[Sandra] :: LOG :: Pest Control

[gmlogbox]

Characters: Frederick, Heather, Jamethon, Mouse, Sandra, Yael
Location: Edgewood - Meadow
Time: 7/21/17 - Evening - New Moon (Waning)

Summary: The aftermath of 'There!' - Harsh words are said, indiscretions arise, and bugs are smashed.

A howl can be heard from where Felix and Jamethon remain by the fallen Wyrm-thing's side; a summons for the scouts to come running.
The Shadow Lord, for her part, remains in her war form, hands allowed to hang at her sides so the blood can drain - pushing out whatever substance it is that's causing all the awful stinging - fur painted wildly with splashes of thick, dark ichor. About as much as that of anyone that follows.
If she's noticed that she *is* being followed, she isn't making any sign of it, apparently putting the bulk of her attention into the steady flex-release of wounded hands, the exercise apparently doing *some* good-- else, why do it at all?

Can you look smug in Crinos? This Fenrir can. With the battle over, he gives James barely the time he needs to tend the wounds before returning to the carcass of the caterpillar, giving it a good kick. ~Not on my turf~ he declares as he bends down to the critter, adding as he crouches down besides the dead body ~Or under~. What's left of his tail is raised as he sits there, quite content to let the blood drool down his forearms, either it really does not hurt him or he is very good at not showing it, he kneels next to the body, almost as if daring it to move again.

Speaks-Truth-To-Power was mostly a standout for her apparent reluctance to fully take her war form during the fight. She opened with attacks in the comparatively tiny-but-nimble Lupus form, and only committed to Hispo properly once the thing had been fairly well rendered immobile. On the other hand, she's also comparatively unscathed and - after a bit of work on her end to bolster her natural regeneration - shows no sign of any injuries whatsoever. Well, not her own, anyway. The severed leg section she came away with during the fight, she tosses back to the industrial sized pile of toxic caterpillar with a slightly haughty (the effect is somewhat ruined by the Hispo form's disorted geometry) air of 'let's play keep away,' aimed at the 'critter.'
As the elder philo starts making her way off, however, Speaks is trotting along at a companionable distance.

The sound of footsteps alongside her is apparently enough to get the Shadow Lord's attention, one ear swiveling in the Fury's direction, her head turning soon after. That isn't a happy look on her face by any stretch, but she's choking back the worst of it to offer a short nod of acknowledgement, her gaze turning back towards the crouching Fenrir.
~It's dead,~ she calls back to him, loud enough to be heard-- and loud enough to sound annoyed by default. ~Staring at it won't make it *more* dead. Let the Gatekeeper and the Gnawer deal with finding people for clean-up; you've got your own cleansing to do.~ Her gaze then shifts towards the Fury, pace slowing to give a more thorough once-over. At which point, she says, ~You're not injured, are you?~ the strain in her voice more easily identified at a closer proximity, though it's underplayed.

As the critter doesn't look like it still wants to play, the grey Crinos crouching next to it shrugs his shoulders with a briefly snarled ~I know. Making sure is important~ before he starts to inch away slowly as his form shifts down to that of a large, grey wolf, and he starts to trot back towards the house. A careful observer might notice that he does indeed limp a little as he tries his best to look like he's strolling casually back towards the hole the creature emerged from, blood still seeping through the grey-white fur on his forepaws.

The hispo belies her homid roots by shaking her head 'no' for a split second, before remembering herself again. She relates her status as nearly, but not entirely, unharmed and confidence in her own ability to heal. Then, after a bit of that, she shifts properly through her forms at liesurely pace, until she's in homid once more. "It nicked me in the end there," she admits, "but it looked like I was gonna miss the party." This last she says back towards the wolf following them, perhaps chiding juuust a touch. To the crinos next to her, however, she adds, "Nice spot, by the way."

Brings Winter's Bite 'mutters' something under her breath in response to the Fenrir's claim, probably something akin to a 'well, obviously,' but she's mindful enough to keep the twice-flared temper under wraps.
She does note the limp, splitting her attention between the trail ahead and the two Garou she walks with, but she doesn't comment on it. Instead, her ear pivots back in Heather's direction again, the now-homid Fury's praise afforded an acknowledging nod. ~I won't presume to say it was anything but a stroke of luck that I was in a form that caught on to it,~ she says. ~There wasn't upturned soil when I left. There was when I returned.~ She glances again in the direction of the creature that lays still, her lip curling to show her teeth for all of a heartbeat.
~In any event,~ she says, pausing for a moment, taking a breath, then continuing, ~if I could impose upon you to-- assist, with some of the remaining injuries...~

The grey wolf stops and with a blur Fred shifts back into his breed form, stretching slightly as he stands up. Despite his preference of lupus for travel, it seems that with arms dripping blood it's less sensible to put weight onto them, too. And of course any sign of limping is gone now that he travels back on two legs. He lets his hands swing at his sides as he marches up to Brings (yes, considering the sound of those boots, 'marches' is probably not the worst way to describe it), rubbing one of his arms with the other one. He watches Heather as she approaches, his head shaking slightly, "It isn't luck in battle. You win. You lose. It depends on who is the better fighter. We were better." He folds his arms, obviously not worried too much about the blood stains on his shirt.

