[Lunatic Moon] "...
The Skies have been thick with Rain lately. You've all seen this. It's been months. Usually this sort of thing brings up some problems with the spirit haunts, here or there but we usually weather it- Heh, 'weather'...Anyway, I've been pulling word from a few of the city scopes and haunters and word keeps coming back to me that someone is trying something..."
Sees~the~Umbral~Sun had gathered a few quick ears and eyes come to pay the caern a Visit. At random or not, it was hard to really guess with a Theurge sometimes, even a Glasswalker. They made everything they did a cryptic sort of reasoning. Made moreso when they had the rank to offer. The rank to command as opposed to request.
"...
I bottled it down to someplace here in the city but whoever it is, caught wind and moved out of my range. City's my business, kids, the Woods ain't..." The Glasswalker leaned back against a metal shard within the Bawn, buffing trimmed nails on a plaid sweater, gaze finding each of them in turn.
"...
Which is where you come in. Find the idiot that's messing with the sky. He's been doing some stuff that could get some people hurt or worse yet? Call down some attention to the Caern and the Sept from spirits we don't want 'round here. Get me?"
* * * * *
Tekakwitha Wood. A broad expanse of thick forestry that spawned no small amount of comfortable camping spots, hiking trails and seclusion for the average City-goer looking for a little more natural in their lives. For the Garou? It could also be considered a small gaia-send, allowing them to roam freely into their Lupus forms and to run with the elements chasing their heels.
A comfort. A solace.
This night, so far outside of the city limits, where the Rain came down in a soft sheet, enough to dampen the hair and clothes over the course of a few minutes and drench the body through within an hour's time, brought with it the vague chill of an approaching winter. Out here in the dark, where the city lights fail to reach and Luna's glare is a vague thing against the cloudbanks that hide her...
...The wandering eyes come searching. Seeking. Hoping to find something.
[Going Down] Indira arrives in Tekakwitha Woods nearly quivering with excitement. The dark and the scent of the loam and the way the almost-bare branches snap in the autumn wind awakens something in her: she has never truly been out of the city before.
She makes the transformation to Hispo as soon as she arrives. It's a wiry, tough creature; fed too little to appear anything but dangerously feral and just enough to fill out the stringy muscles beneath fur that is mainly dark brown with patches of red and black. She waits for the others to arrive and gather, barely able to stand still.
[Bones to Dust] Perfect balance. She had never experienced this before. The feeling of complete harmony with herself and what-have-you. It was different. The Fury made her way throught he woods, but kept to her lupus form. There was a quiet joy in that, and at her core she wanted nothing more than to run as fast as she could just to see how long it took before she got tired. Marrick had come with her Brother. He said that he would not leave her side.
He kept his word.
she took her time to survey the area, to breathe in relatively fresh air. Her tail twitched, she was thinking. Foir now, she gave no indication, verbal or otherwise, as to what the subject matter was.
[Muerte Fria] Soledad had been spending a fair number of her nights at the Caern these days, what with no proper roof to put over her head. The weather was chilly and wet, and it got worse at night, but so long as she wore her fur she was okay. She'd press her flank up against a dockhouse wall like some chained guard dog, curl up tight and keep warm on fur and shelter from the wind alone. This couldn't last for long, though, already she sensed a strain on her body when she switched forms, noticed that not all was well, that things felt out of sorts. It didn't hurt yet. Didn't cause her to panic. But she knew that this couldn't be kept up for much longer.
She had been at the Caern still, gathering Gnosis when she overheard the Theurge Glasswalker and moved closer to listen. She and a group of others, some she recognized others she did not. They were, together, given a job. Go out to the woods, see what the fuck's up, and take care of business. Can and will do.
So they arrive, a pair of packmates and a trio of lone wolves all lumped together as one. They traveled Umbrally in various forms, whatever they were most comfortable in. Soledad maintained her Lupus body, one she was growing more and more comfortable in the less and less often she found it necessary to go out into the physical streets of Chicago. She appeared as a long-legged creature, fur predominantly black but tinged red, stained permanently so about her paws and mouth. The winter coat was coming in nicely, long and thick, almost silky looking. She certainly appeared more groomed in Lupus than she did in Homid, which was curious and backward from the standard. Her belly was swollen, more apparently in this smaller, leaner body, but she seemed to pay this no mind.
A warrior doesn't rest.
[Curata the Grim Heart] Eyes, the color of summer skies, never change as they flow from one form to another – human to wolf. They rake over the small gathering of Garou that tag together. Three of them are packless, two are not, representing Black Unicorn. At one time, the Fianna full moon was one of the three original wolves that flew under Bear’s banner – with Hatchet’s absence. Things have changed.
Muerta Fria has seen to that. It could be said; she was an involuntary reason to why Curata the Grim Heart left, after her orchestration of certain events some months back.
Now he only watches the Uktena with mild interest, her belly swollen with pup. This draws his concerns as he stands in the umbral reflections of the woods with everyone else.
[Brother of the Lost] Boy was indeed by her side. He'd kept stride with her on the long run through the Umbra, no longer playing the game of see-me-now, see-me-not. They'd been given a task by a sept official. Boy didn't flit through the woods or disappear only to have climbed a tree for the same reason that Marrick refrained from launching herself out as quick and hard as she could. They were working. The time for play would come later. At least, as long as he had a say in it.
In his lupus form, he eyed Going-Down somewhat cautiously. She was a war-moon, he reminded himself. And while not exactly younger, she was the least experienced of any of them. This was another one he would stick close to.
Boy prowls up to and sits in front of Curata as they all converge, pawing at the air as he speaks in the high-tongue.
"Grim-Heart-Rhya. I assume you will take command. What would you have us do?"
[Lunatic Moon] ...The Umbra:
Those of the Spirit world had different names for places. Different ideas and thoughts on things. The Woods outside the Scab were a strange thing to consider to those spirits that called the Scab of Chicago, home. To them, the Woods were a foreign landscape, harsh and dangerous, where natural spirits tore savagery from their maws and spat it out on tree stumps and trails. The Woods were a Threatening realm against all city dwellers, stretching long shadows where no artificial light could diffuse them.
Here, the Woods were not a friendly place, forced to sustain so close to the realms of the Weaver. Here, the Wyld had grown hostile and bold, a constant shriek of night birds and animals, clustered among the branches of the canopy, little more then outlines and silhouettes against the darker backdrop of it's thick leaves and limbs, thinning though it may be for the winter to come.
The Cold was a real thing here. Beneath the wooded dark, the chill is a thief, stealing the warmth from breath, turning it a misted froth before killing it half a foot from exiting the mouth. It sank into the bones and made a nest, needling at fur and prickling at the exposed and protected flaps of padded feet.
Here, yellow and red eyes were the only illumination, as the clouds overhead continued to further obscure Luna's Half-lit face. Critters, creatures and the Wyld-touched regard the intrusion of Gaia bodies, subtle whispers joining the distant cries of Night Haunters.
...Here, in the Woods, the Spirits knew not Tekakwitha.
...They knew only "The Graying Green".
* * * * *
The Shadows beneath the canopy play tricks with distance and dimension, forcing one to watch each step they take, least a careless thought send them sprawling forward over a hidden root, much to the amused titter of the gafflings that haunt the above and the shrubbery around them.
Rain continues to make it's way through the limbs and the canopy above, piling up before delivering broad and thick drops onto the heads and shoulders of the gathered, already soaked through with the trek out here.
....And then suddenly, from out of the sky, something builds quickly, ripples and-
CRACK-BOOM!A peel of thunder slaps each across the cheek with it's concussive force, fading into the distance behind with a similar alacrity. This in turn is followed by an emblazoned flash of lightning that illuminates the under-canopy for a moment, dark shapes flashing into view, scattering along trees and forest ground before the light is gone and everything is dark once more.
[Curata the Grim Heart] Curata bears the weight of leadership tonight, his eyes passing over one more time to access what he has to work with, before Boy prowls up to him and sits in front of him, asking for orders. One ear flicks back on his lupine head, eying the Uktena.
”We ‘ave no theurge present, four full moons and ye’self. Tell me, Brother of the Lost, do ye or Muerta Fria speak wi’ spirits as yer tribe is renowned for?” Thunder peels across the sky in such a concussive force it sizzles in the air, sending an electric current against his spine that causes his ears to pin back and his hackles to rise. Curata lifts his muzzle to the sky and growls at it.
[Brother of the Lost] [Rolling for form Change (Forced Transformation) Sta+P.U.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 7, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Muerte Fria] They had come to a pause, Boy circling away from Marrick's side so that he could be beside the solitary Fostern instead. By mercy of rank, he ought to be leading this rabble, that much was true and understandable. Soledad slowed herself, glancing back toward the two males with molten gold-yellow eyes, surveying them for a moment before twitching her ears and dropping her nose to sniff at the floor, a knot of shadow-slick trees, and up the trunk.
Curata questioned whether she or Boy spoke with the spirits. The she-wolf huffed and swung her head back to the Fianna, chuffing out a response.
