5 Feb 2012 - An Uktena Cub's first blood

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5 Feb 2012 - An Uktena Cub's first blood

Postby Red » Sun Feb 05, 2012 9:18 pm

Umbra: Rainbow Lake
Cold winds blow year-round at this high mountain lake, funnelled by the towering mountains to the east and west. The narrow lake stretches out for considerable distance to the north, and is flanked by rows of looming conifers. The glade children look healthy and vital. The indigo waters, fed by creeks to the east and west, are seemingly bottomless. Brilliant salmon and and elusive pike swim through the waters, while even darker things lurk beyond the reach of light. In the winter, a featureless expanse of ice covers the whole lake, sprawling for amazing distances to either the north and south. On the east bank of the lake is a small clearing, where six proud cedar posts form a rectangle. Between them the world seems somewhat more warm, and the winds less harsh. A small herd of woods bison can be seen at the south end of the lake, where the woods open up into a grassy, alpine meadow.
Obvious exits:

(Scene continued)

Silvertip is waiting on the other end for the cub, despite the fact that she went first; he simply dived in like an otter moves beneath the surface of the water. The air is full of wind spirits, and glade children dot the nearby slope. An odd lune flitters on by, while darker spirits lurk behind some tress in the shadows. Some are shadows, some are enigma spirits. A stag bounds off, leaving a glowing trail of ether in its wake. But not far away, there's the sense of something corrupted, and to the north, there's the sounds of traffic, the smells of oil and corruption, and the screams of unholy spirits. The Uktena author beckons for the cub to follow. Come! He tells her. Some of the enemy is near.

Reaching-for-Battle's eyes are wide, once she gets her first good look at the Umbra and instinct nearly sends her tearing off after the spiritual stag. She sniffs the air and looks about in wonder, before dutifully following after the other Ahourn.

Little Silvertip gives gruff, and sometimes familiar greetings, to some of the spirits around that seem to react to his presence, though what they say to him is lost on Mitzi. His mission is clearly educational, though. Soon, they arrive at the great scar that is the highway. The forests turn sicker, and first the glade children become sickly looking, dormant, and then simply cease to occur. Even the more enigmatic spirits no longer frequent that no-man's-land before they reach the opening. The highway appears as a ribbon of oily asphalt, scaring across the land as far in either direction as can be seen. Weaver spirits rip along there at marked speed, and woe be he who steps in front of one. Around them, smog elementals drift above, and strange, skeletal beasts roam the median. Keeping his cover, Little Silvertip points to one spirit, on the shoulder on their side, a glass covered thing, bleeding from every surface. It lingers near an umbral wrecked car, feeding on the flesh of an umbral echo of the recently and dramatically deceased. Spiders are of the weaver, Little Silvertip tells his cub, with muted posture. Those things are children of the horned serpent. That one feeds on all the death.

Reaching-for-Battle's hackles slowly lifts as she moves through the no-man's land and she's doing a fair impression of a porcupine by the time the Umbra road is reached. Her eyes turn to the spirit and its blood covered surface. Kill it? She asks, body language displaying hesitation for the first time.

Little Silvertip agrees. It is the wolf people's purpose! he tells her, emphatically. Cub can feel that it's wrong, yes? He asks her. The hispo begins to back up a step, to increase the amount of cover they have.

Yes, it is wrong, Reaching agrees as she stays close to Silvertip's side, tail held firmly against her leg.

Uktena don't charge in and fight everything. Cub is Uktena. Uktena are the smart ones. Medicine workers. But Uktena still kill the Horned Serpent. Silvertip motions to the bane again. What does cub see about the bane?

Reaching-for-Battle looks over at bane, eyes squinting and nose working like mad. It looks sharp. Biting and hitting would hurt.

Little Silvertip wrinkles his nose. But claws and teeth are what would kill it, the athro points out. Anything about where the bane is?

It is feeding on something, Reaching ventures, looking sideways at Silvertip for approval. A dead thing.

Little Silvertip seems disappointed, ears showing as much apparently. The hispo motions to the scene again. Where is the bane? Where are the rest of the banes? He asks. After a moment, he adds that those (motioning to all the various and sundry foul things about) are banes.

Reaching-for-Battle shows her frustration by growling low, in the back of her throat. It is by a place where someone died. The others are near the ~road.~

Little Silvertip seems relieved when the cub finally gets it. Yes yes. He agrees. Far away from the other banes, where the bad things happened. It is a good fight. Other banes can't help. Hard to get to you.

So, I should kill the sharp one? Reaching asks, sounding not at all enthused now.

Cub is new to combat... She would get bit many many times. Silvertip points out. Not good at all.

Reaching-for-Battle sits down hard on her rear and just stares at Silvertip, ears pressed forward. So what do?

Little Silvertip licks his nose. What does cub's memories from her last life tell her? he asks.

