shadows of each other.

[-reflection-] [The rules! (you know them, but here they are again!)
1. Keep posts under 10 minutes, declares/rolls under 3 or you will be skipped!
2. I don't care if you MT, but don't make me chase you with sticks. I will beat you with them!
3. There's a chance your character could die. If you don't want to take that risk, it won't hurt my feelings if you decide to pull out now.
4. There's a scene chat! You're all in it, keep an eye on it and ask your questions there! If I don't answer right away, I'm probably typing. IM me to set the messenger a flashing.
5. Have fun!
6. Post yourselves into Millennium Park, somewhere in the vicinity of the Cloud Gate
http://www.chicagodusk.com/index.php?jove=gallery&picture=5896

I'm giving Damon until 8pm site time and then the scene is closed!]

[-reflection-] [PS! please PM me any applicable flaws. We shouldn't be touching on any uncomfortable scenarios, but let me know if there are lines you don't want me to cross.]

[Buried Hatchet] Since he first came to Chicago, it hasn't been unusual to find Hatchet without a packmate -- a Weasel or a Sentinel, respectively -- sitting in Grant Park somewhere. Usually in winter, when the population of humans to flinch away from his Rage is thinner and he can have some room to breathe and think. But it's warm tonight, since late May has finally started to feel like Spring, and he's here anyway.

Sitting on the grass, his knees up and his arms wrapped around them, head tilted back. But he's not watching the sky. He's just sitting. Last time he did this, a giant mole crashed up through the earth, but he's not thinking about that right now.

[Stormbreaker] There was a set of stairs somewhere in Millennium Park where Mila had claimed a spot earlier in the day. She was still there, guitar in hand. Her perch offered a good view of the park - and no one dared to ask her to move off of the top step.

The young woman was similiarly alone. Her packmates were no where to be seen. Perhaps she needed some time away from them. She'd started to feel like Simon's mother. Lord that boy had a lot to learn.. and hell, she wasn't about to hold his hand through it all.

So, the dark haired Shadow Lord enjoyed her 'alone' time. Just her, the guitar and the buzz of people who wandered by. She played quiet, sometimes humming, sometimes not..

[Blood Summons] Tonight is not a good night to be around a certain subsection of the city's populace. It won't be visible for a few more hours yet, but when darkness falls the moon will reveal itself as a fat, round face in the sky. There is some degree of superstition to be had about the full moon, claims that crime will skyrocket and emergency departments will be flooded, that more children will be born tonight than at any other point in the last month.

With sunlight still clinging to the city, the unsuspecting denizens of the city are going on about their evenings unaware of what tonight signifies. There are monsters among them, lounging in the grass and sitting on steps, walking down the pathway smoking cigarettes. Blood Summons is, like the other two, alone tonight. Unlike the other two, he has no bonds of pack to tell him where the woman he would call sister is. No one has seen her in weeks.

Despite the conversation about his attire that he had had with a certain kinswoman earlier this week, he's wearing the same damn thing he's been wearing the entire time he's been in Chicago. With the exception of those ridiculous suspenders he wears to keep his pants up, every stitch of clothing on his body is black. Between that, the tattoos and scars, and the fact that he feels like a roving maniac just waiting for someone to look at him funny and give him an excuse to fight, the humans he passes by tonight are giving him a wide berth.

That's just fine with him.

[Wyrmbreaker] It could be worse than a giant mole crashing up. It could be a comet crashing down, like something out of one of Edward's video games. Lukas has vague memories of bumming around Boston with Edward, listening to the Ragabash go on and on about Meteor, Holy, omgAeris. It had seemed charming then: a Silver Fang that played video games! How quaint; how down to earth.

But time went on. Years rolled by. Edward didn't change. Didn't grow up. Much later, in Chicago, after literally losing his pack -- still playing games, Edward, that damnable pause music still going on in the background, looping and going nowhere like the soundtrack of his life while Edward stood there and watched Lukas lecture his own sister, stood there apart and apathetic, stood there making his excuses while the world passed him by.

Edward, the eternal man-boy. That's what Lukas is thinking about tonight, somewhere between angry and sorry: his once-brother, his once-best friend, his once-Alpha whose failure to grow up, ironically enough, catalyzed the maturation of his pack. Hatchet is nearby, and so is Stormbreaker, and he's aware of them. Maybe he's not feeling social, though. Neither are they, for that matter. They're all each in their own little world, and more than a few of them are watching the stars.

[-reflection-] It's a nice enough night for a stroll through the park. If one ignores the whispers in the shadows, the figures trading goods and money, those lying in wait for a mark. If one ignores those things, Millennium Park at night is positively beautiful. There are lights along the paths to light the way. The air is clear and filled with the scent of good clean growing things.

Hatchet is not sitting in the grass where a mole creature emerged once upon a time. He's seated in the grassy field of an outdoor theater. When he looks up at the sky, he looks through broadly crisscrossing support. In the daylight, these create interesting shadows over the lawn. At night, they do nothing except create a frame through which to view the cloudy haze over the city.

