DATE:  Wednesday, February 4, 1998
Place: Rocky promontory of Arthur Island

---- Recall start ----

Touch Deer heads down from the cliffs to join you on the promontory.
Dana, despite the weather, is settled silently on a rough boulder down by the 
   frozen water's edge, knees half-drawn to her chest. She seems to simply be 
   looking out over the lake, breaths clouding the night air intermittantly.
Touch Deer approaches from the island itself, wandering until the ritual 
   begins. He stops a few dozen feet from you, and quietly calls, "Dana?"
Hayes heads down from the cliffs to join you on the promontory.
Dana, despite the weather, is settled on a rough boulder down by the frozen 
   water's edge, knees half-drawn to her chest. She startles at Touch Deer 
   calling out her name, twisting around at the waist with a jerk of surprise. 
   Breaths smudge the air a little more quickly than normal as she recovers 
   from the jolt. "Yes. I was just killing time until it was time for the 
   Ritual, Touch Deer, I hope that's okay?"
Hayes' approach is a meandering wander. His hands are buried deep in coat 
   pockets, and his gaze really not on his immediate surroundings, so he 
   probably gets spotted by others before vice versa.
Touch Deer swallows. His reaction upon viewing Dana's face is to suddenly drop 
   his eyes to the ground; quickly realizing he must look like an idiot, he 
   brings his gaze back up to Dana's face, but his posture betrays a certain 
   akwardness as he talks to the Mage. "Of course. You have been invited, 
   after all."
Dana seems faintly puzzled, what can be seen of her in the shadowy darkness, 
   and uncertain as the young Wendigo. "Well, yes. But this is your island, 
   and..." she stumbles off, and is saved by spying Hayes. She climbs off the 
   boulder and shoulders her backpack, saying softly, "Hello, Hayes."
Touch Deer glances around to catch sight of the wandering Hayes, and he waves 
   at the Gaian, whistling in a very good imitation of a bird's call.
Hayes' attention returns from wherever it had been dwelling. His reaction to 
   seeing Dana is less pronounced than the oddness at the tribal moot, but of 
   a similar flavor--a kind of odd wariness and puzzlement, a hint of deja vu. 
   "Good evening. If I'm...interrupting, I could shift into reverse. I was 
   just pacing about before the...event."
Cassandra heads down from the cliffs to join you on the promontory.
Scott heads down from the cliffs to join you on the promontory.
Touch Deer shakes his head. "No need...we should be starting soon." He looks 
   from Dana to Hayes and back, and then looks back towards the island as 
   people begin arriving again.
Quiet heads down from the cliffs to join you on the promontory.
Iceheart heads down from the cliffs to join you on the promontory.
Seirian heads down from the cliffs to join you on the promontory.
Hope-Star appears in a glimmer of light.
Dawn's Fire approachs as a group, led by the Fury Ragabash. Their mein is 
   serious, calm, and unshakably resolute. Scott however probably catchs the 
   eye of most, or more precisely his face does. Pink lines scroll and climb 
   out of the neckline of his shirt to frame his left eye, interlaced with 
   some sort of ancient glyphs and those lines appear to be healing wounds as 
   if someone carved the Silver Fang's skin and used it as a canvas for some 
   mystical or ... artistic if you'd call it that, work.
Dana's grip on the strap of her backpack tightens as people begin to trickle 
   in, tension lessening only when she sees Cassandra, but then increasing 
   again when she sees Scott. She bites her lower lip, but then looks to Quiet 
   and smiles at her tentatively.
Cassandra seems fairly relaxed, though not entirely happy. She hangs back a 
   bit, walking over to the weather-beaten cliffs and leaning against heir 
   base casually once she'd led Dawn's Fire down to the promontory.
Touch Deer makes quick, formal introductions to people he has never met 
   (Iceheart and Seirian) and then takes a place with the rest of Ouroboros, 
   face somber.
Sepdet materializes quietly among the shadows, pads forward to the group's 
   edge, folds her hands over the end of her walking stick and props her chin, 
   surveying the assembly with a measured glance.