I do.Thunder clapped hard enough that she felt the air suck upward, felt the still that tugged energy from her body, then the reverberating resonance of the thunder that dropped weight into her bones and had her fur standing up, charged with tension and electricity both. She glanced up to the sky, eyes darting this way and that, following the darting silhouettes in the skeletal branches of the trees above. Her snout wrinkled, she snorted, and looked back to the others.
[Brother of the Lost]
"I D--"He doesn't get to finish his answer, however short it is. There's a clap of thunder close enough to feel as if it were striking him. The wolf rears up on its hind paws...
...and a great hulking man falls flat on his ass the next. This was the form that the man-born used for intimidation and strength short of deadly. But with him scampering backwards like that, it all seems an empty threat.
Brother of the lust huffs a loud, and ragged, breath, eyes looking up at the the sky beyond the canopy of branches.
[Going Down] Indira sits down, ears attentive as Boy asks Curata for orders. Two of these wolves she hasn't met before; new both to Chicago and to the Garou nation, the Ahroun at least has just enough wisdom to remain silent and bow to experience.
Particularly since she has never confronted a spirit before.
While Curata asks the Uktena whether or not they can communicate with the spirits, Indira takes the time to nudge a nearby rock closer with a paw, running the claws along the rough surface. Excess bits of nail are sloughed away, leaving them black and sharp, perfect crescents.
[Bones to Dust] This was a matter of reconnaissance. The Fury took a second to keep her mouth shut, and took a second to sniff the air. This wasn't the city, and for this she was grateful. It was an area that was rife with spirits of the Wyld. With woods and chill and red and yellow eyes.
She listens.
Thunder cracks and her fur bristles automatically. This is a matter of reconnaissance, and for now she takes her time to listen to the fostern. She felt the shake of sound and electricity bristle through. Her attention does not waver just yet. Eventually, the Fury looks at Indira; she seems pleased to say the least.
Guess she was going to get to work on something with her sooner than she had thought.
[Lunatic Moon] ...The
things in the trees chatter in amusement, flitting and leaping from branch to branch, a small rain of dead and dying leaves scattering about the collected shoulders and feet of the gathered Garou. They haunt the peripheral with a comforted ease, not an inch of timidity or even fear spread through their surroundings. Bold and confident...
Amused and mean.
The Graying Green is watching as the Wolves discuss.
[Curata the Grim Heart] “Good to know, Mue—“ Curata began to speak, his words cut off sharply as Boy’s sudden transformation into his near-man form from the crackle of thunder scares the Uktena. His eyes narrow slightly at this.
“We’re looking for a male Garou, tribe and auspice unknown…” the leaves in the trees start to shower the Garou, falling around them like leafy snowflakes. Curata watches one waft in the air, his head lowering with its movements until becomes parallel with his nose. His jaws snap open, clasping down in a sudden crunch to pull the leaf out of the air. He turns his head and spits it out, returning his eyes to the things in the trees.
“Muerta Fria will ye communicate for us wi’ them.” Hot air chuffing out as he jerks his head up at the things, circling one of the trees to watch them, his head dropping down to sniff at it every now and then.
[Brother of the Lost] Boy, flustered, fights his way to his feet, brushing off the seat of his pants. He glances to Marrick momentarily, but to no one else. Eyes fix on the forest floor as he lowers himself down onto one knee and continues to listen.
He doesn't bother changing his form again.
[Bones to Dust] She looks at what is watching them while the rest of the party discusses matters. Curata gives orders, that Muerte Fria will speak with them, and she does not waver. Instead, she looks at the Forest. A many one. She might not have been a bright creature, but she was an educated one. What did not come naturally, she strove to learn.
If you aren't good at something, like a sport or a skill, you practice it and try until you get better.
The Wyld ain't yer friend... s'just a force that does what it will. Reacts an' acts. Don' give it 'nough room to wiggle too much or you'll regret it, she informs them
[Muerte Fria] The Uktena Ahroun peered over at Boy when he snapped away from a similar form that the majority of the group shared to something bulky, hairy but furless, two-legged and relatively useless for the battlefield unless you were wielding a weapon. She studied him carefully for a few moments, not unlike how Curata did, but her eyes did not narrow. There was no judgment, no true conclusion or classification. Simple observation, gathering and logging of information, then she shifts her gaze over to Curata when he states her job.
Communications.
The go-between.
Perfectly ironic, all things considered. The impregnated she-wolf tipped her nose back up the tree, flashed her yellow-gold eyes from glowing pair to glowing pair of eyes above, in yellows and reds and, occasionally, she could swear a blue or a white. Her tongue swept up over her snout, moistening a rough black nose, and when she called out next her voice was not lupine, but rather something that felt almost disembodied. Theurges and the occasional Galliard learned this language and turned it to music. Something that touched hearts and wove its way through bones. When Muerte Fria called out in it, the sound was odd and uncomfortable, almost scary. It chilled one to hear.
"Spirits! We seek another like us-- Garou, who has invaded here recently. Please, we seek to bring peace to your Graying Green once more." [Muerte Fria] [Charisma, here's hoping]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 4, 4 (Success x 1 at target 8) [WP]
[Going Down] Indira is not as tactful as Muerte Fria when it comes to overlooking Boy's transformation. She doesn't say anything, but the Bone Gnawer stares at him with bemused eyes, twitching her muzzle; it's clear that behind them the gears are turning at their own slow, inexorable pace.
The Hispo wolf looks then toward the chattering creatures that Muerte Fria is addressing, hulking there with her newly sharpened claws reflexively digging into the soil and then releasing. Watching Muerte Fria for her reaction to see what is being said, and Curata for further orders.
[Lunatic Moon] ...Muerte Fria's body and voice shift into the cadence of the Spirit World, flushing the trees above and the undergrowth around them with the sound of her Tribal Heritage and a plea for something...
...And the response is immediate. Another peel of thunder, distant and hardly the strength one could compare to the last, ripples into place, bringing with it another flash of Lightning that illuminates the under-canopy...
...And the Sudden presence of Dozens of small black shapes, indistinct but for their outlines, all pointed and staring from tree branch, fallen log, shrub, trunk and grassy patch. Staring at the Five whilst the forest becomes a low and steady murmur of chittering sounds, ambling in from every direction.
[Muerte Fria] The spirits overhead chattered, made a ruckus in response to Soledad's words that were impossible for most to make out, difficult even for the two Uktena. Her head switched this way and that, to Indira, to Curata, over shoulders and above heads, leaning to peer around Marrick as well at one point. Her eyes danced this way and that, ears twitched and swiveled to follow the sounds. When they quieted, she huffed, dipped her head and dropped her eyes, then turned to focus on the Garou that watched and waited expectantly.
They seek tribute, she communicated in the language of wolves formed in deep guttural noises and body language.
Payment for imformation. [Bones to Dust]
"Eyes an' ears of the forest," she tells them,
"what else did they say?"A pause, a twitch of her tail, and she speaks up again.
"Can we give them half now and half later? Insurance that the information is good an' we ain't gettin' played?" [Muerte Fria] Soledad's response is immediate, her sharp gaze snapping to Bones to Dust, someone she considers herself friendly with, on most levels at least.
No. To suggest would offend them, we would get nothing, except perhaps a trap. [Curata the Grim Heart] Give him a battleground, or forge and hammer, and Curata is in his element. He knows about war, knows how to fashion weapons to fight it, but this… he struggles at, like a swallow pretending it were a fish and trying to swim.
The lightning flashes, revealing the shapes in the trees he prowls around in continuous circles. Marrick warns them of the Wyld, her voice rumbling in the language of wolves as she and Soledad speak.
They wanted payment for information. “Wha’ type of payment?”
[Brother of the Lost] Boy tried not to turn. He tried not to look to every corner and hidden voice in the speaking forest. Still, his eyes drifted about them as Muerte Fria spoke. He smirks slightly at Marrick's suggestion.
"Bones is right." he speaks, not in the high tongue, but in the language of men. Any tribute we give them makes them stronger if they wannna turn on us. What if we offered them service. Cleaning and guarding the physical forest."
[Lunatic Moon] ...And the murmurs grow. An urgency. An immediacy. Leaves begin to patter from the canopy above them. Falling almost regularly now as tiny bodies shift on branches and limbs overhead.
[Muerte Fria] Leaves fell, the murmers started up again, grew in volume, and Soledad snapped her teeth and shook her head, sharing impatience, or perhaps simply translating it for the spirits above. Her gaze flickered upward, then back to the group. A sweep across them-- Marrick, Indira, Boy, and then finally Curata. The leader, for now.
We agree, services then? [Muerte Fria]
Some spiritual energy as well, I suggest. Feed their appetites. [Going Down] Indira, too, is lost in this sort of situation. Before her Change, she would have accompanied her brother on his many errands, stood there with weapon in hand or patrolled. Now her role is much the same - or would be, theoretically. The Ahroun is beginning to have an inkling that simply acting as a battering ram may not get her quite as far with the Garou.
Yeah, offerin' services sounds smart. [Curata the Grim Heart] "Agreed, services rendered for information."
[Muerte Fria] The she-wolf huffed, then shifted her attention upward. She called out in that eerie, heart-chilling tone that was soley hers, a separate voice for the one body. An embodiment of her deedname.