The steps on which Mila sits are few. Just three lead to the elevated span of concrete on which rests one of Chicago's more unusual artistic structures. The Cloud Gate, or the Jelly Bean, or That Big Silver Thing, sits in a place relatively off to the side. Like so much in this park, no one attraction commands center stage.

Which is fine for this bunch. For one reason or another, they've gathered to this space. Maybe it's Mila's music, or the sight of the midnight sky reflected off the silvery surface of the Gate. Who knows.

[something neat]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Blood Summons] [Alertness+Perception!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Buried Hatchet] [perception + alertness]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 6, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Stormbreaker] {P+A}
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 5, 6, 6, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[-reflection-] Strange things are afoot at the Cloud Gate. Too bad Lukas is too busy thinking about Aeris and Edward and the past to notice much, except --

Oh hey, is that Bob? It IS!
to Wyrmbreaker

[Stormbreaker] W.. T.. F?! Her attention had been drawn - almost by luck, or fate - back towards the giant jelly bean just as it turned black. The tacky, shiny thing was no more. It was something different.. and it shouldn't be.

Instantly, she stood.. her guitar she carefully sat down near one of the light poles.. and she backed the hell up. Whatever this was, she was guessing it wasn't going to be giving hugs out any time soon..

[Blood Summons] Normally, the Godi is more aware of his surroundings, has a decent enough sense to tell when something Not Good is brewing. He has to be more alert in the Weaver's playground. There are more things trying to kill him in a major city than there were in the backwater wilderness that was Mississippi; or, at least, the things that are trying to kill him are a touch more subtle, are a smidgeon harder to parse out from all the other weirdness suffusing the place where the humans call home.

He's heading towards that logic-defying metal jelly bean when out of the periphery of his vision comes a tall, blue-eyed Shadow Lord. Mid-drag, he changes direction, veering west to tackle the steps.

Strange things are afoot, and he moves slowly, slinking almost, as if he's expecting something to jump out at him at any second. It does little to calm the humans who have the misfortune of being around him.

[Wyrmbreaker] Either Lukas is terribly unlucky or cortically blind -- or the Cloud Gate has its own occult powers tonight. Whichever it is, the Shadow Lord remains unaware of anything out of the usual going on over at the enormous metallic sculpture.

He does see Bob, though. And since Bob is heading over, Wyrmbreaker pulls himself out of his thoughts and nods at the Theurge.

"Scoping out territory for your new pack, Blood-Summons?"

[Buried Hatchet] The Fostern isn't doing much skywatching. That's where his face is turned, eyes open, but he's not exactly processing the plane, or the helicopter. He's just staring at the endlessness of it, the starlessness. His thoughts are unraveled. The Judge with too much rage for his rank or his moon is often unreadable even to those who are ostensibly closest to him; looking back, he can see people who have meant a great deal to him, Garou and Kin alike who have shared secrets with him or been there for him at his worst,

and he cannot think of a single person who he could say truly knew him. He is rather certain he will die -- probably sooner than later -- without leaving behind anyone who could speak the truth of his life. Hell. He's alive and even he can't.

He drops his eyes, and sees the Cloud Gate go matte, reflectionless black.

"Huh," he says, and rises to his feet.

[Stormbreaker] She spared a brief glance away from the now black bean to other others she'd spied earlier. She knew they were there - but face it, none of them were best friends (that she knew of) so it was safe enjoy just to coexist. Now, well.. now it mattered they were there.

There was a simple look to whomever's eye she caught first: Did you see? And then Mila returned her attention to the bean. Whatever it was going to do, she wasn't about to be caught unaware.

[Blood Summons] On the surface, it's hard to tell what these two could possibly have to talk about. The taller man is handsome and well-dressed, looks as though he enjoys a fairly comfortable existence; the wild-haired thing next to him looks as rough as he sounds, is dressed like some homeless throwback to 1950s New York City. If anyone had to guess what was going on between them, the most likely extrapolation would be that the ugly one is the pretty one's dealer.

Their Rage is more than enough to keep passersby from paying more than self-preservational amounts of attention to the two of them. It keeps them from focusing on the topic of conversation. The Godi draws a long haul off of his cigarette, which smells more like fresh-turned earth after a hard rain than the processed shit most people in this city smoke, and blows it out before answering. To his credit, he aims it away from the Shadow Lord.

"This place does need--"

As he speaks, he's looking around. And as he's looking around, something catches his attention. His heavy brow knits into a frown.

"The hell?"

He gestures to the metal structure with the hand holding the cigarette, the tendrils of smoke dancing in an arc to mimic the movement of his hand.

"Look."

[Wyrmbreaker] Look.

So Lukas does, turning. The mildly expectant, vaguely curious expression on his face freezes in an instant; drains to a sort of certain, unstrained tension.

