Difference between revisions of "2022.9.17:Stephen Adren Challenge"
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|icdate = September | |icdate = September | ||
|ictime = Morning through Evening | |ictime = Morning through Evening | ||
| − | |players = [[Pancake]] [[Irsa]] [[Stephen|Stephen | + | |players = [[Pancake]] [[Irsa]] [[Stephen White Mountain|Stephen]] |
|location = Realm of Seasons | |location = Realm of Seasons | ||
|prptp = | |prptp = | ||
Revision as of 14:09, 17 September 2022
| Stephen's Adren Challenge | |
|---|---|
| A Wendigo lives a lifetime as a spirit to better understand the cycle of life and nature. | |
| IC Date | September |
| IC Time | Morning through Evening |
| Players | Pancake Irsa Stephen |
| Location | Realm of Seasons |
| Spheres | Gaian Garou |
| Theme Song | Woke Up This Morning, by Alabama 3 |
It's super late, or is it super early? The sun has not risen yet, but the sky is beginning to turn that greyish purple in the east that signals the arrival of Heios' day shift here at Gaia's Waffle House. Mercy's Messenger has made sure messengers were sent out to find her two Garou friends to meet her on the bawn for whatever strange and exciting travels she's got in mind for the day's challenge. She has a small bird cage with a single sparrow trapped inside, and of course her usual hippy getup. And since it's morning as fuck, she was super kind and brought breakfast burritos with her, probably made by Branton since she herself is a terrible cook, and they're all contained in a brown paper bag, ready to be passed out when people arrive.
Well, at least he's up, right? Stephen makes it to the bawn while still working on tying that length of hair back behind his head - probably a good indicator he just got up a little while ago, himself. Kitted out in well worn jeans, hiking boots, and a tshirt and a light jacket, he at least seems to have dressed comfortably, expecting there was going to be some sort of travel. Spying Iris already here, he smiles a little more as he approaches and murmurs, "Something smells very good. And I don't mean the birds...hello again."
Irsa brushes off her jeans when she arrives. Leaves are stuck to her clothing, as usual. "Mornin'. Ain't this a lovely day for a challenge?" She sets down her pack once she joins Mercy. "Ready t' torment this poor dude, or what?"
"Hello!" the Fury chirps ever so cheerfully, passing a burrito to Stephen first as he arrives, and then to Irsa moments later when she appears as well. "It IS a good day for a challenge! Okay eat while walking, we're on a timer." she says, stooping to pick up the bird cage before some talent stolen from the new moon rips open time and space to create a gently glowing tunnel path of silvery moonlight that wends between concepts like location and travel time. She talks while she steps onto the path and begins walking. "So today, Stephen, we're sending you on a gentle realm walk on your own, but we'll wait near the exit for you. Where you're going isn't particularly dangerous, but it will be a bit weird. As you're trying to claim the rank of Adren, your duties and understanding as a Theurge needs to expand and evolve. Greater problems, greater sacrifices, furthering your reach and your understanding of your place within Gaia's world. You will be visiting the four faces of Gaia today, and hopefully you'll return to us with a deeper understanding of our goddess's ways, the spirits that turn the wheel of life, and of course yourself. With me so far?"
Stephen accepts the burrito with a small bow of his head and a murmured thank you, kept low so he doesn't interrupt the explanation. When the path is opened, he waits for Mercy to lead the way before following her onto the path, a majority of his attention on her while he does indeed munch, and watch where they are going. When she asks for conformation, he slowly nods his head, "Then if I succeed or fail in the requirement of the challenge, as long as I've learned more, the failure wont be that disappointing. I understand. Do you have a specific thing I must return with as well to signify what I have encountered, or is this more a case of 'the goals will be revealed as I encounter them' and the knowledge gathered will explain itself?"
Irsa happily accepts a burrito and begins to make quick work of it as she steps through the portal with the others. She's listening for now, not offering up any opinions. She's not the one being challenged or the challenger themself, she's here to assist with whatever Mercy needs. She does peer along the path ahead, as if straining to see its final destination, and chortles.
Mercy holds a thumbs up over her shoulder and says, "Exactly. Now for my part, I have total faith in your ability to succeed, but it's totally true, even a failure teaches you something, and so long as you still breathe and your heart still beats, you're always able to try again." The pathway is minutes long, which of course doesn't seem like much, but with a moon path you know a five minute walk is carrying a body hundreds of miles away from home. The tunnel opens on a low hill in the middle of freaking nowhere, with forest stretching as far as the eye can see in all directions, small clearings and meadows dotting the tree filled landscape, the air brisk with autumn's oncoming chill. The gang steps out onto this hill beside a large and very very old oak tree that towers up into the slowly lightening sky with twisting branches and sleepy crickets chirping in the folds of its tangled roots.
"Irsa, if you wouldn't mind starting the preparations for the rite of the sparrow?" she hands the Gnawer her ritual bowl, dagger, and a small packet of ashes. "Just a few drops of your and my blood in the ashes all mixed up. And you, Broken Fang, this is an exploration of yourself as much as anything else, so when you're ready, take on your birth form." While she talks and the other two do their work, she begins checking the tree very closely, searching for something. "I would LOVE a stone from each of the four faces, but you're not going to have pockets, and I'm not rude enough to ask you to swallow them so you can bring them home. So instead, Irsa and I will just keep an eye on you from here. We'll use the rite of the sparrow to keep tabs on you so long as there's water somewhere near you. If you end up horribly, desperately stuck and in need of help, this rite will allow us to send you one thing that will assist you. But just one, so don't waste it if you don't need to."
It doesn't take long for Stephen to kill off the burrito, at least by the time they get to the end of the path, where he pauses to step off and crane his head around, inhaling the air to get a good grasp of where they are. Mercy tells him to go back to four legs so he pauses to slip out of his jacket and jeans and boots, folding them up to offer them over to one of the other two wolves with a murmured, "If you would not mind hanging on to these for me, please?" Assuming one of the two accepts the offer, he steps back to allow his form to twist into his much furrier four legged lupus, shaking himself out violently to get the fur to lay down just right. <<If you have small bag, can carry around neck and still get you stones. But will see what can do, anyway.>> The snaggle-toothed wolf at least sits up at that and bobs his head, waiting on the other two theurges to do their ritual thing and give him the proverbial starting point.
Irsa nods and takes the items from Mercy and tucks the bowl into the crook of her arm. She does a 'gimme' motion at Iris' arm, deftly slitting the skin across the back of the other woman's hand if the Elder theurge extends it. Irsa is her own next victim, making a neat slice across the back of her own hand. Blood from both ritualists is collected into the bowl and the ashes are stirred inside. "That th' right consistency, or do ya want some more blood added?" she asks Mercy. Irsa also takers Stephen's clothes. Hopefully NOT to start a collection of lupus outfits.
Mercy gives over her hand when it's needed, still concentrated more on the tree's trunk with a careful eye, feeling it up like a drunk on the dance floor. "Ooooowch." she complains at the cutting, but there's not a lot of conviction behind that, it didn't hurt THAT bad. She takes her hand back and feels up the tree a bit more, then "AH!"'s and almost falls into it where a shadow turns out not to be a shadow at all, but a friggin hole. It doesn't LOOK like a hole, it just looks like a shadow in the trunk's twisty barky bits. "Ha, found you!" Now that she knows where that is, she checks out the paste and says, "Looks pretty perfect for me. Okay, c'mere you." she tells Stephen, crooking her finger and bending down. She makes some soothing sounds at the caged bird as she carefully retrieves it. "Okay don't wig out, I need to put bird tracks on you." she tells the lupus, and assuming he does not in fact wig, she'll get that fragile little critter's feet dipped into the bloody ashes and touch them to the wolf's brow. Around where the third eye would be. Now as for that whole pouch tying thing, she considers it but quietly dismisses it, saying, "This trip is for you, not me, so you just concentrate on moving forward. Climb in that hole I found in the tree, and go see what there is to see, okay? If you're paying attention and trying to see the big picture, you'll work out your purpose in there pretty easily. Return naturally rather than getting thrown out, and you'll have succeeded in earning your rank."