"We will give you our promise of servitude. We will protect your realm, your Graying Green where you cannot-- in the physical landscape, keeping it sacred and separate from the ever-scrawling Scab. This will remain yours for as long as we march the lands. This is what we have, this is all we can give. We give our words, each of us, to you.
Now, where is this Garou? [Lunatic Moon] ...And the sky suddenly peels with another crackle of thunder, still no where near as strong as the First. Cloudbanks gather above their heads and with a final fading glimmer, Luna is utterly obscured before the overcast that has gone from a rich thunderhead gray to an all consuming black.
...And still the murmurs of the Graying Green flood around the gathered Garou, yellow and red eyes watchful of the situation, unabashed and brazen in their regard of the Five Garou in their realm.
[Bones to Dust] Int+Occult, diff 7
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 6, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 7)
[Muerte Fria] [Intelligence + Occult]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 7)
[Brother of the Lost] Boy's nose wrinkles, not in disgust but in an odd man-snarl of annoyance and, yes, perhaps some fear.
"We better just...give them what they want."
He bristled, rolling his shoulders a little. That'll teach them to go charge off into the umbra without a theurge.
[perc+Rituals, diff 8]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Curata the Grim Heart] Perception + Rituals
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8) [WP]
[Lunatic Moon] Someone is doing something to the Sky. A casting or diving. The scourge and cut of the atmosphere is demanding of Garou Magics. Garou incantations.
Garou Rituals.
A theurge might well be able to specify more but...
...It is happening. Now.
to Brother of the Lost, Curata the Grim Heart
[Curata the Grim Heart] “The storm is o’er us, can’t see where it comes from. Must go up to get a better advantage point,” he tells them, “Someone’s doing something to the sky, casting or diving, not sure, ritual o sorts.”
He begins to shift out of his wolf form, shaking out his fur as he goes back into homid, his eyes on the trees, watching the spirits in it. Curata starts to climb.
[Muerte Fria]
I agree, concurred the she-wolf after a long period of silence in which she stared upward at the trees. Slowly, steadily, she eased herself into a sit, front paws squared away in front of her, weight rocked off to one side and back legs set a little odd to make more comfortable the mass of her stomach. Ears twitched, nostrils did as well, and she dipped her head once, and glanced to Marrick. She observed the Black Fury for a few moments before turning to look back to the rest.
Her sides pushed out and fell in something of a sigh, impatience and exasperation manifesting in the tense lines of her body, and she pressed the group further.
Servitude will not do. Give them some of your spiritual energy, a tribute from all of us. This storm is not their doing, they fear it, wish to keep themselves safe.Curata began to climb, and the Uktena watched him for a second before snapping her teeth impatiently at the air.
Unnecessary. You will only disturb them. They will lead if we sate them. [Bones to Dust] It forced them into hiding, it seemed. An action- the unnatural thunder storms, the reaction- keeping to a place that they thought safe. They were scared, this was just a reaction. She regarded Muerte Fria, and her glance seemed knowing.
The Fury's tail twitched, and she took a step towards one of the trees. She adjusted her weight, and her approach was not poredatory but reverent.
"Action, reaction," she says,
"when we get what we have, we'll stop the storm... we need t'stick together when we get moving."[-1 gnosis- here pretty spirits!]
[Going Down] Curata begins to climb, and Indira looks from Boy and Soledad back to the chittering creatures in the trees. Then Muerte Fria suggests that they present the spirits with spiritual energy, and Indira is at first unsure of how to provide it.
She, too, makes a step toward them after Marrick does, offering hers up with the rest.
[Curata the Grim Heart] Curata didn’t get very far to climb when Soledad spoke up. He raises an eyebrow, watching the spirits briefly to see that he would disturb them with his presence. Cautiously, the Fianna drops from the tree, catching himself in a half-stance and then steps back.
He offers gnosis to quell the spirits.
[Lunatic Moon] The Sky blackens.
The World seems to shimmer and narrow in focus and view.
And the Forest seems to quiver on fear unrestrained now.
The voices have grow to a fever of hysterics, bodies and tiny shapes flitting and lashing outward across tree branches. They move with the speed of the desperate. The swiftness of the cunning.
...And suddenly, shadows and shapes leap from dozens of places as the Garou step forward in agreement...
...Movements pass through the Garou. Each in turn, quick and jolting muscles and limbs, spasms of uncontrolled loss rippling through bodies and minds as the Spirit energy is drained away with quick snaps and supping nips. It is a brutal thing but a quick one as well, desperation turning the Maw of the Forest into a gobbling thing, crumbs left behind on the plate.
(-3 Gnosis to each individual. If you don't have that much Gnosis, then lose it all.)
...And with the same sort of abruptness, the shadows and silhouettes suddenly bank, dart and duck from sight, the Forest emptying of their presence within mere moments, even as another crackle of thunder snaps over their heads, following by a chilling spark of lightning that illuminates nothing of the spiritual presence in tree branches and limbs.
...Nothing, save for the tiny creature with the bushy tail, some twenty yards ahead of them, on a trail clear of trees and general debris that wasn't visible before without the Lightning there. As the Flash diminishes and fades, the critter's eyes, red as rubies, are the only thing left, a bouncing, hopping thing that regards the Five...
...Before they suddenly begin to recede into the distance at an Alarming Rate. Visible and running...
[Bones to Dust] The Fury looks dazed for a second. Whatever equilibrium she had attained over the next few days was gone now. Connection and strength sapped away, leaving a familiar sort of feeling of disconnectedness. Her gnosis was drained by a good half, and she was back where she had been several weeks prior.
Odd, because several weeks prior, it would not leave her in such a hollow state.
Her head snapped to the side, and there was something disappearing into the distance at an alarming rate.
"Come on!" is the only indication the wolf gives with a flick of her tail and half a growl before she bolts after the bushy-tailed guide.
[Muerte Fria] A snarl ripped from the Uktena's maw when the buffeting began. She pushed herself up onto all fours, twisted in reflexive physical protest as though trying to chase the barely-seen spirits that latched themselves to her for milliseconds at a time, just long enough to grab a hand or mouthful of her spiritual essence and drag it away, almost forcefully. It was like holding out your hand with berries in your palm only to have everything up to your elbow gnawed away and left bleeding and exposed.
Twist, turn, snarl, snap. Then, suddenly it was over and only a small ball of fur with a bushy tail and glittering red eyes was left. The Uktena rolled her shoulder blades menacingly, turned to glare down at the creature, head lowering as though she were about to pounce, perhaps, take out her Rage and insult on it. She had offered an inch, they had taken a goddamn mile and a half.
To think I vouched for you.But then they were off. This was their lead, and if they didn't follow then that sacrifice was for nothing. Bones to Dust shouted, and the she-wolf pushed her body into something larger, more muscular, more deadly. Hispo. Feet the size of dinner dishes pounded the earth as she gave chase.
[Curata the Grim Heart] Rage churns like a furnace inside of the Fianna, rising and boiling through muscles and bone, singing in his blood as he calls on it to literally snap his form into blur of shape-shifting that has him going from homid to lupus in mere seconds.
The sky blackened.
The world seemed to shimmer and the Forest ate its fill of the Gaoru’s spiritual essence.
A snort and a chuff of breathe hisses on the air from flaring nostrils. Blue eyes honed in quickly on the little creature of red eyes and bushy tail, bursting into run the moment it takes flight.
“Let’s go!” howled to the wind as he breaks into a run, an unnatural fleetness hidden in his powerful, muscular frame.
[Going Down] The spirits move through the Garou like a razor wind, and when they're finished, what little spiritual energy Indira had to give has bled away. The manner of its taking prompts a bray from the Bone Gnawer, part pain and part confusion, as she shakes her head for a few seconds and snaps at the air.
It leaves her feeling hollow. Well, almost. There's still barely chained rage urging her on after the creatures.
She doesn't need to be told again. Marrick bolts after the bushy tailed creature and Indira is quick at her heels, stringy muscles bunching and springing as she lunges ahead.
[Brother of the Lost] Boy braced himself against the sudden assault as the spirits around them took what they needed and, apparently, left.
But as safety lowers his arms from protecting his face, he sees the trail of glowing red eyes in the distance. And he sees it fade. When Marrick, then Soledad, and then Curata charge forth, Boy does the same, taking a few steps on two legs while his muscles and bones cracked and bulged. In the next instant he was running on four legs. Large. Once again matching the rest of the garou, and moving as a unit.
[Lunatic Moon] ...The Forest rushes by them, trees and limbs seeming to thin almost consciously as the Garou race through and across the forest floor, suddenly devoid of it's earlier trickery and trip falls. As they move, the space to their right seems to grow more open, revealing the distance and the slight dip in the landscape. Reveals the Horizon:
The Storm has grow, powerful and fierce and with it, the wind whips and snaps at the canopy of the Woods, sending a great swathe of fallen leaves into the air, a tendril of woe that seems to reach out in brightly coloured desperation for something to grasp onto.
...At the same time, the cloudbanks overhead seem to take on definition. Clarity, as the lightning forks and splits around a thick knot of blackened surface, thunder looming over the forestry with the proud bellow made by some giant. A Titan. A Creature of myth.
