2019.02.19: Calling Upon the Ancestor

Calling Upon the Ancestor
The group gathers to callupon Lleutrim's ancestor.
Players	Aleksandr, Dragomir, Frost, Lleutrim, Ryla, Waziyata
Location	Caern / Umbra
Spheres	Gaian Garou Shifter

The soon to be pack mates spread the word to meet at the Caern. Whether or not Aleksandr might then move them into the Caern's Heart or if it won't matter, it's a good a good starting place to begin where the Gauntlet will be suitably low to make crossing over both easier, and in a known safe place.

Lleutrim has arrived a little early. He has brought his rucksack and drops it off by a low burning fire. His pale grey eyes watch out for the others, but particularly for Aleksandr. A trace of anxiety over this evening's intended activities might come through as Donnachaidh slowly paces slowly around the fire pit, gaze roaming over everyone who's coming and going through the valley.

Frost comes walking along the path a short time later, in the process of settling her backpack into place. She reaches down, giving the strap of her knife a light tug around her thigh to settle it in place as she approaches. Wazi and Lleu get soft smiles and a nod of her head in greeting, the sight of Dragomir has her pausing a little in surprise. A respectful nod towards him follows, then she stands and waits quietly, no surprise, looking back down the path towards the entrance.

Ryla is here - or maybe she never left? She actually dressed down into more casual clothes for this. More casual for her may not be the same for others, but it works! The petite blonde has her hair still perfect in that French twist and her black rimmed glasses are being adjusted just into place again as she makes her way from where she was. This is a serious occasion, and as she approaches each of them, she gives them respect with a nod. Dragomir, she keeps further from than the others, but bows her head deep for him.

Aleksandr has been here for a while. Consulting spirits, talking to his own Ancestors, and generally prepping for the journey that lies ahead. He’s very serious about it, it seems. He comes from the Caern’s heart, the easiest place to reach across and to converse with spirits, dressed rather weirdly. Likely, he has other clothes underneath, but he has on a white robe that has silver glyphs all over, in the Garou tongue, not unlike Dragomir, oddly enough. Many of them align with the spirit. The only thing that dispels this idea of ritual summoning is that backpack strapped across his shoulders. Even the bone like knife at his waist seems, somehow, appropriate.

He also looks around, bowing his head to each in turn, starting with Dragomir. He is a little surprised to see Dragomir himself, but he likely has a reason for that. It’s a quick bit of surprise that disappears almost instantly. He’s silent for a few moments, but that’s also not so unusual for Aleksandr. Studying each briefly, a moment, and then encompassing them all in his gaze. “We are ready? This journey will begin now, and it will not be easy.” Yes, people know that already, but he seems to want to drive the idea home. “We live, or we die together. We survive by remembering what you know and relying on each other. Whether are family or not, pack or not, we must act like one, now. It is our only way back and intact.” That seems to get Dragomir the briefest glance, specifically.

Waziyata is spotted first. Lleutrim doesn't put out a hand to welcome her but he does watch her as he stops his pacing. No hostility nor overt friendship being offered. His gaze shifts to Dragomir as the Athro comes up. Donnachaidh looks over his modern version of a leisure suit and says, "Elvis is in the building! Good evening, Eye of the Storm'rhya."

Frost's arrival warrants a smile. Lleutrim signs to her, 'Glad you are coming along.' Yep, his ASL has gotten better with practice the past month. Past her Lleu sees Ryla and gives her a nod, checking her out for any baseball bats. The Galliard doesn't seem about to object to her joining them.

And finally, Aleksandr comes from the Caern's Heart. Lleutrim looks him over and waits for the Theurge to join them, "The robes ... actually suit you." Aleks he listens to, then glance around at the others, "Aye, we are all here." Lleu's gaze roams over each and every one of them, "We have to work together as a team but we won't have the benefit of being a pack, yet. Eye of the Storm'ryha has offered to come for he has been to the Legendary Realm before and can offer useful advice. Also, he has asked Waziyata and myself to pack with him and he would be our Alpha. So, we go into the fire to be forged or to be consumed by the furnace. Let us keep our eye on the goal of returning stronger, wiser, and closer."

Dragomir comes up, lofting a brow slightly at the reference to Elvis and takes a moment to look around and then towards himself. "Ahh.. Hello Battle Singer." He nods towards Lleutrim. Then he turns to look towards Aleksandr and nods his head, "Greetings Lights the Dark. I am honored to be here. I will stay out of your way." Then he turns and looks towards Wazi and nods his head, "Puddle Jumper." In greeting, before looking then towards Ryla and nods, "Twilight's Glimmer." With a degree of respect for each.

At the sight of Frost, Dragomir's intense blue eyes study for a moment. There is a silence, but finally a nod of his head and he offers, "Frost." Time and place, and it does not seem to be here or now. He turns his head back finally at Lleutrim's words and says, "Most of that is correct. Though no pack has an Alpha until challenges are complete. Respect is earned, and should never be taken for granted."

Waziyata doesn't approach particularly near to Lleutrim, and her attention soon shifts away from the man's neutral reaction to her in favor of looking to the others, each as they arrive. Frost's smile gets a subdued wag of the wolf's tail, but she doesn't approach the woman. Dragomir's greeting is given a serious look in reaction, another silent, respectful, neither friendly nor unfriendly greeting. Instead, she moves to Ryla when the Ragabash appears, stepping up to her and then turning to stand at her side, fur just lightly touching the other woman's leg as Lleutrim speaks his piece.

After the Galliard and then Dragomir speak, she speaks up in a chuff: <<Twilight's Glimmer will join with Waziyata to pack. No Alpha without challenge, even if Eye of the Storm'rhya is strong.>>

Sounds like she's on a similar page to the Athro.

Aleksandr bows his head again, first to Lleutrim, then to Dragomir at their words. Specifically about the Umbra, he seems to have no opinion on the pack matters, but he has never committed to that. This is a first step for him, not a leap. A test, in and of itself. “There is a way to join us as a pack, but I have not learn this Rite yet. We could delay, it is possible, it may make the journey easier. But I will warn and suggest, everyone bring something that reminds them of who they are, something personal. It could be years to us in the Realm, while days here, but this plays tricks on the mind. Not to mention living another life.” Aleksandr has gained a lot of knowledge form somewhere, suddenly. He was not offering this advice before. “Even if we must dedicate it, it will ground you, keep you sane, keep you on the path.” Then he looks to Dragomir. “I am most grateful for any advice and wisdom you have, Eye of the Storm-rhya. I might be born under the Crescent Moon, but you have far more experience and wisdom than I. A look back at Frost as she smiles at him. He gives her a softer expression, but for once, there is no smile. Then he is turning to the group, at large.

Dragomir takes a moment of pause, and looks towards Wazi first, nodding before he turns his head to Aleksandr and Lleutrim. "We need to make something very clear before we leave. This is not my challenge, it is yours." He lifts a half-gloved hand towards Lleutrim and points towards his chest. "If we succeed or fail, is in your hands - not mine, not ours, yours. For this trip, you are Alpha." Then he turns to look towards Aleksandr and points to him, "You are the Theurge.. you are in charge of getting us through the Umbra and navigating the spirits. Your judgment on these matters is what we will listen to. Not mine. I have shared my wisdom with you all."

He turns to look around and says, "My role in this is singular. I will ensure the five Garou going into the Legendary Realm make it back. I will not leave until each of you has made it out. One way or another, we will all return. Whether we succeed or not, is not my responsibility."

"Wise." Lleutrim agrees about the alpha issue. He watches Wazi go over to Ryla instead of himself, makes no comment. There is, alas, a little distance that has opened between the Galliard and the Ahroun since the Kinfolk House episode.

A slow nod to what Aleksandr says, "I have brought such a thing." Lleu says quietly. He looks to the others, "If we choose to delay the start so you may learn this Rite, can we go ahead and summon my Ancestor and find out what he, or she, will require of me in chimmerage to guide us? Then while you learn your Rite ere we depart, I can work on doing whatever is required to prepare payment." He turns his head and pauses to listen to Dragomir.

Lleu listens and his brows furrow, his mouth a thin line. "Understood. It is a grave responsibility - we, all of us will have our share of responsibility before this is over. All of you honor me deeply in agreeing to come on this quest with me, to this very dangerous place. I will endeavor not to let any of you down."