Broken Fang gives Mercy a tilted-head look when she says she needs to put bird tracks on him, but does indeed pad up and sit his furry ass down, leaning his snout forward for the threatened, uh, bloodying. Sitting back up, his attention split from Iris to the hole she is calling out, finally acknowledging the instructions with a gruntyawlp of affirmation. Hopping back up to all fours, the hole is snuffled at for a moment before claws work to gain footing and haul lupus body up and into the Dark Unknown, with eyes working quickly to attempt to compensate for the lack of lighting, and ears scanning forward. Cause, you know, dark holes. Something's hiding there. And its probably not a tasty rabbit.
Irsa hands Mercy's ritual tools back to her and peers through the shadow in the tree trunk once Stephen's away. "This'll be fun t' watch. How hard did you an' Branton laugh when Mercy and I were on our challenge?" she asks her mentor.
Mercy sits down and folds her legs up lotus style, the bird kept cupped gently but securely in her hands, and she gives Irsa a head tilt to join her. "Oh we definitely laughed a lot." she agrees with a grin, and while the wolf's butt disappears into the tree, she nods towards him and says, "That's the shadow of Venus there, shifting while the sun rises. At the point where the two mothers meet, there's always a pathway into the celestial life cycle. Now, close your eyes, breathe very deeply and slowly. Concentrate on Broken Fang, send your mind to follow him in the tunnel."
For everyone involved right this very second, there's nothing but darkness. Irsa and Iris cant see him yet because there's no water, and Stephen's inside a tree so he has no light either. The tunnel smells rich and earthy, and it's not much different from a small den opening in width, though it does seem to just go and go. The air is close but warm, moist, not unpleasant. What might be a little unpleasant is how the tunnel seems to be getting smaller, requiring some awkward four legged crawling.
Broken Fang is not completely unused to digging and close in quarters. After all, some prey (and spirits) do tend to flee underground, and lupus DOES tend to be the smallest form to use. However, when the walls seem to keep closing in, there's a little hesitation just to make sure he's not getting himself wedged into a position he can't get out of, and maybe a little shouldering into the soft earthy bits just to make sure there's room. The fact that he's probably COVERED in dirt at this point doesn't seem to bother him one bit, just the occasional stop to shake it out of his eyes and ears.
Irsa grins and sits down across from Mercy, copying her position. She follows her instructions to the letter: closing her eyes, breathing deeply, and freeing her mind to follow Broken Fang. He's in there, somewhere, and she's bound and determined to follow him with her mind's eye.
On the bright side, there's no spiders or centipedes or anything weird crawling through Broken Fang's fur, so that's a bonus! But for every good thing there is a bad thing, Gaia giveth and she taketh away. There's a soft rumble and yes, yes Broken Fang is definitely in a bad spot all of a sudden, he can both hear and feel the cave-in that happens behind him, the heavy thud of who knows how much earth collapsing to fill the small tunnel and block the way he came. The only direction now is forward, but that's becoming very difficult in and of itself, the path becoming so small that the not-unpleasant feeling might just be changing to something more claustrophobic and maybe panic inducing.
Crawling becomes all but impossible, his chest is pressed uncomfortably and brings his breathing down shallow, and then he feels the earth on all sides pressing, actively shoving against the wolf from back to front. Is it trying to crush him to death or drive him onward? Does Broken Fang fight his way forward, or does he allow himself to be buried?
There might be some lupus-type swearing when he can feel the cave in happen behind him, but then that was always just going to be the escape route if he hit a proverbial brick wall forward, anyway. Lupus paws and claws do not make as good grabbing and pulling tools as human hands do, but he will make do anyway, growling with the effort to pull forward and wiggle his furry self out of the dirt trying to make him one with the earth. Its not impossible until he really cant do it, and as long as he can still even fight a few inches forward, even if he's making a lot of noise about it, there you go. If someone can hear, though, and especially if they can understand Lupus, there's a pissed off wolf trying to drag himself through a cave in.
Shoved and forced forward by both his own desire to survive and the shoving contractions of the earth around him, Broken Fang finds the earth pushing him on when his own strength begins to fail. This hurts, like it really really hurts, and it's scary, and it's not anything even close to fun, but his efforts to live pay off as he's pushed from the tunnel and out into the chilly air once more. His fur is wet, his body sore and shaking, but there's comfort for him here. Wherever 'here' is. Something warm moves across his fur and there's a comforting breath washing over him, warm bodies curling around him. Whenever he chooses to open his eyes, Broken fang finds a world of blurry light and unfocused shapes. He can hear birdsong and feel a breeze brushing his nostrils. Everything seems so... Tall.
For the witch women in the real world, they've had nothing but darkness for long minutes of watching and waiting, but suddenly the images flicker to life in their minds eyes, seen from the POV of a small pool of water on a forest floor. They're in time to see the birth of Broken Claw to an exhausted mother wolf-spirit. He's the last one of the litter, and with her labor finished, she can finally get some god damned rest while her newborns figure out how bodies work and just complain a lot as babies are want to do. Broken Claw still knows who he is, but is having the exact same body problems as all the other kids, he's never even used these little stumpy baby legs before and his balance is non existent.
Broken Fang takes a moment once he's out of the pressure to try and regain his feet and shake off the ick and wet and dirt, a moment or two needed to get his breath back, then blearily blink his eyes at the unfocused light and shapes, perhaps thinking at first that its just HIS vision that's fucked up, and taking a few moments to understand that's not the case. He doesn't grasp the full situation until he tries to move and damned near faceplants on the ground as newly-born puppy legs do not function like fully adult wolf ones do...resulting in the breath getting knocked out of him and a moment of a whine that was supposed to be an articulated <<What the fuck?>>
Oh. Ohhhhh. A few more blinks and a second attempt is made to stand up, a harder look shot around to study his surroundings and snuffle at the other wolves, and the probably-now-napping mother wolf spirit.
The progression is a bit more rapid here than in real life. Last time Broken Fang went through this, he was helpless for quite a while before he could see and hear and run, however here, he's zipping through that helpless stage. His ears clear quickly, his nose fresh and keen, and his vision begins to focus little by little into a clear picture of his surroundings while his legs gain some strength. He's still kinda wobbly though.
The forest you're in is old and thick with large, sky reaching trees, snow still clinging to the shadows in patches while new growth visibly pushes itself from the ground in defiance of the cold. The little wolf family is in a clearing near to a quaint little cottage that sits in a meadow beginning to dapple itself in colorful patches of blooming wild flowers. Small spirits are everywhere, little things waking to their season to inspire growth and bloom, but others that leave an icy chill in their wake as they move to gnaw on the green things trying to take hold of the day.
Wobbly is good. Wobbly is a fuckton better than 'I gotta crawl cause my adorable potato body cant stand up with a belly this big' baby puppy movement. So starting off slow is good. Especially since Fang needs to figure out where he is. There's a lot of sniffing the air, snorting at the ground, checking out the little spirits flitting around, even giving a couple of whuffs at the icy spirits to encourage them to move on, when he gets an idea of what's going on. The cottage gets a little more interest, but he's checking back with the other wolves before scoping that out a little closer - is it just a part of the realm or is this part of the story being told, he's not sure which, which means it should be checked out.
Broken Fang's siblings aren't quite as goal orientated as he is, they're ACTUAL babies, not adults in baby bodies, so they're mostly preoccupied with things like chewing on themselves, chewing on each other, crawling on their mom and then falling off again, falling over for literally no reason, and taking naps wherever they happen to be the second they get sleepy. There are other adults around aside from mom, the pack is small but feels close knit and entirely at their ease, providing a sense of security and the ability for a curious little Theurge guy to wander around a bit.
His chosen work starts right away, those little winter spirits aren't so easily shooed away by a fur ball that's all ears and paws, defiantly setting upon a patch of greenery to give the shoots frost bite with their chilly touch and freeze the dew into frost on the ground while straight up giving Broken Fang a raspberry and a few other rude gestures to boot. Sod off, kid! You're not the boss of me!
Is he really trying hard? Well, his attention is still a little split on keeping an eye on the pack, but the taunting responses do get more of an answer out of the little Theurge, even giving a little bit of a chase here and there. Less an effort to try and save the grass, more an effort to encourage winter to move the fuck on, times up. Of course, this might be followed by an IMMEDIATE rolling in the green grass, because it doesn't matter how old you are, OMG FRESH GREEN GRASS, which probably means the whiter parts of his fur are going to be carrying a green tinge by the time he's done trying to be, uh, encouraging to the frost spirits.
