(May 6, 1997)

(This session begins with the group beginning the Rite of Becoming.  I
 unfortunately missed the start of it, but anyway.)

Random location(#3155RJ)
A path, somewhat silvery, leads onwards through darkness, wide enough to drive 
  a small wagon down. There are no edges to prevent falls into the endless 
  depths, and there are holes and odd tears in the road large enough to fall 
  through; odd lights flare up and die down at random intervals, little 
  flashes of light against the road itself or in the air and darkness around 
  you.

Patrick looks over at Cassandra, and they shrug at each other. He motions for 
  her to go first, and she does, both of them finally expectorating into the 
  concoction.
Andrea waits for the rest of Gauntlet to do likewise before turning to the 
  pack furthest from the pot. She motions at Gaia's Shield, and Karl. Clearly, 
  they are to do the same.
Karl dips his head to Serves-Honor and Tastes-Ashes, apparently finished with 
  whatever he was saying just in time to catch site of Andrea. He makes his 
  way toward the bowl and looks in it curiously a moment before making his 
  contribution.
Serves-Honor pads over to the bowl as well, his nose wrinkling in extreme 
  distaste as he's forced to actually places his muzzle over the source of 
  that noxious odor. Spitting appears to be a bit beyond his capabilities in 
  lupus, but he does manage a good, strong drool, which he judges to be near 
  enough to serve.
Tastes-Ashes follows up behind her packmate and makes her own attempt at 
  spitting into the bowl.
Andrea waits for the circle to go around. She says softly to those still in 
  lupus. ~Shift now, to a form with hands.~ Herself, the theurge blurs to 
  crinos. The twisted knife appears at her now-empty belt. Unsheathing it, she 
  slices her palm shallowly. Blood drips into the bubbling goo. She offers the
  bloody blade to those in the order of before: Cyllan and Sepdet first.
Andrea contorts and blurs as she is transformed.
Andrea shifts into Crinos form.
Serves-Honor contorts and blurs as he is transformed.
Serves-Honor shifts into Crinos form.
Karl shifts up into a healing form, seeing where this is going.
Karl contorts and blurs as he is transformed.
Karl shifts into Glabro form.
Sepdet follows Cyllan silently, both slicing across their hands with precision 
  before passing it around the circle.
Patrick mutters something to Cassandra as they stand in line for the privilege 
  of cutting shallow holes in themselves. She gives him a wryly amused look, 
  but both of them take the offered weapon and add blood into the simmering 
  stew.
Cyllan contorts and blurs as she is transformed.
Cyllan shifts into Glabro form.
Tastes-Ashes contorts and blurs as she is transformed.
Tastes-Ashes shifts into Crinos form.
Scab-Survivor runs his stone knife down his forearm a short distance and then 
  extends it over the bowl, the blood dripping into the pot for a moment 
  before the cut heals over.
The rest of Gauntlet follows in turn. Therru stares at the blade and does not 
  shift up, single ear flattening as she passes her alpha an opaque look. Only 
  after a tight whisper from him does she, too, shift upwards and gingerly cut 
  open her palm.
Karl takes the blade after Gauntlet has had their chance and cuts a straight 
  line across the back of his forearm. He then offers the blade to 
  Serves-Honor.
Tastes-Ashes and Serves-Honor in turn, take the knife and add their own blood 
  to the bowl.
Quiet stirs the brew after the last blood is added, the spoon dwarfed in her 
  furry hand. She rumbles, ~Take three strands of silk and weave them with 
  your hair. Tie it around your submissive wrist. If you have difficulty, have 
  the one closest to you help. After you are done, come to me.~
Cyllan manages to wrap the weaving with little problem, tying it off lightly 
  around her left hand. Tastes-Ashes is not quite as agile; it requires 
  assistance from her packmates before Gaia's Shield finished this portion of 
  the ritual.
Scab-Survivor moves without questions and reaches to take three strands, as 
  told (after shifting down to homid).
Scab-Survivor contorts and blurs as he is transformed.
Scab-Survivor shifts into Homid form.