Back to Aleks, Lleu asks, "Shall we begin?"

Waziyata's tail wags just a little at Ryla's reaction, glancing up at the Ragabash a moment, before turning her attention back to the others in the clearing. She is silent at Dragomir's proclamations, voicing no objections or further interjections. At the last bit about his role in the group, her ears lift in an expression of surprise. She looks to the man, shifting her weight slightly. Then Lleu is speaking, and the wolf turns her attention to him.

After he's finished, an ear orients toward Frost, then both focus on Dragomir as she looks to the man again. <<You do not know? Frost is asked to come.>>

Might not be the best way to broach the subject with the man. But, there it is.

Frost watches Dragomir as he talks, her head tilting a little bit. Her expression is curious, it is her first time seeing him since he got back. Then she looks to Wazi as she 'speaks' her head moving in a little nod, her hands tightening on the straps of her bag. She takes a deeper breath, letting it out slowly, with only a little bit of a sigh on the end.

Ryla reaches down to touch Wazi's fur, as it is just right there next to her hand. She pays close attention to Aleksandr and his wisdom as the Theurge. Her father being one she knows to listen. Much has gone into the trip, and every step is important. She touches those glasses she wears. They are important to her and her link - even without being actually useful. There is a story there, one she may share one day.

Aleksandr bows his head to Dragomir at that, before looking to the rest. “Well, what Eye-of-the-Storm-rhya is saying, is my role here, is like his, to ensure we all make it back, alive, intact, and sane. This is my role. I am but a guide to see us to and from our destination.” Stopping then on Lleutrim. “This is your quest, as he says. Shaderunner-rhya has warned simply to remember to stay on target, it is easy to get lost in there. That, also, is our purpose, to help you with this.” He motions around to the others. His lips purse. “We could, delay and ask Bane-Breaker-rhya to perform the Rite of Pack Blood for us, I am sure she would be willing, considering the magnitude of what we do.” That with a questioningly glance to all, though it settles back on Lleutrim. His decision. “Learning it, I think, would delay us too long.”

His lips thin then, at the mention of Frost, he had not intended to broach the subject if Dragomir wasn’t, but there it is. A glance at Dragomir, a slightly raised brow before coming back to those gathered. A look at Frost, as if a reassuring, even if she doesn’t know what Wazi said.

There is a visible twitch of irritation that flickers past Dragomir's expression at Wazi's statement. He is still, and his blue eyes focus forward as he digests that information. One half-gloved hand lifts up towards his bearded chin and brush his fingers there before sweeping up to take that flat black baseball cap off his head and strokes his fingers through his short cropped hair. After a moment, the hat is replaced and he nods his head, "Fantastic. Like a couple's retreat. That's perfect." He sucks in a quick and brutal breath of air through his nostrils.

He turns to look towards Lleutrim and says, "That complicates everything." He growls and motions his half-gloved hand and snaps, "Make the calls. We waiting, we going, we bringing kinfolk to the Legendary Realm. Do it, own it, and lets execute. We are past the point of questioning now." Yeah, being left in the dark isn't the greatest way to appease to the Athro it seems.

Lleutrim removes his jacket and tosses it to lie on top of his ruck. "If Bane-Breaker'rhya will do it, I think we can delay long enough for the Rite. It could be very helpful and I want to be as prepared as we reasonably can, not go in haste without fore thought. I agree that would be much faster than learning the Rite yourself."

A look to Dragomir, "We can discuss Frost's coming and why it complicates things." Back to Aleks Lleu says, "Let's get on with the Summoning Rite, Lights the Darkness'rhya. We can deal with the rest, afterwards."

Ryla will stay by Wazi's side while this is discussed. She is the newest to this group, and newest to these plans. Close attention will be paid in case she has any insight.

The wolf is silent after her statement to Dragomir, attention shifting over each of the others in turn at the reactions to her words. Her ears lower a little, as the plan of action is announced. Not aggressively, merely settling to wait. At the touch to her fur, she glances up at Ryla, sniffing at the woman a moment. Then she leans slightly, pressing her side against the woman's leg briefly, before looking expectantly to Aleksandr.

Frost looks a little surprised, but only a little, at Dragomir's reaction. Her lips press together briefly before she looks to Lleu, signing. "My purpose is not to cause you any woes. Just let me know what you need of me." Then she steps back a little, moving away from the irritated Fang.

Alek sighs just slightly, but another bowed head goes Dragomir’s way. “She knows the risks and she accepts them. She will not be a burden and I take responsibility for her and for her coming.” It is his simple statement, he does not seem apologetic about that part, though. It’s all he has to say about it. Then he looks to Lleutrim and bows his head again. “If you are ready, it will be better to perform it in the Umbra. Easier.” He motions to the Caern Heart and waits for others to follow if that is the intent. He turns, when it seems like everyone is ready and starts for the heart. “Let us proceed then, but I think if we summon and ask your Ancestor to lead us, he will wish to go now. Not be bothered a second time.”

Dragomir turns to look towards Lleutrim, then he turns to look towards Aleksandr and Frost and motions his gloved hand. "I have my opinions, and you have yours. We do not have to agree, that is why there is an Alpha to make the ultimate decision. It is very simple. There is no reason to debate it, and in my opinion, there is no reason to delay efforts longer. What advantages we bring into the Legendary realm will be meaningless. It is more important that we learn our roles and what we must of the Realm once within it."

He turns to look towards Lleutrim and says, "There is always more preparation, always more training, better equipment. There's millions of reasons to wait. Hesitation is just as dangerous. Either you trust those beside you, or you do not. Either we live, or we do not. Doubt, is meaningless."

Waziyata remains silent, waiting patiently with Ryla as the others discuss and debate. She actually turns her attention away from the group at one point, turning to look off in the distance at something unheard by human ears. Then, she looks back to the group. When Dragomir says his piece, her tail begins to wag slowly in approval.

Lleutrim thins his mouth as he listens to the others, "All right. My gut instinct is that I really do not want to delay unless the rest of you think we should. The Rite would help, but if we have no means to refresh it, it won't last long. And we are likely to be gone a very long time, by the Realm's standards. I have arranged for another pack to help us with a diversion so initially I hope we won't have to fight to get in. Then we have to /find/ our way to the Fianna areas of the Realm and that may also take time. So unless there are objections, let's just go." Looking at the others it seems at least two others agree.

Donnachaidh picks up his things and starts to walk towards the Caern's Heart with a gesture for Aleksandr to go ahead and lead the way.

Frost turns to follow behind the rest as the decision is made. Her eyes go to Alek, but there's no more smiling as the tone grows more serious and the discussion of her presence seems to come to an end for the moment.

Aleksandr bows his head again to Dragomir, it’s his general motions of acceptance and many other things. Perhaps he expects Dragomir and he will debate it another time, but he seems to agree with the Philodox now. No more words on the subject needed. Nor does he seem to see any reason to delay, having half turned to the Heart already. When Lleutrim says his peace, he nods, and once more turns towards the heart, but this time, he starts walking to it, whether people are following, or not. Like it has been settled and decided.

Leading them into the heart, where the gauntlet is thinnest, eh stops and turns back, shifting the bag a little on his shoulders. Looking to each. “Now we cross.” He holds out his hand towards Frost, beckoning her over in that way. He turns to face the water, peering down at its reflective surface. “Now we cross and we can begin.”

Dragomir nods and adjusts his leather backpack on his broad shoulder and steps forward to follow along. The man is dominant and opinionated, but he knows how to follow lead as well. When Lleutrim makes the decision, he moves easily to follow.

Finally, time to move. Waziyata actually stretches a little, limbering up somewhat, before she is stalking after the group as the call is made. She waits until most of the group has crossed before glancing into the pool and moving instantly through the gauntlet, herself. Once on the other side, she turns to Aleksandr, watching the Theurge expectantly.

Frost steps over and slides her hand into Aleks', curling her fingers firmly around his. She looks up at him, watching him intently though she does nothing to disturb his concentration.