"Huh," he says, and starts walking over. "Any suggestions, Theurge?"

[-reflection-] The Cliath stands and steps back, watchful. Waiting. Alert. She's not going to be caught unawares, no no no. The Godi and the war leader approach each other. They prepare to talk about the mundane issue of guarding this park, or some other space within the city. There are no humans to overhear their conversation, no mortals to wander close to the fire of rage and abruptly turn the other way. The sun went down long ago, and now, in this space, even the drug dealers and the trouble makers have left.

It's quiet. Not eerily so. They can hear the chirp of crickets. The rustle of the wind through the trees. Bob catches sight of the Cliath, and it's when he turns to look in her direction that he finally notices the change in the statue. He directs Lukas to look. The Fostern does, and starts to move closer.

And Buried Hatchet ignores them all in favor of investigating the phenomenon for himself. He gets closer to the blackness, can see the lights of the other side of the courtyard beneath the beans curved underbelly. So far, there is no explanation for this. Then again, there rarely is these days.

[percept + alert diff 6!]

[Buried Hatchet] [perception + alterness]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Stormbreaker] {P+A}
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 6, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Blood Summons] [Alertness+Perception]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 6, 6 (Failure at target 6)

[Blood Summons] [I promise I'll stop listening to Lady Gaga!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-reflection-] The surface of the structure is oily black. It should have a reflection. It just looks like black metal, like it's just as polished as it ever is. There are flickers in the blackness that aren't quite a pattern. Like echoes, not a pattern, not exactly. They match something.

Bob's boot scuffs the concrete. flicker
Lukas says, "Any suggestions, Theurge?" flickerflicker flickerflickerflicker...flicker

As they get closer, they become more pronounced. Form loose shapes that are barely, barely lighter than the surface of the Gate.
to Buried Hatchet, Wyrmbreaker

[Wyrmbreaker] "Wait. Look."

This is considerably quieter, barely more than a whisper. Wyrmbreaker puts out a hand to stop Blood Summons, or perhaps to get his attention.

"I think it's responding to sound. See?"

[Blood Summons] [Occults+Wits!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[Stormbreaker] None would make eye contact. That was fine. They seemed to figure it out on their own. Good for then. Men, go figure.

Hands came to rest upon her hips. One step foward, two steps foward. She couldn't tell what it was doing from all the way back here.

[Buried Hatchet] He's walked close enough that his path has intersected with that of the two other Fosterns. He knows from what the spirits say and how even the Guardians react to Wyrmbreaker that the Lord is well beyond ready -- in the eyes of the Nation, at least -- to ascend to Adren. He knows, too, that his own honor has been growing quietly in the background, shown in challenges overseen and in the way he leads and advises even those outside his pack. He knows soon enough it will be his time, too.

He doesn't know a lot about Blood Summons. He has heard that no one has heard from or seen the man's would-be packsister in a good long while now. He wonders how that's working out, and yes -- he wonders that even as he's looking at the darkened Cloud Gate, his brain running on multiple tracks at once.

"Or vibrations, period," he says quietly, and looks at the other two. He notes Mila heading their way and gives her a nod, as though waving her over.

[Blood Summons] Before he can respond with his thoughts on what's going on, Wyrmbreaker motions for the Godi to stop moving. That's all it takes. He stops, casting aside the cigarette to breathe out its last on the none-too-pristine surface of the walkway, and narrows his focus on the pitch black surface of the normally reflective piece of art. Eyes flick back and forth as if reading a sign, only briefly pulling away to acknowledge the Fiann and what he's said.

As quietly as he can, he reaches into the hip pocket of his fading black jeans and pulls out a small, reflective piece of green glass. It might have been a beer bottle once, but its purpose has shifted since its previous incarnation.

His voice becomes even raspier when he drops it to match the other Fosterns' quiet pitch.

"I'm checking the other side."

[Gnosis: PEEK!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 7, 7 (Botch x 1 at target 8)

[Stormbreaker] She wasn't heading towards them, in fact, she wasn't even looking at them anymore. She was on the steps where she began, standing on the top step now to be exact.

Mila was just watching, after creeping a few steps closer. Something would happen, she was sure of it. It was just a waiting game at this point.

[Wyrmbreaker] [powering up! luna's armor! -1gn]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 7) [WP]

[Blood Summons] Were not for the fact that this thing is responding to movement, he might have growled at what he sees in the surface of that palm-sized piece of glass--or, rather, growled at the choking infringement of the city on his ability to properly glance across the Gauntlet. Muscles in his sharp jaw pop beneath the surface of his rough skin as he grits his teeth, but he doesn't react to failure with violence, as much as he might like to throw that imperfect circle of glass or start vehemently ranting about this godawful blight upon the surface of the earth.

No, he just takes a breath and pockets the piece of glass again.

"I didn't see anything," he almost whispers. Not I can't see anything. If Mila were with them she might be thinking: typical fucking Fenrir. "The other side is just as black."