Iceheart pads over to settle by Scott.
Seirian stands calmly with Scott, hands tucked into her pockets.
Andrea comes up to the area in human form, looking over those gathered. She 
   carries a leather-wrapped bundle. Here, there's a large swath of ground 
   cleared of snow, prepared with gylphs and the familiar four-quartered 
   circles of one of Andrea's fetish-breaking rites. Colored sands mark the 
   north in yellow, the south in red, the west in blue, and the east, white. 
   She sees Dana and smiles back a little, before beginning. "This night we 
   gather to do two things to a fetish of the Older Brother. We seek to 
   cleanse it of the taint that fights it, and to strength it with our 
   spiritual power." She raises her free hand to gesture as she calls names. 
   "Scott, you will lead the defence. Mark, Cassandra, Touch Deer and Iceheart 
   are yours to muster in our defense."
Soren heads down from the cliffs to join you on the promontory.
Cassandra raises an eyebrow from her half-hidden position by the cliff wall at 
   Andrea's assignment, then a predatory grin spreads across her face and she 
   moves to join Scott and Iceheart.
Soren moves quickly onto the rock promontory, slipping from the crag with the 
   agility of the familiar. The Get moves toward his pack alpha, nodding to 
   her silently.
Touch Deer moves alongside Cassandra to join up with Iceheart and Mark besides 
   Scott.
Iceheart chuffs as she rises and goes to join Scott. Place me where you will, 
   alpha.
Mark moves over by Scott as well.
Sepdet's fidgeting toes betray a little of her old excitement at rites, 
   although she holds herself in calm preparation for the work at hand. Her 
   speculative gaze slips occasionally from the Ritemistress to the few faces 
   she doesn't know, and the mage.
Scott nods simply, and then motions for the defenders to gather around him. He 
   kneels down on a single knee and places his Klaive point first in the 
   ground in front of him. As Andrea prepares for the ritual, he speaks softly 
   but in a voice that commands attention. "Mother, guide our hands tonight, 
   and fill our hearts with your grace so that we will not know fear. 
   Strengthen us with your resolve and the purity of your purpose so we might 
   make it our own. We offer ourselves to you as we have in ages past, to kill 
   for you, to live for you and to die for you. If you must call one of Gaia's 
   warriors back to you tonight, speed them on their journey so our grief will 
   be lessened by the knowledge they will be with you all the sooner." He 
   pauses and looks up to the other Garou gathered about him, meeting each in 
   the eye with a resolute gaze before rising to his feet and taking the 
   Klaive in hand. "We will not fail. Standard defensive wheel, spread 
   yourself out so we don't have any weak points. Hold your ground no matter 
   the cost."
Iceheart shifts into Crinos form.
Iceheart moves to a point on the cirlce and crouches slightly. A silvery light 
   ripples over her fur.
Mark shifts into Crinos form.
Cassandra nods and takes a place on the circle a little farther out from the 
   rest and in as open a position as possible before taking the warform 
   herself.
Dana's arm wrapped around her torso tightens further at something in Scott's 
   gesture, eyes dropping away. Squaring her shoulders, she lifts her eyes to 
   look at Andrea expectantly, shifting her weight on the balls of her feet 
   once betraying her uncertainty.
Andrea glances over as Soren, then Joseph arrive. Joseph is dressed in the way 
   of his people, and settles to one side with his fetish drum. Andrea 
   continues with a slight smile for them both. "Joseph will drum for us, 
   calling to the spirits of his ancestors. Sepdet, Soren, you two are the 
   most experienced other than myself. But knowing your experience, I think 
   it's wiser to set Soren in the position of Fire." A wry smile twists her 
   lips wryly, before she goes on. "That leaves you the place of Earth. Hayes, 
   if you will take the quarter of Air, and Seirian Water? I will take the 
   center, and channel the spirit." She looks around among the faces. Waiting 
   for Scott to finish, she then says clearly, "Dana is here because she was 
   among those that retrieved the fetish, and she is our kin." She turns 
   toward Dana and smiles reassuringly, adding directly to the mage, "The 
   ritual is wholly Garou, this time, because we work with a thing of our 
   ancestors. But your eyes are welcome."
