WW Background. LAME.
The clouds gathered around Luna’s crescent form, haloing her in the night sky. The stars could not match her beauty, hiding behind delicate wisps of cloud, not watching as Gaia fought. Tooth and claw were raised, as battles in the Earth Mother’s name raged on. Despite the desperate struggles waging, there were many more, smaller and but no less important events were happening. All around the world new lives were being brought forth. And it is one of these new lives that this tale follows. A song of rage and spirit, of unity and strength. A song within a song. The tale of Fangs-of-Sight…. The tale of Death’s-Touch
A blood red form skulked along the forest line, hugging the earth as she scoured the ground. Her eyes were weak but her nose was keen and made up well for her ocular shortcomings. Pausing she raised her snout and apple green eyes narrowed; something was seemed off to her young mind. It was eerily silent when there should have been choruses of life. Growling lowly in her throat she stood her ground as a strange mal-formed creature stumbled onto her path. Its head twisted about until it was peering at her completely upside down.
Taking a step back she growled again, warning the queer beast. It shimmered and then offered her a deformed grin before fading away, seeming to flow into the near by pond. Impatient and bored with her lack of proper hunting grounds she trotted over to where the thing had slipped away. Staring down into the reflective waters she gazed, looking up only when the water seemed to welcome her. The world around her had changed, she could scent new things, different things and though her sight was terribly diminished she could still make out the differences. The thing that had crossed her path earlier snarled, its voice crackling and as grotesque as its form. It would not be disturbed from its tinkering and malicious intents.
Lunging at her, the she-wolf managed to scramble out of the way, glaring and snarling back. How dare the creature attack her on her own territory? Something inside bubbled up, a rage that had always simmered quietly boiled over, erupting and shaping her into something new, something better. Red filled her vision and she slapped her paw, new yet sharp and deadly claws extended and tore into the beast. The colour blurred her vision and she was lost in the frenzy that sang through her veins. Soon enough the red faded away, leaving her to look about, confused. The creature was gone, but things were strange and exciting and new, her form was still that of the war-wolf, Crinos. Her ears swivelled when a clapping sound came from behind. A human, almost half as small as her new form stood, smiling at her before surging up and then down into a tiny mirror of her old self. The new wolf crooned to her, telling her of her people and calming her rage. The human that was wolf lead her to others and began her life anew.
Ever inquisitive, though sometimes impatient with her learning, the she-wolf flourished in her new cast. She sought more knowledge, finding out more about her homid cousins and their fascinating yet dangerous world. She was taught of the Umbra and its dangerous and mystical ways and schooled in the ancient pacts that the Garou had made with the spirits, the Rites of their people. Eventually, the Elders decreed that her time of learning was over. Proudly she journeyed through her Rite of Passage, speaking with the spirits and finding new understandings through her mystical death; bringing back her tale to be told by those of the silvered tongues.
Her tale was not yet done though, and when story reached their Caern of lost brothers and sisters, fighting an endless horde, it itched inside until she relented, joining with those that crossed to fight with the Wyrm and its ilk, to stand beside the newly re-made White Howlers. Bravely and wisely she fought, slaying Wrym beasts and holding the line at what became the Last Stand Caern. It was at this battle that she earned her first name, Fangs-of-Sight, for a vision that lead her to show her gleaming fangs and hold back a powerful beast until more warriors came.
It was after which, the fierce White Howlers called to her, and so she stayed with the re-birthed Tribe, seeking to work with their old and almost lost kin. Eventually she over came her second rite of passage, earning herself her new name and a place among White-Silver’s chosen pack and journey with them. Learning more and gaining renown it was through her wise decisions that she earned a new rank, that of the Fostern. It was with the death of a pack-mate that split their pack, sending the strong and noble Alpha into Harano. Now they wander together, searching to complete their set duties and find themselves once again…
Death’s-Touch stands at 9’1” in her Crinos form and her shockingly dark red fur allows her lupus form to blend easily in the night. Light green eyes are even more curious in her homid form which is bedecked in basic jeans, tank top and running shoes, gifted and dedicated to her by her homid cousins. .
A blood red form skulked along the forest line, hugging the earth as she scoured the ground. Her eyes were weak but her nose was keen and made up well for her ocular shortcomings. Pausing she raised her snout and apple green eyes narrowed; something was seemed off to her young mind. It was eerily silent when there should have been choruses of life. Growling lowly in her throat she stood her ground as a strange mal-formed creature stumbled onto her path. Its head twisted about until it was peering at her completely upside down.
Taking a step back she growled again, warning the queer beast. It shimmered and then offered her a deformed grin before fading away, seeming to flow into the near by pond. Impatient and bored with her lack of proper hunting grounds she trotted over to where the thing had slipped away. Staring down into the reflective waters she gazed, looking up only when the water seemed to welcome her. The world around her had changed, she could scent new things, different things and though her sight was terribly diminished she could still make out the differences. The thing that had crossed her path earlier snarled, its voice crackling and as grotesque as its form. It would not be disturbed from its tinkering and malicious intents.
Lunging at her, the she-wolf managed to scramble out of the way, glaring and snarling back. How dare the creature attack her on her own territory? Something inside bubbled up, a rage that had always simmered quietly boiled over, erupting and shaping her into something new, something better. Red filled her vision and she slapped her paw, new yet sharp and deadly claws extended and tore into the beast. The colour blurred her vision and she was lost in the frenzy that sang through her veins. Soon enough the red faded away, leaving her to look about, confused. The creature was gone, but things were strange and exciting and new, her form was still that of the war-wolf, Crinos. Her ears swivelled when a clapping sound came from behind. A human, almost half as small as her new form stood, smiling at her before surging up and then down into a tiny mirror of her old self. The new wolf crooned to her, telling her of her people and calming her rage. The human that was wolf lead her to others and began her life anew.
Ever inquisitive, though sometimes impatient with her learning, the she-wolf flourished in her new cast. She sought more knowledge, finding out more about her homid cousins and their fascinating yet dangerous world. She was taught of the Umbra and its dangerous and mystical ways and schooled in the ancient pacts that the Garou had made with the spirits, the Rites of their people. Eventually, the Elders decreed that her time of learning was over. Proudly she journeyed through her Rite of Passage, speaking with the spirits and finding new understandings through her mystical death; bringing back her tale to be told by those of the silvered tongues.
Her tale was not yet done though, and when story reached their Caern of lost brothers and sisters, fighting an endless horde, it itched inside until she relented, joining with those that crossed to fight with the Wyrm and its ilk, to stand beside the newly re-made White Howlers. Bravely and wisely she fought, slaying Wrym beasts and holding the line at what became the Last Stand Caern. It was at this battle that she earned her first name, Fangs-of-Sight, for a vision that lead her to show her gleaming fangs and hold back a powerful beast until more warriors came.
It was after which, the fierce White Howlers called to her, and so she stayed with the re-birthed Tribe, seeking to work with their old and almost lost kin. Eventually she over came her second rite of passage, earning herself her new name and a place among White-Silver’s chosen pack and journey with them. Learning more and gaining renown it was through her wise decisions that she earned a new rank, that of the Fostern. It was with the death of a pack-mate that split their pack, sending the strong and noble Alpha into Harano. Now they wander together, searching to complete their set duties and find themselves once again…
Death’s-Touch stands at 9’1” in her Crinos form and her shockingly dark red fur allows her lupus form to blend easily in the night. Light green eyes are even more curious in her homid form which is bedecked in basic jeans, tank top and running shoes, gifted and dedicated to her by her homid cousins. .