The whip trail of leaves in the sky suddenly gathers and compacts, then explodes outward, scattering, terrified, into the forestry below which bends and attempts to shift out of the sudden presence pulling itself apart from the Thunderhead above them. The Rain has begun to fall in thicker sheets now, drenching fur and turning the forest floor in a slick path of fast growing muck and mud. The Garou find themselves sliding and slipping every so often...
...But the Red eyes remain true, never fully leaving their sight, despite the obvious obstacles that mar their path, until finally...
...The Critter stalls, hard on the outskirts of a thicket of undergrowth. It scrambles up and around several tree limbs, well out of reach of the Garou below, and stares down at them, chattering loudly to be heard over the whorling winds and rain sheets.
[Lunatic Moon] ....And Then the eyes and the silhouette vanish a moment later, to leave the Garou within beside the Thicket, the Howling gale overhead and the sembling shape haunting the skies above.
[Bones to Dust] Per+occult, diff 8
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8) [WP]
[Curata the Grim Heart] Wits + Engimas
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Brother of the Lost] [Wits+Enigmas, diff 8]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 8)
[Muerte Fria] [Perception + Occult]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 8)
[Going Down] [Int + Primal Urge]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 7)
[Lunatic Moon] ...Someone is in that storm. Someone that rings bells in the memory of the Fianna, seen long and much in his years with Maelstrom. The sensation is a familiar one and almost instantly noticeable from he moment Curata can see the realm from which He emerges.
The Power is there.
The Dominance of the skies and all beneath him.
The Sheer level of Demand his presence beckons.
Grandfather Thunder himself come calling.
to Curata the Grim Heart
[Brother of the Lost] [Curiosity: WP Diff 8]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Bones to Dust]
"We cross this line, we are taking a step into somewhere sacred."A place of faith. Worship.
Warning. She looked at it again, and her muscles tensed and her tail stayed low. She looked back at those who were with her, and the Fury did what she probably should not have done.
"I'll take point, Boy? Take the rear. Muerte Fria, you're in the middle, and Indira an' Durata-rhya? You both take the sides."She looked at in and inhaled. It can't be natural. It bent and wavered against the wind, but it took the punishment of the oncoming storms.
"Maybe there's a way around this.." [Going Down] Mud splashes up around her feet, and once or twice she slides forward, soil mounding up in front of her paws and between her toes. In the rain Indira appears monstrous even apart from her Hispo form, some vicious mockery of a wild dog. Her legs and belly are splattered and her drenched fur clings to hide that has been stretched just a little too thin over the framework of her bones.
Indira's paws pound on ahead, spurred on by the Rage and primal nature that seems to have found a sort of fierce harmony with the wood. Mouth hanging halfway open, her head jerks up toward the sky as she runs, breathing in deeply and releasing a long howl.
Marrick's voice comes from somewhere that feels far away and Indira digs her claws in, slowing down next to the Fury and moving to one of the sides as instructed.
We can't go into it? [Muerte Fria] Soledad's paws dug into dirt when the red eyes bounding ahead came to an abrupt stop, spitting fallen leaves and churned earth out from under them while she stomped the brakes and came to a stop at the edge of the thicket. Nostrils quavered, ears stood upright, tall and large, a little more pointed than rounded. Though her Gnosis had been sucked dry, she could still pick up on the sensation of barrier at the line of bushes in front of them. Marrick voiced her concerns, and she glanced toward Marrick.
Eyes flashed and her muzzle wrinkled.
Middle?But she understood the reasoning, even though she didn't want to discuss it or bring it to the forefront of conversation. She just huffed, twisted her ears to show reluctant compliance, and looked to Going Down, the unfamiliar face.
We can, but it will be dangerous. Be braced, be ready. On the mark.And, almost grudgingly, she moved into position.
[Curata the Grim Heart] Marrick is giving orders. It is her position as Ahroun Elder and War-leader that doesn’t have the Fianna immediately snapping his jaws at the cliath. His attention drawn to her immediately and then outward towards the storms, his body becomes bulkier, muscular and larger in its hispo shape, bigger than Soledad in her own four-legged war form.
“That is Grandfather Thunder playing in those clouds.” [Brother of the Lost] This was his full moon. The one he deferred to in these situations. And the Ahroun elder, among four other ahrouns. But there was one here of higher rank. One who he himself had already deferred to. He thought to bark at her, to snap and growl in correction. But Brother of the Lost realized that he was the odd one out here.
He huffed and growled softly, but he fell to the rear of them, keeping his eyes on the lookout for trouble.
[Bones to Dust] She looked at her resources, and found herself realizing that she was with several other full moons and a philodox who was no slouch. She had stepped up; the Fury took a second to think... and found that thinking was not her strongsuit.
"Let's check the perimeter, try to keep out of sight. Any indication that we've been found out? And we just try to break through. Though, something tells me that breaking through would be hard as Hell... and not what it seems." [Curata the Grim Heart] Wits + Survival to seek a safe pathway
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 5 (Failure at target 7) [WP]
[Brother of the Lost] [Wits+Survival, Diff 7]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 4, 6, 10 (Failure at target 7)
[Bones to Dust] [wits+survival, diff 7]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 5, 5 (Failure at target 7) [WP]
[Going Down] [Wits + Survival]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 6, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 7)
[Muerte Fria] [Wits + Survival]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 7)
[Lunatic Moon] ...The garou agree to move off and search the various sides of the Thicket, noses and eyes seeking out the walls inconsistencies and flaws, yet Curata, Marrick and Boy find no such luck in the measure. The Trio are scrounging for some time before each notices either Soledad or Indira standing by a cleared section of leaves and twigs, peering at something on the other side.
[Going Down] Indira's muscles tense and bunch with excitement as she catches sight of something through the thicket. Her ears flick back for a moment, lie flat as she takes in the scene through the leaves and twigs, and then she turns to look back at the other three who are still searching.
Somebody back there. Black Crinos and a lotta trophies, looks like he's doin' some sorta ritual or something. [Muerte Fria] Soledad and Indira seemed to be on the same wavelength as far as finding proper openings in the barrier goes. They glimpsed holes the others seemed to look over, and simultaneously came to a stop at one in particular that gave them a view of something rather... peculiar. Not quite what she was expecting, to say for sure. The others moved by, and Going Down called quietly to the others when they started to pull away from formation.
Soledad snapped her teeth to stop the three from going any further, to call them back, jerking her massive head in a gesture for them to return. She nudged her nose forward. Her posture was rigid, thick red-tinged hackles standing on end, muscles tense and coiled, ready to spring. Everything about her insisted urgency.
He summons. We must move fast. [Curata the Grim Heart] Curata seems blind as he searches for a trail. Irritation causes his ears to pin back and his tongue to lick across the left side of his muzzle, snarling a bit. His tail kept low to press into the inner thigh of a hind leg. He slides up next to the pregnant Uktena and the Gnawer, squinting as he tries to get a better look at the Garou summoning.
[Curata the Grim Heart] perception + brawl
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 5, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
to Lunatic Moon
[Lunatic Moon] The Five push around the barrier in various directions and chunks, the yards stretching along as noses and eyes seek out openings in the Warding line. Yet this isn't some barricade meant to keep people out, that much was becoming obvious. It was simply a means of Warning. A signpost not unlike a barb wire fence.
The holes in the thicket were obvious to their eyes, chunks and sections exposing themselves to Indira and Soledad, where they could get a good view of what lies beyond:
The Black furred Crinos is huddled amid a broad swathe of things. Trophies of Wyrmlings, creatures torn apart and ravaged by claws and fangs. A half dozen skulls, a dozen more limbs. Teeth, skins and hides. They're all there, laid out in the grass, forming a semi-circle, surrounded by the odd presence of a collection of sticks, jammed into the ground, tied at their tips by the buffetting presence of white string, flimsy and frail and yet clinging to the assortment of twigs for dear and powerful life.
His frame is black furred and yet the scars of those conquests are obvious. Telling. They litter his body, a tapestry of war, cutting him to ribbons and stitching him back together again as he bows in place before the Forked lightning and gathering cloudbanks above his head, slowly and steadily descending.
Of the Scars around his neck, one stands out to the Ahroun's trained eyes, depicting those not found in war, like the others that criss-cross his frame, but the markings that line his neck, 'round like some collar or other. Glyphs...
Of those listed only a few make themselves easily described to the Fianna:
Failure. Philodox. Path-The rest is obscured by distance and the Crinos' movements.
to Curata the Grim Heart
[Bones to Dust] Doing some sort of ritual...
The sky was going insane. She looked between those whow ere gathered and her tail stayed low.
"Anyone see anything yet? Suggestions?" [Curata the Grim Heart]
“He’s ranked… A Shadow lord…Half-moon,” Curata begins to say, pushing past Indira and Soledad, his head turning to regard Marrick briefly.
“It’s a Gaia ritual, he’s branded wi’ glyphs o failure, possibly punishment.” Curata starts looking for a path around the storm, a trail or something that will bring them closer to the Garou in the storm.