Winter spirits are dicks, but grass rolls are the best, and rolling on a stinky bug in the grass is even better than best, and holy shit that butterfly passing by is the size of your whole face! Tiny wolf. The chasing and frolicking has gotten Broken Fang down into the meadow a little ways towards the cottage. There's not a whiff or sound of man scent despite all the trappings of the place, so that's nice. Out in their yard is a curious sapling of a tree that's shaped like a young woman doing her own frolicking, but her form is spotted with patches of dead bark from a hard winter. Several leaves fall and a dead patch begins to visibly grow, dying from frost bite while some of those wintery sprites ravage a wild rose shrub nearby. They call a cold breeze that brings some flecks of late snow from the sky.
Absolutely a good wriggling and grinding in, so when the wolf gets to all fours again, he reeks of the surroundings he's been rolling in - that's the best, of course, and makes it so much easier to hunt other things down! There's still an awful lot of snorting and sniffing, and a pause to give a particularly dickish winter spirit a good bitching at and even a chase off, but he's not too committed to being Spring police.
Instead he pauses to check out the sapling a little more closely, I mean, REALLY get his snout in and around that thing for a few moments to make sure it's scent is stuck in his head, then watching some of those peculiar dead bits attempt to grow despite the complications. A group of sprites trying to take down a rosebush is enough to get him to bound over and bark at them, snapping at them to get them to back off, in between giving the little rose buds a good snuffling. Life is renewing after Winter, must get all of it into his head.
The wolfling really gives it to the spirits this time, not threatening them but driving home the point that it's time to god damned clock out now, guys! The icy spirits aren't really thrilled about this, but this little fur potato looks like he might decide to bite if they don't listen. With a few more quick but rude gestures the spirits are successfully shooed away, zipping off towards distant snowy mountains to survive until winter. The rose bush is damaged, but not so much that it cant bloom still, rapidly producing and unfurling bright red roses to sniff. They smell awesome! The tree, meanwhile, sees a bit of its own growth and healing, some of the dead patches shrinking now that the winter spirits have stopped harassing the rightful spirits of the season. There's still other small flocks of winter spirits around, their activities in hurting the surrounding area damaging the tree woman by the cottage bit by bit.
A chuff of 'fine!' follows after the fleeing spirits before he gives the roses another snuffling and leaves them be. The damage to the prettytreewoman is noted, attention split as he notes there are plenty of other little clusters of sprites still going to town on other green parts of the cottage and grounds. He pauses close by the base of the tree and gives them a good howl, loud enough for the sprites to hear, and hopefully the rest of the pack, that they should move on like Gaia wishes, and there are more like him here to make them do it.
Granted, this is a very young wolf body so there's a very good chance that howl is going to be more adorable than threatening, but give the little guy a point for effort, right?
The tiny, fearsome wolf howl is good enough to scare away the little sprites of winter close by, he's got the confidence of having shooed away some of them already. A chorus of other small howls join Broken Fang's, they don't know exactly what's going on, but fuck it, howling is super fun. The wolves are just over there livin their lives, just vibin with life in general while the baby Theurge sorts out this seasonal junk around them. They, like Broken Claw, all suffer that same new-life distraction that is the spring time weakness of the Wendigo, more interested in rolling, resting and sniffing. Which is probably why none of them notices the last remaining winter spirit creeping stealthily through the shadows. Well, that and plot convenience. A small wild cat with a pelt like snow, its body steaming ever so lightly when it's forced to pass through a patch of sunlight. Broken Claw's oblivious siblings are tussling in the grass, entirely unaware of winter's last chill stalking the weakest members of the pack. Time is short, it will be entering pouncing range soon.
Yay! When the smaller spirits are indeed chased off, his howl is followed by a few yips of appreciation before he calms down and alerts to snow kitty on the prowl. Does he immediately try to pounce? Not quite, instead attempting to get back closer to the pack and his 'littermates' while watching closely what the cat is doing, maybe trying to figure out what its going after.
When it becomes more apparent its interested in the little snack...I mean baby wolves, he snarls loudly and barks a warning loud enough for them to hear - none of them are strong enough to take on a foe that big, but he's going to make sure everyone sees the danger coming. Survival of the fittest, and the weak should be allowed to move on, but no turning his littermates into snack cakes, damnit.
The wee Theurge is able to think pretty quickly on his tiny feet, his howl is concise enough to send his littermates running for their mom and to bring the big wolves running to just the right area. They're a lot bigger than the snow cat, who hisses and bares icicle fangs before noping the hell out with the grown ups hot on its heels. No more flakes of snow try to drift down, clouds lightening and thinning to bare much more blue sky. A warm breeze rolls through the meadow, signaling the season's full take over.
There's a soft, happy sigh from the tree shaped like a girl caught in joyous dance. The burns of frostbite have healed on her woody skin, leaving small scars behind, but her leaves are vibrant green and full in her branches. With a soft rustle and a creaking of wood, the tree changes its position slowly, lowering her 'leg' and reaching upwards towards the sky. Where her 'foot' rests against her other leg there's a hole created a little ways off the ground, a portal if you will, and through that one single space the world looks different. More of a golden hue than a green one, different flowers in bloom, though what you can see if the cottage still looks pretty much the same.
Fang bounces a little when the 'adults' charge in, his own sort of cheering as they run off the last vestiges of Winter and lt the pack return to its living. He takes an obligatory moment to sit his furry butt down and savor the feeling of spring warm around in the area, and fill his head of the scent of fresh blooms and grass, before finally paying attention to the shift in the surroundings.
Approaching the tree itself, he pauses to snuffle at where both feet have now found the ground, considering the new hole that has opened up. He gives the area another good once over before lowering his shoulders and ears, and pushing himself into it...probably hoping this isn't going to be as bad as the first trip here, since young puppy frame cant take the kind of punishment full grown lupus can...but he's going, anyway!
This isn't nearly as bad as being birthed, this is as easy as falling over a branch and then thudding onto the ground. As Broken Fang gets his feet under him, he feels taller, stronger, and indeed the hole he crawled through seems a lot smaller than he remembered. All feet and ears, the young Wendigo is filled with the energy and endurance of youth, gangly and still not as large as an adult, but he's getting there!
The air is hot and the sun stands at its zenith in a cloudless sky, bathing the forest and meadow in a powerful blanket of heat. The grass is a bit yellower here, the leaves of the trees a bit dry, but it's definitely the same place Fang was reborn in. The cottage loots the same, idyllic yet abandoned, a symbol more than a functional home. The tree in its yard is much taller, stretched sensuously upwards in the shape of a woman in her prime reaching for the sun.
There is, of course, the obligatory violent shaking of the fur to get it to fall back into place correctly and scatter the offending dirt he picked up on the crawl, with legs that are a little easier to dance on this time. This absolutely must be followed by giving the tree and the surrounding grounds a very thorough snuffling, because scents change and packs move and strangers might pay a visit - one has to know what is going on in your area! Though this time the tree is given a bit of a yowling hello as if he might be acknowledging that it is, well, representing more than 'just' a tree.
The tree just trees, mostly, but it also doesn't drop a branch down onto the wolf, so it cant be upset to see him, surely. Fang can hear familiar yips and growls nearby and spots the free for all that is his littermates at play. Just a big flailing tangle of limbs and tails, yearlings pouncing and getting knocked over. The adults of the pack aren't as lost in their spring zen, though, you 'remember' learning tracking and hunting with your elders, the culling of the spring herds and hares to keep the balance of the forest and to stay fed, the stalking of territory and marking of trees. Now, though, you hear a howl of alarm coming from a little ways down the meadow to the forest-side clearing of your 'birth', and an answering howl of challenge from an unfamiliar wolf that's far, far too close to your home.
The sound of alarm is enough to stop Fang from whatever he might have been snuffling at, to lift his head and zero in on the direction it came from. The challenge that follows it at least fills him in a bit on what exactly is wrong, and compels him to speed the fuck up and get back to 'home', offering a howl on his way to both let the first wolf know the call was heard, and warn the interloper that they have more to deal with and that maybe they should back the hell off before someone gets their furry butts kicked. After all, not an Ahroun - Fang probably wont lead any charge, but he damned well will step in with the rest of the pack and back them up.
