DATE: Monday, May 11, 1998
Place: Near the Yakima River

---- Recall start ----

Nigel counts noses, folds up his AAA map, timewarps a couple hours into the
   future and parks his van on a deserted dirt road close to the scenic Yakima.
Cutter stays quiet for most of the journey, watching nothing in particular.
Salem likewise remains silent, smoking one cigarette after the other,
   scowling, tight with moon-bred tension.
J.J. Malone is silent and smoking during the trip as well, almost a rougher
   mirror image of Salem. He looks about as Nigel pulls to a stop. "This it?"
Nigel peers out his window. "Privets, Pacific Hemlock, a secluded area and a
   river--this is as good as we're going to get, I think." He opens the door
   and steps out, lifting his nose and sniffing at the night air."
J.J. Malone scrambles out with obvious relief on his face, looking around
   intently not to enjoy it like Nigel probably is, but to assess it for
   dangers and tactical layout.
Salem prowls at Malone's heels like a bad-tempered Doberman, dropping his
   cigarette on the ground and crushing it out underfoot as he glowers at the
   new locale.
Cutter slips out at the tail, waving the smoke away from his face just before
   he pops on his sunglasses.
Nigel strolls down towards the river's edge, examining the health of the
   local plants and the overall health of the area. "Any of you need to, you
   know, go, this's probably a good time to do it. Be sure to angle it so it
   doesn't flow into the river, of course."
Cutter says "We crossin' over, or we stayin' on this side?"
J.J. Malone snorts and eyes Nigel darkly, the full moon-rage bubbling under
   the surface like a pot just shy of boiling. He reaches under his coat and
   makes sure his holster is unsnapped, the gun loose in it for easy drawing,
   then seems content to follow after Nigel and take the lead from him,
   keeping an eye out.
Nigel nudges his glasses further up. "I was thinking crossing over would be a
   good idea; it's easier to attract attention, and if this river has a
   problem like our--like yours, then we'll know it right off. If that's all
   right."
This river, too, shows the signs of excessive snowmelt and the rains that El
   Nino brought. However, the vegetation not underwater is lush and healthy.
If Malone is an almost-boiling pot, Salem could very well be a pressure-cooker
   about two minutes away from bursting into an explosion of scalding steam
   over the nearby area.
Cutter nods. He loos to Salem, then JJ. "One of you upstrea, the other down?"
J.J. Malone gives Cutter a Look, but then looks to Nigel for confirmation or
   contradiction.
Nigel nods slightly to J.J. "Not too close, in case it's larger in the Umbra,
   like the one in Harbor Park was."
J.J. Malone motions with his hand away from him, looking at Salem. "Try to
   avoid getting hit this time, too, will you?" he asks roughly, heading for
   a relatively calm place to reach through.
Salem's scowl deepens. He replies with a grunt and moves off a short way from
   the river, already steeling himself for the grueling trip through the
   Gauntlet.
Nigel flips his watch over and begins staring at the highly polished back of
   it. He unconsciously braces himself for more Gauntlet-knives as he begins
   to Reach.
Cutter visibly relaxes as the two full-moons depart, and he flips out a large
   pocket mirror to peer into.
The transition across the Gauntlet is smooth, much easier than any
   city-crossing and without attacks. On the other side, the wild river shines
   brightly in the moonlight. The water dances high, frothing over rocks and
   flooding against evergreens.
Cutter immediately pockets the mirror and seeks out Nigel.
Nigel lets out a relieved breath and moves to the edge of the water, whistling
   a Talking Heads tune as he looks around for already-lively spirits.
J.J. Malone immediately shifts up to glabro when he regains his bearings, gun
   coming out. He looks around carefully, and begins edging back towards the
   two theurges in guarded retreat.
Small animals move in the undergrowth and frogs and crickets sing in the
   night. The river itself radiates life-- wild, extrordinary life, writhing
   within its banks and struggling to escape them.