Heather can't resist chiding Frederick a little more forcefully, "And in a hurry, apparently." There's still a healthy dollop of friendly joshing in there. Whatever else is dropped away when the Sandra asks for healing. An empathetic grimace fully takes Heather's features and she lets out a sigh. "Pegasus only taught me to heal myself." She definitely wishes it was otherwise right about now, but it is as it is, not as she'd wish. "Still burning?" She gestures off into the woods, "I could go find a theurge maybe?" There's a hint of 'do I know any of the theurges here' flavored uncertainty, but the new girl is clearly willing to try.

~We shouldn't have had to prove we were,~ Sandra replies to the Fenrir irritably, the anger that briefly flared in the presence of the Gatekeeper on the rise again. ~If not for Thane and that witless, chest-pounding-- *self-fellating* neanderthal he called a packmate up and *leaving*, it may not have had the chance to get this far.~ It's-- not a shining moment in her overall repertoire, and there's very clear vehemence in all that growling, helped not at all by her insistence on staying in war form, but-- well, there it is.
She gives a quick shake of her head, though, and says, ~It's not your fault,~ in a calmer tone. ~But it still shouldn't have happened.~ Rather than dwell on it, however, she lets out a short huff, and-- gives a reluctant nod to Heather's question regarding the stinging, followed by a 'no' at the following query. ~The pain's fading,~ she says. ~I'll heal, if I stay out of breed form. I just need these wounds bled, and bandaged. That, anyone can help with.~

The calm, almost happy if not even pleased mood that young Fenrir was in fades quickly with every word of Brings-Winter's-Bite, VERY obviously hitting a nerve there and he storms over to her, head whipping back to look up to her muzzle as he stays in homid and it takes a moment before he opens his mouth, shouting up at her "You! You should not talk about them! What have you done? What you do is keep working people awake at night! But I get a good idea why you were kicked out of the Tribe." He pokes a finger into her chest, and yes, that finger does actually have some push, despite the fur, that young Fenrir knows how to hit a sternum in a way you can FEEL. "And get used to pain. It is part of us. Pain is in your mind. Learn that!"

"Alright," Heather begins, stepping into Frederick's personal space a bit now, hands moving into a position to separate the two of them, but not actually escalating to touch just yet, "WHOA. Cool your heels," she adds, pointedly at Frederick. Her snap is perhaps less aggressive, but still has plenty of heat behind it. Sandra isn't fully spared, either. "Both of you," gets sent her way. "Yes. This is shit. But let's save this bullshit in case Doctor Worm back there has an intern. For all we know our guests from the fall left a housewarming present and it only just now woke up." She may have pulled that theory completely out of her ass, but she does her best to put some real confidence behind the idea.

It's, perhaps, a testament to the fact that she must like Heather that the Shadow Lord doesn't follow through on what's behind the bare-toothed snarl she levels on Frederick, her ears forward, focus set entirely on him even as the Fury speaks. Even as the snarl wanes. It's an intense kind of attention, a stare complete with the posture of a ranking Garou.
~She's right,~ is said in a calm, albeit flatly cold tone, the warning meant to be felt as much as heard. ~We have other things to focus on.~

Two cold, blue eyes keep staring up at the Crinos for a bit longer, the Fenrir obviously quite deliberately staying in Homid as he keeps staring up at the Lord. He huffs as he eventually turns around sharply, his body whipping around as his boots hit the dirt, the Fenrir muttering "Tell her. Talking about people she doesn't know." He snorts as he directs his steps over to the shed, saying a bit calmer "We must find out where it was from."

Perhaps grateful she didn't have to actually get physical here, Heather takes a moment to blow out a loud sigh without bothering to hide any of the exasperation. She lets Frederick's parting shot stand, unanswered, perhaps deciding to swallow whatever she might've otherwise thrown back. Her own grip on the moral high ground here is perhaps not as solid as she'd like it to be. She stays, with a hand in front of Brings while Frederick moves off, adding juuuust that little bit more of a very strong suggestion that space is a Good Thing(tm) right now, before she turns back to Brings fully. "Let's go get those bound up," she says is a controlledly-softer voice.