Karl takes the strands and ties them around his left wrist easily.
Touch Deer plucks hair from his head (short enough to make the weaving 
  slightly difficult), and performs the task deftly enough that it looks like 
  he probably has done it before.
Quiet turns to Cyllan first, as she is the first completed. She raises the 
  wooden spoon and offers a dollop of the greenish-brown goo toward the 
  Uktena's mouth.
Sepdet unbraids part of her priestess' lock and plaits the silk using mouth as 
  much as her hand to complete the operation. Therru fumbles but refuses help, 
  eventually managing to get it done.
Cyllan gives Quiet a dubious look -- no it's more of a "you've gotta be 
  kidding me" look. Her face twists as she opens her mouth to take the vile 
  looking stuff.
Patrick manages to get the strands tied, with just a little help from his 
  teeth. He looks at his packmates, who have already managed to take care of 
  their own.
Cyllan doesn't spit it out -- quite.
Touch Deer steps into line behind Patrick.
Quiet's lips quirk, just slightly. She next offers the spoon to Sepdet, as the 
  originial order of the rite seems to be roughly parallelled by the group's 
  dexterity.
Sepdet steels herself with a deep breath and laps at the spoon wolf-fashion, 
  nose wrinkling a bit.
Quiet scoops up a little more on the spoon. Patrick's spoonful has an 
  unrecognizable hunk of some sort in its steaming brownness.
Sepdet mutters under her breath, ~Mama Quiet's cooking just hasn't been the 
  same since she switched totems.~
Patrick heads toward the pot, looking less than excited about this 'meal'. He 
  notices that Quiet's strands and all are still untied, so he steps out of 
  line to fix that, motioning Cassandra before him, saying, "Ladies first." 
  She merely glares at him, and more or less politely waits until he is 
  finished. He gives Sepdet a weak grin, then takes the offered spoonful, 
  making all kinds of nasty faces as he tries to swallow it before it can 
  linger on his tastebuds. Cassandra goes after, with a little more grace (if 
  no more pleasure) with her spoonful.
Touch Deer follows Cassandra, and manages not to gag on the putrid mix. He 
  steps out of the way for everyone else, swallowing repeatedly.
Eligio takes the substance with no more of a scowl than is usual for him. As 
  he steps back, Tastes-Ashes takes a step forward and gulps down the goo with 
  a grim expression. Serves-Honor follows her stoically.
Karl goes after the Silver Fang, taking a spoonful of the stuff. Even the 
  normally-stoic Ragabash can't help but make a face at the vile substance.
Therru skittishly takes her turn, mouth working like a cat after being dosed 
  with medicine afterwards.
Quiet takes her own mouthful, her throat working against the swallow. She then 
  stands. Her voice is hoarsened, when she can speak. ~The circlet reminds you 
  of the realm you belong to. Don't let it break. It will morph with your 
  body." She then shifts to hispo, as the potion begins to take effect. 
  Without warning, she throws back her head in a full-throated howl of 
  command. The sound ripples oddly in those that tasted the rite mixture.
Quiet contorts and blurs as she is transformed.
Quiet shifts into Hispo form.
Touch Deer contorts and blurs as he is transformed.
Touch Deer shifts into Hispo form.
There is a sudden rumbling and shaking of the wall before the group, a 
  rumbling that results in a cracking of the bulge identified as the 
  Anchorhead. The cracks continue to widen, until finally there is a rip and 
  an impression of something tearing the cracks wide into a hole, though 
  nothing is present to do so. There is, when the shaking and rumbling cease, 
  a jagged hole through the Anchorhead, large enough for a Crinos to pass, 
  with difficulty. It is inky blank, nothing at all visible through the hole.
Scab-Survivor tenses and lays his ears back during the great tearing and 
  rumbling, tail stiff behind him even after everything is over.
Quiet goes first. From the set of her tail, it can be seen she is not totally 
  without fear, but her head is up and forward aggressively. She does not 
  hesitate on the threshold.
Scab-Survivor joins up with the rest of his pack and follows after Quiet, ears 
  twitching excitedly.
