzy of claws, teeth, rage, and cold shadow, as briskly as if she were headed towards the edge of a lake intending to dive in. She plants herself directly in front of the ferocious spirit, hands cupped at her sides, and says loudly, ~Fall back a moment! I'd like a brief word with this /thing/.~ She sounds like an extremely irritated gym coach getting ready to bawl out a mouthy athlete. But she waits with grim patience for the right opening, since disengaging from a sixteen foot tall demon is a risky maneuver.

Scar takes the blow with a snarl of pain, the force of it knocking him back a step. His good eye alights with kindled rage and, fangs jaws a-gape, he launches himself at the thing again, attacking with greater fury, channelling that stoked anger.

Cycle-Breaker, going for the legs along with Speaker, doesn't seem to want to heed Sepdet's instructions of leaving the ice spirit alone for a moment. She continues clawing at the thing's legs, snarling and growling.

Scar must have missed Sepdet's words. But then, well -- things are happening a bit quickly... as is wont to occur when Garou get violent.

The words of the Strider Theurge go apparently unheeded as the Garou tear into the monster. Scar turns into a blur of Rage and practice digs a tunnel into the side of the thing with his claws. Speaker and Cycle-Breaker claw further into its legs and it looks like it's getting unbalanced. When Three-Blades latches onto its back, it starts to topple over and goes down on one knee, landing on Speaker's foot, unfortunately.

Sepdet attempts to get the creature's attention instead, hurling herself upwards and scrambling up the 'chest' as it goes over, trying to get above the level the other Garou tearing into the thing on all sides. She digs in with her claws, bawling into what passes for a face, ~I'm talking to YOU, Snowflake.~

Speaker's ears flick sharply as he catches the words of the 'Strider that call for them to disengage, tearing away a sheet of black ice from the giant's leg and moving to-- oops, too late, as the thing goes down, taking his foot and ankle under it's weight and sending the crinos to the ground just along with it in a heavy impact.

Barreling into the compound after hearing the noises, Guards-The-Flame roars loudly in anger and confusion. ~What the hell is going on here?~ There is Garou dog piling something and thats good enough for her.

Three-Blades climbs up a short way, relying on her weight and the hunch of the ice spirit to aid her scaling. She remains latched on, her claws from hands and feet sunk like ice picks into materialized spirit. Ears flattened to her head, the newmoon's jaws open to find a spot where she can sink her teeth into as a wolf would to a deer's nape.

And Cycle-Breaker tries to pull away to avoid the Garou dog piling; as the creature goes down, she tumbles away, ending up disoriented. She stands, bearing her teeth at the felled ice spirit.

On the ground, removed from the melee, Tatt twitches again, muscles unconciously testing the ropes binding her at wrists and ankles. Eyelids flicker beneath the crust of filth and dried blood accumulated from days of unconciousness.

Scar pulls back as the creature starts to fall, aiming a good clawful cuff at it as he disengages. Ears flat, he takes a breath -- a careful one -- to glance up at the climbers, and then looks sharply over at Tatt.

Sepdet 's lips peel back from her teeth in a mirthless grin as she zeroes in on her target, shoving her right hand into the gaping maw of the screaming monstrosity while hanging onto its shoulder with her left. ~Remember me?~ she says casually, and then cuts loose with a major *foomph* of a fireball.

Sheeaghan digs her claws into the spirit's side as it begins to topple and chases it down to continue her abuse. Her ears are slicked back against her head, drawing deep breaths from her maw. The crinos' eyes are glowing blue as she jumps away from the creature, noticing the elder Strider's methods.

Guards-Flame snarls as she moves around the bunch, hoping to get closer to Three-Blades. This looks to be quite disasterous.

Just as it was reaching out a steadying hand towards the ground, the monster's head explodes in a shower of ice and steam. Sepdet is blown from her perch and thrown a good ten feet by the explosion, her body lacerated with hundreds of cuts from the flying ice crystals. Everyone nearby, even the charging Guards-Flame, is perforated with flying shards of razor sharp ice. The giant hangs there for a moment, then topples over all the way, disappating into a cold, oily mist before it hits the ground. Soon even the mist is gone as the spirit is banished back into the Shadow.