Of all the responses for that parting shot to get, an arched brow - though muted in this form - may not be what's expected, the Shadow Lord's ear tilted subtly to one side to exaggerate the effect. Her eyes are still plainly focused on the Fenrir's back as he turns, mind, but Heather does earn a glance, in turn, and the remarks themselves - his, at least - earn a light snort. She apparently doesn't see the need to comment, either, save to level that lifted brow on Heather's blocking hand.
She concurs on the suggestion with a low, wordless rumble in her chest, not quite resonant enough to be a growl. For as much seething anger as the Fostern Philodox has, she's showing surprisingly little beyond a more authoritative display.

Heather falls into stride towards the house, now, still shaking her head at the whole thing, but that's the attentunating edge of her own reaction. "For what it's worth," she offers, to keep the conversation on the situation at hand moving, "it wasn't corrupted. At least not by the Wyrm. Which means it wasn't local to here, I figure, or... we've got problems that aren't the Wyrm." She glances towards the crinos she's walking with, perhaps looking to have her own deductions affirmed or rejected.

Seems easy enough for Brings Winter's Bite to follow suit, her tail flicking subtly as she walks alongside the Fury, head raised slightly to sniff at the air around them. Her attention turns to Heather, then, at the new piece of information. ~It wasn't?~ she says, though she doesn't seem-- all *that* surprised about it. ~Additionally,~ she amends, in as dry a tone as crinos vocal chords can manage, ~since when have we not?~
That aside, she mulls that over quietly, stepping out of the forest perimeter and back out onto the meadow. ~I seem to recall hearing that Furies are trained to call on that sense of corruption innately,~ she comments. ~I don't mean to imply that yours was in any way lacking,~ this noted in spite of her lack of surprise, ~but are you certain you got an accurate read?~ It seems more an attempt to reaffirm than anything else.

Heather bares her teeth, a supremely awkward looking expression in homid, but it's not for any expressive reason. Instead she audibly taps a fingernail against the enamel of her pearly whites. "The teeth don't lie," she says again. "I'm not saying it wasn't wyrmspawn," she clarifies with a shake of her head and a raise of her hands. "I'm saying it wasn't /corrupted./ Whatever it was, it was within the bounds of Gaia's law insofar as the Wyrm is concerned. So, either it was corrupted by other means - in which case it might've been a local bit of fauna first. Or, it was wyrmspawn that was imported somehow. Given where we found it, they could've salted the tunnels with eggs or something. The thing /looked/ larval, to me, anyway."
After rummaging in the shed for a while, Fred reemerges, carrying a shovel on his shoulder and marching back to the hole the creature crawled out of. The pain doesn't seem to get through his thick skull anymore... or he just refused acceptance, either way, the blood dripping has mostly stopped anyway and there is a hole to explore. He puts his tool down next to it, peering in and looking around as if he could determine the source that way already. Eventually he lifts his head, looks around to see where the two others went.

As much as a werewolf can make an 'ah' face in this form, the Shadow Lord certainly tries for it. And much as she looks like she's about to respond, she catches sight of Frederick, her ears pricking again. ~I sincerely hope he isn't thinking about filling that in,~ she says flatly upon noting the shovel, keeping an eye on him from the relative distance.
Turning back to Heather, then, she says, ~My apologies,~ as if the interruption hadn't occurred, given, ~I misinterpreted,~ is what follows. Then, ~In a way, I suppose it wouldn't surprise me if it was the work of something else entirely,~ she notes. ~Or a combination of Triatic influences. Storm-Eater proved quite handily that such things can be accomplished-- and in this day and age--?~ She shakes her head. ~Nonetheless, that's pure speculation. And,~ she continues, glancing at Frederick again, ~as you say, the only thing we should really care about, at present, is whether or not there's more of the same laying in wait. Saying nothing of whether or not that thing was already in a reproductive stage of its development.~ Beat. ~It wouldn't be the first creature to appear larval, and not be.~

"Mmmm," Heather agrees, nodding. "Yeah the possibility of more of those things isn't a fun prospect. Do we have to excavate those tunnels again, then?" That expaseration comes back now at the prospect. More digging. Yay. "I mean, if there are eggs or whatever, we need to burn them I'd assume..."

The teen stays crouched near the hole, eventually even poking his head in, only to reemerge a moment later, shaking his head with a frown and picking the shovel up as he starts to move back towards the house, shovel on his shoulder again. "Hey", he yells over at the other two, "You know if we got ...", he pauses, thinks, "some light." He eventually decides to instead move over to Heather and Brings who are talking a good distance away from his position at the hole, eventually adding "I want to know. Where the thing is from. It had to come from somewhere" as he comes into talking distance. He puts the shovel down, its blade hitting the ground as he points to it. "Dig it out and see what's there. Easy now. If there is more, they grow. Become more. Become dangerous. We have to fight it while it is small, do not let the Wyrm grow. Happened here too much before." He grumbles slightly, frustrated at something it seems as his boot thrusts the pan of the shovel into the ground, making it stand on its own. "Now we can fight it."