[Muerte Fria] Soledad's shoulder brushes Curata's flank when he moves past, and she takes a step forward along with him. She's bristling now, fur standing on end not only from electricity but tension and pure, absolute Rage. Her teeth are bared, black lips curled away to show brilliant, curved fangs that have sliced through more foes than she could remember to count. Claws flexed, churned earth beneath her, bit down deep into it, and her tail stuck out straight behind her. A low rumble, consumed by the tumult of the storm around them, vibrated in her bones and into the Fianna beside her by way of physical contact.
Take him down now. Stop him!She rocked forward, but something kept her from leaping forward first. Impossible to say what, but something.
[Muerte Fria] [Perception + Empathy]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Going Down] [Perc + Primal Urge]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 2, 5 (Failure at target 6)
[Brother of the Lost] [Perc+PU]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Muerte Fria] [Perception +
Primal-Urge]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 5, 5, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Curata the Grim Heart] perception + primal urge
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) [WP]
[Bones to Dust] per+primal urge, diff 6
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 8 (Failure at target 6)
[Lunatic Moon] "
Father!"
The hands of the Black furred Crinos raise, head tilting upward as a thunderous voice reaches past the winds and the shrieking storm, descending above him. The Scarred Crinos movements are almost carelessly wanton, welcoming the presence of his Tribal Totem even as a few of the Trophies are scattered by his wayward motions.
"
Do you see Father?! How I have gathered for you?! In your Name?! In your Honour?! Surely this must be of worth? Of Value?! Am I not forgiven my Mistakes?! Can I not be welcomed back to your Fold to do your Work once more?! Tell me Father, am I not Worthy of your Graces once again?"
Something in that voice. Tinged and warping. A Desperation. Something...lost. A tragic pity. A searching hope. In another, it might seem pious.
In a Shadowlord?
"
I Am Path~of~Wayward~War! Philodox and Judge of Doom to the Shadowlord Nation! You Will not Ignore Me Any Longer!"
And he's standing now, climbing to his feet, fists and claws clenched inward, head rocking from side to side, as he scans that nebulous cloud overhead, lit with arcs of brilliant lightning and pummeling Thunder.
It watches Path. Silent despite it's noise. Scrutinizing despite it's dominance of space.
"
ANSWER ME!" It is a roar, fists shaking at the skies.
[Bones to Dust] Marrick Fisher's experiences with Shadow Lords were extremely limited. The number of Thunder's children that she has met quadrupled when she went to chicago.
Which was to say this" she has known four. Total. And not
known any of them. What she goes off of is rumor and mystery and tales she has heard. Things she knows, not from knowing, but from the cautionary tales of her ancestors.
She knows desperation whens he hears it.
"We're going in," she says,
"it's not malice, it's negligence that caused this."A pause, a thought.
"If he's looking to make right, there's another way."Empathy, there, for the girl whose pack just received the blessing of its totem again.
[Going Down] Indira watches through the space between the leaves and twigs, haunches hovering somewhere between a crouch and a sitting position; her muscles are still quivering and ready. The desperation, the hope, she can hear in the Shadowlord's voice gives her pause, though, as she looks back toward the others.
Maybe we oughta talk to him? Or has he been exiled or something? Going Down, while clearly moved to pity, hesitates to make any action without the clear from the more experienced Garou.
It ain't right that he's tryin' ta say he's sorry an' he ain't getting an answer. [Brother of the Lost]
"Hold!" He barks at first, as if expecting Soledad to bolt. Brother of the Lost carried himself low, ears held back, but a light gleam of teeth shows below his curled lip.
"Hold formation." He growls lower. His ears flick up, and turn, focusing on the voice in the distance even as he looks elsewhere, observing their surroundings. He too knew that sound of desperation. And he too knew the danger of a philodox thinking he could correct it on his own.
[Curata the Grim Heart] Activate Persuasion
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Curata the Grim Heart] "Lemme take the front, Bones to Dust. Ye may be Ahroun Elder, but he outranks ye and isn't a part o the Sept. He may take offense..." Curata looks back at the Black Fury, stepping up beside her.
[Muerte Fria] The Garou (assuming it could still be counted as one of their number) roared heart-wrenched words to the sky. Pleaded for his Tribe to take him back, to acknowledge him, to give him another chance. In Soledad's mind, that meant he did something wrong to be banished in the first place. Perhaps he left willingly, perhaps he had gone mad and committed horrendous numbers of crimes against Gaia. Perhaps he neglected her completely, chose to leave on his own accord for one reason or another. Perhaps he was chased out. It was impossible to say.
What she was certain of, however, was that this Was Not Good. Her muscles flexed, coiled to drive her forward, but Boy barked at her to hold, and she paused. A sound of anxiety wound its way up in her throat and rattled about in her chest, something between a grotesque angry whine and a snarl of frustration. She shook her head, scratched at the dirt, and continued making sounds of displeasure.
But hold she did. Like a pitbull straining against a short chain, waiting, salivating for the moment that that grasp was loosened and she was unleashed to do her job as Gaia's Devestation upon the wretch before them.
[Bones to Dust] The Fury regards her companions, notes the formation, and feels tension rise through her body and rip through her as though it did not matter. Curata speaks, and she is drawn. She turns and she listens to him. Actually listens, after a second, she nods and the blonde moves to trade places with him.
"I'm trusting your judgment, rhya," she tells him,
"take us forward." [Lunatic Moon] ...The Storm seems to hold. Poised to coalesce further in the skies above, the menace of Grandfather Thunder a looming thing in the winds that shriek and clap about the Gaia Garou outside of the Warding Thicket. Yet as Curata pushes forward through the thicket, which gives way agaisnt his bulk and heft, an odd diminishing comes to he noise and sound, almost as if within the circle of Warding, they are protected from it's Thrum.
The Garou file through, one by one and push into the circle, grasses plush and wet beneath their feet, sheets of rain soaking through to the flesh beneath, leaving fur bedraggled and hung about their shapes. As Each files through-
-Something flaps overhead:
They are there upon the Thicket, perched on branches and limbs. Clawed feet dig into the wooden structure, while black feathers puff and buffet away the rain drops as if they were made of wax and rubber. Water drips from the tips of great black beaks while the crackling arc of electricity skates across jet solid eyes, the gleam of fine edges evident at the tips of their razored wings.
The Stormcrows appear as a great murder, lining the walls of the Thicket in either direction and looking down upon the Garou as they huddle and arrive, one by one by one.
...Until the last one comes through and the Thicket seems to solidify behind them.
It is about Time, pups. We've been waiting.That from the Birds. Audible in the Gaian heads. Audible and calm despite the fury of the Storms around them.
"
What is the Meaning of this?!"
It bellows from the Crinos, now standing amid the scatterings of his Trophies, regarding the intrusion of the Gaia Garou from his place thirty feet ahead. Grandfather Thunder...
...Continues as the nebula of lightning, cloud and thunder. Indistinct but for the odd swirl of something, haunting the centre of that...sphere of Storms.
[Curata the Grim Heart] The Fianna is the first to come through the thicket. His head lifting up, ears rolling back high upon his head as he drinks in the massive Murder: Storm Crows; their voices fill his head, telling them they have been waiting, he wonders for how long.
What is the Meaning of this?!It bellows from the Shadow Lord standing amid the scatterings of Trophies that are meant to appease the totem. To bring his way back into its graces… yet means nothing.
"YUF! " he howls through the roar of the winds, “I am Curata the Grim Heart, Fianna Warrior o the Sept o Maelstrom,”
"Path~of~Wayward~War-yuf! Listen to me this is not the way. It won’t win ye back into Grandfather’s graces.” Charisma + subterfuge: -1 for Persuasion
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 4, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 5)
[Muerte Fria] [Intelligence + Occult]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 7)
[Bones to Dust] [Int+occult, diff 7]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 7) [WP]
[Bones to Dust] Marrick, being the creature that she was, found herself distracted by the flurry of things going around her. She looked from the Shadow Lord to the birds flying overhead. She regarded them, tried to make sense of their presence. Bones to Dust tried to decypher what their presence might mean.
The blonde was not the smartest of creatures, but by sheer desire to understand, she found herself looking at this gathering. This was important.
"... this is big."Stater of the obvious, this one.
[Brother of the Lost] Boy held his position in the rear. He's silent, but wary. Staying alert. When the birds speak to them he pauses slightly, but keeps up with the others. They're seen, and Curata, in the lead, calls to the Shadow Lord ahead of them. Meanwhile, in the rear, Boy's ears and eyes flit from bird to bird. He eyes the branded philodox before them, and then turns back the birds, addressing them in the spirit tongue.
"What was this one's sin, spirits, that he should be branded and shunned?" [Lunatic Moon] "
What would You Know of it?!"
It is vicious. Scathing. Riddled with something outraged and terrible. Path steps forward over the trophies he's laid, to glare snarls, sneers and hate-filled eyes at Curata across the yards wide distance, even as the semblance of the Sphere of Storms overhead, suddenly carries the blazing presence of a pair of Eyes, forked with lightning and carrying a presence finally arrived.
He stares from his place above, regarding the child that would claim to be his, while the Stormcrows shift on their perches, wings flapping briefly and attentions settling on the Gaian Garou.
