The Search[]
5/27/2010
Speaks-Softly paces around in the nearby woods, the wolf absolutely covered from head to toe in wet mud. It looks like he's been rolling around in an open pit somewhere, or maybe some sort of hog pen that someone left open for it. Either way, it's hard to see anything beneath it aside from his whiskers and his eyes.
Reflection comes in from the direction of the Edgewood. The almost too big wolf moves with speed and a purpose towards the gathering spot. Not more than a moment behind him is fellow Fostern, Speech-and-Silence.
Lightning-Branch follows close by, not covered in mud himself. In fact, he smells rather strongly of wood-smoke and dust as well as the usual smells of wolf and foliage that accompany him. The stocky beast keeps his peace, preferring quiet alongside his tribe-brother.
Speaks-Softly is pacing around in a slow circle, leaving a small trail of mud in the leaves around his paws. The wet earth slows him down a little, but he's hardly creaking under the weight of it all. When he hears the approach of the others, he turns to face them, waiting.
Speech-and-Silence circles around restlessly. Is this the place? he asks Reflection.
Reflection just gives a positive chuff to the question and waits for the news from Anpu.
Lightning-Branch lowers his body, pacing up to Reflection and gingerly sniffing at a haunch, a lupine acknowledgement of the other's presence.
Speaks-Softly 's ears stand up like arrowheads, his slender frame aiming towards the approaching wolves. When they come within his sight, the Galliard bobs his head. Not a long trail to follow. Through many trees. Across flat black land. We go to place where spiders are thicker and smoke darkens sky.
Reflection acknowledges Lightning-Branch in a respectful fashion and looks to Speaks-Softly as the Galliard offers his information. The Fenrir looks back to where there was another following them, expecting a Fianna to pop out any moment. Regardless he turn looks back to the gathered and asks: What do we know so far?
Spirit-of-the-Fey follows along quietly. The wolf's neckhairs already beginning to stand up along her dark-coat. She picks up speed to catch up with the group. As the experienced full-moon nears, she lowers her speed. Curiously, she asks: What is going on?
Speech-and-Silence's response to Reflection is simply, Very little.
Lightning-Branch turns to rumble his agreement with the Walker Ragabash. We go get Alpha.
Speaks-Softly shifts up to a Crinos that's absolutely pasted with wet mud, even on it's chops and tail. He resists the reflex to lick his nose, speaking in Mother's Tongue. ~I think Jacinta was pushed north with another Garou, by a great smog bane, or something else that doesn't like Gaians and uses fire. It was something that came from the air. I saw lesser banes as I was tracking her last night, so that's what I'm going on. My pack's spirit Low Key, a Coyote, will join us in the Umbra. We will be sneaking to where I left the last marker, a spear. We will not fight unless necessary. Sneak.~ Speaks-Softly glances between the gathered Garou, taking a deep breath. ~We know that there are smog banes, and that whatever took Jacinta leaves marks that burn trees. I'd roll in the mud so you can't catch fire.~
Mud cleans off, so Song-of-Vengeance nods and, with a little bit of a flinch as the mud starts getting into her fur, rolls around until she's completely coated in the gooey stuff.
Following close suit, Lightning-Branch flops himself down and works the wet dirt deep into and under his fur, pasting his skin with the stuff. Earth stops fire, he quips idly, seemingly out of the blue.
Speech-and-Silence seems to have no qualms about rolling back and forth in the mud until his whole body is a mass of ooze with two eyes peeking out from somewhere near one end.
Spirit-of-the-Fey has been covered in more messier things than mud and has no problems with rolling in a little mud. By the time the Fianna is finished, she looks like a big melting blob. Only her metallic-green eyes stare out in vivid contrast to the bland color of the earth.
Reflection melts up into the homid form and reaches into his jacket. From there he retrieves a wooden hand-carved flask, taking off the cap he splashes his face and hair with a liquid that already stinks to those close to them of burnt wood and herbs mixed with some strangely astringent pungent liquid. Putting the cap on and the flask away, Jamethon slicks his hair back and then blurs with more ease into the Crinos form. This accomplished, the lone Fenrir of the group drops down into the mud with a heavy full belly flop that sounds with a good impact. From here, he does his job at getting as covered as possible, even making sure to take care that certain sensitive areas are 'protected'.