He falls silent then, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks at the structure. He's never encountered anything like this before, or if he has, it's been so long that he can't remember how it was dealt with the last time. He's not picking up the cues from the environment that the less spiritually-inclined Garou are, and his skill as a spirit-talker aren't doing him any favors right now.

[Wyrmbreaker] [-1 Gn - bloody bandage! -1 Gn - soak talen!]

While Blood Summons is attempting to look across the Gauntlet, Lukas is methodically and systematically drawing his defenses to himself. He pauses, briefly, as Blood Summons reports absolute blackness on the other side.

They have no way of knowing that there's anything to see at all; no reason to suspect anything but a shroud drawn over the other-world, just as a shroud seems to have been drawn over Cloud Gate. Wyrmbreaker nods, taking the Fostern Theurge's word at surface value.

"Until we have proof otherwise," he says, "we'll have to assume the Umbra is neither an option nor an ally. If you have preparations to make, make them now. Otherwise, stay on your guard and stay behind me. We're going to investigate this thing."

When the others have finished whatever preparations they might, Wyrmbreaker starts forward, growing into his Crinos form as he does so. At this point, Delirium is less of a veil breach than a giant, pitch-black Jellybean Gate.

[Wyrmbreaker] [fatal flaw!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Stormbreaker] {-1 G, bloody bandage, last one!}

Whatever this was, it was gonna hurt, she was sure of it. Silently she prepared herself for the impending battle, even though the method of combat was yet unknown.

The young woman didn't shift yet, she'd wait for -something- to happen, but she'd be ready. Without a word, she turned and headed towards the trio.

[Buried Hatchet] It is the job of the lone Ahroun in tonight's group to ready himself to take blows, to deal out more. Kill the monster, earn the glory, make sure the four Garou that stand here at the beginning are still standing here at the end. It is Blood Summons's role to look across the Gauntlet, to know what they're up against spiritually. To heal, to spirit-talk, to do what that blackness on the other side is keeping him from doing as though it had it in for him.

And maybe later, Mila will carve their names into some trophy and adorn the Wyrmpole with it. Maybe later she'll stand up at the moot and tell the sept of what happened tonight. Maybe she'll write a song about it, strum it out on her guitar and be a Galliard her way.

Buried Hatchet's job, when it comes to times like these, is a little harder to puzzle out. Should he tell the others that he has judged this situation to be of the Wyrm, and act accordingly? He doesn't know. He hasn't judged. And they wouldn't need him to tell them if it were, truth be told. It is his duty to sort truth from facts, to hold the line against the dissolution of their will in the face of their rage, to be the balance of their kind, but on nights like tonight

he, and Lukas, and Blood Summons, and Mila all bear the same burden. They are Gaia's teeth and claws, her warriors, and a Garou of any auspice who cannot hold their own in battle soon becomes a packless loner, and a dead wolf, and a memory that fades away like chalk carried off the pavement by wind and rain.

Hatchet frowns when Blood Summons says he didn't see anything, that it's all black. He nods briefly to Lukas, the warmaster of the sept and default warleader of the pack they create tonight just by being in the same place at the same time, facing the same foe. He hangs back, and brings up the rear. This is an extension of faith: he believes Blood Summons and Mila do not need shadows keeping them alive. This is a practicality: he has the ability to heal them by talen or gift if they need it, and he wants to keep them all in his sights.

This is also his moon: he wants the broadest perspective, the biggest picture, and he is willing to wait to find out.

His body sinks down onto four strong legs, four heavy paws, body bristling with thick gray fur and every strand of it tipped with rust-red. His eyes gleam gold as the crinos Lord goes forward and the hispo Fiann hangs back.

[-1WP, Resist Pain
-1G, Soak Talen]

[Blood Summons] His preparations are swift without being thoughtless, his preparedness to go into battle unquestioned without being stupid. The opinion the rest of the Nation has of his lot is that they're all too willing to go slavering into battle, brainlessly throwing themselves at anything that even mildly smells of the Corrupter. Of the three Fosterns, Blood Summons' reputation is the least tied to his prowess in battle. That's to be expected. His talents are supposed to lie within that space between his ears rather than at the ends of his paws.

Hell, Hatchet has seen what happens when he misjudges a strike: his claws snap off like twigs. They're laughably fragile, almost to the point of uselessness. It's the curse his parents left him with, and yet it does not stop him from lending them to battle. He does not hide behind it.

That's neither here nor there. He's not thinking about the fact that his claws might fail him tonight. He's pulling loose talens from his knapsack, calling upon the spirits bound within to protect him from whatever happens tonight. He's wrapping himself in a protective layer of numbness in case he has to weather a hit. He's shifting to his light-furred dire wolf form, more powerful-looking than his human form, and doing as Wyrmbreaker ordered. He stays behind him.

[-1 WP, Resist Pain.
Gnosis: Soak Talen!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 7)

[-reflection-] The Garou do what they can to prepare themselves.