Talks to Ghosts takes up a positon to guard the circle on the far side from 
   where Dana is.
Dana coughs once nervously before asking Andrea, "What would you like me to 
   do? Should I stand anywhere special?"
Seirian nods to Andrea and takes the point given her. Shedding her jacket, she 
   lays it nearby and turns to face the others about the circle.
Sepdet's mouth quirks in a very slight smile at Andrea's teasing, and she
   thumps the ground gently with a bare foot. To Dana, she gives a reserved
   but respectful nod.
Touch Deer closes his eyes in silent prayer as Scott speaks, head rising up in 
   a gesture of confidence at the Fang's speech. This done, he moves towards a 
   rock wall and removes his suede gloves (revealing to everyone a pair of 
   hideously scarred hands) and shifts to Crinos. With two sweeping motions, 
   he drags his claws along the rock surface, producing a few bright sparks. 
   This done, he takes his place in the defensive circle around the ritualists.
The temperature drops in this area. Even as cold as it is now, it becomes 
   almost bone numbingly cold now. Snow, from nowhere starts to drift toward 
   the ritualists and the circle that defends them.
Iceheart seems to revel in the cold, and now bends to sharpen her claws as 
   well, leaving the points bright as diamond.
Hayes takes his place at the air quarter, and breathes with ritual depth and 
   slowness for a baker's dozen.
Sepdet hums something under her breath that sounds like a jibe in Joseph's 
   direction, and kneels to claw and scoop up a heaping handful of dirt from 
   outside the circle before moving to her proper quarter.
Scott's eyes catch on Dana for a moment and linger there before he snaps his 
   head away. Scott takes up his position in the defensive wheel, the drop in 
   temperature causing a moment's hesitation as his eyes unfocus and he 
   murmurs,"Just like in the dream.." He takes just a moment to shake it off, 
   and then slides up into the warform with the deadly grace of the 
   warrior-princes of old that begat him. A harsh, silver light envelops the 
   Fang before it fades protectively into his fur.
Andrea shakes her head. "If anything calls to you that does not interfere with 
   the ritual, follow your heart. Just remember that there are five Garou 
   here, and avoid any conflict you can." With another reassuring smile at the 
   kinfolk, she turns back to the group of ritualists. "Each of you but Serian 
   have helped with my fetish-breaking rituals often enough, so you know how 
   to invoke. Seiran, follow the mode for your quarter. But in this case, do 
   /not/ break the lines. We wish to strengthen the ties, not shatter them. 
   When I feed the circle blood, then channel your spiritual energy through me 
   for the fetish. With hope, both of us can withstand it." She gestures 
   toward the circle. "Crinos, then we begin."
Soren gives a nod to the Ritesmistress as he turns slowly, taking his place as 
   indicated. Oddly, there is no sign of the Get's leather satchel. He sets 
   his jacket, like Seirian, off to one side. Beneath the jacket, he wears 
   what appears to be a long narrow shawl, a religious adornment perhaps 
   reminiscent of a Christian priest, though the shawl is made of heavily 
   oiled leather marked all along its surface in blue, green, black, red, and 
   white runes. Soren nods to Andrea after settling the shawl where it drapes 
   down from his neck and shoulders.
The keen sharp discordant howl of the Wendigo spirit rings out of the 
   gathering of Garou. First, there are many voices, then slowly, eeriely, 
   they fall silent. Soon, there is only one voice left, it's wail coming 
   regularly, even so often.
A shudder ripples through the fur of the Fury in the defensive circle, and she 
   growls softly. ~I want a vacation someplace warm. ~
Scab-Survivor's ear twitch at the howling of his Totem, and he crouches down 
   low, eyes wide and expectant.
Dana gives Andrea a nod and a slight smile, then with a brief look around the 
   area winds up standing near and behind Joseph as the only Garou not 
   involved with the circle or defending. She stuffs her hands deeper into her 
   pockets and shivers in the cold, gaze beginning to roam around as she takes 
   in as much as possible.
