Thread: The biggest Oak Tree

As joe sits and whittles, he can hear the sound of jingling bells in the distance. After a few moments, he recognizes them as ankle bells. Gauging the direction of the bells, he looks around the tree to see the old indian, Windwalker coming up the path in full regalia, ready for war. The warpaint on his face glints as the sun kisses it between the tree branch shadows. He walks with a large, perhaps sized for a Crinos, tomahawk. He stops some twenty fet away, well aware that joe can hear the bells.

"It's time for you to learn the ways of your people, Joseph. Follow me."

He turns and heads back down the path for a few hundred yards, not waiting for Joe. Once he catches up, he is completely silent, even should Joe ask him anything. Once down into the ravine, Joe can spot an earthen dome thatched with branches. The smell of burning sweet grass from within emanates outward through a small hole in the top. Joe recognizes this place, as any Native American should...the Sweat.

"Down to your skivvies, son...its hot in there..."

Windwalker sets the axe at the entrance and removes the accoutrements, getting down to his loincloth and doeskin chaps. He crawls inside and waits.

As Joe watches windwalker approach, he gets up puts his things away and slides his backpack on. He then runs over to catch up to him and follows along behind like the younger brave follows his elder.

Once the smell of grass hits his noses, be begins to think of the times before when he had been in the sweat. Before windwalker says it, Joe is starting to undress. His back is covered in tribal markings, his back is a panting. A river through a green field. Just below his right shoulder is the sun, flying to the sun is a hawk. Below in the river is a great bear. A butterfly is floating just above the head of the bear. This chest has more of the same markings, he takes a deep breath and follows Windwalker in.

Windwalker see's the tribal tattoo's and thinks on them a moment, perhaps taking in the beauty they represent...or perhaps disdaining the marring of the sacred flesh, as he bears no markings, save for the scars of battle. Either way, he enters into the sweat, with Joe behind him.

Immediately, it bears its namesake as the sweat begins to pour down their bodies. Windwalker lights a pipe, puffing on it long and slow. The scent of sweet grasses and other tabacco is unmistakable as he passes the pipe to joe. He begins to beat on a small drum as the rhythm begins to take over.

Speaking in the old tongue of the natives who came before the white man, Joe begins to see the truth behind the pain and suffering of the true people of this land. Coupled with this, he see's what the Wendigo Tribe bears in regards to the Older, middle and little brothers. As the tears fall down the old mans eyes, they are not of weakness...even a warrior has regrets. He speaks of counting coupe upon his enemies and defending not only the indigenous peoples of the tribes, but of the kinfolk of their people. He speaks of rivers and trees...hawks and coyotes...the bitter cold of winter and the gnashing teeth of the Wendigo, come to claim its rewards. The seaons come and go as he speaks words of wisdom and Glory and the honor of his people.

"You will find your way, Joseph of the Winnebago...but never forget, you are WENDIGO. Never forget, your place is to protect the sacred lands of our people...and the sacred lands of the Garou. Never forget it is your strength and your power that will lend aide and defense."

Hours pass as the old warrior speaks to the cub, detailing everything in the oral tradition. When it is finally over, Joseph exits the sweat, his eyes dazed and dilated. Standing directly in front of him, a giant Bison grunts and seems to nod its head at him, before bucking him lightly in the chest. It lowers its head and takes a mouthful of sweetgrass and turns to head north on the Bawn...

As Windwalker begins to speak in the old tongue and the sweat takes effect, he sees his great grandfather sitting next to Windwalker. He nods and agrees with Windwalker has he speaks. Joe remembers the stories he told him as he was growing up.

As the Bison eats the grass, Joe looks to the area around him and then back to Windwalker.

"I understand, This is something that I was born to do. I know what I must do now, Will you train me to be what I know I should be?"

Windwalker exits with something of a proud smile on his face. "I will teach you, little brother. Have no worries on that. Do you know how to fight at all? Do you know your forms? Teach me about you, so that I may turn the wheel and teach you in return..."

Joe nods, "I can pretty good for this form, Homid form right?" I have never tried to change forms by choice. I have only done it in fear and rage. I am pretty good with weapons, like you axe and stuff as well. I guess the first thing to do is try to master changing forms?"

Looks to Windwalker, "Right that would be a good start."

Alright then...there is a seed within you...it shakes beneath the earth waiting to be let loose upon the ground, to strangle and choke anything else it encounters. You feed it with the rage inside you...not hatred...Rage...power...strength. Not Anger. Power. You start to feel the rage building...let it rise, but do not let go of the mane...like a pinto across the palins...master it...do not let it be your master."

Windwalker concentrates, shaking a little...then, looking down at his hands, you can see the control he exerts to keep it in check...claws begins to sprout, though his hands are still human....his face begins to contort as the brow ridge begins to pronounce itself. In moments, he has assumed the Glabro form...

As Windwalker changes, Joe takes a step forward to get a better look.

He is standing there, thinking about that night. The seering pain of the man's nails, how the blood in his veins was pumping rapidly. He saw what the man did to the other guy that he walked in. Joe's hands begin to shake, as large claws begin to grow. This chest muscles ripple and grow as his shakes his head, while the his facial freatures change. Once it is done, he looks at him shall and then to Windwalker.

The old native smiles and nods. "Youve got it...thats good...now, think of all the rage and power you can muster. Feel the Wendigo as it tears across the frozen wastes...feel the rage as it works to make your form a machine of earth and power...

His face crunches into a sneer as his neck flexes and his biceps bulge. He begins to growl until his entire form begins to change into the Killing machine of Gaian force.