The siblings race with Fang back to the clearing, play time left behind at the sound of a threat. When the kids return to the clearing they find the adults there already, hackles raised and fangs bared at another pack of wolves that seem very intent on violating territory. The wolves bodies flicker and flash with low flames, summer spirits of fire seeking their own food and feeling more than a little emboldened by the high sun and heat. In the forest's thickness their flaming paws smolder but do not ignite anything outright, not yet, there's still enough green and growing things not ready to submit to fire just yet, but the meadow nearby is another story. Dry and golden, thick with seeds and tiny grass critters, that will catch in a hurry and do some pretty substantial damage, not just to Fang's home, but to the entire area. Should he look back to see it, the leaves of the woman-tree over by the cottage have begun to smolder and smoke just a little bit. Things left as they are, there will be fighting soon and home will burn.
Fire is a necessary part of life in the forest, but that doesn't mean Fang is going to just allow the pack to be attacked, either. The adults stand fast in face of the flaming threat, and Fang eyes his 'siblings' before scooting over a little to bare cute younger fangs (okay, at least one unbroken one), and seems more inclined to...if they are going to fight, he can keep the worst of it from the rest of the meadow. Fire can purge the weakest of the living and allow the stronger to flourish in their absence, but that doesn't mean you just let everything burn, either. Even if he probably doesn't look TOO threatening - an older wolf would look more dangerous with a broken fang like that. IN his case it probably still counts as 'awww, lookit him'.
Fortunately everyone here is a spirit, or well, nearly everyone, so flaming wolves and the prospect of fighting with them doesn't really freak anyone in the pack out. Broken Fang is the only odd man out in that respect, but no one actually seems aware of that, so there's no fuss made about it. He's just a wolf helping his wolf family and that's that. The intruding pack's leader lowers his head, shifts his back paws, and in a flash and a snarl it lunges. It begins in a blink, wolves throwing themselves at each other to growl and bite in a savage display that's almost faster than the observing Theurge women can keep up with. Fang finds himself and two of his siblings facing one of these adult flame wolves, its size and strength immediately cutting the Theurge and his bros off from the rest of the pack. Options are a bit slim here. They can fight, of course. They can turn tail into the meadow and lead the flame wolf right into what it wants. Or they can lead it into the forest, and he can Fang can put his knowledge of the woods to work. Likely there's some secret option D through M that hasn't been thought up yet. Sky's the limit, really.
Fang eyes the couple of young ones that got caught out with him, then the forest and barks at them to come with. A pack can take down larger prey by running it down, and well, they cant just jump this bigger foe, but they can use him. He steps forward and howls and barks at the flaming intruder, daring him to try to lay a claw on any of them, before bounding back and taking off...HOPEFULLY with the other two wolves in tow. The plan is to lead Flame Boy into the forest to let summer's flames do their damage for a while, and harass and wear him out so when they finally pick the spot to turn and stand their ground, they've worn out his flame enough that they can do it.
Well, at least its nice to have a plan, right?
The plan works, the two pups look to Fang to lead them when he seems to have an idea going, and do their best to keep up while the larger flaming wolf is hot on their heels (haha). There are a few close calls, and indeed some under brush catches aflame during the chase. Through trees along the low hills the flickering wolf lets itself be lead away from its own to be worn out and weakened by the younger, more earthy wolves. In a thick patch of woods kept shadowy by a heavy canopy, a stream burbles noisily with water-speak down from the mountain heights in the distance. If you cross it the flaming wolf wont likely follow, and instead it may go back the way you all came. Or you can follow it, or turn to face it and maybe use it as a weapon.
The stream at least looks like the perfect sort of spot to stop the run. The chasing wolf has likely set a few things on fire, but that doesn't bother Fang - fire happens, stuff burns, the forest lives through it. But rather than flee across the stream and hope the wolf doesn't follow, a howl to the other wolves is made to get them to double back and confront the wolf close enough to the stream that they can corner him against it, leaving the (hopefully) worn out flame wolf no choice but to get pushed into the stream or fight them (where they are going to be trying to push him into the stream anyway), like some sort of nature rock-paper-scissors game. He might have a little fur already singed, but hey, bitches love scars, right? (not chicks, we're not flirting with birds, damnit).
The flame wolf realizes a bit too late how screwed it probably is. A hot lust for a fight had it putting its sights square on the yearlings, assuming that waning strength wouldn't be missed when it catches them one at a time. But now here it is, panting hard enough to breathe out tongues of flame through its sharp, bared fangs, its prey starting to surround it and oh fuck me is that water? Noooope nope, this is a bad spot to be in! Of course, this doesn't make the summer spirit any less willing to kick ass, being forced into this corner only strengthens its resolve to burn baby burn. Flaring its flames, it picks one of Fang's siblings and launches at the gangly little guy, the young wolf yelping with pain and surprise, though he still scrabbles and claws for all he's worth.
Oh, no, like Fang is going to let this wolf take them on one at a time now that they led him out here? Nono. He howls in defiance when the wolf attacks his sibling, hoping to inspire the other to join as well, and launches at the wolf, trying to nip and bite and push, making obvious attacks the wolf might be able to dodge, but in such a way that he has to back up towards the stream to do it. With all three yearlings attacking, once he's close, they might have the strength to just latch on and take him down like a water buffalo, and drag him into the water, but you gotta manipulate the oaf into position first.
Well, he didn't need that ear after all. Already has a deed name, cant rename him 'One Ear', right? and flashing broken fangs at the big wolf might actually be useful as intimidation this time around.
The flame wolf shakes the shit out of the yearling while the other two pile on him with all their small strength and pointy parts, eventually flinging him aside to try and bite at Fang and the other yapping terror that keeps tearing at his flank. There's a hissssssss and a sizzle when the large wolf steps a paw down in the stream, yelping like it'd stepped in a bear trap and trying to dart away from it. THIS is the moment when it has the 'oh shit' revelation. Yes, it's bigger and stronger, but it's also out numbered with some pack tactics going on here and death at its back. The wounded wolfling staggers and picks itself up out of the bushes with a nasty burn on its throat. The air becomes hazy with smoke and quieter as birds flee the tree tops, but the fires are low, devouring under brush easily but not quite able to take on entire trees as snacks.
When the sizzle of flame paw hitting the water happens, its not ideal, as the one yearling is badly hurt and not ready to charge, but no plan survives first contact, right? Right. With flashing fangs, Fang sure as hell hopes the other wolf is still following his lead, and throws himself at the bigger wolf, trying to make sure his full weight is thrown into the charge when he latches on, so the wolves, together, shove him further into the water. They may not be able to stop his flame alone, but Gaia can sure as hell help. Fur is going to get burned, but he intends to hang on and *shove* as hard as he can, even while eyes might already be watering through the smoke.
Hoo boy this hurts, turns out fire is super hot! But you gotta do what you gotta do, and in this case it pays off. Fur is singed much shorter on both of the young wolves in crazy patches where they body check the larger wolf and put all that time play fighting with their elders into real practice. The stream kept this patch of forest very well hydrated and thick with leaves, excellent for staving off the day's heat but also good for making the sounds of battle echo, fire light flickering wolf shadows madly all around while they fight each other.
Yelps of true pain come from young and adult alike as the flame wolf is shoved and wrestled backwards into the water, and before it can finally get a paw free to try and jump over these little fuckers and onto dry land again, it gets a wolfling right in the face as the injured one literally throws itself back into the fight. Steam pours from the creek while the wolf is in it, until one of its hind legs collapses in a crumble of ash and carbon, another of its paws half disintegrating into wet ash slurry as well. There's genuine fear in its eyes when it starts to truly go down, there's no way up and out of the predicament now.
Seeing that the heavily injured yearling was able to throw itself back into the fight is nothing but inspiring to Fang to push on - the 'prey' is weakened and needs to be finished off, so the forest can survive the burning it's already taken and let the strength that survives it continue on. A moment of a glance to make sure both yearlings are still with him and they are all working in the same direction, then growl is loud and deep in his chest as he tries to latch on and pull the wounded elemental wolf into the water, to let the stream finish killing it off where it cannot set anything else aflame. He has no idea how the rest of the pack is doing, but well, one fight at a time in a war, right?