Sepdet watches Quiet with all the intensity of a medical student seeing a 
  difficult operation they've only read about before performed before their 
  eyes for the first time. She bounces on the balls of her feet with repressed 
  tension and excitement until it's her turn to dive into the darkness with 
  the rest of Ouroboros.
Karl takes a travelling form again as he falls in line to go through the 
  Anchorhead.
Karl contorts and blurs as he is transformed.
Karl shifts into Lupus form.
Patrick looks at the cracks and grins wryly, heading into the Beyond with more 
  than a little excitement and tension. Cassandra seems to have a little more 
  tension than excitement, but straightens her shoulders and goes through.
Cyllan leans forward on the balls of her toes, excitement and curiosity 
  shining brightly in her eyes.
The blackness last only a few dozen yards, at most, though it is complete 
  enough that the jagged edges of the opening inflict pain though no harm on 
  feet, hands, or sides when the latter brush against them. The touch of the 
  edges is deadly cold, and the blackness itself only a little warmer. Beyond, 
  though, it seems to open up: or, at least, the cold warms up to more 
  tolerable, and instead of blackness, there is a dark, reddish-black fog 
  surrounding the party. Though they can see through it, as any fog close 
  around can be seen through to some distance, it thickens within fifteen or 
  twenty yards. Below the feet and paws of the party is only more fog; there 
  is nothing solid there, although they are not falling.

Random location(#3155RJ)
All around is fog. Not silver or grey fog, the kind most are used to; a sooty, 
  reddish-black fog. It surrounds viewers but is thin nearest them, allowing 
  for about thirty to forty yards of vision in diameter before it is too 
  close and thick to see through. On occasion a swirl of it will pull aisde, 
  revealing fathomless black beyond, but then it tightens in again.

Tastes-Ashes looks up at Sebastien, her eyes not at all bright or excited. She 
  looks grim and yet still strangly eager.
Runs-In-Shadows looks down at the fog beneath his feet, looking not at all 
  disturbed at the thought of having nothing solid under him.
Scab-Survivor sticks /close/ to his pack. He scared, but he wouldn't dare to 
  let it show...openly.
Sepdet shudders and draws a little closer to Touch Deer, shyly setting a hand 
  on his back as her eyes dart from side to side. ~Red,~ she growls, 
  obscurely, in a tone of voice normally reserved for cursing the wyrm.
Quiet's uneasiness at being suddenly suspended over nothing is betrayed in her 
  quick and jerky steps, but otherwise she makes no sign. She sniffs the air 
  with her oversized muzzle.
Serves-Honor seems more or less at a loss to decide where a threat might come 
  from in this strange environment. Finally, he decides that all directions 
  are equally likely, and watches them each in turn.
Quiet takes a few minutes to orient, while the rest of the pack mill about. It 
  seems like quite a long time in the featureless fog. She finally says, ~We 
  have come in closer to the lair of the enemy than any other place, but we 
  are a long way from any of the strongholds.~
Cyllan shivers and drops back into lupus form. Her wings are almost lost 
  against the fog, but they hold her up -- or at least something holds her up. 
  Tastes-Ashes reacts much like her packmate, chosing to scan all possible 
  directions in a slow steady sweep as she moves.
Cyllan contorts and blurs as she is transformed.
Cyllan shifts into Lupus form.
Patrick, who doesn't seem to mind at all the thought of nothing beneath his 
  feet, looks over at Quiet. ~Small compensation.~
Scab-Survivor careens his neck to look over other's backs or around their 
  limbs as he does his part in scouting for trouble.
The pair from Gaia's Shield, and Karl with them, begin to sink very slowly 
  through the fog; their totem, too, sinks. It is perhaps not noticeable for a 
  few minutes, so slow is it.
Quiet glances at the ragabash, her eyes sweeping to take in the addition of 
  the Get as well as her packmates. ~Any feelings about a direction?~
Tastes-Ashes paws at the ground as she tests to see how she can move in this 
  formless mass.