Speaks-Softly can't help but smile a tiny bit as he watches all the Garou rolling in the mud, the expression looking awkward and strained on the limp lips of the Crinos' muzzle. The Galliard shrinks back down into Lupus, circles once, and points himself towards his distant target. Across. The wolf hunts around on the forest floor until it finds a puddle nearby and focuses upon the reflection within, fading across the gauntlet.
Following the Opener of the Way, Lightning-Branch himself fades through into the other side, the mud-covered beast popping as air rushes in where once he took up space.
Current Setting: Beyond the edges of the bawn, beyond the scar that is the umbral reflection of I-90, the foothills are mostly quiet. There is human habitation across the gauntlet, and its manifestation in the umbra means the presence of both Weaver and Wyrm in this otherwise mostly Wyld environment. The full moon provides ample light, and a somewhat reassuring sense of Luna's presence.
Speech-and-Silence shakes himself a little, remarking that if this is a hoax, the Strider has succeeded. And then he too passes through the Gauntlet.
A muddy form slinks through the gauntlet, emerging in the umbra with a shimmering of the world as she fades in from nothingness. Her paws leave tracks as she walks, liquid mud plopping off of her. ~If we meet any spirits, they may wonder why we are so dirty.~ She chuckles. ~But when we are victorious, they will see this earth as a badge of honor.~
Song-of-Vengeance shrinks down to Lupus also.
Following the trail Anpu carefully laid the night before, the garou are easily able to reach the foothills north of the bawn, and the place where he left his spear to mark the end of the path.
Lightning-Branch pads closer to Speaks-Softly, looking around at the other Garou briefly before turning in the direction the Fury is looking.
Speaks-Softly creeps up to the spear lodged in the dirt and walks around it once, then sits down quietly. This is where I lost the trail, here among the reflections of man. The wolf is alert, moreso than it was in the woods, paying careful attention to the spirits and the shifting shadows beneath the light of the full moon.
Speech-and-Silence sidles up to the spear and sniffs it suspiciously.
Spirit-of-the-Fey arrives into the umbra and gives herself a little shake, sending droplets of wet dirt in every direction. Her ears erect and swivel forward upon her head. Her body builds with enthusiasm, ready to take out the enemy. She takes a few steps out, looking across the landscape around her with vigilance.
As Lightning-Branch sneaks, he sidles up to Speaks-Softly. Wyrmsign, he indicates. His ears stand up straight, though he makes as little noise as ever. Not strong, but pervasive.
Song-of-Vengeance is wary, padding slowly closer, measuring each step. She's not ragabash silent, but for a galliard, she's doing everything she can to keep quiet. Or quieter. She looks this way and that, ears swiveling like they're radar dishes, taking in every sound of the spirit world that she can pick up with her heightened senses.
Reflection steps over and follows along to the spear, there he waits and sniffs the air with intent to his posture. Here he approaches Speech-and-Silence's side and growls lowly towards Speaks-Softly, ~Something is fucked here. Weaver and Wyrm both... like we're in the middle of a human town or something.~
Speaks-Softly bobs his head. Know. Know things are wrong, but know we must continue. Must look. Find. Alive. Dead. We need to find some direction. With that said, the wolf promptly turns to look at Reflection, cocking it's head to the side.
Speech-and-Silence moves back down the way that Speaks-Softly had led them, nose to the umbral ground, trying to acclimatize himself to the scents around here, and to isolate Jacinta's among them.
Spirit-of-the-Fey keeps her post as lookout. The Ahroun is without expression as she remains alert to the environment around her.
This area should be one of pure Wyld, with only a minimal Weaver presence as human habitation encroaches from the west. However, the garou can sense, with gift and through experience, the presence of both Wyrm and Weaver in the area. What they can see, for the most part, are simply the rolling foothills, but not too far away, spiders crawl like ants, marching one after another, as if following a scent trail laid down toward a source of food.
For a few moments, Lightning-Branch's eyes glow an unearthly green as he looks through to the Realm, then snaps back, confused. His ears flatten and his tail stiffens, a mark of conclusion on his face. Only ape-twig-piles out here, he indicates. What does Spider want? He turns to Speaks-Softly. Leader, you want to find the source? Find what they are going for?
Song-of-Vengeance pads over to actually sniff the spiders curiously, staying far enough away to get away if they decide to swarm. It would probably be best. It is a strong indication of something odd going on.
Speech-and-Silence snuffles around, then returns to the spear. No sign of her remains anywhere here, if there ever was. We must go on. Down to where those spiders are marching.