His jacket he puts back on. Lleu settles it, checks the items are still in his pockets, then shoulders his rucksack to settle the pack over his back. It doesn't /look/ like he's brought any musical instruments with him but he's packed his USMC ruck with /something/. He comes to stand next to Aleks when his kit is settled, and he too looks into the pool, changing to Glabro as he does so. Within moments Lleu slips through the Gauntlet easily and over into the penumbra.

There, on the other side, Battle Singer's renown glyphs shine in the Penumbral light like tattoos painted over his muscled form. Eyes silvery bright, he looks around for the others as they appear, coming through to join him. No doubt looking at Eye of the Storm'rhya in the Umbra will make Lleu wish he had Umbral sunglasses for all the renown the Athro's likely accrued. This is the Galliard's first chance to see most of them in their spiritual reflection.

Dragomir transforms into a horrifying silvery white wolf.

Dragomir walks into the Heart, and begins to stride forward - leaping and shifting mid-air into a Dire Wolf form and jumping through the reflection into the Umbra and landing smoothly on the other side.

Aleksandr starts to cross the moment Frost’s hand clasps his. Here, the push through the Gauntlet is rather easy, even with the passenger. He and Frost are transported to the other side of the mirror almost instantaneously. He takes back his hand with a glance her way and a softer look. He’s prepared some things on this side already. Glyphs drawn on the ground, scratched into the dirt. He removes his backpack and sets it aside, reaching into it to pull out pipes, a musical instrument also adorned with glyphs. Leaving no doubt they are mystical in nature. He takes to the center of those glyphs on the ground, forming a bit of a circle, and ensures he does not disturb them. Kneeling there in his white robe, he glances to Lleutrim. “It is your Ancestor. Give me a name, and I will call to him or her.” Even as he does that, the man start to play the pipes, not well, but passable enough. He’s no Galliard, and certainly this is not his specialty.

Battle Singer squats down across from Lights the Darkness and makes eye contact with the Theurge, "Caílte mac Rónáin, nephew of Fionn mac Cumhaill, the last leader of the old Fianna band of ancient fame known to mortals. His deed name Races the Thoughts." The English version of what must have been a Gaelic deed name. It'll be problematic if all his Ancestors only speak Gaelic and none of the party can make heads or tails of it, won't it?

The Silvery White wolf is distant now. He does not come close for the summoning, in fact - he keeps particularly secluded and sits back on his haunches. There is something very odd about how he appears in the Umbra though - weathered and worn. The silver of his mane has become grey and he appears older somehow. For those that know Dragomir, and have always known his mentor to be nearby - Zheleznaya Gora is distinctly missing.

There is also so very vivid and brutal burn scars across his fur - where his spiritual body has endured deadly wounds that have left its mark on him. The wolf looks uncomfortable, this being the first time he has entered the Umbra since his return.

Frost steps back as Alek releases her hand, giving him room to do what he needs to next. She looks to Battle Singer curiously as he names his ancestor, then looks back to Alek to watch him intently as he starts to play the pipes. It takes her a moment to pull her attention away to look to the others of the group, and then on to their surroundings.

The umbral reflection of the Caern's underground heart is bright lit under the full moon, though it may be a disorienting experience for those new to the area. The many cracks in the physical cave's ceiling are reflected here, each burning silver with Luna's light. Spirits come and go, some lingering, attracted by Aleksandr's rite of summoning and the doings of the group of Garou. Nearby Waziyata lingers a phantasmal vortex of energy, a stiff and continual breeze emanating from the spirit of Twister, carrying a soft undercurrent of his endless, mad chattering.

As the ritual begins, Waziyata watches on, ears perking as Aleksandr settles in his ritual circle with the drum. It's so different from her own, haphazard, frantic version of the rite. Interesting. But after a few moments, she turns and looks over the others in the Caern's heart, considering each in turn. Her gaze lingers first on Lleutrim, gaze calm and thoughtful, then Ryla - a slight lightening of her stance, somehow more energetic. Frost, a curious look, checking on her. Aleksandr a cursory glance, the Theurge is still at work. Twister, a wag of the tail.

Her attention lingers as it falls upon Dragomir, ears perking up. She studies the wolf a long moment, before turning and pacing slowly, quietly over to him. She doesn't "speak" to the Athro, but her stance is one of confidence and strength before she turns deliberately, allowing her fur to brush against the Silver Fang's coat if he allows it. Then she merely stands beside him, alert.

One can be certain that the Galliard itches to pull out an instrument and play accompaniment to Aleksandr's pipes. If Lleu did so however, it might distract the Theurge. Battle Singer's fingers twitch once or twice. He decides to sit himself down cross legged to wait quietly for this may take a while. His pale gaze travels from one to another slowly, studying each of them in turn here in the penumbra. Eye of the Storm getting a good deal of his attention. Lleu's features are blunt and powerful in his Glabro near-man form, thick with muscle, a form well suited to Rituals.

All around them spirits flit and move about. Here where the Gauntlets is so very thin at the Heart of the Caern, many spirits of Gaia are drawn. All manner of them move about, curious, some passing through into the Heart, others watching the gathered Garou and kinfolk - especially the Theurge. Forest dryads, animals of the forest, water and wind elementals, all manner of plants with a vibrant life of their own around the sparkling pure pool, drawn to the power of the Caern.

The Silvery White wolf watches the transpirings from his perch away from the others, up until Wazi pads over to him. At first he ignores the other wolf, until her fur brushes against him. There is something that changes in his demeanor, and the wolf moves to lower down to lay there. The wolf's tail swishes once back and forth before curling back against its body once more. Ears remain alert, but he remains quiet.

There’s a certain harmony to Aleksandr and the way he plays that instrument. It starts low, and then rises, and it starts a bit off before coming to a sound that just, somehow, seems right. Like it has somehow brought a note of peacefulness and calm to this very place. Like a meditative state of such. He looks a Lleutrim, while still playing, listening and nodding. He, himself, seems almost more at peace here too. Like this side of the mirror is more comfortable to the Theurge. The spirits that inhabit this place are many, and they all seem to very friendly towards Aleksandr. Though for the most part, they mind their own business when not disturbed. Time here spent tending them and seeing to their needs, talking to them, appeasing them. It’s what he does around the Caern as much as allowed.

he lets the instrument lower, setting it down in front of him and then says the Ancestors name. He gets it a little tangled and shakes his head, clearing his throat and bowing an apologetic head toward Lleutrim. Testing again, his tongue moves around the odd name and then he looks past Lleutrim and up. The instrument, itself, is not part of the ritual, it simply makes it easier, makes it more amenable. He doesn’t shift forms, staying in his birth form. “Calite mac Ronain. Races the Thoughts. I call to you, I seek your help. I seek your wisdom and knowledge.” Then again in Garou and finally in the spirit tongue. This goes one for hours. Aleksandr never tires, his throat never seems to grow dry as he continues to call to the spirit to summon him to his side. It is long, but the Theurge never loses his concentration. The air swells a little around Alek as if the calling forms some sort of spiritual pull. Some sort of tether as the words search the Umbra for Lleutrim’s Ancestor, find him, and continue to speak to him. His words carried on a mystical wind. By the end, there is no more English or Garou, but only the spirit tongue.

Frost hasn't been privy to a ritual of this extent before, and as she sees the other wolves settling in while Alek works she too finds a spot to lay claim to. She folds her legs, sitting down to fold her hands in her lap so she can continue to observe.

Battle Singer bows his head slightly. Relaxed, his own mind upon Caílte mac Rónáin, of all that he was able to study and learn about this particular Ancestor, not as well known as his uncle Fionn, or Fionn's sire. The Galliard focuses also upon the memories of the many visions and dreams that have plagued him since he was a boy. Events or teachings his Ancestors tried to communicate. The Fianna is silent all through the lengthy ritual, his thoughts turned both inward and out towards his Ancestors - and one in particular. As if the focus of Lleu's mind might help Aleksandr in the Summoning, to give it more power to draw in the spirit they seek.

Twilight's Glimmer keeps near Wazi as her eyes take in all that they see here. The ritual itself has her in awe, while the views catch her attention from time to time. It seems this young Cliath has not been to the Umbra very often, and this time in particular is inspiring to her.