You'll see soon enough, Half-moon of Uktena. We bid you, Welcome, Children of Maelstrom. Now that you have arrived, we can begin the proceedings....To which there is an obvious response:
"
Them?!" A Clawed finger rises to level at the Five, Path~of~Wayward~War staring at the Stormcrows with indignant fury.
"
By Them?!" Whirling on Grandfather Thunder, who continues to hover in the sky. Patient. Unspeaking.
Judge to these proceedings.
[Going Down] Indira remains on the flank as instructed, following everything that's being said as best as she can. The Storm Crows get an inquisitive look and a flick of the tail, though they are lumped aside as the things a Theurge would deal with - another part of this place that is not entirely comprehensible to the Ahroun. Indira knows how to fight. It's all that's ever been asked of her.
Until now, apparently. She lets out a quiet huff, as unsure of why they are here to stand as jury as the Shadowlord is.
In the end, though, she just looks up at Grandfather Thunder.
Thanks, Grandfather. I'll do my best with what you're askin'. [Muerte Fria] Soledad pushed through the bushes, kept in the middle of the makeshift 'pack', unbound, unconnected spiritually save for two twined together by Unicorn's Shadow, but communicating and working together as well as they could without such aid. She felt like an infant, surrounded by others, the Bone Gnawer and other Uktena at her sides. She bristled and snarled still, tossed her head back to look at the Stormcrows when they communicated. Her ears lifted from where they'd flattened against her skull, showing interest, and she looked toward the scar-riddled Crinos up ahead.
He roared, he argued, he flared his Rage and insult, and Soledad snarled and snapped her jaws back at him.
Yes us. Deal with it.
But this was something proper, something ritual, important, political and etiquette-riddled. This wasn't Soledad's element. She was here to exterminate.
Yet, growling quietly, incessantly, she forced herself to still, rocked the tension out of her muscles as much as she could, and clipped her tongue with a fang to keep herself from pacing or fidgeting.
Wait, pup, she chided herself silently.
Your time will come. [Bones to Dust] The first thought that crossed her mind was
holy shit. It was also the second thought, but the third was one that put it all together. They were children of Maelstrom, and they were brought here, perhaps unwittingly, to judge this.
Four Ahrouns. One philodox. And the accused.
The wolf did not move, or make any attempt to move to her birth form. This was comfortable enough. Whatever equilibrium she had achieved was gone for now, and she was once again a creature of equisite rage and intentional, tightly-gripped control.
And she waited. Patiently as she could.
[Brother of the Lost] Proceedings? So, Grandfather Thunder would have him tested before he was accepted again. Boy set his rear haunches down, sitting and waiting patiently but still holding formation.
[Curata the Grim Heart] Curata watches, his head rose up as he can hear the voice of the Storm Crows in his mind. He wants to answer the Shadow Lord, but doesn’t at first.
“I know wha’ it’s like, yuf, to be judged and branded.” His voice doesn’t carry as loudly as the first time, he speaks more to the air around him, to no one and yet to anyone.
They stood waiting, watching. To play the judge.
His tail switches from side to side, head canting to the side to glimpse over a shoulder at the Garou with him. He can feel their impatience. The vibration of rage and eagerness buzzing through the other ahrouns denied an action. When he is done, he returns his eyes back to the proceedings.
[Lunatic Moon] "
Father I-[/b]"
Something flashes across the clearing and suddenly, the earth around Path erupts, black iron chains reaching up to punch through muscle and flesh, small explosions of red scattering in slashes across the grass, as links pierce one side, launch out the other and bury themselves back into the ground. Once. Twice. Three. A Fourth. Finally the Crinos is a marrionette figure, chained to the ground, blood frothing and dripping from his wounds, a howl of pain raking from his mouth.
...And the Stormcrows speak as if nothing were occurring, regarding the Gaians before them.
Great Father has deemed it fit for the thoughts and opinions of those of you to weigh on the actions taken by this Wayward Gaian, shown his disrespect and selfishness in past deeds. You will be as Jury to his crimes. As Prosecutor to his Deeds and should the need arise? Executioner as judgement decides.Shadowlord Failure. It was one of the greatest marks of pride in the Tribe's history and one that no few of the other tribes would be hard pressed to describe accurately. The reasons for why? Because of this. Because of how GrandFather dealt with such ways and methods.
You may ask of the Accused what you wish. He will inform you of the answers as he wishes. You may ask of Father Thunder his crimes and you will be Shown. Lastly, you may seek our Council and be provided an answer.A pause.
Remember the laws of Respect that come with your People though, Pups. Insolence will not be tolerated. Disrespect will be punished.The Murder clacks beaks and flaps wings and the sky around them suddenly dims to an eerie silence, hard and ugly.
Proceed when you are ready. [Curata the Grim Heart] "Wha' are the crimes o the Accused, Great Father o Thunder?"
[Going Down] Shadowlord Failure. It's a thing the Bone Gnawer knows absolutely nothing of. As the chains punch through the Crinos's paws, her upper lip peels back from her teeth ever so slightly.
She's about to ask his crimes, but then Curata does and she remains silent, waiting for the response.
[Lunatic Moon] Flashes of Imagery, before you have a chance to think it through:
She sits in a chair, bloodied about the face, puncture marks where the blade has punched in and punched out again, barely an inch or two inward.
She's been crying and screaming hysterically, if the lines in her face are any indication.
"It Wasn't our Fault! Michael It-"
She bleeds some more. A Lover.
"It Just Happen-ARRRGHHH!!!" She screams, as a finger is removed.
"Please! Please I'll never hurt you again! I'll never see him aga-AAAAAHHHHH!" A Toe this time.
* * * *
He Stood over the fallen body of the Ragabash, watching as the spectacles fell from his human face, long in shock and terror. He breathed deeply. Thunderously even as the droning voice of the Master of Challenge crept in behind him.
"...You have violated our Laws! It was to first blood only, Half-moon-"
To which the reply was a vicious thing.
"He Fucked My Mate! My mate!"
* * * *
He stared at the flames as they rose around the house, smiling slightly at the tears that flowed from the young girl's eyes beside him. Watched as the orange licked it's way up to the second story window, where the small boy watched, helpless and trembling. The boy didn't scream. Didn't topple. He simply stared out the window at his Mother and the Man that had set the house ablaze.
"...That will teach your Father to sin. Teach him to break the litany's laws, young one...You will be the example..." to Curata the Grim Heart, Going Down
[Bones to Dust] She was silent, but finally a question came.
"Do you regret any of your deeds? Why or why not?" [Lunatic Moon] To which the reply is a pained flash across Crinos Features, jaws snapping out at the air, toward Marrick.
"
You Stupid Fucking Cubs! I'm above this! Beyond you! You do not Judge Me! You-"
-
A Flash of Black, a Blur of motion-
-And Path is suddenly shrieking loudly, hands trying to reflexively rise to his face where his left eye once stood, chains sawing into the flesh and around the bone with the movements.
[Muerte Fria] The Uktena Ahroun was out of her element. She was told to question, to act as jury, prosecutor, executioner. She could do that last one with no trouble, but to come up with questions, to discover the sins.... well, that wasn't really Soledad's strong suit. Yet, her mind drifted back to a time not long ago at all. When she saw a brother on the ground, tears in his eyes and blood on his flesh. She had to judge him then, to help Boy with a decision too large for only one Cliath. While it was not her place to decide the punishment, she could determine whether she believed in the guilt or not.
She recalled leaning down to look into the wolf's eyes, huffed a breath, and shook out her mane before rumbling toward the bound, pained wretch before them.
What would you do if forgiven? So warped with hate and Rage now, what will you do when given what you seek? [Going Down] Indira is assaulted by imagery. She's young and prone to thinking more with her animal passions, her Rage, than she is with anything else, and so after the imagery ceases all that she emits for a moment is a low growl. It's difficult to piece it all together out of what she saw.
For a moment the Bone Gnawer is at war with her own first impulses: Rage at what she saw him do, and some sort of gut understanding of -his- Rage and why he did what he did.
You're a Philodox. How would you judge another Garou that did what you did? [Brother of the Lost] Boy remained silent. He moved with the impromptu pack, listening as they asked all the questions he would have asked anyway. He also listens to the bound and already branded garou, the one they were here to judge.
Hispo ears flick toward Going down. Hispo eyes remain fixed on the Shadow Lord, with his tongue sharp as knives.
[Lunatic Moon] Soledad's own question comes and a whimper of
Rage floods from him. His missing eye weeps blood in thick rivulets while the other, fresh tears tracking through rain swept fur.
"
My place is as Judge! I Judge the Guilty! Their deeds are mine to break open and dis-...
discover the Truth!"
And then 'round on Marrick, the fury returning to his features, lips peeling back over his teeth as something familiar...a gift of the Philodox...creeps into his system, leaving the pain off to the side.
"
Every soul I sent to Gaia was deserving. If not in deed, then in the Blood that flowed under the skin, connected to the flesh of failures!"
To which there is a chortling sound, distinct and abrupt from the Stormcrows, aloof and seemingly bemused by the entire spectacle before them.
"
I would Judge him as I saw fit! None may make the choices I have! None save the Judges of Doom are capable of such divings! Such understanding!" He nearly spits it at Indira's feet, glaring through one eye, scarred over the brow, at the Bone Gnawer.