You paged Quiet with 'Directions are, at least in part, what you make of them 
  - there's forward, back, left, right, up, down, towards the Wyrm, towards 
  the Weaver, towards the Wyld (and away from all three, as well). You would 
  probably know that - or rather, that it's one possible way of arranging 
  directions here.'.

Sepdet half-closes her eyes, relying on scent, bare feet, and other senses 
  beyond sight to get the feel of this place. The uncharacteristic dread in 
  the tight muscles of her face is little eased by Quiet's report, though 
  she's walked sky-trails too often to blanch at lack of visible roads.
Eligio Sacateca, not far from Therru, seems distracted in the fog. His 
  attention is not on the group but is intent on peering into the gloom. 
  Occasionally he sniffs, audibly, as if looking for something.
As Tastes-Ashes moves, her paws do not quite hit as far down as they were when 
  she lifted them; she climbs up a little, back the half-foot or so to the 
  level of the rest of the group.
Tastes-Ashes growls softly. Whatever we do, we should keep moving, or you're 
  going to lose your ahrouns.
Scab-Survivor looks around, peering into the gloom. He checks to see if 
  perhaps anything is visible, anywhere, through the fog.
Runs-In-Shadows looks down as he notices the sinking, then around again. He 
  begins padding back and forth to keep moving.
Patrick looks at the leader. ~Head in a direction, Quiet. Whatever feels 
  right.~
Seeks-the-Truth lifts her head as her wings keep her aloft. Do we know what it 
  is we seek?
Quiet chuffs, in answer to all three. As she turns to her right, she explains 
  briefly. ~We seek a fetish strong in the Wyld, which has been hidden here.~
Serves-Honor looks to one side - as best anyone can tell, it's arbitrarilly 
  picked - and rumbles, ~That way.~
Serves-Honor whines uncertainly after a second, in frustration. ~I think.~`
Scab-Survivor looks in the direction that Serves-Honor has pointed in, and 
  peers. As he does so, he softly wonders if concentrating on the Fetish as we 
  travel might help put us on the right path?
Seeks-the-Truth looks in that direction, then back at Quiet. Do we know where 
  it has been hidden? This is, from what I have been taught, a place vaster 
  than all of the near umbra combined.
Quiet thinks that like has drawn to like. It will be in a place strong with 
  the Wyld. More than that, we could not tell.
Serves-Honor takes a step in the direction he indicated, a bit more surely. 
  Yes, this seems right.
Seeks-the-Truth whimpers at that. She does not wish to go near places too 
  strong in the Wyld. But how do we find a place like that? And is there more 
  than one?
Tastes-Ashes seems willing to follow her packmate, although she does ask ~How 
  can you tell?~
Serves-Honor has the Gift of Directions. He hopes it does not betray him in 
  this place.
Sepdet mumbles, attention still edgily on the swirling ruddy fog, ~Well, at 
  least most of this group lean towards the Wyld in spirit.~ She glances up 
  briefly at Cyllan, corners of her mouth dipping in a wry frown, and then 
  returns to listening.
Quiet can sense the Triat. It is part of my gift from my totem. In this place, 
  there are many places strong with a force, but they seem to gather. Perhaps 
  because direction means less than essense.
Scab-Survivor waits to see if Quiet decides to trust Serves-Honor's Gift.
Seeks-the-Truth nods. That makes sense. Then she looks around, eyes flashing a 
  bright green as she takes in her surroundings.
Runs-In-Shadows continues padding back and forth until a direction is chosen.
Quiet looks pleased as Serves begins to overtake her, in the direction she had 
  been going before she paused to talk to Cyllan. Good. Let us go.
Scab-Survivor moves with Quiet, clearly happy to be going in a definite 
  direction.
As the group moves forward, the fog eventually - slowly, very slowly - goes 
  from the reddish-black to a more pure red color. Eventually, tendrils of 
  white mist break into the red, appearing for a few moments and then 
  disappearing.
Scab-Survivor seems more pleased than not that the fog is changing; at least 
  they are going /somewhere/. He remarks, after awhile, that the group is 
  moving at a slant, downwards.