The sound of the dying flame wolf is almost deafening in the close woods, its body sending up a large splash when its breaking form is pulled down into the babble of the brook. The air is chokingly thick with smoke and steam, hot as a sauna, and each of the yearlings have wounds from the battle. Singed fur or melted claws or burns on their flesh, but for the most part everyone's okay. The one that got picked up and shook has the worst wound, a ragged burn on his neck that will leave a hell of a scar assuming the wolf doesn't take any sort of infection. There's some coughing and some limping as Fang's sibling pair gather up with him, exhausted by their victory.
Irsa snickers a bit, unseen and unheard by anyone but Mercy. "That was real smart, herdin' it towards water."
Considering the spiritual nature of this event, there's a good chance most of what Fang knows as far as healing goes, isn't going to work here, but for the moment, there's still potentially a fight going on. Once he's sure all three wolves can actually move, there's a howl at them to come on before he charges back the way they came. This of course becomes a lot harder because of the smoke and patches of fire that might still be burning away, but the hope is to get back to the pack's home to make sure they actually have a pack to get back to. He does make a point to keep checking on the other two wounded wolves, just to make sure noone's succumbed to injuries that were worse than they looked. The state they are in probably isn't going to make them very formidable, but you never know what little might still be helpful.
The siblings aren't QUITE as good at keeping up this time, but that doesn't mean they slack off on their run back home. There are some laggy moments to cough, however, but they pick themselves back up and race through the smoke. Somewhere along the way are howls from the alphas, calling the wolves together, singing a victory song, sounding a mourning dirge, filling the summer skies with smoke and the voices of wolves. Their clearing is on fire, the grass a carpet of flame and a few of the smaller trees climbing with flickering vines of red and orange. Some of the pack is missing, and though there isn't much time to look with the suffocating smoke and fire building, there are some curiously wolf shaped piles of earth in the clearing, and a few other wolf shaped piles of scattering ash. The battle finished, the wolves begin to lope away from the burn and towards unsinged pastures. The meadow is alright, and the fire in the forest isn't exactly raging, most likely it'll clear the ground-scape and the trees will survive just fine.
Meanwhile, the woman shaped tree also seems to be alright, the very tips of her reaching branches smoldering, shedding a burned leaf here and there, but her growing acorns survive and the tree thrives. A hot breeze blows and the tree moves, changing her position again. Her upward reaching arms lower and spread out to either side, her canopy filling out with maturity and her trunkish legs shifting again, once more creating a split, a portal through which to pass. It's dark through the portal, and smells of rain.
In the real world, Mercy grins in her viewing trance and says to Irsa, "Is it bad form to remark on what an absolutely adorable puppy a wolf was once they've reached Adren? Or would that be rude, do you think?"
Irsa snickers again. "Hey, I ain't gonna squeal. Gush away, you ain't an Elder for nothin'."
The fight is over and the pack and the meadow aren't dead. Yay! Fang just takes long enough to confirm yes, the enemy has gone, long enough to join in with the howling dirge to mourn the loss in general, before approaching the tree. The first order of business is to confirm it itself is okay, but then to look for that hole he suspects will be appearing now that this part of the story has reached a closing point. The rain smell causes a bit of hesitation - urg, wet dog time - but he does indeed lunge forward to leave the smouldering mess of the clearing behind him, to see just exactly what changes the fall is going to bring. Well, hopefully not an actual fall out of this hole, but he's had worse.
Once he's shaken his fur out again, Broken Fang can see the world... PROPERLY again. Everything's the right height again, his body feels strong, practiced, it's an adult's body that he knows perfectly well and had before he ever went on this challenge to begin with. Think he'll miss being a fuzzy potato again?
A soft rain falls on the Theurge, the air taking on a late chill that warns of a bad winter ahead. Already the mountains in the distance are heavy with snow and storms, and that weather will be hard on pack and prey alike. The sky is black and speckled with stars, a huge, full orange harvest moon hanging in the sky and bathing the world in autumn light. The forest is a blanket of red and orange leaves, many of the trees baring scars from a fire that happened long ago. Two of Fang's siblings wait near by for him, one of them with a large bald scar on his throat. They watch out over the meadow, its grasses beaten down and its seeds scattered for spring. The cottage lies nearby, its windows shedding golden light from warm hearths inside. The woman-tree looms massive now in the fullness of her maturity, the natural warps and curves of its growth over many, many years leading to an almost motherly appearance - in a human sense. You 'remember' returning to the meadow territory with the prey animals as they reclaimed their old homes. New trees began to grow, the earth already stubbled in new under-growth, old trees scarred but living on.
At least he can blink the rain out of his eyes and shake it out of his fur from time to time. It takes him a second to get his bearings again, before chuffing a greeting to the two siblings nearby - if they are out here, they are out here to keep an eye on things, so lets trot our patrol and make sure things are ready for the coming winter. The pack might need another kill to fatten up before the cold really sets in, or at the very least, they need to make sure nothing else is encroaching before the snow starts to fall and forces the small, furry, tasty things into their burrows. The Tree herself is paused at to get a good snuffling and even a side scritching on (Hey, bark is really good for that, bears have a good idea there!), before starting to head off on a little perimeter check.
The pair get up to follow Broken Fang, something they've done without hesitation since a long gone battle by a little creek when they were too small to really be warriors. The prey animals have been busy, gorging themselves and stock piling food, preparing themselves for the cold road to come. None of the squirrels here have knives or guns, but they do have an ass ton of acorns to stash all over the place and then completely forget about, leading to legions of new trees in years to come. Ravens caw as the trio move on their patrol, the wolves able to discern the overlapping scent trails of hare, hart, boar and bear, and of course those of your wolf family that roam the area. As the small pack moves through the trees and ranges the wide territory, they begin to notice the scents disappearing. Not all of them, little squirrels and rabbits can still be smelled, but the deer, the boar, the turkey and all those other larger things the pack tends to hunt after begin to dwindle until there's nearly none of their scent trails left. Instead, they're replaced with something else, something foul smelling and unfamiliar.
Well, THAT'S not supposed to be there. The unfamiliar foulness is enough for Fang to hold up and put his snout to the ground, perhaps a chuff to the other wolves to confirm that its not just his sniffer, they catch it too. With that at least confirmed, its time to find out where this smell is coming from, checking to see if its stronger in one direction than another, if there are signs of it rubbed off on trees, other marks of passage, anything to give the trio a direction to head in. Nothing alarming enough to send anyone back to the pack yet - they have no information to relay other than 'smell bad'. Would suck to raise the alarm over a very bad buffalo fart.
The others smell it too, alright, and follow on cautious alert. The ground is too thickly covered in a carpet of colorful fallen leaves for them to find any sort of tracks, but as they venture onwards Fang is able to find other signs. Fat claw marks in a log here, or a slim tree shoved into a precarious lean with the scent of rot rubbed onto it and a few maggots dead in the foliage around its raised roots. The scent of prey dwindles to nothing in this area of the pack's grounds, and Fang and his bros are able to track this thing to a tangle of fallen logs from some past mud slide that could serve as a make shift den. The smell of decay is strong in this area. It's all bad enough as is and makes for a grim possible encounter, but it could be disastrous if left alone. The food scents all around this thing are drying up, and this is where the wolves keep themselves fed. That's not gonna go well if the pantry is empty! And besides, nothing that smells that bad can be good for the pack.
Fang's nose rankles at the stench and the more obvious signs of decay, pausing for a moment to tell one wolf to go back to the pack now and warn them there is something very dangerous and unnatural out here - the signs they've already seen indicate this is probably not something the three of them could take down, and if they keep going on like this, an ambush could take them out and then no one knows of the problem. Fang and Bald Throat will continue on to see if they can catch sight of this...whatever it is, so when the third returns with whoever, they have information they can share. Maybe they wont need to attack. Maybe something just needs to be driven away or put down, but, eyeing the maggots....yeah, this isn't going to be pretty.
Irsa peers at the scene unfolding before her in the trance vision. That doesn't look good, not at all.