Buried Hatchet beckons Mila over, to better unify their strength. Garou shouldn't fight alone, after all. Yet Mila stays back, keeping herself separate from the collection of Fosterns and near-Adrens. So many Cliaths have died these past months because they've disobeyed their elders or decided to fight alone. One has to wonder at the wisdom of her actions.

Blood Summons attempts to look across the Gauntlet, only to find blackness. The same blackness that rests on the surface of the Gate.

And Lukas prepares himself for battle. Summons Gifts and activates talens, grows into his Crinos form. He steps toward the figure, the mantle of leadership falling easily upon his shoulders as he calls the others to fall in behind him.

And he steps closer to the Gate to get a closer look.

As he steps closer, there's a flicker with each pop and snap of his joins, each groan as his muscles bulge and elongate to fit his bigger frame. As he draws nearer, he can see that the oily black surface is reflecting. The pale flicker grows as he nears, follows his shape, distorted as it is in the curved surface of the bean. In the space where a gracefully curved arch is formed, at the peak of that arch, blackness coalesces. It bubbles, and spreads out along the outer curve of that arch, and it drips down like oil. Four liquid shadows pool on the concrete around them, the shapes they make vague and shifting.

They shift forward to meet the Garou, spreading out.

[-reflection-] If Lukas knows anything about the Garou with him, he knows that when he seeks the flaws of the four shadow things, they're echoed in the Gaians around him. And though the liquid shadowy things are amorphous, he knows

that one trying to move around tot he back is like Buried Hatchet.

that one headed for the Godi is like Blood Summons.

that one is like moving for Mila is Stormbreaker.

and that one, the one sliding to face him, is Wyrmbreaker.
to Wyrmbreaker

[-reflection-] Also, in case he hadn't noticed, IT'S A GATE.
to Wyrmbreaker

[Wyrmbreaker] As they cross the broad expanse of pavement, the temporary warpack that they have become falls into a sort of thoughtless order. And as they cross that broad expanse, they see, finally, something like a tangible foe.

Wyrmbreaker drops from two legs to four. A moment later he changes again, the savage majesty of the Crinos form becoming something much more feral, much more brutish. He's lower to the ground now, hulking, heavy through the shoulders and chest, heavy in the jaws. His head is held at the level of his shoulders, extended forward: hunting. His eyes are preternaturally sharp, and they seek weakness.

In this form, it's hard not to snarl and snap. Not to growl challenges. It's hard to remember, sometimes, that he's not a wolf, no more than he is a man. His existence is somewhere between the two -- ideally, the best of both worlds. All too often, caught between the two worlds; in a raw, ferocious nomansland between one and the other where their race ekes out their warlike survival.

Wyrmbreaker has the control not to snarl and snap like a rabid thing, after all. He does utter one short bark, though --

"They're us."

And, a few paces later,

"Be prepared for them to think like us. Move like us. They're coming through the gate. Blood Summons, find a way to close the way. The rest of you, with me. That one first."

He fixes his eyes on the on that is like Mila, but not Mila. The target called.

[Buried Hatchet] 9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8

[Blood Summons] [+9]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8

[Wyrmbreaker] 20
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Stormbreaker] {+8}
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

[-reflection-] Tehctah
[+9]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4

[-reflection-] Snommus Doold
[+9]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6

[Stormbreaker] She didn't ignore the beckoning - she just didn't see it. Nor did she hear anything that they'd said to each other. But, she was with them now, which is what counted. Yes, she was massively outranked - but she didn't let it bother her. Either she'd live, or she wouldn't. It was like every other day.

As the bean shifted, dripped and altogether other things started to form, the cliath Lord finally shifted. Her dire wolf form was dark, almost black - though her eyes remained that same oddly grey shade of blue. She remained slightly back, highly focused; alert.

One could only hope that her blows would land effectively tonight, just as they lately. If she had to hear Simon crying about his wounds one more time. . . the random thought just fueled her rage this evening.

And then Wyrmbreaker speaks.. how devious of the wyrm...

[-reflection-] Alim
[+8]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8

[-reflection-] Sakul
[+20]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10

[Buried Hatchet]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3

[Blood Summons]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8

[-reflection-] [ROUND ONE

Sakul 30
Lukas 28
Blood Summons 17
Hatchet 17
Alim 16
Snommus 15
Tehctah 13
Mila 13
declare in reverse!]

[Stormbreaker] {1a. Claw at Anit-me
1b. Repeat.. incase it didn't work time 1 }

[-reflection-] Tehctah
Holding

Snommus
Holding

Alim
Holding

[Buried Hatchet] [1a. Bite Alim
1b. Bite Alim
1c. Held for either biting or healing]

[Blood Summons] [1: Summon... something! Oh my god I'm never playing a Theurge again!]

[Wyrmbreaker] [1a. True Fear on anti-lukas!
b. bite anti-mila!
R1.
R2.
R3. -- biting anti-mila some more! if anti-mila goes down, on to anti-blood summons! KILL THE PRIEST.]