Sepdet relaxes as the red begins to dilute, nodding at Touch Deer's comment. 
  ~Mmhmm. As much as up and down have meaning, out here. I wonder where the 
  stars are.~
Scab-Survivor barks loud enough for all to hear, wait...stop.
Quiet keeps a watchful eye on all that varies in the mostly-homogeneous world 
  that the group moves through. As she hears Sepdet's comment, she begins to 
  speak, but stops at her packmate's words.
Scab-Survivor contorts and blurs as he is transformed.
Scab-Survivor shifts into Lupus form.
Sepdet freezes and tenses, attention immediately shifting towards Quiet.
Scab-Survivor shifts down and starts sniffing, looking...and he twists his 
  head around, whining about something that seems to bother him, slightly. 
  Something...One thinks something is ahead of us, moving around...to the 
  right...up a little.
Runs-In-Shadows stops cold, ears turning around in Scab-Survivor's direction. 
  He looks up and to the right, trying to pierce the fog.
Quiet also looks, narrowing her eyes. Her huge black nostrills flare again.
Tastes-Ashes looks, not in the direction that all the others seek, but 
  elsewhere. While the main focus is towards the possible disturbance, she 
  looks to assure nothing will attack from behind. Cyllan extends her muzzle 
  foward, trying to find a scent.
Runs-In-Shadows looks at Tastes-Ashes, then at the Gaian. I can scout ahead.
Scab-Survivor doesn't know how far...he feels it, doesn't really here or smell 
  it. One could Scout ahead, also.
Seeks-the-Truth chuffs softly. It comes closer. I can taste it.
Tastes-Ashes is hesitant to send out scouts in this realm, but if you think 
  you will be able to find us again, it would not hurt to go look.
Runs-In-Shadows can always find those he knows.
Quiet fears our separation more than ignorance. Go to the fore, both of you, 
  but do not lose us from sight.
Scab-Survivor echoes Seek's chuff. Moving towards us...it will be here fairly 
  soon.
Runs-In-Shadows moves around the others to take the front of the group. He 
  advances until he's almost entirely lost within the fog.
Runs-In-Shadows ... or until whatever it is finds him.
Scab-Survivor moves with Runs, to his side by about ten feet. He doesn't move 
  far enough to lose sight of the main group.
Eligio Sacateca takes to the air, or whatever passes for air in this nebulous 
  place, halfway between the two forerunners and the rest of the group to 
  provide additional strength or length in the chain that binds the two groups 
  together.
Sepdet moves a little closer to the front, walking to the right beside the 
  fourleggeds in Ouroboros with tentative steps. Her hands are out with 
  fingers spread as if for balance, but she is testing the unfamiliar air for 
  currents as she scans for the unknown presence ahead.
After several minutes, a figure is dimly visible in the fog ahead, humanoid. 
  It is not moving directly towards the group, but meandering from side to 
  side, sometimes in long arcs and sometimes in half-steps before turning.
Scab-Survivor stops where he is and peers through the fog.
Scab-Survivor pads back to the main group after a moment, chuffing to 
  everyone. It...sounds like a Garou.
Seeks-the-Truth shakes her head, less disturbed by the odd impressions that 
  she is getting than she would have been in the past. It sounds like one of 
  our kind. Ware.
Runs-In-Shadows remains at the front, watching.
Quiet's ears flicker backwards. She moves forward, tighting the pack again.
Scab-Survivor moves with Quiet, ready for anything.
After a few more minutes, the figure resolves into a smallish human, perhaps 
  five and a half feet tall; his skin is browned and wrinkled and his hair is 
  grey with flecks of white. ~Hello,~ he says, without any apparent sense of 
  incongruity or wariness.
Runs-In-Shadows looks the figure over curiously but doesn't respond; there are 
  others more suited to talking here.
Seeks-the-Truth takes a step forward, falling almost instinctivly into her 
  position of pack diplomat. Then she remembers that is it not just her pack 
  who is here, and she looks to Quiet to see what she says.
Scab-Survivor, likewise, waits for someone else to respond.