One of the wolves turns and rushes silently through the forest to relay the message, while the one with the scarred neck stays with Broken Fang, hunkered down and watching. There's silence for a time before some asshole jay bird lands near the tangle of logs and starts singing. I say singing, but really it's the most annoying single note screeching that would make anyone want to go throw a rock at it or something. A few squawks in and there's an angry roaring from the makeshift den, the bird shutting up and flying off as a brown bear comes lunging out into the open. It stumbles and moves in jerky, erratic circles as it searches for that god damned noise maker without finding it.
Obviously Fang has smelled bears before, but this one is not doing well and its natural scent is overcome with stench. It's filthy, for one thing, and at some point it'd been badly injured in a fight or maybe some accident while out bearing around in the wilderness. Whatever the case, it's wounds are open and infected, crawling with parasites and if its body language is anything to go by, it's probably feverish and delirious. Either way, it's also very dangerous, so it's a good thing that backup was summoned. The bear groans with infuriated misery and begins to stump back towards its resting place. Wolves begin to slink into the area some odd minutes later, long enough for Fang to come up with some ideas on how to handle a big interruption to their winter supply line, probably.
Stupid birds. Fang wisely stays down to get a better look at the poor bear and its injuries. When the other wolves start to arrive, he can at least relay the information and point out they can either simply band together and take the poor thing down unless someone knows a way to cure such wounds - he's not sure what he knows outside this realm will work here, so its not a good idea to pin hopes on that plan, since he suspects the point here is to use what he has at present. If they don't have enough wolves, then there might be a way to bury the wounded bear in his cave - he IS wounded, so the pack might be able to take it down. Maybe. That's a really fucking big bear. And bears are goddamned tanks.
The pack isn't ginormous or anything, likely they could DO it if it came to a fight, but absolutely some wolves will die in the struggle. It IS a big bear after all, and with as wounded as it is it might go down quicker, but it's also going to give way less of a shit about rational thinking or pain. Sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the good of the whole, but this would be a weighty one, for sure. Going after the logs, however, is quite a clever trick for a wolf and could very well do the job. There's no telling just how cleanly this will kill the animal, and there is a chance it might come out in a tizzy and make the job harder, but it's less likely to get anyone killed if it's well coordinated. With some careful digging, a bit of shoving, a whole new collapse might just do the trick!
Well, a good chance of avoiding a fight and a lot of wolves dying is better than NO chance of avoiding a fight, but its important that the pack is all on the same page and ready for that fight just in case. So at least a couple of stealthy diggers need to be sent around to loosen the pile, while the rest of the fighters are scattered around, ready to leap in if the bear isn't trapped and comes out swinging.
It probably doesn't take long to set up and get the wolves digging away, until shoulders are applied and logs set into motion. Well, if he had fingers, they'd be getting crossed, right?
Talk about your stealthy diggers, these wolves were all dwarven miners in their last life or something. It's obviously not going to be utterly soundless work, but no one steps on a twig, and someone's even smart enough to gently pick up rocks that get loosened in their mouths and set them aside in the leaves rather than kicking them loose to go rolling down hill and starting a ruckus. The soft patter of moist earth rolling barely registers to the ears at all as the ends of the logs are unbound from the earth. There's some grumbling from inside the den as the bear gets rained on with dirt, but it otherwise stays put.
Fang adds his shoulder to the pushing when its time to send things downward, and well, they should have realized all this weight that's been here for so long was going to take a little effort to get moving, right? Some of the wolves are going to pay for the strain later, but with effort, logs do finally tear loose and dirt and rocks begin falling, enough for he and the other wolves to bounce the hell back out of the way and watch, to see if the cave in works, or they now have a very angry infected bear on their hands.
Wolves are not generally known for their ability to shoulder check trees down a hill, even spirit wolves, but they do their best, damn it. This work is a lot noisier than the digging is, wood creaking and nature lodged in the tangles crevasses being let loose to tumble down into the den. It takes long enough that the bear catches wind of the exercise after a little while and begins stumping grumpily out of its den. This might be a good though. Sure, every one gets a moment of panic thinking they're going to have to fight this thing, but when the trees do start tumbling downwards, the bear is definitely, absolutely smacked and rolled under and crushed by the logs in mere seconds. If it'd stayed put inside, maybe it would have simply been trapped, and that would be pretty damned sad. The wolves weather the tangle really well, a couple get slapped by some old dead branches, but no one's really hurt in the exercise.
With the bear's death, a cloud of disease spirits waft up out of the new log tangle, scrawny and mad looking little things that have lost their home and vector, and aren't super happy about it.
"Hell yeah! They did it!" Irsa claps her hands over her mouth, perhaps worried her enthusiastic shout might have reached Broken Fang's ears. They haven't, of course, and she soon realizes that. "Heh. Now that was ever smarter than th' whole thing with the stream."
When the bear definitely gets piled on and the disease spirits flee (more or less proving the bear is indeed dead), Fang howls after them in victory, sort of a combination cheer and a 'dont come back here!' cry after them. With that done, he checks the other wolves to make sure none got unfortunately caught in the tumble, before helping other pack members add dirt to the cave entrance and make sure it stays buried for good. Poor bear suffered enough, it doesn't need its damaged body unearthed by scavengers. Let the earth reclaim it properly. With that bit of chiminage taken care of, its time to return home and check on Missus Tree.
Is it the thoughtful extra measure of burying a bear that never meant to become a monster the reason for the gentle, mournful rain of red and yellow leaves to fall from the trees and gently blanket the grave, or is it just the instinct of the season to cover the ground and smother traces? A few fat rabbits are caught on the way back home, and the pack can rest securely in the knowledge that prey will return to that area and they wont likely go hungry during the winter.
Back at the meadow, the cabin's windows shed their golden hearth light onto the wild grass and a gentle ribbon of smoke rises from its chimney, a chorus of crickets singing out the post card scene. The mother tree is already in the process of shifting its pose again, with family cared for in the season of preparation, she seems appeased. Her 'arms' held out to her sides droop down low as though they've simply become to heavy to hold aloft any longer. Her trunk stoops crookedly and while still a tree, she resembles an old crone bent under the weight of her years, still strong and upright, but no longer young and spry. Within her drooping branches and her tangled, growthy trunk there is, of course, a portal like a sheet of featureless white, a few fat snowflakes blown through on a passing breeze.
Ugh, rain is bad enough, but he knows where this is going now. He doesn't bother telling any of the wolves farewell, understanding that this isn't really working like that. There's a moment or two extra spent just enjoying the fading warmth of the meadow in the grip of autumn, before the wolf dips his nose and pushes into that portal of white, prepared for the cold he's about to run into, fur already bristled up in preparation for the white stuff, even leaning his head into the expected wind or precipitation.
Irsa has located a package of red vines in her pack, and offers one to Mercy. "He's doin' real well. Think he's got th' next part in th' bag?"
The cold slaps Broken Fang right in his grizzled old wolf face as he probably shakes his pelt to fluff it against the winter storm. The crone tree stands hukling and ancient nearby, its twisted limbs leafless. The cabin, as ever, spills its warm light out into the driving snow and its gentle ribbon of smoke is whipped away from the chimney by the howling winds.
The Theurge's joints ache as he moves through snow that's knee deep on him. The sounds of his family are all but lost on the wind, small wolves too young to be on the hunt, females growing pups, and a few old sods like himself. Fang doesn't go out on the hunts any more, he's too achy and tired for that sort of nonsense, so it's his children, and his children's children that take down the ornery bucks and howl their victories to draw their weaker members to the feast. This has been a hard winter, the hunts have been fewer and far between, the packs ranging farther afield to find herds amongst the snowfields that decided not to find warmer places to survive. It's not so bad though, their little patch of the forest blocks the worst winds, their numbers preserved over these long years by quick thinkers like Broken Fang have made this a safe place to be.
Iris, meanwhile, doesn't take the candy, but only because she cant see it in her trance and her hands are full of bird. "Oh definitely. Gah, it reminds me of Maine in winter. Least fun place to be when you cant wear sweaters."