Reaching-for-Battle huffs out an annoyed breath, closes her eyes and thinks. FIght in pack, she finally ventures.

Little Silvertip watches the cub as she accesses her ancestral memory, and seems pleased with the answer. Yes, as pack. Pack is good. No pack, now, but Little Silvertip will watch the cub and protect her from other banes. Get ready, take war form, then go!

Reaching-for-Battle's eyes snap open and she flows in to the warm form, turns and starts to stride towards the Bane. She is silent, intent, and moving with a grace and purpose that no newly changed cub should have. She breaks in to a run, claws and teeth at the ready. Bellowing a war-cry, when she is practically on top of the Bane.

The bane looks up from its grizzly feast, the ghoul letting a bit of blood drop from its maw as it spies the approaching cub. It looks around, looking for its fellow banes, but none are near. Then, with a shriek like fingernails on slate, it pulls some of the glass out of its grey, gaunt flesh, and throws it at the charging cub. It smacks her head and stomach, causing profusely bleeding injuries from both locales.

Reaching-for-Battle howls in pain, but the injuries only seem to stoke her Rage and she draws on it. Aiming to claw the beast across the chest and bite its face off at the same time.

Her blow across it is wild, but rip bits of ephemera off the spirit none the less, sapping its powers to exist. The bite is more successful, wrenching off motes of dust and ichor tasting spirit matter. The spirit 'kree!'s loudly again, gouging at the cub. One of her eyes pops out from its wild, unfocused clawing flails. Despite this, Mitzi still manages to keep from tipping into frenzy.

One eye blind and oozing, it's next to a miracle that she doesn't flat out frenzy on the creature. Instead, she taps more fully in to her Rage, pulling on the Gift that Gaia gave her and her Ancestors are screaming at her to use.

The whirlwind of violence attracts the attention of the other banes, one of whom begins floating their direction slowly to investigate. There's another loud 'kree!' of anguish as the weak bane is torn asunder, clearly on its last legs. It seems week, and almost immaterial now. It flails at her again, glass raking across the flesh of the homid cub, causing more injury in the forms of deep cuts.

Reaching-for-Battle is bleeding now and growing weaker, but some instinct tells her that her enemy is closer to death then she is. She throws the very last of her Rage at the beast, trying desperately to end its life before her own existence finds its end.

Little Silvertip starts running out as he sees the Cub start to sag under the many blows from the bane, and clearly hadn't expected it go on nearly this long. He doesn't get over there in time, though, for Mitzi to finish ripping the bane to pieces, bits of grey flesh and glass spraying all over as it can no longer hold itself together. A foul miasma settles over where it had been, indistinctly hovering. The Uktena Elder does something to banish it - stealing the Gnosis, for those who know - before grabbing Mitzi's paw. ~Go!~ He says, tugging on her to run.

Reaching-for-Battle staggers and nearly drops where she stands, completely unused to the pain that sears through her body and shoots through her head via the ruined eye. ~It hurts!~ She howls out in complaint, as she follows after her Elder with a limping gait.

Little Silvertip gives her an almost 'no shit!' expression as he tells her, again, ~Run!~ When they're free and clear, he slows down, and panting, leans against a tree. ~That'll do.~ He says, between breaths.

Now that they are relatively safe, Reaching settles in to complaining about how much she hurts. Covering her ruined eyes with a paw and complaining rather pathetically.

Little Silvertip gives the cub a solid thwack across the back. ~That'll /do/.~ He says, evidently pleased. He shifts down to Hispo, and quickly shakes himself out. Stay out of Cub's birth form to heal, but keep sand in one of the cuts to slow it healing. That way all the others will see her first battle at the moot!
OOC: Inserting a massive handwave about how to keep the wound about until Rite of Wounding could be done.

Reaching-for-Battle grumbles, but follows suit as well, flowing in to Hispo. Need bath.

Little Silvertip gives one of the cub's wounds a lick, wagging a bit. He stops at one, though, before starting to wave his tail and motion for her to follow him back to up the mountains. Steam bath? Little Silvertip will start the fires for her. Just a normal one, this time. He pauses, while he thinks about something. Afterwards, he'll teach her how to say her name in Mother's Tongue. Call cub, `Weasel Following Omens,` since she comes when things are about to happen. And she fights tough, like weasel. ~Weasel Following Omens. It's good.~

Cold bath first, Weasel grumbles. Get out blood. Then steam. Still, her mood seems to be lightening as the original sharp pain of her wounds weakens to a constant throbbing. Eye come back? She asks with a toss of her head.

Eye will come back. Silvertip affirms, cheerfully. It is one of the gifts of the moon, after the wolf people drank her tears. Unless she has to focus her anger to heal. Then... healing is always not perfect.

Weasel-Follows-Omens huffs out a breath, then coughs explosively as this causes the wounds on her chest to contract in pain. Bath now?

Little Silvertip gives her a silent negative. Get back to lake first, then clean.

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