Andrea steps without further delay into the center of the circle, where a 
   concentric circle ringed with green marks her place. She sets down the 
   unwrapped fetish and takes off her clothes, rather than simply shifting. 
   Her body is decorated with glyphs, the ones for 'defend' and 'spirit' 
   repeated over and over. Her body goosebumps before she is done, and then 
   she shifts. She goes to each crinos to mark their forehead with the same 
   reddish ointment before Sepdet invokes Earth. She gives each the glyph for 
   their element. Finally, she returns to her circle and unwraps the fetish, 
   holding it aloft. ~Begin.~
The scene the defenders look on is oddly calm, placid, as the snow falls 
   around their crinos forms. The fetish the elder Gaian theurge holds is an 
   ancient looking wooden wheel, a hub connected with four spokes, impossibly 
   perfect raptor feathers at each spoke terminus, except for on obvious 
   magpie feather. Underfoot, the ground rumbles in protest against the sound 
   of the lament of the Wendigo howl. There is a thin, barely seen crack down 
   the middle of the fetish.
Sepdet's invocation tonight is simple, whispered. ~Rocks break.~ She lets the 
   dirt fall through her fingers, trickling onto the colored edge of the 
   circle. Then she kneels and picks it up again with a deft scoop. ~Mountains 
   rise. Deep great Earth beneath our feet, uphold us tonight.~
Quiet turns her body to face water, a quarter turn toward the next rite to be 
   invoked. Her arms begin to tremble as she keeps the fetish aloft, 
   apparently under tension.
Spirit-of-Words waits, his eyes scanning the wilderness in front of him 
   intently and alertly. More than once, the Silver Fang seems slightly 
   distracted, distant but he brings himself back to the present quickly 
   enough.
Iceheart's ears flick and she tests the air.
Abruptly, the howls of the Wendigo lapse into silence, after a feral, 
   challenging snarl.
Luna-Singer murmurs softly as she reaches a hand out to the falling snow. 
   ~Water, ageless and ever-flowing, flow through us tonight with your power 
   and calm.~
Scab-Survivor keeps his keen senses occupied by scanning the area with eyes, 
   nose, and ears. The final snarl of the Wendigo in the distance sets his 
   hackles to begin rising.
The pace of the snow fall increases dramatically fast, and the temperature 
   drops noticeably again. Visibility is reduced to mere feet.
Talks to Ghosts keeps a watch on his stretch of the circle although he looks 
   back at the rite being performed now and again to see what is proceeding 
   and also checks on where the mage is with some frequency.
Quiet does another quarter-turn, to face her Get packmate. Her arms gradually 
   relax again, though she keeps the wooden wheel over her head. The sound of 
   Joseph's drum is strangely muffled in the sudden snowfall, but he is lost 
   in his own world of ancient ways.
Rising into crinos with an achingly fluid stretching of sinew and bone, the 
   Get theurge at the point of Fire crouches to the ground, his muzzle lifted 
   skyward as his clawed hands splay out upon the ground, biting into the 
   soul. ~Elemental Consumer, Ravager and Cleanser, you of the Spiritual 
   Birthing, you who serve the Refiner's Need, Purger of Corruption... The 
   servants of the Mother invoke thee and thy unslaked Thirst.~
Dana says softly out of no where and warns with audible but controlled fear, 
   "There's something /big/ coming..."
Iceheart tenses at Dana's statement, and pears through the swirling snow.
Spirit-of-Words flares to life with silver flame, the bright fire dancing 
   around the edges of his form. Hopefully, while visibility may be reduced to 
   but a few feet the other defenders will at least be able to make out his 
   position in the ring.
Sepdet tenses, but perhaps as much at the Get's invocation as the mage's 
   warning. Thrice burned, plenty shy.
Talks to Ghosts's attention swings firmly to the otuside of the circle as he 
   peers into the falling snow.
Scab-Survivor's ears swivel forward, trying to pick out sounds ahead of him. 
   He is tense enough that his muscles stand out in bold relief under his 
   scars.
Touch-Deer, without warning, vanishes, in a puff of wind and a swirl of ice 
   shards.