The sound of a vehicle approaching up the gravel drive is always audible, even out on the meadow, although the engine isn't nearly as loud as some engines might be. In fact, this engine is practically a low purr, hard to pick out above any background noise at all. Luckily, Edgewood lacks for that at present.

The Shadow Lord and Fury are partway into the meadow, walking close together on their way to the garage, the former still wearing her full, massive war form, the latter in homid, with Frederick - also in homid - converging on their position from where he'd been at the meadow's southern border. The scent of blood is thick in the air, coming not far from where the Fenrir is crouched, mixed as it is with rage and adrelaline, the whole bouquet topped off with a not-insignificant whiff of insect ichor.
Sandra, for her part, lifts her chin at the rather frenetic train of thought the Fenrir presents, her ears again pricked forward. If there's any hard feelings regarding his outburst earlier, they're currently being set aside. ~I don't think anyone here is going to disagree with that assessment,~ she says simply. ~Felix called for scouts; there should be some on the way. They'll have the best luck running the tunnels in lupus, though some means of providing light for them would be a good idea.~ A pause. ~Going in there reeking of blood, on the other hand--~ she begins, before the sound of the approaching vehicle calls to her attention. Again, her ears prick, and again, there's that focused look.

Heather nods to Sandra-and-Frederick's suggestions. "And hopefully we're not dealing with numbers in the thousands or so," She adds, a bit pessimistically. "I've never heard of whatever that was, either way so I'm wondering... who might've?" Now that Frederick is returned to the conversation, the Fury's glances include him in her inquiry.

The car that pulls into view, and then continues onward right up to Edgewood itself, is none other than a Rolls Royce Silver Shadow. And for anyone with a taste and a knowledge of such cars, it's a series one Rolls Royce Silver Shadow. Two-tone, grey and silver, with the original chrome-style bumpers and a personalized plate that reads: Jeeves1. It's a very nice car, and as such, it doesn't look like a car that really belongs at Edgewood in any capacity. The woman that gets out of the driver's side seat doesn't seem to belong to it either--from her terribly scarred face to her largely ill-fitted, off-the-rack clothing to her short unruly hair. She's wearing dark sunglasses that she doesn't bother to remove just yet as she appears to take a good look around the front of the house, with one hand on the car door.

The Shadow Lord goes quiet, for the most part, casting a glance to Heather and Frederick both as if to try and gage if they recognize the woman. Apparently seeing a lack of said recognition, she begins to make her way across the meadow, in the direction of the newcomer-- but it's only when she's within not-quite-conversational, but not-quite-shouting distance that she says, ~Are you one of the scouts?~ sounding a tad incredulous, even in this form.

Heather certainly doesn't recognize the new arrival, nor the car beyond 'expensive.' She's curious, but lets the Crinos handle talking to the her. "I'll just go grab the first-aid kit," she says to Brings, starting to open the distance between herself and the Shadow Lord, an obvious destination of the house proper in mind.

"I know," the stranger says, although she doesn't seem to be addressing Brings-Winter's-Bite. She doesn't seem to be addressing anyone, really. "If you would." It's only then that she turns her head toward the Shadow Lord, and steps away from the car, shutting the driver's side door in the process. "I know it's rare," she says, "But humans do still come here. If you don't know who someone is, make sure you don't approach looking like that, next time." Even so, she doesn't seem remotely put off by the combination of blood and crinos. "No, I'm not a scout. Mouse. Three-From-Ashes, Glass Walker Elder, Athro Theurge, Metis, member of Sagacity, and, apparently, /very/ temporarily Alpha of the Triquetral Accord, which is the short form, and I figure that's what you might prefer for the moment."

From the road, the next approach is that of a smaller nearly black wolf. Or perhaps not, if one isn't paying attention. Gathers-Strength sticks to cover, and ducks into the trees before emerging into the meadow in her birth form, brows slightly furrowed at what little she catches.