[-reflection-] Sulak
Holding


[some missing posts here as i go home!]


[Buried Hatchet] Lukas
[1a. True Fear! Str + Intimidation -2 (split)]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 7)

[Buried Hatchet] Lukas
[1b. NOM. Dex + Brawl + Perun -3 (split)]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 8 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1

[Buried Hatchet] Lukas
[Damage! +7]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)

[-reflection-] Alim
Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 4, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-reflection-] Tehctah redeclare
[1a. Bite Hatchet
1b. Bite Hatchet
1c. Held for either biting or healing
+1 diff to all]

Alim redeclare
[1a.
1b. Claws to Mila! +1 diff to all]

Sulak redeclare
[Quake with fear! Lasts 3 turns]

[Blood Summons] [1: Rituals+Wits: Summon Cuckoo Jaggling.]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 5)

[Blood Summons] [Gnosis: Please Don't Be Pissed.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Buried Hatchet] [1a. -3]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 6, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1

[Buried Hatchet] [Damage! + 1]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 4, 5, 6, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Buried Hatchet] [1b. -4]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 5)

[-reflection-] Alim
Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 6, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Buried Hatchet] [Damage! +1 Kahseeno, stop being a fucking whore.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)

[-reflection-] Alim
Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-reflection-] Alim: x_X

[Buried Hatchet] [1c. Continuing to hold! I don't trust that Sulak, he's shifty-eyed!]

[Buried Hatchet] Lukas
As soon as the shadow version of Mila goes down under Buried Hatchet's jaws, the next target is clear: the Ahroun is turning towards the liquid-black version of Blood Summons, the only indication any of them need that he -- it -- is next.

[-reflection-] Tehctah
[1a: Bite Hatchet! +1 diff]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-reflection-] [dam: +1]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Buried Hatchet] [Soak, +2]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 7, 7, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[-reflection-] Tehctah
[1b. Bite Hatchet!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-reflection-] [dam: +3]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 4, 4, 4, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Buried Hatchet] [You're so cute.]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[-reflection-] Tehctah
Still holding 1c, as well!

[Stormbreaker] {1a.Bite anti Summons. -2}
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

[Stormbreaker] {Damage? +0)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

[Stormbreaker] {1b. Bite Anti Summons. PS: Kasheeno, you're DEAD to me}
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[Buried Hatchet] [1c. Nobody needs healing? Awesome! Nomming Snommus! -5]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 6 (Failure at target 6)

[-reflection-] Tehctah
1c: Bite Hatchet! +1]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] R1. chomp fakebob!
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1

[Wyrmbreaker] damage +6!
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 9 at target 6)

[-reflection-] Snommus
Shit!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 7, 8 (Failure at target 6)

[-reflection-] Snommus
X_x

[Wyrmbreaker] R2. on to fake-chet!
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 11 at target 5) Re-rolls: 2

[Wyrmbreaker] Dam +10
Dice Rolled:[ 19 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 10 at target 6)

[-reflection-] Tehctah
Ack!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 5, 7, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] R3. again!
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 5 at target 5)

[Wyrmbreaker] dam +4!
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[-reflection-] Tehctah
Maybe?
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 3, 6, 6, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 8 at target 6)

[-reflection-] ROUND TWO: finish them!
Sakul 30
Lukas 28
Blood Summons 17
Hatchet 17
Tehctah 13
Mila 13

Alim x_x
Snommus x_x
Tehctah 5A
Everyone else OK!
declare in reverse!

[Wyrmbreaker] "Blood Summons!" It's amazing how a mouthful of blood -- or whatever foul ichor flows through the veins of the not-thems -- does the work of thirty years of tobacco and whiskey. Wyrmbreaker's voice is a rough snarl, almost unintelligible. "How goes?"

[Stormbreaker] {1a. Bite Sakul
1b. Rinse, repeat
R1. I'm pissed.. I will kill something.. bite what's still alive.}

[-reflection-] Tehctah
1: Bite Hatchet!

[Buried Hatchet] In two sharp bites, Buried Hatchet takes the slinking shadow of Mila's shape down to the ground, ripping whatever substance this is apart in his jaws. He waits then, watching his allies, eyes flicking back and forth until he sees that they are maintaining the upper hand, that they are virtually untouched while two of their four enemies are down. He doesn't wait to heal any longer. He lunges for the next target.

The one that looks like him, or holds his shape at least. Moves like he does. Fails like he does.
[1a.
1b.
R1.
R2. -- bites on Tehctah, then Sulak]

[-reflection-] Blood Summons
2nd turn of summoning

[Wyrmbreaker] 1a. bite anti-hatchet!
b. grapple anti-lukas!
R1. kill it ded if it's not!

[-reflection-] Sulak
Quake with fear!