Salem's scowl deepens as his form bulks upward, holding at the near-man with
   some mild effort; with the moon this fat, his rage /wants/ to express
   itself in the Crinos. It wants to rend and tear and kill.
Salem shifts into Glabro form.
Nigel turns towards Salem and thinks quickly. "If there's a threat, it'll
   probably come from the direction of the road. Would one of you guard it?"
Salem grunts acknowledgement, head jerking into a nod as the Ronin stalks to
   a position to watch the road.
J.J. Malone stops him before he gets too far. ~No. You help them. I'll take
   the road.~ His tone doesn't brook arguement, and he passes the Ronin and
   heads for a likely spot.
Salem's jaw clenches visibly, but he obeys without comment, feet treading the
   earth with a heavy, massive grace.
Cutter approaches Nigel. "So. Sometime, we should talk about trading rituals.
   Until then, what should I do?"
Nigel turns to the other Theurges. "I'll begin the chant; if you both can pace
   widdershins around me, focussing on the river itself, we'll see what
   response we can raise."
Nigel moves closer to the river's edge, takes a deep breath, closes his eyes,
   and begins a low, monotonous chant, single syllables spilling out one after
   the other in a staccato rhythm.
Cutter begins to dutifully circle Nigel, hands jammed into his pockets,
   delicately stepping to avoid wetting his feet.
Sashi turns to face the river as she falls into step orbiting Nigel on the
   opposite side. She quietly (my, she's been quiet tonight) joins in with a
   soft sibilant humming that mimics as closely as she can the sound of
   running water.
Salem isn't a Theurge -- nothing near -- but lends his attentions to the rite, 
   prowling around Nigel with a distinctly predatorial air, the rage shifting 
   and coiling restlessly under his flesh.
Nigel moves forward until his feet are underwater, eyes still closed. The 
   chant continues, the droning sound of it getting louder as he bends and 
   places his hands in the river.
Cutter pulls a pocket knife out, finally discovering it, and begins to mutter 
   to himself quietly as a haze settles into the area.
After a few moments of chanting, the wind picks up, cool and gentle. It runs 
   over Kshema's scales and tickles the feathery crystal whiskers. The water 
   is icy cold. Bright, staccato laughter pours from the river suddenly.
Shades continues standing a restless guard near the Umbral road, scanning the 
   area incessently but keeping an eye on the unfolding Rite on occasion. He 
   seems to take an especial interest in watching Salem's progress.
Cutter looks up and frowns as the wind disperses the haze. Then he shrugs and 
   continues his circle, drawing the flat of his blade across his palm.
Salem focusses his burning attention upon the rite, small muscles in his jaw 
   and near his eye twitching every so often as he circles, massive hands 
   hanging loose and empty by his sides.
Kshema gives Salem a rather wide berth as it rolls and coils its way to hover 
   a few yards out and over the waters, observing impassively. Sepdet's chin 
   lifts at the sound of laughter, and she pitches her voice in a yipping 
   salute to meet it in something halfway between an invitation and a 
   greeting, a rather less insistent form of Summoning.
Nigel moves forward again; when the water reaches his waist his chant falters 
   for a moment, and the next few notes are a little bit sharp.
After the laughter, there is nothing else for another few moments. Then the 
   river surges and crashes around Nigel and something pours out of the froth 
   in front of him. It has scales like a dragon, and a mane like a lion's, and 
   a single curved horn sprouting between eyes like jewels. It laughs again, a 
   sound of delight, and dodges past Nigel and up towards the shore.
Kshema turns to face into the wind as the breeze strengthens, like a lizard 
   basking in the first rays of sun. The wind-jaggling wafts upwards 
   delicately so as not to obstrust the boisterous river-spirit's path.
Cutter fails to follow Nigel down into the water. He also does not complete 
   his summoning ritual. He folds the knife and turns to face the approaching 
   spirit.
Nigel falls over backwards with an undignified squawk at the spirit's sudden 
   appearance, coming up spitting out water and fumbling for his glasses.