After that light contact with the silvery wolf doesn't end with her neck growing a new hole, Waziyata gives her own tail a lazy wag in response to the Athro's swish. She glances down at him a moment, scenting the air, then after another moment's lingering she moves a pace away and settles down on the earth, as well. She doesn't stray far from the Silver Fang, and her own posture remains alert and curious as her attention returns to Aleksandr, watching the Theurge do his work.

The ritual takes several hours, but this is something that should be familiar to most if not all of the Garou. Eventually, there is a sound that almost seems to come in time with Aleksandr's calling of the name. Another moment passes, and then a brown-haired, brown-eyed man of average height and middling age stands before the Theurge, proud and in the prime of his strength. He is dressed in the traditional, flowing garb of an ancient, well-to-do Irishman. Or, to modern eyes, something between a flouncy dress and a poofy shirt.

He looks down to Aleksandr, eyeing the Theurge a long moment, before glancing toward Lleutrim, then the others gathered nearby. After a time he speaks, in the Spirit Speech: ~Well now. I see one of my kin, and a great lot of the Falcon's Tribe here. What wisdom does a Shaman of the Silver Fangs seek from me?~ The tone is good-natured, and he stands easily before the circle. It likely means he's not offended yet.

The Silvery White wolf is silent, and allows the Arden's to work with the Ancestor spirit. He has spent most of his life speaking with them, he's good. The wolf lowers his head, laying down on his front paws while he waits and watches.

Aleksandr rises as the man speaks, but keeps his head bowed. Keeping to the tongue of the spirits, as well. ~I am honored by your presence, Races the Thoughts. And honored that you have answered my call. The reason for it, is your kin has been set upon a quest.~ he motions to Lleutrim, though he obviously knows of who Aleksandr speaks. ~His quest takes him to the Legendary Realm and we seek guidance and a guide to reach it. We are hoping you might help. In return, we offer you what you ask.~ He glances to the rest of his companions and then back. ~I know it is not a small favor we ask of you. We only hope that you will help u and that we in return can return the favor.~ Then he looks to Lleutrim again. “I am sure your kin has words to spare with you, also.” With that, he gives a motion and way to Lleutrim, whether he can understand what Aleksandr has been saying or not. “I have told him what we ask. I think, perhaps, you might wish some words with your Ancestor.”

Battle Singer indeed has not yet learned the speech of Spirits and it may well serve him well to do so on this venture. Nonetheless he also moves to stand and inclines his head in respect to his spiritual Elder. He looks up when he is indicated and waits, silent, for some cue from the Theurge. "Aye, Caílte mac Rónáin, Races the Thoughts'rhya."

Lleu uses the language of Garou, his baritone dropping nearly to a deep bass in his Glabro form. "I am Lleutrim Donnachaidh, Rite named Seinneadair Blàr, 'Battle Singer' in the English, born on two legs beneath the Galliard's moon, Fostern challenging for Adren, Fianna, a patrol leader of the Sept of the Enduring Spirit."

He studies his Ancestor, "I seek to learn of my history, my Ancestors, and travel to the Legendary Realm that I may live the life of one of them, if I can. I know not how to find it, nor where within I must go. More swiftly, if you will aid me. Tell me what payment you would have to show us the way, Honored Ancestor, that I may learn from my Fianna predecessors."

Twilight's Glimmer with the appearance of the spirits, the Cliath lowers herself down as low as she can. Reverent, and respectful. Gaining every bit of knowledge she can from this interaction, she tries to keep herself from causing any issue here. This is Battle Singer's Ancestor, and she dare not upset a thing. She thinks of her own Ancestors, of Whitestreak that comes to her side when needed. Her thoughts center on how important this whole event is.

Caílte mac Rónáin watches Aleksandr straight on as the Adren rises to his feet and speaks his peace, giving only the faintest of nods in response to the man's thanks and honor, acknowledging the respect shown, offering a touch of it in return. His expression is unreadable as the explanation is given in Spirit Speech, though he does glance to Lleutrim, considering the man a few moments, then returning his attention to the Theurge as Aleksandr finishes speaking. ~A mighty tall favor. Falcon never settled for less.~

He crosses his arms then, a fuller nod given at the mention of his kin having words and then shifts his attention to Lleutrim as Aleksandr passes the baton to him, so to speak. His lips quirk slightly upward at the English translation of the Gaelic name, though he doesn't comment on it.

"I know of you only from afar, lad. Lleutrim Battle Singer. Seinneadair Blàr." He says the names in an almost thoughtful way, as if tasting them, before the slight smile becomes a soft frown.

"It's good of ole Sings Down the Rain to kick your arse into looking at the past. You stink of the Weaver's traps, all tangled up around the passion of the Fiann who should be. Are you the Tribe of Stag or Man, boy? Gaia has great need of only one more'a the two. Why have you only called my name now? Are we so little to you?"

His gaze drifts past the man, looking briefly over the other Garou and Frost, before returning his attention to the Galliard, expectant.

Waziyata lifts her head when the Ancestor Spirit arrives, ears perking back up again. A flick of them shows her checking on both Dragomir and Ryla, nearby, before she is focused on the scene at hand. Her tail wags a little as she watches and listens, and at the question of "Stag or Man" her tongue lolls out in a brief, lupine grin.

Frost stays still in her spot, arms folded around her legs, watching the interaction with the ancestor spirit with open fascination. She looks back and forth between Lleu and the spirit, though any of the conversation that involves spirit speech seems to go over her head.

His head he tilts slightly at mention of 'Weaver traps' as Battle Singer listens. Lleu continues to study his Ancestor, "You are not little to me. I have not called before because I knew not the names of -any- of my Ancestors until very recently. Only months ago, last summer, did I hit my First Change. Before then I was a Lost Cub and knew nothing of the Garou, of the Fianna, or my ancestors. In the past six months I have had much to learn. I would know far more of you, of Stag's Children, of my history gone before me. I would have come eventually on my own even if Calls Down the Rain'rhya had not sent me. One among us here first mentioned the Legendary Realm to me some months ago when I was yet a cub." Here Lleu indicates Dragomir in his dire wolf form. "Ever since then it has been a goal of mine to pursue this quest someday. I did not think I should come to you so soon, barely half a year since I learned I was Garou, barely over four months since my Rite of Passage to join the Fianna. It has also taken me time to gather those with whom I might pack, Honored Elder."

Battle Singer eyes his Ancestor, "My Ancestors can teach me what it is to be wholly Fianna. A /balance/ of man, of wolf, of Stag's Children, that I may become a better Garou. I may learn this and much more if my Ancestors accept to teach me what I should know. I seek their wisdom."

Aleksandr bows his head. ~Falcon always expects much and I would have it no other way. It is how we stay strong.~ That’s the only reply Aleksandr gives, falling silent now as the Ancestor and the kin speak. He’s here to guide and facilitate and it seems he has done so, for now. He stays there, near Lleutrim, simply listening now, waiting for a cue that he is needed and nothing more. It’s one of Aleksandr’s specialties. Silence. And he’s comfortable with it. Eyes flicker between the two, as he listens on. His expression, as it often is, unreadable.

Twilight's Glimmer tilts her head, looking between Battle Singer and Eye of the Storm, and kind of woahs with this information. She knew some of it, but this is more. She closes her eyes to digest some of this, the lost cub, the missing information - things she had her whole life.

The Ancestor Spirit snorts once at Lleutrim's words, "Six months gone, and already bucking for Adren. Too little time to seek the Ancestors. You've got it backwards, lad." His words are disapproving, though wry. A glance is given to Aleksandr, then beyond him to the others assembled. He seems to consider them all for a moment, expression stern. Then he nods and looks back to Lleutrim.

"Three things will I ask of you, Seinneadair Blàr. I know a path to the Realm, though I can't say where it ends. Legends change in time, and this path was old a thousand years gone."

A pause then, before he continues, "First, show this great lot of Falcons the truth of the Tribes of Stag. Passion will save you or doom you. Tell the Garou you'd pack with what they should fear from your secret heart. Maybe they'll help you guard against it.

"Second, when your Quest is done, you'll learn the tales of your people from us as a Galliard should. No more delays or excuses. You'll start with the tale of Numantia, to honor the path you'll take.

"Last, you've broken ties with your own blood, Lad. I'll not have it. Better you hate your uncle face to face than pretend he never was. Find him or what came of him, and swear you'll never turn your back on family, even the bastards. They need you the most, if only for a good kick in the arse."