[Wyrmbreaker] 1a. plz die nao, k?
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1

[Wyrmbreaker] dam +6!
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 7 at target 6)

[-reflection-] Tehctah
Ack!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-reflection-] Tehctah
x_X

[Wyrmbreaker] Wheeling as one toward the last of their foes, one almost-Adren chuffs at the other -- "Even your shadow is hardheaded as [fuck], Hatchet!"

Then the Ahroun is lunging for his shadow, teeth striving to seize the other by the ruff and twist him around, vulnerable to the attacks of the others.

[str + brawl + perun - 3 (split)]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 4, 6, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[-reflection-] Sulak
redeclare: I skeered but I resist!
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 4, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Buried Hatchet] The Fiann fighting with Lukas does what passes for a laugh in this form, but it's a whuffling, growling noise that any other creature would find threatening. It is brief, because then another target is all but stretched out for him, presented belly-out for his jaws. He dives forward, all eagerness and bloodthirst.
[1a. biting Sulak! -2 // diff -2]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 7 at target 3)

[Buried Hatchet] [+6]
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 8 at target 6)

[-reflection-] Sulak
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 4, 5, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Buried Hatchet] [1b. -3]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 3) Re-rolls: 1

[Buried Hatchet] [+4 *slaps Kahseeno's ass* YEAH THAT'S HOW YOU LIKE IT]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-reflection-] Sulak
Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 5, 5, 7, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[Stormbreaker] {Go back to hell.. or.. the black bean!}
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 4, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 8 at target 6)

[-reflection-] soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 5, 5, 6, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-reflection-] The Gaians meet the shadow version of themselves, with nothing more than the warnings of their war leader to prepare them.

Lukas shifts down into his dire wolf form, his fur as black as the Cloud Gate before them, reflecting only the barest of light. He snarls, ROARS at the shadow thing he knows is his reflection, and it stops. Seems to shrink in on itself. Holds back.

So these things know fear, or something like it.

The Ahroun bites the shadow of the Galliard, strips away a chunk of black nothingness. Weakens it. Buried Hatchet, keeping them all in sight in case anyone needs healing, leaps forward. Huge Hispo jaws sink into the black. At first, the shadow remains untouched. His mouth tingles with the shadow-stuff stinging his tongue. It bubbles and fizzes but ultimately does no harm. As Lukas proved before them, their jaws, their most powerful weapons, will not be hindered here tonight. He bites again, biting into the shadow and tearing it away like stringy chewing gum. It dissipates into the night air like smoke on the wind.

The copy of the Philodox matches his movements. He bites with the same strength. Though the creature has no real mouth, has no real teeth, Hatchet feels what his enemies feel when his jaws scrape and do nothing. A tug against his fur, but no pain. Never any pain. The copy is nearly perfect, nearly exact. Buried Hatchet moves to bite a foe, the shadow moves the exact same way. They miss by the same margin. And that is fucking spooky.

Meanwhile, their Godi begins to summon. He stands off, muttering and chanting, performing the ritual to summon a spirit and

his shadow does, too. Except, there is no gathering of spiritual energy. The copy does nothing until it dies. Disappears under the powerful jaws of the Fostern Ahroun.

Orders are barked and followed. This team of mismatched, unpacked Garou, each an Alpha in their own right, displays their strength and their ability to work as a unit as well as if they were bound together by something other than duty.

But they're at war. Packmates aren't always around to aid them. This is what they do.

The Lukas shadow continues to cower in fear when Buried Hatchet and Lukas the original tear its companion to pieces, lets the smoke of its passing drift away into the sky. When the mirror of the Ahroun is finally immobile, it's the Galliard who delivers the killing blow.

Silence descends over the courtyard. Blood Summons attempts to summon something, but for all his spiritual strength, for all his brutal tenacity when it comes to dealing with spirits, nothing comes to his call tonight.

And the Gate remains black as pitch, reflecting nothing. Flickers are beginning again. Now that the Gaians know what to look for, they can see them. Faint for now.

They still have to close that gate.

[wits + occult diff 7!]

[Wyrmbreaker]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 10 (Failure at target 7)

[Stormbreaker]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[Wyrmbreaker] [HAIL KAHSEENO.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 8) [WP]

[-reflection-] Cleanse it! Rite of Cleansing will work.
to Stormbreaker, Wyrmbreaker

[Stormbreaker] The lone cliath spoke up.. well, kinda growled which only they could understand. "Can anyone Cleanse it?.. It should work.."

[Wyrmbreaker] It's a little unnerving, watching his tonight-pack tear his fake-self to shreds in a matter of seconds. It's unnerving to feel the thing that moved like him, that had his size and speed and strength, jerk and twitch in the grip of his jaws as his compatriots killed it.

Then Wyrmbreaker is letting it go, and the shadow-beast is slackening to the ground, dead. The Ahroun turns toward the gate, pale eyes narrowing, wet nose moving as he scents the air.

"Looks like the spirits aren't listening tonight," he gruffs. "Let's try a Rite of Cleansing."