In the silence that lingers heavy in the air, Speaker-For-The-Dead drags in a long and ragged breath.. and then lets it out in a deep rumble, head falling back to rest against the ground as he waits for the broken ankle to mend itself and his now-perforated fur and flesh to heal from that rain of razor ice. He's just going to lay here for a little while, 'kay?

More than a twitch, as a few stray shards pierce the tainted Strider's skin: it's a full-out snarl, her red-gold eyes blazing open in pain.

Scar ducks his head and lifts one arm to shield it as Sepdet makes with the fire, and he narrowly avoids losing sight in the _other_ eye as razor-ice goes flying everywhere. As for the rest, well, he gets as sliced up as everybody else. Once it's past, he lowers his arm and drops into a crouch, breathing slowly, letting his broken ribs heal as he surveys the damage.

Three-Blades, having been on the titan's back, is flung off by the explosion and into the trees with a heavy crash of her body. That lucky no-hit streak looks to be over; but, at least, she's alive.

Sepdet hits the ground with a heavy thump, rolls, and lays still, rediscovering the fine art of full-body bleeding. She hisses under her breath-- probably would've been a snarl if the breath hadn't been knocked out of her.

A quiet groan from across the clearing announces Tobin's pending return to consciousness. Slowly, the Fang sits up, holding a hand to his head and wincing as it comes away bloody. He looks around at the carnage and forces himself back into Crinos, where he, too, spends a moment to heal. ~What,~ he pants out. ~What happened?~

Slowly, slowly does Quentin raise one pale-furred, taloned hand into the air. And he chuffs out faint, tired, pain-tinged words. ~ Check, please. ~

To most of those, man or beast, who walk the surface of Gaia there's no question of the appearance of this fearsome creature - the merest sight of it in all its raging glory rends at the sanity of the mundane, plunging them into madness and the safety of rationalization. Those who can tear aside the veil of mortal incomprehension can see him for what he truly is, though no less impressive for all of that.

A mingling of the best and the worse of both man and wolf, this hybrid monstrosity towers some nine feet into the air, spanning nearly four across the breadth of his shoulders with a mass that easily matches his height. The head that tops those shoulders is that of a wolf, strangely intelligent eyes of golden-green shining out from a mask of midnight fur that sweeps along the thick line of his muzzle, flecked with paler strands until some white stands out just at the chin. The mane of dark fur spreads back down over his shoulders and across his broad chest, his powerful arms and digitigrade legs as well - although along his forearms and lower legs, the dark is split by jagged streaks of paler greys and soft yellows, fading into snowy white past his wrists and over his large hands up to the claws that spread from his fingers, and over the splayed toes of his paws.

There's only a painful noise from Cycle-Breaker as she slowly stands up, trying to recuperate from all the wonderful pain she just experienced. ~Is everyone alright?~ she finally manages.

Scar straightens up slightly, chest expanding as he takes in a deep breath; his black pelt is streaked with blood. ~Nobody dead,~ the Alpha rumbles. He glances at Sepdet and Tobin, then eyeballs Tatt. ~And the guest of honor seems to be awake.~

Disoriented, Tatt rolls her eyes and tries to gain bearings on the situation from her place on the ground. Her frustrated snort sends up a small cloud of dust as she levers herself up into a sitting position, shaking her head. Muttering under her breath.

Three-Blades eventually does return from the 100 Acre Wood, looking rather cut up and sporting slow bleeding slits here and there. She grunts with pain, but she'll live. The newmoon makes no comment, only gazing at the others and the now awake Tatt.