Naturally, at the 'good kick in the arse' part - is when the Silvery White Wolf sits up on his haunches and lifts his head. The chest puffed, and ears alert. There is a hard thump of his tail on the ground.

Waziyata shifts her weight a little, sitting up a little before the other wolf, ears perking up at the first of the three demands. She glances to the other Garou, to Frost, then returns her attention to the scene at hand. Rather than laughing or showing amusement at the talk of family, her head tilts to one side, thoughtful.

Twilight's Glimmer is missing something. But not that much. More to this whole story, and she cannot wait to hear it. Her head lifted, her shoulder rise a bit, and she joins the other wolves a bit higher, but still below them both. This sounds like quite a quest for the Fostern, and she is eager to watch it unfold.

"Maybe I'm just ambitious. On the other hand, those whom I went through my Rite of Passage with already made Adren, so maybe not." Lleutrim smirks right back with a 'so fuck you' kind of look. The Galliard might be a little tired of the crap people are always giving him. Still, the former Marine quiets and listens carefully. A slow nod to the information about the path, "We'll have take our chances."

The first part sounds as much as a warning as a deep introspection. Battle Singer glances at the others gathered around then back to Caílte mac Rónáin, "All right." Then the second condition. Battle Singer thins his mouth ere he speaks, "I have been and I will. Numantia. Understood."

The last demand pauses Lleutrim. He frowns and furrows his Glabro brows. He clearly doesn't like that part at all. A grimace, "I'll find the son of a bitch, if he's still alive. I agree to be bound by these terms, Races the Thoughts'rhya. If you will show us the way to the Legendary Realm. I give you my word, on my life and my honor, assuming I survive and am able to return to do these things."

The ancient Fianna man smiles at those first words from Lleutrim, eyes narrowing a touch though he continues his terms. At the end of Lleu's acceptance, he gives a slow nod, eyeing the man, "From those who lived the stories, lad. Not just those who heard 'em. That's where you'll learn our tales."

A pause then, glancing once more to the assembled before his attention settles on the other Fianna, "Remember this, Seinneadair Blàr. These three tasks are to make you grow. One is for the man you are now. One, for the man you should be. One is for the man you should have been. Fail them, or dally, and you've done worse than disappoint your Ancestors."

That said, he grins suddenly and adds, "Now, call your war party. You'll visit what's left of Numantia tonight, and see if the path once trod by the Great Righ Master of the Gale still stands."

"Even better." Battle Singer agrees. He listens, marking each point within his mind, icy grey eyes sharp upon the spirit of Caílte mac Rónáin. "I shall not shirk my duty." The title twigs his attention. "I'd like to hear more about this Righ Master of the Gale if opportunity allows."

Lleu then looks around to all the others. Aleksandr and Frost, Ryla, Waziyata and the Silvery White wolf who is Dragomir, "All right then. Let's be off."

Seinneadair Blàr shifts from Glabro with his USMC ruckpack into the form of a Dire Wolf so that they may travel swiftly and be ready for battle, taking his cue from the more experienced Athro perhaps.

Twilight's Glimmer sits up a bit further. Waiting for instructions from the Alpha for this trip.

For her part, Waziyata stands up when Lleu gives the word. She wags her tail a little, though not exuberantly, and steps forward to follow after the Hispo. She moves lithely up beside Twilight's Glimmer and times her step to bump her shoulder into the other wolf's side. Then, a panting grin is offered to the Ragabash, a more vigorous wag of the tail, and the Ahroun moves onward, growing up into her own Hispo form.

Perhaps, not surprisingly, Aleksandr’s only reaction is a raised brow at all of Lleu’s Ancestor’s demands. His expression does not alter past that. Though his gaze does go away from the two to the others and then back, as if to gauge their reactions before coming back to the two at center stage. Then, as Lleutrim answers, there is a slight little dip at the corner of his mouth. Likely no one notices, he’s not the center of attention and it’s still very quickly. He says nothing, quiet, faded into the background. Still, just standing near the two Fianna though, dark eyes watching.

Twilight's Glimmer moves into her Hispo form following her buddy Wazi. The very white wolf is excited but by far not bouncy. Tail wagging a bit as well, she keeps an eye on Battle Singer, and the other males, waiting on direction.

Caílte mac Rónáin nods somberly to Lleutrim at the man's first reply, again looking past him to the other Garou and Frost. Then his face splits into a grin at the request, and he looks back to the Galliard.

"Ah," he answers in a suddenly warmer tone, "I thought you might, lad. Egnato was my own Ancestor, me uncle Fionn claimed. Last and Greatest King of Hills of Duero. Numantia was his hearth and hall."

He turns then, still grinning, and begins to walk away from the Umbral Reflection of the Caern's Heart. Seems he'll be all too happy to start in on this tale. "Follow close to the Airt, now, and bring any you want along this path."

As they all get up and make ready, Seinneadair Blàr lifts up his head and lets loose a long, loud howl into the penumbra! It is howl for the other pack he's arranged to join them in the umbra who have agreed to act as distraction, informing them to close ranks and follow them! The Galliard passes on the message and as the others come to join them, a few brief words are exchanged. (Their action will be a separately ST'd scene)

When all is ready, the Fianna Galliard looks over the others to see that they too are ready before he turns to Caílte mac Rónáin, >> I shall gladly listen, Honored Ancestor. << The Fianna dire wolf moves off at a walk to follow Caílte mac Rónáin and see both where this path shall lead, and the tale as well! There's a look now and then to keep tabs on the others and especially stay alert should they encounter anything unfriendly along the way.

It takes Aleksandr a moment, but soon the man is turning into the silver wolf that is well known. Unlike Dragomir his wolf form is immaculate, what one would expect of that of the Tribe of kings. His fur and form even more regal in the Umbra, somehow. This just as the Ancestor spirit starts off. He prepares to follow in his nimble wolf form. He only moves though when Lleutrim does. Though he stays near the front of the pack, as a guide should. Eyes, ears and nose all at the ready, all on alert. No dangers here by the Caern, especially with the silver wolf present, but that can change quickly.

Form begins to contort and stretch, as another emerges. Aleksandr becomes a silver wolf

Twilight's Glimmer keeps in the middle of the group, unless told to go elsewhere. With reverence to the situation, and the others on this quest, she will follow the direction of Battle Singer. The white silvery wolf is a bit smaller, but her eyes are alert, and ears perked as they move off.

Puddle Jumper huffs softly at Twilight's Glimmer's excitement, an amused sound, before falling toward the rear of the group - a guard position, not too far from where Dragomir likely ends up. Frost, of course, is herded to the middle of the group very gently but insistently, left to be right near the Ragabash, the safest possible place (right?).

Races the Thoughts stands now before the group as a great, grizzled old Crinos wolf with mottled brown and red fur, many scars, and an otherworldly silver-blue gleam in his eyes. He grins, as much as the war form can, as the pseudo-pack assembles and is reinforced by the war party that Lleutrim summons.

<<Aye, good lad. Now, Ancient Numantia was one of the first strongholds of the Tribes of Stag. A mighty Caern of Stamina on the craggy hilltop, surrounded by a fortress and the villages of our Kin. They wouldn't have called themselves Fianna in those days, but Fianna they were and are still.>>

As he talks, he turns and begins to walk confidently through the Penumbra, beginning to fade from view though his scent is strong in the noses of the Garou, the path made plain through the old Froot Loops Slogan. It is one of the stranger paths of the Spirit World, not through the physical reflection of the immediate physical land, but a more esoteric journey through essence.

Seinneadair Blàr moves along easily as he listens, icy eyes vigilant, ears swiveling to stay alert. He sniffs the umbral air as they travel, his paws slowly eating up the distance - which can be difficult to determine in the penumbra, much as the passing of time can be strange and difficult to gauge.

>> Where was this place located, Races the Thoughts'rhya? Do we have a date reference? << Or is he thinking too much like a man, trying to pin down time and place? But isn't that what /history/ is about? Reference markers.

The scent he can follow, even if Caílte mac Rónáin disappears from view. It's a strange landscape, shifting as they pass through it.