[Buried Hatchet] As soon as not-Lukas slumps over, Hatchet pulls back. A second later, the dark young Cliath among them darts forward and chomps her jaws down on the shadow. If a direwolf could look bemused, Hatchet would at the moment. As it is, he steps back and away, shaking out his fur, spitting out the viscous gobs left in his mouth from demolishing the not-them.

He grunts: "I have the rite."

And, apparently, a bag of ritual items dedicated to his flesh, which he withdraws with his teeth. He shifts to crinos, then, slowly, unfurling into his seldom-seen warform and withdrawing willow and a vial of water and so on, and so forth. He directs the others with body language and little whuffs and growls to position themselves around the Cloud Gate with him, and begins to howl.

[Buried Hatchet] [charisma + rituals]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 7) [WP]

[-reflection-] Buried Hatchet begins to move widdershins around the giant bean, flicking pure water at it. Where the droplets strike, the blackness sizzles. Smoke - like that of their defeated foes - begins to rise. Cracks begin to form, slowly at first. Bits of silver begin to show throw.

When the Garou raise their voices to the night, to Luna, to the spirits, commanding the taint and stain from this place, the surface of the Cloud Gate begins to shudder. The cracks spread faster, bits of black raining down. Before they reach the ground, they dissipate. Floating into the air like smoke.

And finally the Cloud Gate is clean and clear again. There are proper reflections of the lamps, of the sky, of the Garou themselves.

The night is quiet again. Peaceful, even.

It's just another night in Chicago. A night for a stroll through the park.

[Stormbreaker] After things have returned to normal, how they should be - did Mila shift back to her human skin. Like the rest of them, there wasn't a scratch on her. She tilted her head slightly as her gaze slid passed all three faces.

"Rhyas.." She spoke, in greeting and perhaps congraulations on their efforts. She knew well enough that she did mostly nothing. It was embarassing.. but, she did put her heart until that last blow, as much of an overkill as it was.

[Wyrmbreaker] Wyrmbreaker never did learn the ritual of Cleansing. He sits on his haunches and watches as the Philodox performs the rite, pacing a slow circle around the whole of the gate to banish all traces of Wyrm from it. When darkness begins to flake off, rain down, the black hispo closes his eyes against it, ears flattening back against his skull as it pings and patters off his fur, around his feet.

Then it's finished. When he opens his eyes again, his own monstrous reflection looks back at him. Another moment, and the creature in Cloud Gate's distorted reflection is a man again, black-haired, swarthy-skinned.

"That wasn't the first time the Wyrm has tried to use our own strength against us, one way or another," the Ahroun notes. "And it seems to be getting better at it."

He turns to the others, then. "I want to be informed if something like this happens again."

[Buried Hatchet] It's been awhile since he's performed this alone, and yet it doesn't feel strange to him to do so. He learned this so that he could kill and cleanse on the road with or without a pack. He never needed to learn how to dedicate items to his flesh in order to survive like that; there was usually someone at a sept here or there who would do it for him, for a favor or a price. But cleansing, he's had to learn. Even if he does it rarely, and doesn't do it particularly well, he had to know.

At the end of it all, the Cloud Gate is restored and Hatchet looks at himself in its reflection. He's warped, his long muzzle and pricked ears twisted by the curve of the so-called jellybean. He shakes black flecks off of himself, but they're dissipating even as he does so. He stares at himself for a moment, this reflection no more odd than the shadow version, and turns around to look over at the others.

He chuffs, inclining his head. Wordless as most communications are in forms other than that he was born to, this one holds an attitude of thanks nonetheless. And assent, a moment later, to Lukas.

Striding back towards them, he attains his birth form again, and looks at Mila as he approaches. "I am glad," he says levelly, "that its imitation was imperfect."

Whatever that means.

[Stormbreaker] Mila leaned down and picked up her guitar, safely resting where she'd left it. The strap she slid over one shoulder and she slid the guitar around behind her. She was glad it didn't get trampled. She liked this one, and it played well!

"Of course Wyrmbreaker-rhya. You will be the first I notify should anything like this happen again.. Now, if you two will excuse me.. I should be heading home.."

[Wyrmbreaker] "Goodnight, Stormbreaker. Say hi to your packmate for me."

He turns to Hatchet. "I'm heading back to the Brotherhood too. Want a ride?"

[Buried Hatchet] There are no trophies to pick up and take back to the Wyrmpole. There's no cleanup to do other than what they've already done. There was a Godi here, but he's gone now. Hatchet nods to Mila as he heads off, then turns back to Lukas. He considers the offer a moment, looking around the pavilion as though weighing his options. His eyes come back to the Ahroun who arrived in Chicago scant minutes, maybe scant hours, relative to his own greeting of the city.

"Yeah, sure," he says, and falls into step with him. The fact that he has changed a great deal in the past year and a half is evidenced primarily by the fact that he has nothing at all to say about the fact that they just killed each other.

Shadows of each other. But still.