Dana adds after a few seconds. "It's in the realm closer to Gaia, the Umbra," 
   she corrects herself hastily, words beginning to come out faster. "And 
   there's something else smaller, quicker."
Spirit-of-Words growls lowly,~Dammit. Mark-of-Thorns, where is the closest 
   place to here that we could reach from? Everyone hold your ground for now, 
   but we may have to send someone after him.~
Sepdet can't help but glance towards the whirl of wind and ice, inexplicably 
   shutting her eyes as she does so for several breaths.
Mark-Of-Thorns growls a low, abruptly serious response. ~In the cave by the 
   grove, but...~ She tilts her head, listening for a moment, then lets out a 
   low growl of suden worry. ~I can't feel him.~
Spirit-of-Words snaps a reply,~Explain. What do you mean, can't feel him?~
Haze closes his eyes, keeping his position. If anything, Touch Deer's 
   disappearance makes him calmer--on the surface, at least.
Midnight remeans tightly crouched, talons biting into the soil. The Get 
   watches Quiet, though the tension in his shoulders and eyes grows as dark 
   as his black fur.
Iceheart watches the snow, ear swiveled to hear the conversation. She does not 
   abandon her watch.
All remains calm in the Realm. For now.
Mark-Of-Thorns, by contrast to Hayes, is rapidly becoming angry and 
   frightened. ~Jade's link,~ she explains tersely, voice dark. She holds her 
   position, though. For now.
Luna-Singer keeps her gaze to Quiet, and herself to her position, though her 
   ears move to catch what sound there is around the group.
Spirit-of-Words's eyes widen slightly, though it's doubtful anyone could see 
   as much in the snow storm. His powerful, low, growling voice bites across 
   the din of the storm in reply again,~Everyone hold your ground. There is 
   nothing we can do for him now, and this may just be a ruse to lure some of 
   us away.~
Mark-Of-Thorns lets out a low growl, but does as ordered, crouching down in 
   the snow and lapsing into silence again.
Dana, not understanding what's being said, screws up her face with confusion 
   and says, "I think he might be there. The first two things look like 
   they're about to fight. There's a new form just lying there." Strain 
   predominates her voice and her posture, her hands thrust deeply into her 
   pockets as she fights growing fear.
Spirit-of-Words emits another low growl, telling the other defenders to 
   tighten up the defensive circle to cover the area the Wendigo disappeared 
   from.
Iceheart flxes her claws, and waits for an opportunity to use her strength.
Quiet had paused for several long breaths, her arms tightening once again. She 
   frowns in deep concentration, then turns to the last quarter.
Haze stays within the bounds of his quarter, but begins to move, slowly at 
   first, then faster and faster in a kind of dance moving with the wind, the 
   movements not without reason or grace. He breathes steadily, not 
   hyperventilating but drawing the chill air deep into his lungs; the howl 
   that comes is short, nowhere near full volume, rising and falling like the 
   dance itself, and wordless--howling simply to experience the air, not to 
   control it. And thus to call it.
Patrick has arrived.
Sepdet gives a small gasp and her eyes snap open again. With a ragged breath, 
   she murmurs, low and clipped, "Mage's right. He's safe for the moment, 
   Cass." Then she refocusses herself on the ritemistress and the fetish she 
   holds, banishing all else from her mind.

>> Patrick pages all: Patrick, who's been Strangely Silent (tm) while his 
   player's power was nonexistent, suddenly comes to life as the Fogs of 
   Scenario (tm) clear from around him.

Mark-Of-Thorns lets out a low growl of acknowledgement, sounding only 
   marginally calmer.
Quiet restrains her expression, but her ears flatten in sudden alarm. She 
   continues on with her part of the rite, though, lowering the fetish to her 
   face level. ~Form is merely a vessel for spirit. Whatever vessel holds you, 
   spirit of the icy wind, take our strength.~ The theurge then bites her own 
   tongue, being unable to release the two side of the fetish for fear of its 
   cracking. She leans over, letting her blood drip from her mouth on the 
   wheel. The Gaian's entire body screams tense concentration.