[Lunatic Moon] (
divinings^)
[Muerte Fria] Soledad huffed at the Crinos.
Mad, she deemed, simply, and turned her head to look back to the massive block of Stormcrows that flooded the thicket bushes behind and around them. Yellow eyes surveyed the spirits, and she dipped her nose, just a little, and addressed them next.
Why are we to judge? [Lunatic Moon]
Because Shadowlords do not fall without the lesson being carried to other's earsWas the simple and off-hand reply from one of the great murder.
[Bones to Dust] She stops and looks forward to the sky. She thinks for a second, and while thinking isn't her strongest suit, she does want to know.
"What are his crimes, Grandfather Thunder?" While she spoke with respect, it was also tinged with the desperate need to understand. Then? Her attention turned to the stormcrows.
"What do Judges of Doom do, precisely? I'm not really familiar with your tribe..." [Lunatic Moon]
They seek out the harm Gaians do to Gaia and correct it Is Marrick's reply from the Crows.
[Brother of the Lost] "What were your crimes, Wayward-Path-of-War?" He asks, slowly, and almost out of the blue. "And who, if not us, do you think should be your judges?"
[Curata the Grim Heart] Curata the Grim heart asked to show the crimes of the Accused by the Great Father of Thunder. The imagery assaults the Fianna’s thoughts, floods over his sensory with a wave of unbridled emotion that the Ahroun himself cannot control. A growl, so loud and deep, vibrates in his diaphragm, bubbles up into his chest and throat, threatening to rip out of his jaws.
Rage fuels his actions as the hispo form blurs and the Fianna snap-shifts into his war form. Ears drawn back, chest heaving in and out with harsh ragged breathes. His fur spiking up along his neck as he flexes claws in and out.
Adultery to close to home… a Half-moon slays a Ragabash over it in the challenging ring… (One Fiann murders his pack mate, his brother, his alpha in cold blood…) all for the love of a woman that betrayed them. When Curata speaks, he does so in the High Tongue of the Garou, “Ye took out yer vengeance on them, Michael. Ye killed yer mate, ye tortured her until she confessed didn’t ye, Michael? Ye killed the Ragabash, the one she cuckolded ye wi’ in cold blood, didn’t ye, Michael?”
[Bones to Dust] She looked at the male and her fur bristled. And she did not move. The Fury took a second, and soon enough she was back in her breed form. She wans't overly tall, or overly muscled, but she was a creature of exquisite rage. Blue eyes fell on the half moon.
Her question is immediate. Her voice was cold. Boy's never heard her sound like that before.
"What was her name?"Marrick's
[Bones to Dust] (revised)
She looked at the male and her fur bristled. And she did not move. The Fury took a second, and soon enough she was back in her breed form. She wans't overly tall, or overly muscled, but she was a creature of exquisite rage. Blue eyes fell on the half moon.
Her question is immediate. Her voice was cold. Boy's never heard her sound like that before.
"What was her name?"
[Lunatic Moon]
Ye took out yer vengeance-
"
I Did!"
-
Ye killed yer mate-
"
She Deserved it!"
-
What were your Crimes-
"
I Did not-"
-
Who do think should be your judg-
"
Not You! NOT YOU!"
-
Ye killed the Ragabash-
"
BEN! THAT FUCKING-"
-
In Cold Blood-
"
I Killed Him!"
-
What was Her Name?Michael. Path of Wayward War. He lifts his head toward Marrick, mad eye regarding her through the haze of his answers, desperate and fierce, jaws clenched so hard the teeth grate together dangerously.
"...
Her Name..." A pause, spittle dripping over his lower lip. "...
Her Name..." His eye lowers, searching the ground. Searching for-
Dierdre Comes the Stormcrow answer, rippling through the Murder like an echo.
[Muerte Fria] Soledad listened to what the others had to say, and when Curata's words touched her ears she bristled once more. A snarl ripped from her chest, rivaled, if only for a moment, the tumult in the skies above. She shook her head, took a few steps forward, but paused before she was to pass Curata and where he stood in the front. Her teeth snapped the air, anxious to slice, and she flattened her ears into the thick mass of fur that was her mane.
Rage seethed from her, and any fool could tell that she wasn't going to hold back for much longer.
Kill him and end it, she snapped.
Let me. [Going Down] It's difficult for Indira to sort out her own emotions, amidst the Shadowlord's screaming and the questions the others have.
This guy's fuckin' crazy, she tells the others,
but ain't he done what a lot of us woulda done or wanted to do?...Well, 'cept killin' the little kid, she adds as an afterthought.
[Curata the Grim Heart]
The kid... the child and the house going up in flames. "Who was the boy, Michael? Why did ye kill him?"
[Bones to Dust] "Did you love her?" she asks. And she is young, and this is where a child's mind goes. Not on the deeds, but the facts that were important to her.
Did he regret it?
What was her name?
Did you love her?
Such a sentimental notion, and something that held so much weight to her.
[Lunatic Moon] "...The son..."
Michael is Homid suddenly, staring at the Grass. A handsome man, dressed in black bedraggled hair, five o'clock shadow and a mean cut to his features. His eye is red and the socket beside it mercifully hidden behind his hair. He is all but naked, save for the pair of black dress pants he still wears.
"...Ben's son...The Future of his Father's sins..."
[Muerte Fria]
No.She snarled her response to the Bone Gnawer, swinging her great head back to glare at the other female. Her front teeth flashed consistently, lips refused to relax enough to put away weapons Gaia-given and used in her name as well.
I have come across mine with another. No blood was shed, not a drop. I, an Ahroun, accused of madness and lack of soul, contained my Rage while this Philodox could not. He is sick.Again, she snapped her teeth, sliced the air with them, and swung her head back to the Garou on Trial.
He has no regret. He dies. [Lunatic Moon] Soledad's fury is an odd counter-weight to the softness of Michael's voice rasped and whispered in response to Marrick.
"...I did...I Think I...I think I did...yes..." His eyes squeeze shut, teeth ground hard.
"...I loved Dierdre...I did, I did..."
[Brother of the Lost]
"He doesn't even know her name..." Boy growls amazed. And slowly, his own hairs bristle and ruffle and his hackles rise tight and tense. At Going-Down's statement he snaps out, matching anger with Soledad of all people, barking with not words but with pure Rage, and his massive head and body shakes, splattering them with the foam of anger that began to seethe from his lips.
"An act of Anger?!" Boy says with fury in him.
"Drunk on Rage?! For that he has been branded with Shame! Shunned by all! Even the spirit of his tribe calls to others! And STILL he does not accept fault!"Brother of the lost surges forward, muscles tense and snapping, but not touching, the chained and tortured garou.
"
Killed a child! A future warrior of Gaia! An Innocent! NO HONOR! NO HONOR! EVEN DEATH IS TOO GOOD FOR HIM!" [Curata the Grim Heart] A low growl vibrates along Curata’s muzzle, his head whips back to stare down at the Gnawer ahroun, his irritation growing, as does his rage. “I ‘ave done wha’ he has done.”
The Fianna towers over Muerta Fria in his war form, claws flexing as she snaps and snarls, feeling the air and the press of her rage. Brother of the Lost nearly loses himself as well, forcing Curata to step forward, cutting between the Uktena and the chained Shadow Lord.
“Back away from ‘im now.”
[Lunatic Moon]
EnoughIt is the Thunder. The Lightning. The Force. It thrums through bones and weakens the muscle. The Sphere of Storms turns to regard the Gaian Garou, leveling out the field of
Rage that plumes around each in turn. The Actions that have been taken. The lives that have been altered.
The Thoughts that rip through each's mind.
You have borne the breath of this Weakling and come to know his faults. Your Verdict, Gaians. Cast it, each of you in turn. What should be done with this creature? [Muerte Fria]
Death, snarled the she-wolf.
Put him out of his misery, end it quickly. [Bones to Dust] She hears thunder, and she looks up. She is tense, and she asks.
"Killing him would be merciful," she says. And with all implications thereof. It is hard to say what she knows, or what she does not know of Shadow Lord culture. What she does and does not know of the tribe. There is a lot that could be said about the nature of mercy.
"Let him live."
[Going Down] Indira is not surprised by the reaction her question has on the others. It was part of why she asked it - torn herself between sympathy and righteous Rage, she is not sure what to think. Now she knows.
If it were jus' that you killed your mate an' the other, I could maybe understand that. Brother of the Lost is right, it's killin' the kid that tells me you ought to die. Death. [Curata the Grim Heart] Curata stands, chest heaving, breathing in and out in deep pants as air rushes from flaring nostrils. His tail switches against his back legs, turning his head to look at the Shadow Lord. He is reminded of Lukas’ Fostern challenge and what the Ahroun had to say about Shadow Lords.
They do not tend to their weakness…“Great Father o Thunder, I know yer children do not harbor weakness, they do not accept mercy and cull it where ever it dwells…” he hears the verdicts of the others, swings his great crinos head back to the look at them, “This wanker’s not honorable for death… it’s to easy o a way out. Let him live, let him suffer wi’ his guilt.”