The silver wolf. The OTHER silver wolf, the smaller one, is quiet as he follows along. Concentrating on following the spirit through the Umbra as much as watching their surroundings and staying alert. He knows what to look for, for trouble in the Umbra. So he is on watch, his ears perking suggests he is listening as he follows. In a lot of ways it’s like a walk in the park for the Theurge, except, more dangerous, like Central Park, at night.

The path winds slowly through the penumbra, more impressionistic than realistic. Cold stones, darkness, the full light of Luna's face far above, the sleeping spirits of hoary old trees all pass in a sort of misty haze, indistinct, just out of reach, while the scent draws the group on.

Ahead, Races the Thoughts answers easily: <<Oh, long ago Lad. Two thousand years or more, a hundred or so before the humans claim their Christ was born. Perhaps a thousand years after the first of Stag's Tribes fought the Fomorian War to claim the Emerald Isle. The days of Rome spreading their filth across the land, giving us the first taste of what was to come if we were to let the Weaver and Wyrm stay too cozy together.>>

The impressionistic landscape passes quickly, yet slowly. Dreamlike with each tree, stream, rock or glimpse of a rare animal spirit seeming to linger in the eye, yet disappear if one looks too closely. Soon, the indistinct landscape is becoming unfamiliar.

<<A great lot of our Ancestors decided they'd had enough. They, their Kin, and their Tribes, especially the Skysingers and Hounds, set to the grim work of burning Rome. They fought with spear and claw across the land, burning the Wyrm's temples, killing bloodsuckers, rooting out the rot at the heart of the Empire's strongholds. Giving as good as they got. It looked like we'd take Rome. The Warders of Men prevented that. Glass Walkers, they call themselves today. Always in love with the Weaver and her schemes, they were.>>

Puddle Jumper pads slowly along the path, nose lower to the ground, following the scent as much as the silhouettes of the other wolves and Frost ahead. She too keeps at least one ear oriented toward the tale being told.

Twilight's Glimmer listens and keeps alert. The path may have dangers, and this is not an area she is as familiar with. The smallest of the silvery white wolves keeping in the middle she can hear well at least of the tale. She sniffs here and then there.

The Silvery White dire wolf pads along with the others, alert and yet also not particularly attentive to the conversation. Ears up and tail down. Eye of the Storm's senses extending outward in all directions.

The forest of their home Caern, penumbra side, is left far behind as they travel along the Ancestor spirit's path. Seinneadair Blàr smells the path and things around them often, trotting along as they go. As he listens to the tale the Galliard looks like he might object to lumping the Romans in with the Weaver and the Wyrm, yet the Galliard keeps his thoughts to himself and listens. Well, perhaps it makes a lot of sense really. A flick of an ear, a turn of his head, checking on the others and reading their expressions and body language. And making certain the second pack still follows, the pack that will work to distract.

On they wend their way ever deeper into the Umbra. >> If the Wyrm was also involved, why would the Glass Walkers take that side? Surely they were aware? <<

Frost follows along, looking around with open interest as they travel. She keeps her pace steady, keeping up with the group as they move, likely faster on four legs than her two, but she doesn't complain and does her best not to lag behind.

<<Oh, aye, they were aware. But it was their territory and their problem, they claimed - and we accepted it. The Warders of Men said they could end the Wyrm's threat in their lands, and this might'a been a less bitter tale if we'd called the bluff.>>

The land continues to change, slowly but surely, the ground becoming an expanse of blue-green sea in the silvery moonlight as the groups progress, a tang of sea salt in the air. <<Now, Rome never took kindly to defeat. And give 'em half a chance to pull it together, and their armies were unmatched. Organized and disciplined, soullessly efficient. They set about retaking the lands we'd chased them from, and the scattered Tribes of Stag were hard pressed to hold them back a second time.>>

As trees and ground begin to appear again, the tale trails off. Races the Thoughts goes silent for some indeterminate time, though the scent trail leads steadily onward. At last (at once?), he speaks again: <<We're drawing near now. So you'll have to forgive the tale being shortened to: The Leeches of Rome walled us in and starved us out, until the Rage became too great and Numantia was lost. Ever since, the ruin has stood alone on its hill, the Caern lost, our Kin killed or sold to slavers. We've never rebuilt our old stronghold, and the Wyrm lingers there still, more since it decided to forbid us the Realm of Legends. Be ready for trouble.>>

As she follows along with the group and the terrain changes to indistinct oceans, Puddle Jumper breathes a quiet sigh and glances aside to Eye of the Storm, then ahead to Twilight's Glimmer and Frost. Her ear swivels, head turning to survey the surreal landscape slowly, silently.

Then, as the story abruptly ends on that warning, she gives a very soft growl, more a rumbling in her chest than a true sound, before shifting her weight into a more tense, readied stance. Her tail raises to a more alert, ready position and her hackles raise just a bit. The Ahroun is on guard.

The silver wolf near the front seems to be only concerned with the Umbra, even if they have a guide. Simply alert as they travelled, surveying the horizon and the rest for trouble. Ears perks a little more, flick, as the Ancestor spirit claims that they are close and that trouble might come, or probably will. Proof he has been listening to each word. All his senses focus forward for the moment, as if being able to see their destination and assess it. Then again, he is like a sentry on alter again, watching carefully. Lights the Darkness begin to grow into that of Hispo, just in case.

Form shifts and contort, and a new one emerges. Lights-The-Darkness becomes a dire wolf

Dragomir transforms into a horrifying silvery white wolf.

It's a hell of a tale, and one Seinneadair Blàr is eager to learn more of now he's had a taste of it. The Galliard licks his chops, his thick pelt bristling a little at the imagery the tale spinning brings to his mind's eye. The loss of a great Caern, long ago. A tale worth remembering.

Now they are near, Lleupine slows his steps and lifts his head. He scents the air, listening, eerie eyes bright and seeking for the foe, looking ahead and around them.

Behind them the second pack comes, lead by their alpha and stopping a little ways back to look and listen.

Twilight's Glimmer hears the warning, and looks up. She looks for the stance of the other wolves, as her fur bristles. Her senses are up further than before. She lowers a bit to the ground, looking carefully, and prepared.

Silvery White Wolf pads along with the others, awaiting the alpha's command on how they will proceed. Ears perked, attentive and aware of the surroundings and remains in careful stride. Memory of his own pack's service in this capacity not long ago, and yet a lifetime ago for Drago.

Here at the end of the trail, the penumbral world comes rushing back into focus. The two packs stand in a vast plain of tall grasses and rolling, craggy old hills. On the distant horizon are small copses of sleeping tree spirits, not quite a wood, certainly no forest. Atop a hill perhaps a mile away stands a crumbling ruin, a once proud fortress of uneven stones now overgrown with moss and grass. The spirit reflection is hardly more than overgrown rubble after so long, suggesting the physical realm bears even less trace of the Fianna Hold.

The air is still and silent, unnaturally so, and the red star Antihelios seems somehow brighter in this place, glaring balefully overhead, a challenge to Luna's bright, silver light.

The Ancestor Spirit stands tall and proud, awaiting the packs. He dips his head in a nod as they appear, before turning to scowl up toward the ruin ahead. <<The approach is dangerous. As I see it, you've got a few choices. Test your strength in a headlong rush, sneak as close as you can, or try a distraction. In my day, it was a simple matter: My pack killed the banes who lingered and forced our way to the sanctuary of the Lunes on the bridge. It won't be so easy for you, Battle Singer.>>

The Silvery White wolf has been in this position before. He stands ready to charge if that is the order, and waits poised. The wolf's tail swipes, ears perked and he looks onto that field as though it will be his final battle and he is ready to face it. Listening now for Battle Singer's command, he waits.

Puddle Jumper steps out into the grasslands and slouches down, settling into a prowling stance. She moves a little to one side of the group, into a flanking position at a slight angle, positioning herself to rush to the aid of any that might need it. Like the silvery wolf, she holds herself very tense and still, hackles rising, ears laying back, lips curling to show teeth. Something has the Ahroun very tense.