Lightning-Branch nips soundlessly at Song-of-Vengeance's muddy haunch. Don't go near them unless leader says so, he says. Weaver-spiders are very dangerous. We need to follow leader, not all go off in five different directions.
Song-of-Vengeance remains where she is, then, staying far away from the remarkably large Weaver spiders.
Speaks-Softly visibly tenses when he's referred to as leader. His coat would probably spring out in bristles, but it's too weighed down to push against the heavy wet earth clinging to it. He walks over and noses Reflection in the side, then Speech-and-Silence in the shoulder. Reflection knows more of spirits. Speech knows more of spiders. They should decide how we investigate the spider swarm.
Spirit-of-the-Fey hasn't made a move. She has no input to provide, especially since she is not entirely familiar with the area.
Reflection looks off towards the spiders and grunts. ~They have been at their work for a time I think. The area has fallen stagnant. I believe what we do here is more important than we know.~ Here the Fenrir looks back to the spear again. ~Why did you lose the path here?~
I do not know as much of spiders as you may thing, protests the Glass Walker. They can be dangerous if you let them trap you in their webs. If you are among them, keep moving, and do not let yourself be backed into a dead end...
Lightning-Branch just looks confused at Speaks-Softly for a moment, then seems to shrug, turning to regard the Fenrir now.
Speaks-Softly shrugs it's shoulders are Speech-and-Silence. More than me. You spend time in city Umbra. The wolf then turns to Reflection, and looks around in every direction. Followed the trails of destruction. Guessed to a point. Stopped here. Didn't notice mass of spiders before.
Song-of-Vengeance looks to the gathered, blinking a bit of mud out of her eyes that has flowed down into them. We should follow them and see where they are going.
Agreed, Lightning-Branch replies to the Fury. We should all go together.
In a wolf pack, there is strength, agrees Speech-and-Silence. Let us go. He turns back toward the marching spiders, and begins to pad down towards them, in no great rush, giving the others plenty of time to follow if they will.
Spirit-of-the-Fey chuffs softly in agreement, she is becoming antsy of just standing around.
Song-of-Vengeance follows along with the group, glad her suggestion was taken.
Reflection crosses his arms and takes a long deep steadying breath. He steps up to take the lead towards the Spiders, giving Speech-and-Silence and look that suggests he is planning on doing something.
Speaks-Softly noses the Glass Walker and the Fenrir in the side, then tosses his head towards the spiders. Follow, but keep distance. Keep quiet. Keep back. Ragabash, you lead.
Reflection nods, narrows his eyes, but follows none the less. He seems to be preparing for something, senses reaching out in case an opportunity reveals itself.
Lightning-Branch takes up a position at the flank of his elder tribe-brother, walking quietly and looking to the right of the group for any potential dangers.
Song-of-Vengeance follows along in the middle of the group, watching for any sign of movement away from the trail that they're on, ears swiveling as she listens.
Speech-and-Silence continues to approach the spiders, taking care not to tread on any. Instead, he seeks to walk a parallel path to them, heading in the same direction.
Speaks-Softly stops long enough to shift to Crinos, grab his spear and fall back down into Lupus, the spear disappearing when he does. The Strider has little trouble catching up a few moments later, trotting along at an easy pace.
Spirit-of-the-Fey has no problems with following orders on this one, especially while in the company of two Fosterns and due to the fact that she is not a full member of the Sept yet. She finds her place in line and keeps a sharp eye out for trouble.
As they draw nearer, more details become apparent. The scent of stagnation that some have picked up becomes clearer, and the source seems to be just beyond the hill to the right. The spiders are far less numerous than it at first appeared, their constant movement along their own webbed highway gave the illusion of much greater numbers. As it is, once the hunters are able to make a clear count, there are no more than 10. They march from behind one hill to the left, into a narrow opening to the right, the same place the stench seems to originate. The spiders then return along a similar route, rounding from beyond the hill to the east until they disappear to the west. In each direction they seem to be carrying something, six legs carrying them forward, two carrying a package of some sort. As they leave the hill to the east, the bundle is wrapped in webbing. As they approach, whatever they carry is unwrapped.