Sepdet sits up, looking perforated, irrirated, and chagrinned. ~Apologies, Salem. They usually melt... not... explode.~

Scar shrugs dismissively. ~Not a problem.~ He glances down and nudges a stray shard with one toe-claw. ~They seem to be melting. Resume the rite?~

Speaker lets out a pained grunt as he shifts to push himself up slowly, his leg raising and foot rolling on his ankle-joint as he tests it out.. claws splaying to the ground, he shoves himself to his feet, still bleeding from a dozen small ice-wounds. A hiss of pain, but he looks towards Sepdet and Tobin to see if they're going to resume.

~They exploded that time,~ Cycle-Breaker remarks. She turns to look at Speaker, but only for a moment as she ascertains he's doing fine.

Calls-Spirits stumbles to his feet, looking around and starting to trudge back towards the circle. His eyes are wide as he looks to the east. The sky is getting lighter and lighter. ~The ritual!~ he calls out. ~We still have time. Back to your places, the power is not all gone!~ he says urgently. He stoops to pick up his implements, looking a little woozy.

On the ground, Tatt twitches again--much like a horse would at a fly. Eyes hidden by a lank shock of hair, she rolls her shoulders. The joints of her neck pop loudly in succession. Just waking up from an extended nap, it would seem.

Sepdet exhales and looks around at the condition of the others, but she is also painfully aware of Tatt's state, and moves back towards the Galliard to give her a good look-over... from just out of arm's reach. ~Hang on, Merita,~ she says hoarsely, and shifts down to her more familiar guise. ~Gate crasher. Taken care of. Hang on.~

Sepdet contorts and blurs as she is transformed.
Sepdet shifts into Glabro form.

Three-Blades curls her cut lips back to grin at Guards-Flame. The two remain about like huge watchdogs.

Scar snaps his jaws on the air and stalks back to his former position in the circle, one golden eye glowering down at Tatt for a moment. He takes deep breaths, doing his best to focus his energy back on the ritual.

Speaker, favoring his good leg just a bit, limps back into position as directed; casting a wary, concerned look over towards the tainted galliard bound into place, tail swinging briefly behind him as he settles into place.

Cycle-Breaker shifts back into lupus, and steps away from the group performing the ritual.

Tatt rumbles, the sound rattling in her scarred throat. Flat, wet-gold eyes survey the circle, then lift to fix on Sepdet. Unblinking. ~Untie Me.~

Calls-Spirits nods as Sheeaghan, Sepdet, Quentin and Salem all retake their places. He casts a look at those who came to help. ~Make ready to hold her,~ he says quietly, though Tatt can hear him perfectly well, since he's kneeling just a few feet away. He grabs up the earthenware jug of water, still mostly full and looks to Tatt. ~In the name of Gaia,~ he begins his chant again. ~In the name of Luna and Helios. Of Owl, of Falcon. I call on the elements,~ he glances over at Sepdet, shaking his head minutely. Don't let her go. ~Of Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and Spirit. I call the spirits of the seven sacred directions...~ he continues on in his prayer, shuffling forward on his knees and raising the jug above his head.

Three-Blades splays her luckily unharmed ears, stooping into a somewhat painful crouch. The Gnawer and the Gaian remain side by side before they fan out slightly in positions around the ritemasters.

Sepdet drops to one knee. ~Sshh. Not yet. Don't give me more trouble, Merita, or I'll have to punch you out.~ The teasing is as much to blow off pain and worry as anything else. Keeping half an eye on the Galliard, Sepdet resumes her place. She's gritting her jaw tightly, and it takes several deep, ragged breaths, before she exhales and slips back into the rite and the chant. ~North's stone, east's wind, south's fire,~ she whispers. ~West's water, above, below and within. Now knit together and be whole again, what is and should be. Now cast forth the Shadow: no place has it here, in any of the Four, in any of the Three.~

Scar's ears flicker in an irritated gesture as Tatt speaks up, but just as quickly he pushes the anger aside and breathes with controlled deliberation, shifting his energy from too-easy rage to the (for him) much less tangible but higher-minded focus of spirit.

Speaker takes in a deep breath, and then exhales.. tearing his gaze away from Tatt and restoring his focus to the right, struggling past the stinging pain that still echoes in his movements to the purity of gnosis and ritual.