Lights the Darkness pauses on the approach, looking up to the red star and then the ruin. <<Wait.>> he whispers in his wolf form. <<Too quiet. Bad omen. Something here. Something powerful. Head on. Not survive. Bad, bad. Powerful.>> He sniffs at the air, entirely unnecessary, but it is something he always does when activating that gift. <<Stinks, very bad. BANE, think. Very old. Very powerful.>> he moves his nose downward as if somehow that can blunt what he senses. <<More, much more. Bad now. Worse later. Moon helps.” He peers up at the full moon above. <<Suggest sneak or distraction Battle Singer.>> His hackles are fully up, his growl low and deep now. He moves, just a little closer to Frost.

>> Indeed, packs should send a force to combat the Wyrm where it dwells where it tries to block us from the Legendary Realm. But today, we brought a pack who has agreed to help us. To scout and try to lure the Wyrm's minions that we might pass through. << Seinneadair Blàr pauses, scenting the arid air, the dust of the ruins up ahead. His pale eyes gaze into that distance, >> I see something moving there, along the hill top. Dark, like a snake slithering in the dry grasses. <<

A low growl rumbles up from deep in his throat and he lowers his head slightly, eyes and ears still focused ahead. Battle Singer does indeed wait when Aleks bids him to do so and speaks of a very powerful bane. Lleu looks to him and considers, >> We shall attempt stealth /and/ distraction. <<

Seinneadair Blàr turns from Caílte mac Rónáin's side and falls back to consult with the second pack that's come with them. After a few moments, he returns. >> They agree they can go in closer and show themselves. See if they can flush out to lure away from the ruins or at least distract this dark presence. Not to fight it but to draw it out with gifts and taunts. While they work to do so, we will try to slip in from the other side. <<

Twilight's Glimmer likes stealth and sneak. She is small and hopefully will be easy enough for the Ragabash. How they do this - she will wait to get any further instructions.

Frost crouches down, unhooking her rifle from her backpack. She points towards the hilltop, signing for those that can understand. "Movement." then takes the safety off of her gun.

Stealth is not something that Dragomir often incorporates into his battle style. Though he is not without resources or the ability to do so. Agreeing with the assessment, and the trust in the 2nd pack to do their part. <<Baedre Kovich.. deed named Shadow of Falcon, your movements are legendary and your tales of battle known and never seen. I call upon you now, travel now through me in honor and let my movements reflect your own.>> As the Dire Wolf calls upon his Ancestors and shifts down into his Lupus form to be smaller and more sleek for stealth now.

<<Right, then,>> Caílte mac Rónáin growls softly as Lleutrim returns from conferencing with the other pack. He shifts his weight, looking up toward the ruin a long moment, before turning his gaze back to the assembled "pack". <<My path ends here, lads. If you can get into the ruin, it should be a simple task to find the bridge. It was once marked with glyphs of renown and legend. I make no promises it still is.>>

He focuses his gaze on Battle Singer, then: <<Good luck, Seinneadair Blàr. May Stag guide you home to hearth and kin after this, if only so you can fulfill your debts!>> The words are grimly humorous at the end, and the Crinos moves to clasp one hand on the dire wolf as he speaks. Then, he drops his hand and begins to withdraw, turning to move away from the group at a steady pace.

Nearby, the other pack begins readying themselves to move into position.

Puddle Jumper shifts her weight again, licking her lips and twisting her ears this way and that as she looks about the plain once more. Her tail wags low and slow, and she makes no pleas to her own Ancestors as she waits for the direction to move.

Twilight's Glimmer watches Dragomir call upon his ancestor, and knows what she must do. >>Whitestreak, I call on you! Great New Moon, be with me. In this time of great need, help me be more than I am without you. << She wishes, she calls, she pays respect to him. It takes a bit, but soon she feels his presence nearby. The great Ragabash comes to her, to stay with her at this time.

Seinneadair Blàr looks to Frost, >> Hold your fire. We, our group, will attempt stealth first. Fight only if we must. I saw it also. << He looks back to his Ancestor, >> Thank you, Races the Thoughts'rhya. I think the guard upon this place speaks to the bridge yet enduring. I hope. I shall indeed pay my debt unto you, in this life, or another. Gaia guide you. <<

As the other pack makes ready to do what they have come to do, Battle Singer looks upon his 'pack', >> Are all ready? We may wish to invoke gifts lest we are forced to join battle ere we are free of this place. Especially if we find there is no bridge. <<

Frost nods to Battle Singer'rhya, holding the rifle but finger off the trigger. She remains crouched down while the Garou ready themselves.

Aleksandr takes back his human form briefly and takes off his bag as they prepare. He reaches into it, knowing the advantage is to the wolf. He takes something out of it and hands it to Frost. “Take this. It’s Nightshade, will keep you hidden.” Then he is taking the form of a wolf again, like Dragomir, his smaller form for now. Though as he does so, he also lets the light of the moon shine down on him and surround him in a nimbus of its light.

Form begins to contort and stretch, as another emerges. Lights-the-Darkness becomes a silver wolf

As the two packs make their preparations, there is the soft sound of rustling grass in the wind. Peaceful, calm, except for the lack of any breeze in the too-calm night. A moment after, the support pack reveals itself - moving out into the open, advancing toward the hill with howls of challenge to the Wyrm.

Atop the ruined hill fortress, forms rise into view. Easily a dozen hunched, tar-skinned, vaguely humanoid spirits with wicked claws and twisted bodies. They shriek in response to the howls and throw themselves over the rubble of once-proud fortress walls, half tumbling, half running down the slope toward the approaching pack.

Behind them rises a massive, midnight form that seems to rise from the earth itself. Where the smaller spirits shriek their rage and bloodthirst, this Bane emerges in silence, a faceless mound of essence. Around it swirl a multitude of tentacles like rotten grass dancing in the wind. The slithery sound resumes, emanating from the wyrm thing.

Behind Battle Singer's pack, his Ancestor stands quiet, watching with piercing silver-blue eyes in the umbral night, Luna shining down above.

The other pack begins their work they agreed to do, taking up the challenge in full Garou spirit! Seinneadair Blàr watches them and then, as the massive, tentacled silent bane rises up like a great black moon, every hair along the dire wolf's body bristles and he crouches down slightly as if seriously desiring /not/ to be seen by that thing! The barest of snarls ere he communicates, >> Let us not waste time! Around this way, stealthfully! Trust in our brother pack. <<

And so Seinneadair Blàr controls his fear and rage at the unholy sight of the huge bane. He leads the way, picking and choosing a path that will give them the most concealment he can reasonably manage - yet a path that won't take them too long to traverse while their distraction lasts! The Fianna moves silently, like a shadow cast by Luna's light, attempting to use the sparse brush, strewn stone and slight variations in the rise and fall of the landscape to trek up the hill, their distraction on the further side. Eyes, ears, nose alert to possible threats.

Frost pops the top and drinks down what Alek handed her, no spoonful of sugar to help with the taste. She looks towards Battle Singer'rhya, nodding to his orders as she turns to move after him.

The silver wolf tries again, making the light of the moon coalesce around him in a protective barrier, just before the other pack makes itself known. Eyes rise to the hilltop, but it’s almost like the Theurge knows what’s coming, or has a sense of it. Hackles are already raises, a low growl admits and his rage rises to the surface. But he isn’t like a lot of the rest, his Rage is much easier to control. He’s already crouching low and slinking down to sneak around and follow Battle Singer. His eyes remain steadily on the giant thing rising as he moves around.

The silvery white wolf known as Eye of the Storm moves with a sleek grace. A low growl emits subconsciously at the emergence of the large bane. The hunger in him to charge and meet the threat head-on, but he will follow the alpha's lead. The wolf moves with a predatory grace across the ground, following the lead as best he is able.

Puddle Jumper shudders at the shrieking and the swishing sounds, ears perking up, hackles raising back to full alert as the massive bane rises into sight. The Ahroun growls softly, her form already beginning to swell at the mere sight and sound of the thing, claws flexing angrily on the earth, lips peeling back into a wordless snarl.

Abruptly, she crouches down, pressing her belly against the tall grasses and flattening her ears back, twisting her head to look away from the bane and toward her friends and maybe future pack mates. She calms, then, the scent of her too-strong Rage dying down to normal before she turns and slinks slowly and carefully after the others. <<If seen, Wazi is last away before Eye of the Storm.>> Her own self-assigned role, it seems. It is said as quietly as a Hispo wolf can manage.