There's knee-jerk annoyance in the Shadow Lord's initial response, communicated in a hardening of that look and a light flare of her nostrils, but it's quickly put to rest upon that name being spoken. Annoyance turns swiftly to self-imposed deference, eyes that had looked to the metis full-on now shifting down towards the ground, pricked ears splaying to the sides. Her overall stance doesn't change too dramatically, but enough that there's no implied posturing.
~My apologies,~ she says - for the assumption, *pre*sumption, and-- well, all of it - keeping that rumbling voice calm, even if there's still an expected edge of tension to it. ~Brings Winter's Bite. Fostern Philodox. Shadow Lords. It's-- unfortunate to have to meet under these circumstances.~ A pause. ~There was a breach,~ she continues, nodding to the southern border, ~through one of the trenches. A Wyrmish creature, a good three feet in diameter and nine feet or more in length. Though it's been dispatched, there are some concerns that it isn't the only of its kind. A parting gift from the infiltrators that held this place, perhaps.~

From the road as well, a little ways behind the wolf's arrival is Jamethon walking up. He has plenty of fresh forest dirt on his boots, looking to have been just recently off-road. He seems to be taking his time.

Heather slows her walk tremendously as Mouse makes her introductions. She's heard about this athro, but it's the first time seeing her in person and there's more than a little bit of curiosity. There's an active conversation going between the Shadow Lord and Mouse, however, so the Fury holds her tongue and just observes for now.

Mouse doesn't cut a very impressive figure, for an Athro. There's the scars, perhaps. She has a lot of those, although most of them are quite small and unimpressive, apart from quantity. There's that strange lock of stark white hair. Does she dye it? Why? The woman steps away from the car, and as she does, it locks and makes the telltale beep of a car alarm being set, despite both of Mouse's hands being visible and not containing a key fob. Or keys. There doesn't appear to be anyone else in the car, but the windows are very tinted. "Take me to it."

The Shadow Lord gives a curt nod, the Athro's appearance indeed taken in for a moment, though-- arguably, she's got other things on her mind. Not eating her own foot happening to be among them.
~Of course,~ she says, and again nods in the direction of the border, this time slightly off to one side of the southern trench. She casts a glance at Heather, then, and gives a short gesture of her head to follow, wounded hands still hanging somewhat loosely by her sides. The fingers flex again, less gingerly this time, as if to quietly state that she'll live without the bandages for now, and begins to make her way back towards the forest.

Jamethon almost arrives in the area where the others are gathered before they all start to move off towards where the fight was. He clears his throat, perhaps to make his presence known before giving a short double-time jog to catch up. "Three From Ashes-Rhya. It is good to see you. I just finished a patrol. Nothing to report. No friends of this beast nor other passageways."

Yael moves after at a brisk walk, but for the moment, she is espousing the whole 'Silent' bit of her tribe's name. Watching, brows furrowed (and about half of her attention on Brings-Winter's-Bite with an additional bit of worry visible in the expression), but saying nothing yet.

Heather catches the turn of Brings' head, and gives a nod in return - though one that is still tinged with abit of empathy. All the same, she follows along, not saying anything aloud, for now. She's still a little keyed up from the fight, herself, and that nervous energy is now expressing itself in the way her head is constantly shifting her view from person to person, hesitating long enough to sweep the spaces in between just for good measure.
Mouse follows after, nodding at James' report as she goes. "Alright. It could be just one, but better to be sure." She sweeps off her glasses after a minute, revealing those decidedly inhuman eyes, despite her homid shape.

The Shadow Lord's ear tilts in Jamethon's direction, a look cast in Yael's not long after as she notes the Strider's presence (with some mild surprise, it should be mentioned), both offered a quick nod. To the former: ~That's good news,~ which is stating the obvious, of course, but. ~We'll only really get confirmation that its truly alone once we get a look at the tunnel,~ this noted with a one hand raised for a time to point loosely in the direction of the southern trench.
It drops rather quickly back to her side. ~It wasn't present when I left for my rounds this morning, but it certainly was when I returned.~
It's not a long walk to get to the forest, really, and even by getting close to the perimeter, a pale grey shape can be seen through wrecked foliage.

The Fenrir Gatekeeper nods to the interim Alpha and follows along. "The creature seemed to be on the verge of transformation. It seems possibile that it surfaced for a metamorphosis. We are, frankly, lucky anyone was able to detect it. The Guardians need to be bolstered." He focuses ahead and adds, "The tunnel it left would fit someone... smaller than myself," following that with meaningful appraisals of those present.
Long distance to Heather: Brings-Winter's-Bite will look in Heather's direction after James' comment, re: the bug.

Yael raises an eyebrow and shakes her head a moment, before finally speaking. "If no scout shows, I will investigate it. I've done as much many times before." Pause, and then her introduction is added. "I am Shai-Nefer." A slight accent colours her words. There is pause, and a furrow of brow, but then she continues, leaving out her English name entirely. "I am Gathers-Strength-to-the-Trials and adren half-moon of the Silent Striders. Of the Ahadi; and now here."