Reflection steps forward now and waits for one of the Spiders on their way in with the unwrapped bundle and reaches out towards it when he finds the optimal time to do so while the Spider is most distant from any other in front of or behind him. In a tone that is strangely calm and impressively neutral the Garou speaks in a language that seems almost like a clicking and digital buzz and can not be understood by those without the Spirit Speech. These words carry power and strength in them, *Your package is faulty and unneeded. Drop it towards me and get another one. Go about the Mother Spider's work.*
The spiders, in the ordered and sequenced ways of the Weaver, remain equidistant from one another along their route, and their steps all seem to be in time. As though a cog in a greater machine has slipped from place, when James speaks to his target, the entire order seems to shiver. The spider hesitates, and all along the trail, each one before and each one behind also hesitate. The garou can almost hear the great creaking of the machine struggling against the slipped gear, until the targeted spider ejects its load and crosses to the far line. It forces its way into the march, and the entirety of the process continues to shiver and hesitate, just slightly out of step, as it struggles to adjust.
The package so ejected lands a few meters shy of where the Get of Fenris waits. Angular, metalic, its function and purpose seem entirely unclear.
Speaks-Softly audibly stops breathing when he sees the hesitation in the spiders' movements, going absolutely dead still. When they begin to move away, the Strider approaches quietly to inspect the odd looking package that the spider had left behind. Piece of great thing?
Reflection visibly shivers as well, as if the effort and connection involved in this action against such Weaver forces were somehow not comfortable for the Fenrir. He gathers the package gingerly attempting to mostly be touching it with his claws, and returns the short distance to the group. Here, he sniffs at the object, regarding it more closely before looking to the others, "Any idea?"
Song-of-Vengeance hunkers down, in case the spider throws the object in the direction she is, and jumps, startled when whatever it his hits the ground, watching as the Get carries the object closer.
Speech-and-Silence gives the device a cautious sniff or two.
Lightning-Branch looks absolutely affronted by the way the Pattern Spiders move as one, and his fur bristles like a forest of mud-covered trees. He glares at the object with open suspicion.
Able to inspect it more closely, now, the object is most definitely metallic, and most definitely not... whole. It is solid, rather than being obviously a machine of any sort of its own right. It smells of copper and tin, and strongly of iron. It appears to be nearly a foot and a half long at one edge, and if one were to discount all the protrusions and excisions, it is trapezoidal in shape. Nearly six inches thick, it has several indentations along each side, some of which extend into darkness beyond visibility, and some of which are only perhaps a millimeter.
Is seems, to those who understand such things, that it is a piece of something much larger.
Spirit-of-the-Fey flanks the group, keeping herself aware of the rear as well as what is going on with the experienced Theurge that is currently incharge of the situation. She tenses momentarily as she watches something fall from the spider and Reflection pick it up and carry it back with him. From the back, Fey-Spirit huffs impatiently: This doesn't do us much good, we need to inspect what is going on beyond the hill.
Speaks-Softly leans forward to stare at the thing for a few seconds, then glances at his pack. Wherever the Warder is, I... Feel this might be more important. We should look as the Fianna says, and if we find nothing, come back for more parts to grab and run home.
Does it open? Lightning-Branch asks, Does it carry anything? The Strider still looks affronted by the vulgar display of Weaver-ness, but the practicalities of the situation seem to have brought him back to basics.
This may be a bad question to ask, but if we do take these parts, will they not come for them? This appears intricate. More delicate than homid hands could make. Any single piece may be the key to finishing....Song looks to the hill, to the jostling spiders as they continue on their planned route. Whatever it is they are working on.
Speech-and-Silence suggests that the garou should scout inside the hill first. If that does not answer our questions, then perhaps we should take more of these things and study them back in the Realm.
Reflection offers to the gathered, ~They are building something more than just a new part of the pattern web. Some kind of... Weaver machine perhaps. Whatever it is, this place is not too far gone to protect and we are in a position to prevent the Wyld dying here... it must be stopped.~ He does not drop the piece of so-called 'machine' though, and carries in his left hand. The Garou growls lowly as he regards the group with him, then looks back to the Spiders. ~We can do this, here and now. These spirits are made to build, and while they /can/ fight... we are better at it. I say we take them now before they can finish their working. If we leave and come back and they are done with their crafting, the finished work may be a cancer on this place we can not cure. Do not trust the Weaver when it seeks to dominate the Wyld, we protect Gaia.~
Speaks-Softly turns his head to look at Reflection, then at Speech-and-Silence. Could be dangerous if we all go in. Not know what's inside. Reflection is right, but... He hesitates, then brushes his muddy side against Speech-and-Silence. Can you look?