~..Charming,~ the tainted Strider spits on the ground near Sepdet's feet, then rakes a glance around the circle. ~The Sept of Urrah Cliaths make a stand of solidarity.~ A practiced Galliard, she makes sure her words carry loud and clear above the ritual. Dripping with disgust.

Calls-Spirits weaves his words and power with Sepdet and everyone else in the circle, rimed again with that faint blue aura. ~Destroyer, Corrupter, Enemy, you have no place here. Not in our sister, not anywhere. You, Will, BE, GONE!~ he shouts, and on the last word he breaks the jug of water from the caern's pool over Tatt, drenching her with the shockingly cold water and pouring the last of his power into this final act of cleansing.

Sepdet steps into the center again, holding up her hands, as the ritual draws to a close. Usually she uses the Nile's water. Now she uses her own blood, metis-tainted though it is, and says simply, ~Free thy wings.~ Her eyes are fixed on the Galliard's face.

Tatt hunches sharply in reaction to the cold water, drawing in on herself with a snarl. Head bowed, she sits there shivering. Silence. Nothing more.

Scar opens closed eyes and, like Sepdet and (most likely) the others, focusses on Tatt. After a moment, he frowns and looks questioningly at the Theurges.

Speaker's gaze slides to focus upon the woman bound, with water and blood.. waiting, tense, for someone to speak. Or say something. Or for the world, perhaps, to explode.

Sepdet's control frays a bit; she drops down next to the Galliard. ~You in there, Driftwood?~ she asks tiredly, sniffing the air.

Three-Blades' ears swivel forward. Driftwood? The newmoon gazes from Strider to Strider, also anticipating.

Calls-Spirits watches Tatt expectantly, silently. He glances at Sepdet, then closes his eyes and evens his breathing. He sniffs, sneezes, then gags a little, turning away. There's a snarl on his lips, but his form is hunched with defeat. ~I...have failed,~ he says after a moment, voice filled with quiet anger and sorrow. ~She is yours now, Hope-Star-rhya. May...may you have a safe journey.~

Tatt lifts her chin, still shivering. She looks like nothing so much as a bedraggled, weary old dog as she squints at her smaller tribesmate. ~You...~ Her voice is quiet, hoarse as she leans in weakly. ~You...~ Another shiver. ~...Will--be--GONE!~ On the last word, ropes shred like paper and fall away as Tatt rips up into Crinos, red-eyed and lunging towards Sepdet.

Scar's muzzle wrinkles in disappointment and anger at Tobin's pronouncement. He starts to shake his head, then stiffens as the one who was once his packmate shifts forms and attacks the Hope-Star. With a snarl, the bloodied ex-Ronin blurs into motion to intercept Tatt.

...And as suddenly as she pounces, a disgusting sound of bursting flesh fills the air: noxious streams of black liquid spray from the veins running along each of the Strider's forearms, even as she pounces. Howling fills the air.

Sepdet was braced, but she's not fast enough in her current state. Instincts kick in as the crinos tackles her, and she twists, jacknifes, trying to kick free and get up to speed before Tatt can take her out. "MARTIYA!" she cries, trying to cut through whatever the hell has her in its grip. The blackness sprays over both of them and they go tumbling, for Sepdet fails to break free, only tangle her legs.

Tatt pages to the room: Yucky owie acid burns for anyone within squirt-range.

Three-Blades and Guards-Flame are too slow for the Rageful Walker elder, but the two of them halt their charge as well, missing the acid by a few drops. The Gnawer newmoon looks to the Gaian, who already knows. The ragabash goes ahead, to aid the new fight.

Speaker drops back to a slight crouch as one 'strider leaps for the other, muscles tensing.. and then at that spray of sizzling black, he grimaces, ears flattening back. ~ What the hell..? ~

Calls-Spirits, drained from the ritual, is slow to react, but he, too, lunges after Tatt, right into the acid spraying from her. He can't stop his motion, though, and plunges on, heedless of the burning acid. He closes his eyes against it and tries to grab the Tainted Strider and pull her off of Sepdet.