Heather catches the introductions that are for Mouse's benefit, and seems to now have more names to place with faces, particularly in Yael's case. The strider gets a nod of recognition at the point where she's speaking. Otherwise she follows the conversation about the critter. She nods, once, towards Brings, and gives the creature another long look, as if trying to spot something she missed the last time she was up close with it.

Mouse's eyes flick over the creature as she slowly nods, taking in both it and the introductions. "If necessary," she adds, "I can widen the tunnel." She steps to one side, taking the thing in. "Or dig around it, if we need that."

There is a slight rumble from Brings Winter's Bite in respects to the size comment, ~I'd run into similar trouble,~ noted somewhat offhandedly, the brief glance she casts in Heather's direction and the nod she receives ultimately turning her attention back to the creature laying prone on its side.
Upon getting closer, the details reveal themeslves. It's nearly three feet in diameter, and more than nine feet long. It looks, at first glance, like a pale grey caterpillar of the sort one might find on a leaf in the spring, the larval form of something else, possessing multiple sets of legs used for undulating travel. It possesses an insectoid-like exoskeleton, and claws on a front set of feet that look more like a mole's than anything else. Along the rest of the form are what appear to be fine hairs that give it the false appearance of softness, but in truth look more like the spines seen on a fish's forsal fin.
Its head is partly unseated. One of its legs is cracked clean off. Multiple portions of its carapace have been torn free of more vulnerable flesh beneath, which itself is ripped apart. And its face is-- well. It isn't. Broken carapace lay at the 'head' of the beast, the interior flesh beneath mangled beyond all recognition.
~Careful of the spines,~ the Shadow Lord comments. ~It has some kind of toxin on it that I somehow doubt has gone away completely.~

"The toxins are dulled," comes almost academically from Jamethon, "They were driven by the Wyrm taint of the beast which abated in its death." Here the Gatekeeper walks around the creature to look out at the southern trench, a good handful of yards away. "We'll have to investigate it. If there is a source, it must be dealt with. Perhaps the moot's culminating hunt."

Yael lifts a shoulder. "How wide is the tunnel right now?" she asks, and gives the thing another glance. "If it fit that, I can get through it." Pause. "Most likely."

"It's pure wyrmspawn then," Heather offers, as additional information to Jamethon's analysis, "if that helps identify it. This wasn't a perversion like a fomor, more like a bane... albeit one with a physical form. I... wasn't even aware that such things could have physical forms, myself." Her tone makes abundantly clear, however, that she's nothing like a subject matter expert.

Mouse grunts. "Best to go down there with force, if it's wide enough," she agrees. "But if we're waiting, I want a round the clock guard on the tunnel until we do."

Jamethon nods to Mouse's request, "Consider it done."

There's an odd note of annoyance in the Shadow Lord's countenance at being corrected, but it doesn't actually seem to be aimed at the correction. Or at the Fenrir, and that doesn't appear to be the fault of deference. Nonetheless, it comes and goes; just another blip in the radar. Less of one, at the mention of fomori, but at least it's not a rage spike. ~It's roughly that size, yes,~ she says to Yael. ~And I already stay here regularly,~ she notes to Mouse. ~I'd be perfectly capable of standing guard for the remainder of the night.~

Yael takes a breath, and glances from Mouse, to Jamethon, and back again, and then looks towards but not at either of them. "Alright, so just to be clear," the Strider asks, keeping her voice level and calm, "was I going to go and check it out--" she pauses, "or wait?" One foot taps the ground, the slightest motion. "I can go check it out and get out of there in a hurry if need be," she continues, "but I agree it would be better if we were ready and prepared for the worst when that happens."

"I'll volunteer to guard as well," Heather offers.

Mouse's jaw sets as she considers Yael's question for a moment. "Don't go deep," she replies. "A hundred feet, if it's any farther, come back, at least for the initial run."

Yael nods once. "Alright. I'll be back," she says, slipping down to lupus with ease and taking off towards the mouth of the tunnel, one ear flicked back towards Mouse for a long moment. There's no extra hurry to the Strider's movements, though.

Jamethon walks with Yael, but waits a couple of yards away from the tunnel. He grips at the pendant that hangs from around his neck, in an idle and subconscious fashion, as he waits.

Mouse stays where she is, but there's visible tension about her. At one point, she glances off to the side, and says, "Okay." She's not looking at anyone in particular.

There's a moment of consideration from the Shadow Lord. After a moment, she, too, drops down to her lupus form, the only indication of pure discomfort coming in the form of her hackles bristling. A glance is cast in Mouse's direction. Hm?

A few deep, controlling breaths come from the Adren Fenrir and his tilts his head this and that way to crack his neck with several audible pops.

