[center][h1][u][i]Micheal Crane[/i][/u][/h1][/center]

[center][u]Six Years Ago
Somewhere in Ontario Canada[/u][/center]

[i]The lodge is huge about a kilometer wide by a kilometer and a half long. Just a little over a thousand shaman and shamaness were stuffed into the massive wood post, buckskin leather and pendleton blanket made structure. And it's more then enough for what they needed to do. In the center of the circular structure sat the 20 eldest currently serving shaman. And they lead the chanting of the Great Sundance ritual. In the third line out a younger Michael Crane, tomahawk on the ground in front of him, and handdrum in hand. He sang and beat his drum along with the others in the lodge. They could look up and see the moon through the open ceiling of the lodge above. They could just make out the silver of great ships far far away. So tiny are they though.

But their song and the ritual start. As a ball of the soul of all things, magic, begins to form above the lodge. And then like a beam of blue light. It rockets skyward, the beam projected up and up, producing a strengthening effect for several dozen ships high high above.

They would sing and dance and drum until the world shook, this plane and many others shocked as the moon, broke!

But soon, a young man comes running in from outside. The beast had died! It had fallen! The joint forces of the world had won!

The lodge is silent for a time as the gathered exchange looks.

It's Micheal who breaks the silence. He surges to his feet and lets out a war whoop of joy. Soon trills, other cries and more drum beats follows as they celebrate the victory.[/i]

[center][h3]The now[/h3][/center]

Michael comes awake from the nap on the plane to Germany with a snort. And a grumble, as Manabozho the trickster of the Iroquoian peoples eeps and jumps back having just about to have taken a sharpie to Micheal's face. Micheal makes a grab for the god. Who jumps back and then runs back to first class at a decent clip.

The Cree Shaman groans and stretches, "Darned gods." He sighs softly and rubs his face. Looking up and down the aisle of the middle class section of the plane he's on. Elves, dwarves, orcs, one really odd looking goblin party way down the way, dressed in bright tie-dye clothing. Humans all up and down too. And atleast six spirits chilling on the plane. Connected to this or that passenger. He hums and shakes himself, nodding to the side. The flight attendant nods back thinking the gesture is for her, but it's really for the young child spirit who's standing there looking at him expectantly, just wanting some attention.

There's a ding shortly after. And the PA system starts up, "Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, dieties and that techni-color sea in between. We will begin our approach to Frankfurt, Germany and the Flughafen Frankfurt am Main airport. Please observe all precautions. And be prepared to take your seats again. The attendants will be by shortly to gather garbage and any other items. Thank you for flying with us and welcome to Germany."

About 45 minutes later Micheal Crane, Canadian Indigenous Shaman and Reserve member of the OMR is retrieving his baggage. As he's grabbing a duffle bag suddenly he feels three entities approaching.

The people around him part as he pulls the tomahawk from his bag. The runes on it flaring into bright blue white flame. And a rune for lightning, is carved into the air in front of him. But soon the rune flickers and gutters away as Raven, the East Coast God of mischief, Whiskeyjack or Wisakechak from his own Cree Nations and Manabozho of the Anishinaabe, Ojibwe and Algonquian peoples are gathered about him. As one the three gods are grinning ear to ear. Raven's mismatched black and grey feather get up on a thin boyish form. Whiskeyjack's late middle aged heavily creased face on the body of a teen, and the joyful face of Manabozho at odds with the body of a women that she wears. Micheal groans, "What the hell are you three doing here?" Whiskeyjack grinning, "Wanted to make sure our best friend is okay."

Michael groans, "Well come on. We got to get to OMR headquarters. See what these [i][u]moniyew[/u][/i] want of us." The three gods cheer and follow in Micheal's wake.

It takes them some time to get there but soon the quartet are marching into the OMR building, "Great..." Micheal says under his breath as the Three Gods suddenly race off. He looks about, "Now who do I talk too."