Fuck HateTheSnowHateTheSnow. A life of battle scars tends to start weighing down on the old, so while he doesn't go out on patrols muhc anymore (if at all), he can still keep an eye on the den and the edge of the pack's central turf, just a final bit of defense before an intruder got to the pups and birthing mothers, and offer advice to the younger ones heading out to hunt down food or keep an wider ranging eye for trouble. Anything to make sure they come back at the end of the day, even if HIS usefulness to the pack is waning. Eventually there's going to be only a couple of things left for him to do, to keep himself from becoming a burden to the pack.
Gangly kids that are around the same age Fang was when he and his brother battled a fire wolf come bouncing over to make a nuisance of themselves when the aged Theurge gets near, the snow drifts lessening until it's pretty sheltered forest where the fam is settled in. Off in the distance, sung loud against the snowy wind comes the sound of the hunting pack's victory. They'll do what they can to get it close enough for others to help drag a cold, torn apart carcass back to the den, but it's going to take a while. Still, it's a comfort every time that howl sounds, going to sleep with an empty belly is starting to get a little too normal these days.
In another direction comes a different sound, a loud scream that seems to bring with it a blasting chill of cold and a new flurry of flying flakes. Fang's had enough winters living as a spirit (has he, though?) that he knows the sound of an ice cat on the hunt, yowling its defiance at the distant howl. Sure, bring your kill back to your den, see if there's anything left to share it with. The chances this cat will be stalking the den are super high, and the chances of survivors is going to be super low. It's Broken Fang that the pack are going to be looking to for leadership, of course.
Oh, hell, not THAT cat. He knows that spirit. The younglings are instructed to continue their hunts, to provide for the packs. Fang and the other elders will take care of this threat - he doesn't mention about how this threat is every winter, maybe not the same cat, but the cat nonetheless, and even old, failing wolves need to have a purpose. The pack should not suffer them in their weakness. Are there others as old as he is? Possibly. They will look for this cat, snuffle for its tracks, and they will make sure the ice cat confronts the ones it should be confronting: Those wolves ready for Winter. He has a good feeling that even if they lose when they find this cat and confront it, it will eliminate the threat to the rest of the pack, at least for this year.
Irsa munches on her snack while she watches the scene. This is way better than Telemundo, by far.
Into the freezing winter storm Fang goes, taking what old codgers remain with him while the ladies band together for safety and keep an eye on their kids. There's some nose bumps and somber wuffs, those that remain at the den are keenly aware of the situation, aware that this is a serious threat. Aware that some of this old pack may not return again.
Tracking the winter cat is tough, nostrils feel dry and frosted, and moving through alternating drifts and dry under brush sets the hips to aching. Despite the slow moving and the aches and pains, a little bit of limping here or there, they're all still wolves, still dangerous creatures. It's like watching a formation of elderly mobsters. They might break a hip at any moment, but also they're probably packin heat and could navigate a shoot out with ease.
WOOSH! There's only half a yelp to alert the pack as the wolf at the tail end of the group is hit by something, and lies dead in the snow, slowly crumbling into soil. The hunters are the hunted.
A bark of warning is given just in case the others didn't immediately clue in on what just happened, telling them to scatter out, and get ready to pounce. His shoulder hangs and he limps his way back to his fallen packmate, snuffling at the body and doing his best to look like a prime second target. Old, distracted, and even better, carrying old war wounds. Bait. He might have broken teeth, but he can get at least a bite in and hold on long enough for the rest of the wolves to pounce. So if the cat takes him out, at least he's pretty sure he's going to be the last wolf it kills this year.
Snow white and hidden against the drifts and falling flakes, a large mountain cat of cold and ice watches the wolf pack scatter. It cant really discern what it is they're doing, it's eyes are only as good as anyone else's against the flurries. It CAN see a couple of the other wolves in amongst the trees, but not all of them, the only obvious stand out is Broken Fang, who appears to not really get the gravity of the situation as he checks his packmate's body, now a pile of rich soil in the shape of a fallen wolf lying on the snow. Culling the weak and old probably shouldn't be so enjoyable, but some cats just really like their jobs, you know? This shit's gonna be fun! It even gets a little cocky, wiggling into position to pounce and maybe not being quite as careful as it should be.
Fang can see the thing due to its wiggling, catching sight of a jacked white cat with long saber teeth of jagged ice, and is well warned in advance against the incoming pounce of death.
It doesn't really even the score, power wise - the cat alone is quite a bit stronger than the old wolf, but knowing where and when an attack is coming is a huge advantage to leverage against that. So he might see the buttwiggle of excited cat about to pounce, and instead he puts on his best mournful look to his eyes, while tensing up those old muscles and getting ready to wheel himself around and present pouncing cat with fangs and claws, intent on latching on and holding while the rest of the wolves dive in for the kill.
The cat was not ready for that! Its ice shard claws and teeth do their damage, but it really shouldn't have ended up with a wolf's jaws clapped on its throat! That's not part of the script! The wounds it makes are so cold they burn, and its blood in Broken Fang's mouth is cold as ice water. The other wolves rush in, not as quickly as they might have liked and leaving them unable to stop their Theurge from being harmed, but still. Aches and pains are forgotten in the rush of adrenaline and instinct, the pack might not be so nimble but their teeth are still sharp. The cat screams loud, right in Fang's dad gum ear, and sinks its long, jagged fangs into the base of the Wendigo's throat as its dying action, the spirit sprayed with hot red blood as it shatters like a toppled ice sculpture.
There's good news and bad news. Good news is Fang's not bleeding super bad, there's no spurting as if an artery had been clipped or anything, so hooray! The bad news is that he cant seem to catch his breath. It was a hard fight even if it was quick, everyone's panting and exhausted, one's even shivering with the exertion, so maybe it's nothing to worry about.
Irsa winces as the combat erupts. It's one thing to be in it, another thing entirely to be watching and not be able to interfere in any way.
Fang isn't concerned about the pain - his job is to hang on and not let that damned cat get away until the rest of the pack is on it. He probably wasn't expecting to actually live to see the end of it, so when the cat practically explodes over him and he's not dead? The old wolf has to lay there for a moment and blink a few times.
He finally rolls over and makes it to his feet, almost sagging with the effort as that breath never seems to want to catch up with him, probably not noting yet how much blood he's losing. He gruffly chuffs at one of the wounded elders, <<Go back to den. Tell them cat dead. Safe for winter.>> With that said, he lowers his head for a moment, trying to take a good self assessment, a tentative couple of steps, before shaking his head at one of the other wolves.
The wounded depart after a nose touch here and there, leaving Fang with one of his elderly siblings. Shaking his head hurts, the deep gashes from claws and fang burn in the cold wind of the winter storm, and his breath, why cant he catch his breath? As the adrenaline wears off, he can feel it, something's... wrong, inside his chest. The pressure is uncomfortable, his breathing feels wet, he wont be able to stifle a cough any more than he wont be able to notice the red flecks that cover the snow when he does. In truth, he didn't survive the assault, this wound is mortal, but the Theurge has time to choose how to spend his last moments, and where he wants to be before his old body gives up the ghost and sends him into the long sleep.
Its enough to make one's head swim (you know, from the blood loss, but who's being specific here). It takes another step or two before it at last sinks in to the old wolf that he's not leaving this area. With a rough voice he tells his last sibling to make sure the pack has a strong leader and learn from the fuckups they made so they don't have to be made again, and beware next winter, because the cat will be back, and the cat is never satisfied without taking what it is owed.
At this point his paws are cold, its harder to breathe, and his legs are hurting from standing up this long, but at least he finishes his warning before slumping down over the pile of ice that was the attack kitty.
Irsa doesn't move. Probably doesn't even breathe as Broken Fang falls. She sniffles,though, the big softie.
The cold is awful at first, the slow leaking of blood and the rattle of air coming with more and more difficulty with each breath. The wolf sits close to Broken Fang so his brother can feel his presence in his last moments. The cold finally seems to subside, a gentle warmth spreading through the dying wolf's body. It's not a miserable death, it's as soft and simple as taking a nap in the tall grass in spring. After Fang's eyes close, his body begins to break apart into rich, dark soil mixed with the shattered pieces of the ice cat.
Iris is weeping over the death of her friend, but she's not freaking out or anything like she just MURDERED A THEURGE or something. Cause she's smart and she does her research! Still though, that shit was super sad, and the women's wolf based soap opera ends with the image fading out on a single old wolf singing a song of mourning in a winter snow storm.