Heather's curious about the exchange with the air next to her as well, but she's the acting Alpha so.... not worth commenting on just now.

Time passes slowly when waiting for something, or so it sometimes seems, but it doesn't take too long for
Gathers-Strength to return from where she's disappeared into the tunnel. Moreover, there are no yelps of alarm while the Strider is down there. When she emerges, ears flattened slightly and covered in dirt, she shakes her fur, and then continues. It goes on further. Was small. Nothing in the beginning of the tunnel though.

Mouse's jaw sets again. Considering. Her eyes go to the others, and then the tunnel, and then she's stepping forward, and abruptly she's also shifting through the forms, to hispo. There's no real by-your-leave, but then, she outranks everyone now. Her particularly strange form is certainly...a thing, however. ~Me first this time. I'll widen it as I go. The first sniff of danger and I'll stop. If it's that narrow, then whatever might be down there can't come at us in bulk either, unless it's smaller, unless and until the thing opens out. The rest of you follow me in, but be prepared to back out fast. Come in lupus, so we're not all caught in a line.~

Three From Ashes pages: The glyphs around them alter the original meaning, but the /original/ meanings were ones of worship of the Wyrm, worship of corruption and particularly hideous things, such as the Defiler, and things related to it.

Heather doesn't need to be told twice. When the alpha says get in Lupus, she's in lupus only moments later. It's about then that she gets a good look at the hispo leading them in. She might be staring a little bit, but she's got work to do, so it fills the spaces when she isn't looking around generally.
Heather idles a bit
The Fenrir considers the news and then at Mouses' orders, nods. He melts down to his still-considerable lupus form and prepares to move in right behind Three From Ashes, indicating that he doesn't want to block anyone's escape at the rear. If he is disturbed by the Beta's form, it doesn't show... but then, he's seen it before. Before he travels in, the jade pendant that is seemingly grafted to his chest under the fur starts to glow with a pure white light, the intensity of a candle.

Gathers-Strength licks at one forepaw and there's a brief huff of assent. This time though, it seems, the Strider is intent on bringing up the rear.

If it's possible for a wolf to go wide-eyed...
Not really the Shadow Lord's usual mien by a long shot, really, but here we are. Brings Winter's Bite visibly pauses as the Alpha's hispo form is revealed, her eyes moving not towards the blinky lights or proportions, but to those glyphs.
It takes a moment to shake herself out of it, but it's about as unsubtle a once-over as has been given out of the entire group, the sight apparently leaving her taken aback enough to forget her manners. With a grunt, she almost purposefully mashes bloodied paws into the ground, and begins to follow the others, no longer moving gingerly.

Three From Ashes moves up against the tunnel, and sets her claws into the floor of it. Immediately, she begins digging, and immediately, it's clear this is no ordinary sort of digging. She shifts earth in a way that is not entirely natural, tunneling far too quickly, far too smoothly, like a hispo-sized mole, or perhaps someone trying to give even one of those competition. Within moments she's buried up to her tail, and then even further than that. She follows the original tunnel, but true to her stated intentions, she's widening it more than enough for the lupus to follow her in with ease. And as the Strider said, it leads down. And down. And down some more, at a wide arc that slowly turns back and under the meadow itself.

Reflection's-Howl gets a quick sense of the pace being set and follows behind as soon as enough of a path is available to do so. His foot falls are heavy, as clearly the group doesn't need to worry about being stealthy. The light the Fenrir's fetish casts forward becomes more significant but still calm in the dark of the tunnel, as it spills around the burrowing metis ahead.

Speaks files in after Reflection's-Howl, sniffing around at the dirt and keeping enough distance in front of her that any sudden backwards movement that is required has the room there to occur safely.

The big Shadow Lord isn't far behind the Fury, herself, in lock-step with the rest of the group, the tense energy that came in the wake of that revelation starting to bleed away now that there's a job to do. Similarly to Speaks, she hangs back far enough to give room for any sudden movements.

Gathers-Strength pays attention as they go, to anything that she might have missed the first time, if it's not utterly disturbed by the burrowing that is going on ahead of her.

The tunnel goes, and goes. It's not entirely quick going due to the need for Three-From-Ashes to dig their way, and despite her speed at doing so, there's still plenty of delay. Still, it's lengthy, and it's hard to keep track of just how very far down they've gone. There are at least two broad turns, but for those who can manage to keep their sense of direction, it does feel as though they must be, despite being very, very far below now, somewhere vaguely underneath Edgewood itself when at last the Walker elder's claws break through an earthen wall, and she stops short. She can be heard sniffing, and then, noticeably, she shifts down to lupus as well, and it's enough to allow the light of Jamethon's fetish to spill fully past her.