The medicine wheel snaps loudly, it sounding more like a gun shot ringing out 
   into the superchilled night air, than a piece of wood breaking. As the 
   sound spreads like the ripple from a pond, a slow circle of light, brighter 
   even than the Silver Fangs gift of Lambent Flame blinds the ritualists for 
   a moment, as is it expands from the pieces of the broken medicine wheel 
   that lie at Quiet's feet. The drop of the Gauntlet is immediate and 
   intense, so much gnosis has been released by the snapping of the ancient 
   fetish. And like a window into the shadow realm, you all can see what looks 
   like a tableau, frozen in time.
An immense cloud of Wyrm, seething and boiling, like an ever churning lava 
   pit, except the purest blackest primeval sludge that could have been 
   fathered by the Destructor-Wyrm. The form writhes in agony, as it feeds 
   upon itself, leaving scars in the Umbral Ground where it coils. Thousands 
   of mouths cover its body, all of those mouths with thousands of rows of 
   gleaming obsidian teeth, tearing and cutting, ever moving. Across from it, 
   stands the Wendigo champion spirit -- the largest you've ever seen, and are 
   ever likely to see, squaring off, it's hulking form dwarfed by the spirit. 
With a mighty rumble the ground on which all the Garou stand trembles as this 
   form moves itself forward toward the Wendigo. A nimbus of spirit energy 
   surrounds the Wendigo, and it's claws limber and uncurl, anxiously, almost 
   as if it's daring the Consumer of Stone to hit it with it's best shot, 
   first. A sludgly coiling arm doesn't wait, and a hissing can be heard from 
   the Wyrmspawn in the spirit tongue. *So, at last we fight.* The tone is 
   mocking, sneering, a biting jibe. *Finally, I will be rid of your prison 
   forever, Crys-Gaia's-Rage. Your brothers have fallen. You are all that 
   remains.*
If the Consumer of Stone, or the Wendigo realize a hole has been ripped in the 
   Realm, they seem unaware of it.
The Wendigo plants two hooved feet firmly into the trembling ground and 
   /screams/ at the Darkness before it, a scream as primal and hateful as was 
   ever heard upon the face of Gaia herself; immediatley a wind picks up 
   around the Wendigo and rushes past the gathered Garou, biting and freezing 
   and whipping clothes and fur about in a frenzy of movement. Both arms come 
   up and forward, revealing black talons of deadly quality that point 
   directly at the great Bane; it's intentions are clear. It does not speak, 
   it snarls...no, it bellows like a falling avalanche. One word is all it 
   takes for this death machine to convey it's thoughts. *KILL!!!*
No hesitation slows the Silver Fang Galliard as his form leaps into motion 
   with deadly grace, Klaive shining with an almost tangible fury at the 
   chance to strike out a great corrupter of the Mother's realm. His battle 
   cry echoes across the landscape as he calls the rest of Gaia's warriors to 
   battle with their foe, moving with ground eating strides towards the 
   Wyrmspawn.
Mark-Of-Thorns hesitates for only a brief moment, long enough to glance in 
   Quiet's direction for directions.
Talks to Ghosts is frozen for a moment by the tableau but the Wendigo's scream 
   snaps him out of it and he charges forward as well.
Haze's eyes snap to Quiet as well; the Gaian is poised to launch into motion, 
   but he will move with pack, not ahead of it.
Perhaps not the wisest thing to do, but even an adren has her limits. Seeing 
   the fetish broken, the Wyrm thing in the heart of her territory, and her 
   way clear, Quiet springs forward to attack with a snarl. The flicker of 
   Luna's protection wraps her moments before the dark flicker of Uktena's 
   gift show she has passed through the rent and into the fray.
Seeing Quiet move is enough for Mark-of-Thorns. The Fury shifts down to the 
   near-wolf and dashes into the fray, the dark shadow of Uktena's protection 
   barely visible against the coal-black form and barely having time to 
   coalesce before she leaps at the thing.