The Strider Galliard is bigger, stronger, and madder than her packmate as she pounces: however, Wildcard's jaws sink into nothing but thin air as Scar's tackle catches her full-on and sends her rolling. The black bile is spraying with less force now, and her keening howl is less Garou than it is reptilian--or something worse. Struggling beneath the Walker, she gags and vomits forcefully. More blackness, reeking of blood and decay. Wildcard spasms violently, and falls limp. The silence echoes eerily.

Sepdet is barely conscious, fighting stinging eyes that can't see and burning skin. ~Martiya?~ she whispers, an edge of desperation in the simple word.

Three-Blades is tuned and coiled like a spring waiting. A quick flick of her ear indicates the anxiety building inside her. The no-moon's discontent growl tumbles from her muzzle.

Between the still-fresh cuts and the spray of acidic bile -- which he caught quite a lot of -- Scar is in a damned large amount of pain, and its a wonder he doesn't collapse on top of the now-limp Strider Galliard. Still half-crouched over her, he grits his teeth in a distorted grimace, ears flattened and claws digging into the ground.

Calls-Spirits didn't even get a chance to intervene as Scar got there way ahead of him and there was nothing but air for him to catch. He watches the now silent Tatt carefully, and leans over to sniff at her some more. ~She's...she's clean,~ he says in disbelief. ~The Taint has left her!~

~ Yeah,~ Speaker observes with a wrinkling of his muzzle, ~ It's all over the ground. ~ Despite the sarcasm there, his body language indicates quite a bit of relief, tension easing from him as he sinks back to his haunches.. and then just drops to sprawl on the ground.

~I am so. Very. Fucking. Glad.~ Scar's voice drips disgust and pain, though, which makes his words more sarcastic than sincere. Carefully, more out of force of will than anything, he levers himself upright and stands on two legs, bloodied and burned.

Sepdet goes limp against the earth, breathing ragged, but she must have heard. Lips twist in a fond smile. ~Stupid idiot,~ she whispers raggedly, possibly at herself as much as Tatt, and then goes still.

Beneath Scar, the Strider shrinks back down to homid in her unconcious state. Blue-black liquid still trickles from a myriad of burst-open holes in both arms, and from the corner of her mouth... singing the grass audibly wherever it falls.

Sheeaghan is at Sepdet's side in an instant, shifting to homid and laying softly-glowing hands on the Strider Theurge. She closes her eyes to concentrate on the healing, a faint crease of a frown coming to her forhead.

Guards-Flame moves to also help heal those who need it, while Three-Blades gives herself a shake of her fur, looking to the rising sun.

Calls-Spirits shifts down to homid and pulls a small stainless steel flask from his coat, and a hankerchief from another pocket. Kneeling next to the unconscious Tatt, he wets the cloth with water from the flask and gently starts cleaning her face and arms. When the cloth spontaneously rots in his hand, he just pours the water in little handfuls over Tatt's face.

Scar has little enough to say to Alicia when his turn under the Mother's Touch comes, though he gives her a nod. Once healed, he shifts back down to human form and addresses Sepdet. "Will you take charge of her? Keep her out of the city?" He glances down at Tatt and shakes his head, mouth twisted into an expression that's half wry, half disgusted, and all-over disappointed. "It seems that it's temptations are a little more than she can handle."

Speaker just lays there for a little while. Yeah, he's done.

The Fianna's ministrations are none too soon, although only a few there may realize it: Sepdet's labored breathing steadies out again, and there's a flicker of movement under seared and blackened eyelids. ~Tomorrow,~ she replies between gritted teeth, the one concession she'll give to her own condition.

Three-Blades offers, ~If she runs back to us, we'll find her until she saves us the trouble.~ The ragabash manages a brief smile, until she turns to go.

Salem grunts. "I'll stay close today, then." Sleep? Bah. Without ceremony, he drops down into lupus and lopes off into the woods.

Tatt sleeps the sleep of the Dead... or the Recently Cleansed, at least. She doesn't move again for quite some time.