[Brother of the Lost] Boy Snarled, frustrated at first when Curata steps in, and with a tinge of confusion when he speaks as well.
And then the voice of the storm itself answers and he cowers, sliding backwards. Boy bristles but keeps low, eyes fixed on the chained garou, but occasionally flitting to the Fianna among them.
"Death...so he can find an end to his punishment? Life...unrepentant...so he can turn against other Gaians!?" Another plume of anger as he snaps his massive jaws and growls high, then low and seething.
"If Gaia, Luna, and Grandfather Thunder could shun him too, I'd let the stinking whelp live. Crippled." [Lunatic Moon]
Do you see then?The Eyes in the Storm turn to regard Michael.
It has been decidedAnd Quite suddenly the flesh of the grass beneath Michael turns from a bold green, to a a clear and transparent glass surface. The chains spread out, digging into the soft loam and grass that forms the borders of this sudden shimmering transparency, through which the Gaians can see it:
Black Rock paths and plateaus, atop which stand hulking Crinos shapes, baring Tusks and Spears of hated dread. They stand watch over the rivers of glimmering silver, which flow and pool and bubble and froth.
For Your Crimes"...Father...Wait...Please..."
There is but one hope. One Mercy"...Father...No! Please!"
The Glass begins to crack. Splinter under Michael's weight, the transparency growing further. One of the Hulking Monstrosities in the picture below, turns white milky eyes upward, a rippling growl flowing around those giant tusks jutting from it's maw.
The Chains saw taut, pushing Michael further down. Splintering the Glass.
Let this be a Lesson, GaiansThe Glass cracks loudly, Michael's face lifting to regard the Garou, desperate and terrified features leaping from eye to eye to eye.
"...What have you done?!"
None of you are above the LawThe Glass Shatters.
The Philodox Screams.
The Chains draw straight and rip through flesh and muscle.
And down...down...down he goes...
[Going Down] The vote is that Michael should live. But what happens certainly does not look like living. The chains snap taut, there's the sound of flesh shredding, and down he goes. To who knows where.
Leaving Going Down looking between the others, looking as bewildered as a Hispo can get.
What happened? I thought he was supposed to live? [Lunatic Moon] ...And as Michael vanishes and the Gaians sort themselves out, the Stormcrows begin to leave, one by one. Drifting off from perches to launch themselves into the sky and vanish against the backdrop of black cloudbanks there-in.
[Bones to Dust] For the first time, her rage burns cold. Oppressive and heavy, she stands and watches the scene. Her stomach turns, and she does not move. Does not budge, does not break. Later, she would look back on this, and think it cruel that she was looking at his face, desperate and terrified.
What have you done?!
[Passed judgment, like we were told.]The Fury stands stark and stiff, and she does not move at this moment.
Down, down, down he goes, and she can not stop looking at him. She watches him fall to what she knows will be worse than eternal agony. Later, she would think about this. How cruel it would be, and that suffering may have been eased had he not loved Dierdre.
There were new things for Marrick Fisher to dream of, and they were no less horrific than what already were.
"He is," she replies to Indira, "there are worse things than death."
[Muerte Fria] Soledad listened, switching her gaze from one Gaian to the next, listening to their verdicts. Two for death, three for life. Soledad growled, showing blatant disagreement with the verdict. But, well, what could she do? Her eyes flicked upward to the skies, she knew that if she was to go against the majority and lay down her own law in the form of teeth about this wretch's throat, then she would be punished. Harshly. She wouldn't think too deeply about Thunder's probable methods.
Good thing she stayed put. The ground grew transparent, and she peered downward. Black rock, spear-wielding guards, molten silver that bubbled and spat, splashed in some areas feebly almost like fish leaping for mayflies. Almost. Soledad's snout wrinkled. She supposed this was alright. At least she didn't have to worry about where the hell he would be.
Her broad pink tongue lapped at her nose, and she growled to Indira.
Erebus. Realm of silver rivers and perpetual punishment. Burns everything away. Most efficient cleansing I can imagine. [Curata the Grim Heart]
None of you are above the Law…Curata leaps back from the Shadow Lord, pivoting on his hind paws as he stares, just.stares.at what becomes of Michael. His body begins to quiver, the realization all too clear before his very eyes as he follows the other Crinos down into his own personal Hell.
His voice is quiet as it rolls out to answer Going Down, “He did… in Garou Hell.”
[Brother of the Lost] Boy watches. Its not with Relish. He doesn't have a pleased smile on his face. He doesn't enjoy hearing the errant philodox plead and beg forgiveness. He doesn't enjoy imagining the ceaseless tortures that await him. And he doesn't beam with pride at having played a part in all of this. But inside him, on the dark side of his moon, there was something with a thirst for vengeance. For absolute justice. And for tonight, that something had been sated.
Which made his other impending judgements all the more weightier. And yet, with what he's seen tonight, the choice is all the more clear.
His head lowers for a moment, and ears slowly swivel back until they lay flat on his head. When he looks up again, its to Curata.
"Did you really...do the things he did, Rhya? Your mate? Another garou? A child?"
[Lunatic Moon] ...The Hole seals shut with the grind of ground and churn of blankets of grass, until nothing remains of the opening.
Grandfather Thunder does not opt to address the Gaians, his deed her done and his desires met. The Storm begins to unravel and unfold and slowly, the black in the sky begins to bleed of it's dark and foreboding. The Gaians would watch as the Stormcrow's begin to flock away in greater numbers until all but a few, dropping to the ground Where Michael had once been chained, plucking at puddles of blood and bits of flesh with relish.
Soon enough three Stormcrows are all that is left of the gathered, the skies above their ugly grey, a light rain falling about shoulders and heads.
Justice was served, little Cubs.One of the Stormcrow's turns it's head, a large flap of skin tucked between it's beak. The motion sends the flap of bloodied fur and carved flesh to the Gaian's feet, where the display of Glyphs that had been wrapped around Michael's neck, are visible for them to look upon.
Be sure it is done for all of them [Bones to Dust] She folded her arms across her chest, and found herself looking at the ground. She was nothing but rage, now. None of the balance that she had seen when she first arrived. That connection to Gaia still beating firmly in her chest, but leaving her feeling hollow none the less.
"I need a shower," she says.
She feels dirty.
[Curata the Grim Heart] The Fiann’s ears flatten along his head, spread sideways. The wide expanse of powerful, muscled shoulders lifting and shrugging forward as the Ahroun lowers his head, eyes half-closing as Boy asks him that question.
He speaks in a somber voice, nodding slowly. “I did, Brother o the Lost,” his eyes open once more, forcing himself to look down at where the Shadow Lord had fallen.
“M’second mate slept wi’ the alpha o m’old pack, ‘efore I came to back ‘ere to Maelstrom. We fought wi’ out the permission o the Master o Challenges, and I murdered him in cold blood. The woman still lives, though, there are days I want to kill ‘er when she frustrates me, I abandoned ‘er and m’son so that wouldn’t ‘appen…”
His nostrils flare out snorting softly, “Judge me as ye like, Boy, I am serving m’ punishment and lost rank do to it.”
[Going Down] Indira looks toward the scrap of skin the Stormcrow lets fall in a limp heap. Her claws, still sharpened for the fight she was expecting when she came into the Umbra, flex and unflex, digging little furrows into the ground.
Justice was served. Garou justice is not at all unlike street justice - it's not the first time she's seen something play out this way. Yet there's something that doesn't quite sit well with the Ahroun, though she could never and will never be able to fully articulate what that something is.
Justice oughta be clean, she tells the others, though after a sigh that comes out more as a huffy growl she rises.
...I thought we were gonna get to come out here an' hunt something. I'm ready ta go home. [Brother of the Lost] His eyes drop from the Fianna, and his entire posture seems to sag with the weight of the confession. But slowly, he inflates again, breathing, thinking, and speaking.
"And when you cursed those who gave you your punishment? And when you screamed to Stag to take it away? What happened then, Rhya?"
[Bones to Dust] Wits+enigmas, diff 10
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 5, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 1 at target 10)
[Curata the Grim Heart] "I don't know, Brother o the Lost, that part o the story hasn't been written yet... " Is all he says to the Uktena.
wits+engimas, diff 10
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 7 (Failure at target 10)
[Brother of the Lost] [Wits+Enigmas, diff 10, 1 WP]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 10)
[Brother of the Lost] "Then that", He replies, "is what separates you from him."
[Curata the Grim Heart] Some men can be redeemed for the sins they have made upon the world. Others cannot because they do not desire it – one did. Curata straightens his shoulders, looking past the gathering of Garou and towards the sky with the Storm Crows.
“I think it’s time to go ‘ome.”
[Muerte Fria] Soledad lapsed into silence once the excitement seemed to have died down. She listened to Boy and Curata's conversation, glanced to Marrick and Indira, but said nothing. Her body slipped out of Hispo, back down to Lupus, becoming small, prone, and passable as natural once more. They wanted showers, they wanted away, they wanted to go home.
Home. What a fucking luxury.
Soledad would leave with the group, but would part from them to find her own path before reaching the city's edge. Packless still, without a home, it just made more sense to be a wolf for a few days and stick to the sticks.