Iceheart's whole body is like a coiled spring and now she leaps fowards with 
   all her might, claws extended to rip and tear! She howls her hatred of the 
   Wyrm thing and dives forwards. She also begins to shine with a silver 
   light, the better the throw light into the teeth of darkness before her.
Sepdet does not dive immediately into the fray, holding her ground and the 
   circle's edge until the Ritemistress moves. Instead she makes a rough lunge 
   to one side, shifting upwards as she goes.
Haze moves with his former pack; lacking Jade's protective boon, but fitting 
   his motions into Ouroboros' as it was before.
Luna-Singer is one of the last to head into the fight, ready to lend talons 
   and teeth to the cause with a snarl.
Dana in contrast to the Garou is quick to move in the /opposite/ direction, 
   out of the fray, heedless of the uneven, slick footing in her race to find 
   cover.
The Wendigo's missive sends a shudder through the black amorphous form, as 
   it's tentacle strikes the fierce creature of ice and snow, sending it 
   backwards for one step. The Garou join the fray, thier crinos forms 
   pitifully tiny against the huge towering spirits. The Wendigo counterattack 
   comes swiftly, and with the same keening wail -- a howl of *release* -- 
   almost ecstatic.
The word 'fast' does not even begin to describe to the speed of the Great 
   Wendigo's attack. It rushes at the Bane like a mountain, and hits it with 
   as much force. Smashing down with both claws again and again, jaws ripping 
   at tentacles in a maddened rage, the Wendigo engages it's arch foe with the 
   strength of a thousand warriors and the Hate of a thousand untold years, 
   waiting for this one night. Again it howls, *RELEASE!*
Whitestreak and Midnight move quickly to link up with Quiet, dark shadows 
   flicking over each of them as they speed directly for the Wyrm-creature. 
   The approaches differ greatly, though--while Whitestreak joins in on the 
   direct clawing attack, Midnight pulls up somewhat short and turns to a 
   nearby Wyrmling. *Attack Consumer-of-Stones,* he Commands the amorphous 
   corruptive spirit.
Sepdet checks Touch Deer's location and condition, then whirls and skids back, 
   instincts vying with sense as she wades in grimly and silently to slash at 
   any protuberance within reach of the small crinos.
Spirit-of-Words leaps in with his klaive, both Rage and gifts speeding him 
   into a pale blur of death. Iceheart and Talks-to-Ghosts split their attacks 
   to either side, attacking as a coordinated team, with Luna-Singer close 
   behind and to one side, wary of any flank or rear attacks. The quartet drop 
   at the wyrmbeat with intent to murder as swiftly as possible
The Great Wendigo's attacks hammer at the amoeba like form of the Wyrmservant, 
   splitting off chunks of the black tar like ichor, still animate, it's teeth 
   closing and opening wildly and utterly chaotic. In turn the Garou packs 
   attack the Consumer of Stone, and they can feel their claws sink deeply 
   into the massive, bloated, corrupted form. Still hissing, it seems to 
   ignore the Garou, almost, concentrating on his jailer for so many seasons, 
   so many long winters. A sheet of the blackness wraps the Wendigo spirit, 
   the mouthes closing around it's form, cutting through the crackling nimbus 
   of it's spirit energy.
Snarling in pure and maddened hate, the Wendigo fights to the 'bitter end.' 
   Even as it is enveloped from head to hoof, it's battle-screams continue on, 
   although they diminish rapidly as the Bane washes over it like a tidal wave 
   of Darkness. In moments, the Wendigo is gone from sight, engulfed in the 
   Bane like an amoeba eating a paramecium...and then the Bane shudders 
   violently as one last scream erupts from inside it and the Wendigo bursts 
   forth, claws rending a hole in darkness as it fights even at the edge of 
   death. And then it ends; the Wendigo is drawn back in, albeit faster than 
   before, and no sound escapes the jaws of the Great Hunter ever again.
As the Great Wendigo gets munched, Whitestreak looks up and says, ~Oh, shit,~ 
   before redoubling his attacks on the huge amorphous blob along with the 
   rest of Ouroboros, including Haze. Midnight's focus on the smaller Wyrmling 
   is broken but just for a moment as he tries to force his will on it, trying 
   to cause it to attack Consumer-of-Stone.