Salem stiffens as the water surges, but manages to keep a firm hold on his 
   straining rage. His shoes and lower legs getting drenched seems to be less 
   of a problem.
Crystal hooves prance delicately atop the rocks and the scales flash like 
   rainbows in the moonlight. The bright eyes study Cutter, Sashi, and turn to 
   look at Nigel. *Free!*
Cutter smiles to himself as he pockets the knife and takes a step toward the 
   river bank. "You're on, kid."
Sashi's eyes widen and her voice cuts short as the horned thing barrels up out 
   of the river, and she barely resists the urge to dodge. *Free,* she replies 
   amiably, once she's gotten her breath back. She stares at the wild thing 
   with a small incredulous smile.
Nigel flicks back his wet hair and blinks at the shining spirit. *Free, bright 
   one. And quite beautiful, if I may say so.*
The river-creature tosses its head and eyes Cutter smugly. *The earth has been 
   so confining, I tried to escape and I couldn't, the wind tried to help me 
   by bringing rains but it wasn't enough. Oh my, what's that?* And the 
   creature takes a few steps towards a cluster of rocks and greenery on the 
   bankside and plunges a large-nostriled nose into a hole.
Kshema remarks with a soft whisper, ghosting a little closer to the shore, 
   *Big Brother coming on.*
Salem watches the spirit wordlessly, though without comprehension in regards 
   to its speech. Now that the spirit is summoned, the Ronin folds thick arms 
   across his barrel chest.
Nigel continues groping around in the water for his glasses, peering at the 
   river-spirit as he does so.
Sashi is too engaged in studying the rather exuberant Yakima to do more than 
   nod distractedly at Kshema. She crouches slightly to peer at what the river 
   is peering at. ~So we've unleashed a river from its banks. Wonder what it's 
   doing other-side.~ She gives her pack-totem a quick glance and nod. ~Kshema 
   says we may have more company, an air-spirit. Hold onto your hats.~
Cutter glances over to Sashi. "More wind," he murmurs, "I'll just wait and 
   tell Grey about it when I get home."
Shades takes his cues from Nigel's behavior, and remains in a taut readiness 
   rather than tension, until Cutter's comment. He tenses then, waiting.
Nigel looks over at Kshema, realization sinking in. "How...*how big is big?*" 
   Not waiting for an answer, he grabs an exposed root and wedges himself 
   against it. "This might, um, be trouble."
Yakima seems to be peering at an anthill. When Sepdet crouches down, she 
   raises her head and bounds over towards the Strider. A few steps, and she 
   (or is it an it?) turns to peer over a shoulder at Nigel in the water. The 
   bright eyes darken some and it paces a few steps backwards, as if confused.
Salem narrows his eyes at mention of wind. Seeing Nigel brace himself, the 
   Ronin steps back and abruptly shifts forms, choosing something with more 
   mass and a great deal more stability.
Salem shifts into Hispo form.
Cutter takes a step toward Sashi. "Maybe we oughta talk t'the nice river." he 
   says quietly, calmly.
Sepdet explains quickly, before Kshema gives another of its baffling 
   pronouncements, ~Not too big, don't worry. Not tornado-sized.~
The wind picks up, whipping smaller evergreen fronds. The Yakima spirit turns 
   his head into into the wind and half closes the jewel eyes, the mane 
   prickling in pleasure.
Nigel looks skywards, relaxing not at all. "The tree in Harbor Park mentioned 
   a wind, that 'sings songs of hate and violence'. I was hoping that he/she 
   was speaking metaphorically..."
Sepdet gives Yakima a reassuring trill. *Heya. You're not like your angry 
   cousin up yonder,* she ventures carefully, gesturing vaguely in Columbia's 
   direction.
Dark One paces slightly, his restlessness and barely-controlled ire all the 
   more visible in this form, black fur bristling along his neck and spine.