The Strider Theurge seems thoroughly enthusiastic about this, rising up to the warform, maul hammer clutched tightly in his fist. ~I like the way you think, elder. Give the order and we will purge this Weaver-sorcery.~
Of course I can look, the Glass Walker replies, and turns to Reflection whom he seems to acknowledge as leader. Shall I go in for a quick scout and come out again before we all charge in? Or shall we all go for glory?
Spirit-of-the-Fey starts pacing back and forth. Her patience is growing increasingly thin as the group sits and ponders. She growls as they consider more scouting strategies. No, we fight!
Reflection nods to Speaks-Softly and looks to Speech-and-Silence, ~Do what you can. If you are discovered and threatened, howl and we will join the battle.~
I hear and obey, Speech-and-Silence informs Reflection. And without further ado, he goes into a gallop, racing down toward the opening into which the spidery procession is vanishing one by one, and -- depending on what he finds inside -- aiming to emerge on the far side.
I will follow in case of danger, Lightning-Branch replies, and easily catches up to the Walker using his Tribal gift, slipping into the opening behind him.
Song-of-Vengeance remains where she is, silent and watchful, ready to defend herself if attacked.
Reflection gets out a piece of bone that has been carved into the shape of a teardrop on a length of leather string, the bottom tip of the bone has been stained a deep red with blood and ground up beetle shells. He focuses on the piece of metal and as the scouting goes on inside. In the mother's tongue Reflection's-Howl intones towards the bone and metal object he holds. ~Take me to your leader.~
Spirit-of-the-Fey remains where she is because if she were to go with the pair who knows what the Ahroun might stirr-up.
Speaks-Softly lays down in the Umbra with his head turned towards the heavens, watching out for any banes or whatever the hell it was that took Jacinta.
You paged (Speech-and-Silence, Lightning-Branch) with ' It is dark within the tunnel, once the overhang obscures Luna's light, and the sharp sounds of chitin against stone echo all around them. The tunnel itself seems to extend farther than expected, angling deep into the ground rather than remaining level. It is broad enough to allow the garou to walk side by side, if they choose, but not to pass the spider before them without being detected. Deeper and deeper they go, with only sound and touch to lead them on, until, ahead, there is once again light. Not fire. Not natural, but an eerie sort of glow casting shadows tinted orange emanates from a pit at the center of an enormous cavern. There, spiders, dozens by first count, work at various tasks. Those they follow bring in their metallic burdens and pass them off to others, who carry them down further tunnels. Another spider hands off the wrapped bundles, and the chain moves forward, those they follow leaving through a tunnel across the way. Other spiders climb the walls and ceilings, some seem to share the strange glow of the pit, multiple eyes shining as they search the distant darkness.'.
The bone at the end of the string seems to sway and then spin, and then stops, hanging limply from the Theurge's hand.
Following the spiders across the main floor is the most difficult part of the journey. There is the most definite sense of being watched, now, and some of the smaller spiders on the walls move from their places to shadow the movement of the Garou. None attempt to intercept them, however there begins a soft tapping that begins to echo through the many tunnels. Tap-tap-tappity. Tap-tap-tappity. It's picked up by other spiders farther away, echoing, repeating, the message sent clearly into the distance.
The way out is much like the way in, once they pass beyond the main chamber. The tunnel leads up, and up, continuing on into the east, and eventually out into the open air of the hills, where the webbed trail leads back toward the west.
It probably seems like forever to those outside, but in reality it's only a few minutes before Speech-and-Silence returns from his mission, breaking into a run as soon as he's back on the surface.
Reflection grunts and nods, as if he were expecting this result, and puts the bone piece away. The metal he wraps in a cloth and carries gingerly like it were a bomb that could go off at the wrong move.
The Strider bolts after the Walker as soon as they break the surface, and he shifts up to Hispo for the extra power. ~There is a deep delving,~ the Theurge says. ~The Weaver-spirits have dug it. They became aware of us... I have a feeling that when we return, they will be prepared. We may need more warriors to purge this filth.~
Speaks-Softly rises abruptly and turns to leave with the other wolves, running off towards where Reflection leads. What do you mean, delving?
Speech-and-Silence confirms his agreement with the Strider. There are many spiders working there. Like a production line. We must purge them, but it will be hard, on their turf.
The searchers return to the bawn, then, and head their separate ways.