Twilight's Glimmer is so glad her ancestor is with her. In this time, she is need of him for sure. The sounds of the banes and the obvious alertness of the Garou surrounding them have her on the highest of alerts. She knows she is the smallest of them, and gets down low and creeps along calm and smooth. One step at a time. She barely breathes even as she flattens even her ears now. No sounds, just watching and going as quiet as she can.

The group makes their slow, careful way around the foot of the hill, prowling more-or-less silently to a more sheltered approach, opposite the distraction force. The allied pack howls for all they're worth, though it is rapidly becomes snarls and cries of Rage and battle. Their opponents' shrieks are unending - high pitched wails and screams leading one into the next.

As Battle Singer leads the group so carefully up the side of the hill, there are a few inevitable, small sounds from them. The click of claw upon stone, a shifting of grass from an awkward stepping angle. Nothing disastrous. They near the crown of the hill without incident, though the vast, dark Bane sits unmoving above them.

On closer inspection, the thing is a roil of scaly flesh with tiny eyes dotted madly across its bulbous frame, set in threes at the base of its numerous, waving tentacles. The stench is intense, and the bane rotates slowly in the air, supported by no visible means. A glance at the tentacles reveals slits in the larger ones that could serve as mouths. If it has noticed them or their approach, it takes no action.

Eye of the Storm growls lowly, <<We are deceived.. it is an ambush. Let me draw the ambush, and you all make it for the gate.>> he asks. The silvery white wolf pads quickly, ready to spring into action if given the green light.

Twilight's Glimmer can tell something is wrong! She hears the growl from Eye of the Storm, and would want to help, but knows she must follow orders if they are to survive. She will wait for the others to go in one burst and head to the gate as the Athro has told them. Unless Battle Singer has another plan.

Seinneadair Blàr travels on, keeping some of his attention on the frightful Bane overhead. It makes him uneasy, fur bristling down his back as the wolf makes his way quietly, stealthfully. He pauses in the lee of a large stone and looks back to the Athro, >> I think it has detected us. You may be right. You may draw it, Eye of the Storm'rhya but be careful. Gaia be with you. << The Fianna Galliard is silent for a breath to activate another gift and prepare to focus some of his own attention on the bane if need be.

Frost follows after Battle Singer, stopping when he does to resume her crouch. There she waits until the order is given to move again, casting a concerned glance in the direction of the bane before looking back.

For her part, Puddle Jumper gives a soft, continuous growl deep in her chest in the wake of Eye of the Storm's words, one ear remaining oriented on the massive Bane above as she continues slinking along after the others. <<Be Careful.>> She warns the Athro quietly, before adding a question for Battle Singer: << I wait for him behind others. As long as can. If not needed for others? >>

Lights-the-Darkness prepared for this, just in case, he prepared for a lot of things. <<Make run. Move past. Go bridge. We are spotted. Stick together.>> It’s not orders, it’s a thought from the Theurge. And what he prepared, what surprise he has waiting is invoked. Those around him, the Garou, feel the strength of Gaia surrounding the Theurge. The terrible wrath of the Goddess herself sends a wave of fury out from the silver wolf. <<Come. Fast. Fast.>> The mother’s very fury can be felt like a tangible thing surrounding him. This is the power of the Silver Fangs. One just hopes it works.

Not even a second of hesitation, and suddenly Eye of the Storm peels off from the others. The small silvery white wolf bolts towards the highest and most visible position - right into the middle of that ambush site. A low, building growl starts to froth forth from the wolf's mouth as he bounds - and rather suddenly springs forward and leaps into the air. The wolf's fur bursts open, with a transition of bones breaking and an explosion of a war-form rarely depicted from the Garou takes stance.

The massive head of Eye of the Storm lets out a Warrior's bellow, and snarls <<Behold minions of the Wyrm. I am Eye of the Storm! I am your foe, -FIGHT ME-.>> Then he feels his tribal brother activating the Wrath of Gaia behind him. So he ups the ante, clenching his clawed fists and invokes the power of the Judge's Moon instead. <<So be it.. then I call you -all- to duty. Let Gaia decide.>>

Silvery white wolf snarls violently, shifting and growing swiftly in size and shape - taking a horrifying war form

As the pack continues their stealthy ascent, the tentacles of the Bane overhead continue to flail about it, each movement an erratic, whip-like snap. The swishing continues, revealed to be a combination of both the passage of the thing's tendrils and the gnashing of the many tiny teeth along their lengths.

When Lights the Darkness growls out those words, the tendrils whip in greater agitation, the massive form beginning to teeter slowly over, like a top losing its momentum and falling toward the pack of Garou.

Then, as the Silver Fang's Gift takes hold, the Bane's movements freeze. The swishing, gnashing sound ceases. Its form shudders and it emits a soft, breathy keening sound from each of its dozens of mouths. After, the tentacles begin flailing once more and the massive form withdraws from the Garou, edging rapidly away from the edge of the hillside. In its passing, more of the shrieks of the lesser Banes start up, echoing against the rocks.

In that same moment, Eye of the Storm throws himself atop what remains of the wall of rubble and howls out his challenge and the call to duty. The shrieks redouble as the call visibly ripples the fabric of the Penumbra, washing out nearly as far as the eye can see. At once, there is movement all along the land.

Lleupine looks to Wazi and Seinneadair Blàr gives her a nod, >> Yes. I hope not to leave him behind. << He worried for his friends but they are all in danger here. Lights the Darkness' urging earns an ear flick without comment. Seinneadair Blàr looks ready to go, if wary.

Oh boy. This is suddenly looking like a hell of a fight, not the sneak through that was intended! >> Move! Go for the bridge! <<

Seinneadair Blàr turns and leaps into a run, pushing his huge wolf's body forward and heading into the ruins as they had planned, leading the others while their various distractions are in play.

Twilight's Glimmer BOLTS - like the wind chasing on out as fast as her legs can take her. Whitestreak with her, as she makes a streak herself. Faster and faster, and wishing she could fly! Falcon help her get there!

Frost rises from her crouch to follow after, booking it as fast as her two little legs will carry her. She tightens her grip on her rifle, holding it close as she runs after the four-leggers towards the bridge.

Lights the Darkness is keeping things at bay, even as his form shifts into that of his war form, and his giant legs take him to the top of the hill and the bolt for the bridge he pauses there at the top, waiting for everyone, just ahead of Puddle Jumper and Eye of the Storm. He knows what his power is capable of, and if nothing else it can and will thin the herd of whatever they face. Giant maw growling as he continues to spread Gaia’s anger towards the minions of the Wyrm’s, making sure, at least, that Battle Single, Twilight’s Glimmer and Frost make it by him first. Giant knife coming to his hand

Puddle Jumper needs no further urging. She snarls at Battle Singer's command, tail swishing once in an agreement, before she is leaping and bounding up the remaining length of the hill. In very short order, she bursts atop the hillside in her own war form, now armed with a bow and quiver of all things, wrapped as always in her bloody bandages.

She pauses then, ears raising, spinning first left, then right, then toward the others as they move up. She stands guard, waiting, ready to fight or run as needed, ready to throw herself between any that don't obey Dragomir's order and instead assault the other members of the 'pack'.

<<Be ready, Just a Glitch. Eye of the Storm'rhya. Remember we are here, and your job is not finished here. Pack!>> With that, the effects of the Ahroun's gift of Inspiration are shared amongst the group, steeling the will.

Finally atop the hill, the pack can see for miles in all directions, if they care to look. Below, the distraction pack continues their battle, fighting fiercely, some glancing up to shout or howl in surprise at Eye of the Storm's actions and the flight of that massive, black monster.

Before the pack, the hilltop is more or less level, barren earth with nary a blade of grass in sight. In the center of the hilltop, a mound of rocks stands, what remains of a piece of the old fortification. A passage is carved into the ground within, curving away into the blackness of the umbral hill. The renewed shrieks come from within, and the pack is just in time to see several more of the small, clawed, oil-skinned things charging up the sloping tunnel. In the darkness, their faces have two eyes set almost at random upon their otherwise sleek faces, and wide maws filled with countless razor teeth. They boil out of the ground and charge the Athro Silver Fang.