Beyond, a low, vaguely egg shaped hollow presents itself. The end of the tunnel. One entire wall at the far end seems to have collapsed...perhaps the remains of a fair large tunnel, although that one looks long abandoned. And scattered throughout the hollow are several large, clearly larval.../things/, immobile but growing, of similar color to the one that lies dead in the forest above.

The Fenrir waits patiently as Three From Ashes finally stops and considers what is before them. Reflection sniffs deeply of the air and his hackles rise significantly along with a very low rumble inside him. He gives clear indication that the Wyrm reeks down here. Still, he waits on their current leader for instruction through the quickly growing tension that he shows.

The Fury holds when the Fenrir holds, her own hackles going up as well. On her end of things there might also be some measure of eagerness, maybe satisfaction. She is in exactly the company one should want to be for this sort of thing, at this point, so there's that.

A low growl raises from the direction of Brings Winter's Bite. As with the others, her hackles bristle, muscles tensed and primed for any one of those shapes to start moving. We were right to be concerned.

Three From Ashes chuffs, answering the unspoken question. Yes. Kill these. Be careful about any surprises. She even moves to the side, to allow those who are decidedly better equipped for close quarters smashing to do so.

Gathers-Strength wrinkles her nose. These stink of the Wyrm and should be destroyed, the Strider notes. And then a moment later, she adds. We are almost certainly underneath the house.

Reflection's-Howl moves up to the edge of the tunnel's opening to look down below. The light now spills openly into this underground chamber and more importantly on the undulating creatures below. Their growth adds weight to Jamethon's earlier speculation of their need to reach the surface to change into something different.
The Fenrir backs up a couple of yards, then with several quick thumps of his feet forward launchs himself up into the air. From here, he is silent aside from the whooshing of air. The Gatekeeper grows into the Crinos form, once more with his giant tree-hewn Chimeric spear in hand. He comes down heavy with the spear landing in the thickest part of one of these sleeping monstrosities.

Speaks doesn't need to be told twice. The moment she's got a clean path into the chamber, she's keen to be sinking her teeth into something wyrmy. She darts forward, remaining in Lupus form, and heads to the opposite side of the hollow from where the Gatekeeper did. She hesitates at her prey for only a second, perhaps studying the anatomy of the thing, before deciding where she'll strike. It's probably aimed for her best guess of a rough 'throat' on these things, and maybe she needed most of that time to figure out which end was the front. Once her teeth are in, she goes for the old snarling drag-n-thrash. It's important to enjoy your work.

Brings Winter's Bite isn't far behind the Fury. There's less guess-work on her end, more a matter of finding the proper target. Much as she could easily use her bulk to smash the hell out of more than a few of them with her front paws - and, ultimately, debating whether or not to make the attempt is what gives her pause - she, too, takes to grabbing hold of one of the larval creatures in her teeth, should one present itself.

Gathers-Strength's tail flicks slightly, and although there's a delay, she moves after Brings-Winter's-Bite to contribute to rending the egg thing into pieces. Dead pieces, evidenced by the snarl that lingers in the Strider's throat.

Three From Ashes allows the others to go; for her part, she stays back, observing not only the other Garou and their efforts, but the cave itself, the seemingly collapsed tunnel at the other end, and, if one follows her eyes, perhaps a few other things that aren't quite there.

The Fenrir Godi withdraws the spear which explodes out of the body with a spray of whatever potent fluids were turning to new flesh inside of the creature. He then drives the spear once more into the general head area of the creature over and over until the undulating and subtle jerking motion of the corrupted creature ceases.

Speaks is dragging hers around the floor of the hollow, thrashing back and forth until bits come off, then goes for a similar rinse-and-repeat strategy as the Godi. Because if it ain't broke... break it more.

The Silent Strider seems to find smashing it a more acceptable tactic than biting it, and what little is left when they've broken the shell is rended into pieces until it's finally done. Gathers-Strength eyes the remains of the creatures and just shakes a few times, regaining her composure. After a brief nosing of Brings-Winter's-Bite, there's a slightly questioning huff towards Three From Ashes.

Three From Ashes's nostrils flare as she looks over the carnage of the once-larval Wyrmthings. She paces to one side, sniffing, and then chuffs again, satisfied. We'll bury them. That tunnel back there looks old, long collapsed. We can bury the one above ground in the tunnel as well. Nature will do the rest.

Reflection's-Howl gives another one of these monstrous caterpillars a final check in the form of stabbing it in the face before looking back up towards the acting Sept Alpha. ~I'll see to it,~ he rumbles out and looks to give orders towards fulfilling Mouses' wishes.