Spirit-of-Words and Iceheart both erupt in silvery light, hoping to punch a 
   hole in the darkness itself with their light. They slash, spending their 
   Rage even unto Frenzy as they seek to avenge the great Wendigo spirit. All 
   four bend to slash and rip and tear, using front claws and back as well to 
   try and send Consumer-of-Stone back to the hell that spawned it.
Soulcatcher's efforts redouble and the oft-silent Wendigo howls in fury as the 
   great Wendigo goes down, plunging his spear into the huge mass. Sepdet 
   moves in to join her packmate, aiming low with carefully-timed clawstrikes, 
   raking each time he has to yank the fetish-spear free in order to cover his 
   more deadly attacks.
Scab-Survivor, up to this time having lain quite unconcious off to the side of 
   the great battle, begins to stir. His eyes flutter open and he tries, with 
   great effort, to sit up.
Those more skilled in such things will note that the great Wyrm spirit has 
   survived the Wendigo champion's final sacrificial attack, but at great 
   cost. The black viscous form rolls and boils where it seethes, shrinking to 
   half it's previous size. The fur on the Garou's necks stand on end, as the 
   Wendigo literally explodes with Gnosis, a final shudder coming from the 
   combined might of the Gaian spirit and the attack of the Garou. It takes a 
   few seconds to realize, but it seems as if the Garou have turned the tide 
   of battle against this force. But then, slowly, the still-great spirit 
   seems to shudder, flickering, and then finally vanishing from this place, 
   the hole in the Gauntlet now filled in. *I am free, Garou. And time is my 
   ally.* Then there is only the deafening sound of silence.
Scab-Survivor looks decidedly confused, exhausted, and pissed-off from where 
   he is still trying to erect himself. His eyes are red-rimmed and teary, and 
   he shakes his head slowly back and forth like a drunken man attempting to 
   see straight.
Sepdet groans softly and stumbles backwards, eyes wide and haggard. ~Yi Duat.~ 
   It is a very quiet and sincere curse of some sort. The Strider looks more 
   than a little shaken.
Talks to Ghosts stands slwoly in the blossoming silence and and then lets 
   loose a defiant howl. His voice cracks and breaks as scarred vocal cords 
   are stretched beyond their limits but he doesn't much seem to care. ~Our 
   spirit will still be stronger than yours.~
Scab-Survivor moans softly as he manages to get a knee up from under him. His 
   eyes seek out a packmate, any packmate, and finally settle on his alpha. 
   "Quiet..."
After a moment, Touch Deer promptly falls back down in a decidedly ungraceful 
   manner and passes out.
Haze touches a hand to the vacated-ground to steady himself, ooze dripping 
   slowly off him. ~A good shower is my ally.~ He rises back to two feet with 
   a muttered curse.
Iceheart growls in frustrastion at seeing their enemy vanish. She shivers with 
   ill-repressed rage and clenches her clawed hands over and over.
Sepdet stirs at the sounds of the thud, takes several seconds to register that 
   Quiet's pack will most likely tend to Quiet's pack, and belatedly scans for 
   any other wounded. All the fight seems to have abruptly drained out of her 
   into the ground, and she abruptly and apparently involuntarily falls back 
   into her shape of habit, glabro.
Spirit-of-Words rises up to his full height to release a loud roar of a howl 
   to accompany his packmate's own. His eyes shine with inner fire and light 
   as he settles and speaks into the air,~And we will be ready for you.~
Luna-Singer's lip curls in a snarl as the thing vanishes. As her rage clears 
   from her eyes, she casts a glance around to check on the others.
Whitestreak just spares the posturing Silver Fangs a quick, amused glance 
   before he turns to the rest of his pack. ~Quiet, I assume you're going to 
   look after Touch-Deer? Rest of us look more of less well, though a shower 
   /would/ be nice,~ he concedes.
Sepdet moves around tiredly, falling into the simple rote of cleaning up, too 
   numb to speak and not particularly interested in thinking right now.

---- Recall end ----