Meanwhile near by, at the base of the tree he'd originally climbed into, Broken Fang wakes up covered in dirt, buried in an extremely shallow grave between the tree's roots. He'll be immediately aware of that fact when he sucks in a breath and fills his nose with dirt. He's fine, totally fine, he's the correct age and definitely not dead, though he does have a small frostbitten scar right where the fang that killed him was. He remembers all of what transpired in the other realm, retains a lifetime of memories as a spirit born and raised, remembers his siblings, mate, cubs, his life in general, but they're a little bit hazy and disconnected, as if from a really vivid dream. There's patches missing or things whose details he cant quite recall, places where he'd passed through portals from one stage of life to the next.
Irsa is bawling right along with Iris, of course. Once the womenfolk start crying, that's it. Tears for days!
Hazy and disoriented is a bit of an understatement when you regain consciousness with a snoutful of dirt. So the first order of business is a panicked thrashing and loud, hefty sneezing fit as he tries to cough up the inadvertent mouthful of earth he took in when he came to. Landing wobbly on all fours, it takes him a little longer to cough and sneeze the gunk out of his mouth and nose, and THEN he can stand there for a moment and process WTF just happened. This could be the happy hunting grounds? Do you normally wake up buried alive there? He has no fucking clue. Instead he slowly looks around, checking for details, recognizing the surroundings again, but not necessarily seeing signs of the pack. He takes a moment before offering a tentative 'arooo', loud enough to get caught by any close by wolves. Then of course, giving the tree an accusatory look, like he fully expects her to have an answer. Or another portal.
Mercy is a sniffling mess, but she smiles when she hears the close by wolf sound, murmuring something in Greek before opening her hands to release the sparrow and free it from its mystic bonds. She digs a hankie out of her purse to wipe her eyes with and tries to get her shit together and look kinda respectable when she stands up. "Broken Fang?" she calls, starting towards and around the tree to find their returned challenger. "You okay?" she asks. And the wolf should just go ahead and accept this now, but in like half a second he's about to get hugged like crazy by one, possibly two fellow Theurges who are very glad to see him.
Irsa scrubs a sleeve over her eyes and blows her nose on it. She'll attract every migrating goose within a mile that way. "All the puppies! And his brother!" she wails. Great going, you've made an extremely ugly Bone Gnawer cry.
Oh, that's MUCH closer. The lupus has to blink and whirl around, after he was assuming he was still in yet another realm and finds himself back with familiar faces. Both women get a curious bark, as if maybe just making sure this isn't another vision, before he bounds up to both of them, shaking his fur out again before giving each of them a welcoming lick. Mlems must be given out, this is lupus required code for friendly faces, even if one of them IS an Elder.
Mercy is FINE with mlems! Proof of LIFE! She digs around to find some water and a collapsible dish as well for Stephen. She has a metis kid, she totally carries those with her. "So, Broken Claw," she says, sniffling again and scrubbing her eyes one more time to get the stubborn things to stop leaking, "Tell us what you learned in there. We binge watched the four episodes of your life, but we didn't get your thoughts or feelings."
Irsa wraps the lupus in a huge hug, wiping her face on his fur. She'll have snot and fur on her face forever, but doesn't seem to care right now. She's that relieved to see Broken Fang has come through his challenge in one piece. As Mercy speaks she lets go of the wolf, rubbing his ears with one hand as she wipes her face clean with her other sleeve. She's composing herself now, as is fit and proper for this solemn occasion.
A grunt of thanks leaves the lupus before he hunkers down and drinks like he hasn't had any water for, well, a lifetime. SOMEONE's gonna have to go water several trees later. When he's demolished the offered water, he finally sits down, sitting up a little to face the two Theurges, and tilts his head, <<Everything has its place with Gaia, even the unpleasant. All of us eventually return to that, and we all have a part to play. The hard part is understanding what that part is at the time, or helping others understand that which they cannot see. Even a loss serves a purpose, and should not stop us from doing what we are expected to do.>> There's a pause, and then he chuffs softly with a little less reverence, <<And fuck ice cats. That HURT.>> He pauses to rub his cheek against his shoulder then lifts his chin, <<I still feel like he got me. Am not bleeding, am I?<<
Mercy reaches out to run her fingers through the fur at the base of Fang's throat, checks them by eye and says, "No, you're okay. And that's a good answer, I like that a lot. Well thought out. Also, oh Gaia, you were the cutest fucking puppy I have literally ever seen. Watching you learn how to walk was way too wholesome. Irsa, do you have any smart questions for our friend concerning his experience and challenge?"
Irsa wipes her hands off on her shirt. Wolf hair is everywhere. "Um... let me think." She reaches up to scratch along the edge of the battle-scar slashed across her jaw. "I don't have any real good ones. Uh, mebbe... you wear man-shape so often. How much had you forgotten, and what will you do now that you've gone to the very end of things?"
Oh god, they watched him as a puppy. This is like your mom breaking out your baby pictures when you graduate college, he just didn't understand that level of awkwardness until now. He does at least steal a lick across Iris' face to steal a tear streak away before sitting back and turning that curious tilt-headed look towards Irsa when the question is sent to her. He rumbles a little at the ask, working his tongue around before he can offer <<Cannot forget, but miss having others on four legs that KNOW. Just do not have pack to run with to remind THEM what is to be wolf. Many kin here, none of them understand wolfspeak, so better for them if two legs. Will find pack of wolves that do not regularly fuck up, and until them I can run with the bawn patrol and remind them of being four legs.>>
"That's a really great answer too!" Mercy says, getting all choked up again and strangling Broken Fang to death with another hug. She sits back up though and SNIFFLES, "Okay, okay, get a hold of yourself Iris. Ahem. I think you learned everything you needed to know to call this a definite success. By the power vested in me by my own imagination, I pronounce thee Adren in rank and will send word to the spirits of your right to the title and the gifts they have to teach you. I suggest one of Unicorn's brood first for the gift of healing self, allies, and spirits of their physical and mental wounds." One more hankie swipe of her face, and she takes a deep breath, looking up at the now starry sky, "You guys wanna go back home?"
Irsa smiles, looking impressed and pleased by Broken Fang's answer. That smile warms even further as Iris announces the lupus' new rank, and she throws back her head to let out a wolfish howl of victory for him. It's not the best, she's in homid, but the sentiment is clear. "Congrats, Broken Fang'RHYA," she says, stressing the title. "Ya did so damn good here. If I survive an' can make it to my own Adren challenge, I hope I do half as well." She looks over at her mentor and nods. "Yeah, I need t' get back to th' Mall. Tomorrow's another early day."
Fang leans into the hug and chuffs his agreement with Mercy's recommendation, <<That sounds like a very good idea. I will hunt down Unicorn to ask for their consideration once I've gotten a little rest out in the forest.>> But then she's asking if they'd like to go home, and gets an immediate response in the affirmative from the lupus. Hell yes, he wants to go home and find a nice piece of steak and pass the ever loving fuck out. Its not every day that you get born and die all in the same day, after all. To Irsa, he offers a bring yip and rumbles, <<You have made Fostern quickly and are a leader in your tribe. I have no doubt you will do very well for a very long time.>>
Mercy smiles and while the two theurge's talk it up, she collects up her couple bits of ritual equipment, makes sure the old ashes packet is stuffed into her purse for reuse and that they're otherwise being good hikers and leaving no trace. Aside from the fresh divot where the wolf popped up out of a grave, but that hardly counts. Mercy cracks open a moon bridge again so they can make the walk back to the caern, but before anyone can get too lost in thoughts of work or rest while on the path back, she's forced to ask, "Hey um... Since you died, and then got back up, are you technically a zombie now?"
Irsa is about to reply to Broken Fang, but then Mercy pipes up with her question. She breaks into laughter, nearly doubling over as she trips and falls through the Moon bridge. Bone Gnawer away!
Fang gives Iris the oddest of looks, then spits out <<Could bite you and find out?>> before tucking his tail and darting into the bridge at high speed. FLEEE!
"And that's how the apocalypse REALLY begins..." Mercy says non-seriously, and follows to the caern, releasing Gnawers to malls and Wendigos to steaks. "Hey, go pester Sergei a lot." she says before Stephen can get too far away.