Shades, still some distance away from the rest of the group, misses most of 
   the conversation except for mood. He continues to watch, mood darkening and 
   scowling so that his pointed teeth are barely visible.
Kshema returns to Nigel, helpfully circling and scanning the water where his 
   glasses went down. *The Winged Shadow--gone. Big Brother is 
   friend-wind-of-change.*
Yakima whips her head around and tilts that heavy horn to one side. *Oh, that 
   one. Stripped down and lost, bound by the /spider/. Not just by earth, but 
   by stone and animals.*
And the wind-- from the west and carrying the faintest taste of the sea and 
   blood-- lessens and slows for a moment. And then something drifts into view 
   over the trees. It is huge and sinuous, built like Kshema but larger. 
   Splendid and lazy, with crystalline wings and old, amused eyes, it drifts 
   lazily across the face of the moon.
Sepdet's brows knit and she steps from one foot to the other, unconsciously 
   mimicking the river-creature's dance of motion. *We must calm him. The 
   animals will put up more walls of stone to cage him, if he floods their 
   homes too much--* She breaks off, startled by a familiar presence, and 
   peers west with a wistful smile of greeting.
Nigel's forehead crinkles as he takes in what Kshema's saying, and then sees 
   what he/she's talking about. "Wow." *Wow.*
The Yakima raises her head to the sky, trilling softly in delight. 
   *Bondbreaker!* She rears up onto her hind legs and the great wind spirit 
   settles onto the ground, featherlight. One delicate claw touches the back 
   of the Yakima and the eyes remain amused. The Yakima settles under the 
   touch for scant moments and then squirms away, dancing towards Sepdet again.
Cutter reaches up to steady his hat in the breeze. "Looks like it wants t'talk 
   t'you."
Nigel picks his way onto shore carefully, looking from spirit to spirit.
Dark One continues pacing, huge paws treading the umbral ground restlessly.
Sepdet holds out her hands palms-outward towards the Yakima, after a rough 
   smattering of respectful, somber notes like a trumpet salute towards the 
   larger wind-spirit. *We need your help. Your _cousin_ needs your help. He 
   is angry; he does more harm than good. If he does much harm, the humans 
   will dam him, and they may too look to dam other rivers. They bind what 
   they fear.*
The Yakima dodges to one side and charges at Salem playfully, horn lowered. It 
   stops a few yards away and shimmers to one side and then to Cutter, and 
   then to Sepdet again. *That one is /angry/. I felt it in the groundwater, 
   the mudblood, his hatred. He's lost his soul.* The one called Bondbreaker 
   rumbles serenely, *He drove his soul out.* A huge eyebrow raises at the 
   Garou. *Isn't it your job to protect the rivers against the two-legged 
   animals?* There is a certain sardonic, mocking amusement in the statement.
Dark One snarls, teeth flashing white against his black muzzle, claws digging 
   into the damp earth as the massive lupine form side-steps the charge. The 
   rage snaps along his nerves, bristling his fur and cranking another notch 
   closer to explosion. Rumbling irritably, he moves a few steps back from the 
   group talking to the spirit and prowls in a vague circle around them.
Sepdet grins back and ducks her eyes. *We are trying, Netcher, but it is hard 
   to make the twolegs sit still and let the water wash their homes and 
   children away. He had reason to be angry. But now, so do they.*
One large claw waves in a dismissive gesture. *The strong survive, adapt.* 
   'Bondbreaker' glances at the Yakima, who is now chasing her own lion-like 
   tail. *You have freed that one. We will see what happens now, no? But she 
   is not built for combat. She is a young daughter of my own heart.* The 
   great eyes sharpen on Sepdet. *You and yours slew one of my heralds.*
Shades calls out low but commandingly, ~Salem.~ Just one word, full of 
   warning, and a held, brief look.
Sepdet lowers her head. *It was preaching despair and dragging other souls to 
   death. I am sorry. East could not sit by and let it do harm; you know we 
   must preserve balance.*

**** I had to disconn at this point

---- Recall end ----