Tastes-Ashes remains wary, but still focuses elsewhere and not on the visible 
  threat.
Quiet takes up the mantle to speak. The Gaian looks into the elder man's face. 
  ~Greetings.~
The man regards the group curiously for several moments, then says, ~Such a 
  large party to be here. You are all one pack?~
Quiet answers, ~We are of several packs, on a single mission.~ She then tilts 
  her head. ~It is also odd to wander alone, unless one is an experienced 
  traveller. Do you run with any others?~
Runs-In-Shadows, as if on cue, disappears further into the fog.
He shrugs, with a faint smile. ~I wander alone. Your mission, it must be very 
  vital to draw several packs out. Usually, I only meet one pack.~
Runs-In-Shadows walks around at the edge of vision, never quite disappearing 
  from view. He goes first to the left and then back to the right, scanning 
  the fog for others.
The stranger studies Sebastien in extreme curiousity, finally asking, ~What 
  sort of spirit is that? I have never seen one before.~
Quiet glances toward the spirit before looking back at the man. ~He is a 
  Buffalo spirit, the avatar that has adopted one of our packs and helps to 
  guard our caern. How are you called, stranger from a land with no buffalo?~
~Buf-fa-lo,~ the stranger muses, pronouncing the word slowly. ~He looks very 
  strong.~
Quiet does not answer that statement, leaving the stranger to answer--or 
  not--her direct question.
The stranger turns towards Tastes-Ashes and Serves-Honor, the statement that 
  was more a question still plain on his face.
Runs-In-Shadows returns to the group about then. I found no others.
Tastes-Ashes looks at the stranger briefly. He is strong.
Scab-Survivor stays next to Quiet, not participating directly in the 
  conversation just yet.
Quiet acknowledges Runs-In-Shadows silently, her attention unfocusing from the 
  man now that another has taken up the torch of conversation.
Seeks-the-Truth contorts and blurs as she is transformed.
Seeks-the-Truth shifts into Homid form.
The stranger nods to Tastes-Ashes, and performs a flourish of a bow, obviously 
  respectful. ~Pleased to meet you,~ he says to the buffalo spirit. He says, 
  then, without the sense of attitude of one answering a question, ~I am 
  Dares-the-Seer's-Chance, a Stargazer. I am more usually called Seer's 
  Chance.~
Serves-Honor doesn't bother to answer, standing firm and letting the strength 
  of his totem...and of his pack...stand on its own.
Cyllan drops into her birthform, wings still keeping her aloft.
Scab-Survivor introduces himself as a member of Ouroboros, child of Uktena, 
  and a warrior of the Wendigo.
Patrick and Cassandra introduce themselves with the rest of the pack, though 
  very briefly.
Quiet also introduces herself, as her pack does. The other introductions cover 
  a glance exchanged between herself and the Strider. Quiet flicks her ears in 
  aquiessance.
Sepdet's smile widens at the mention of the Garou's tribe. She darts a quick 
  glance at Quiet, before adding after her own customary introduction, 
  casually, ~Honor to the Stargazer--it is a long way from Sept of the Stars 
  to here. Have you passed any wyld roads lately? For we seek knowledge of 
  those places.~
Seer's Chance gives Sepdet a bemused look. ~I have not seen the Sept of the 
  Stars in seasons or longer. I do not know how long. There are no roads here 
  in the Deeps, child. You must find your own way to where you go. You seek 
  the Wyld?~
Quiet considers the Stargazer. We seek the Wyld. Specifically, we seek a 
  fetish that holds some of the strength of the Wyld. The Striders' wisdom has 
  it hidden here.
Seer's Chance cocks his head. ~Holds some of the strength of the Wyld? I 
  presume you mean a fetish bound with a powerful spirit allied with the Wyld?~
Quiet allows that is so.
The Stargazer rubs at his chin with one hand, the other crossed over his chest 
  to prop up the elbow of the first. ~I have heard of such a one.~
Quiet's look of interest sharpens. Will you tell us what you have heard?

(Here, we ended the session for the evening, to allow the East Coasters to
 go to bed.)