[-the foretold-] OK folks! This oneshot will run a bit differently from most of mine. It'll probably feature more IC posting and less dice than you might've come to expect. That said:
1. 10 min per post OR LESS. Preferably less. If we're dicing, declare in 3 min. Roll in 2 or I'll roll for you.
2. No posting order, but please post ONCE for every post I make.
3. Keep track of your own health and tempers.
4. Questions in the chat. Don't IM me. If I don't see the question, repeat it until I do *LOL* If I don't respond for minutes on end -- I'm probably posting. You should wait, unless it's absolutely urgent, upon which you should PM me once.
5. PM me your applicable flaws. This includes stuff like nightmares and phobias and hatreds and compulsions.
6. If there are any off-limits themes, imagery or events you do NOT want to see in a scene, PM 'em to me now.
7. I will do a set-up post. This may take a while, so be patient.
[Danicka Musil] [The usual: Veiled! Danicka is intolerant of whining. Kai is intolerant of rape imagery and slugs.]
to -the foretold-
[Kemp Oates] ((Kemp has no official flaws. Though you know him, he doesn't let anyone in anymore and has little tolerance for women and less for stupid. ))
to -the foretold-
[Lonna Larson] point 6: Just don't permanently disfigure my girl (amputation of limbs, permanent stat decreases, etc) and I'm good! I don't mind seeing it happen to other people, but the idea of it squicks me out pretty hard.
to -the foretold-
[-the foretold-] They dream:
The shape of things to come.
The sky is blood. Sullen red from horizon to horizon, wreathed into whorls and fissures, ripples, turbulences. The scent of smoke and death is in the air, and the ground is littered with corpses. Some are days, weeks old, spongy with rot. The smell is overpowering. Some are freshly slain, their wounds still seeping blood, their flesh firm like so much meat on the slaughterhouse floor.
All around, buildings have toppled. The ground has split open. Asphalt upended; entire tracts of architecture lain to waste. Stormclouds unlike any they've seen before crowd the horizons, black and angry atop, their bellies glowing with the light of distant fires, but the sky above is open.
But not clear.
A red star hangs directly overhead, burning out the constellations and the moon. This is nighttime, or perhaps daytime, or perhaps it is all the same now. That red star is not the sun, but its light is enough to see by, and it touches everything.
A creature, a mighty warlord of the wyrm, stands triumphant atop a shattered concrete pylon. It is hulking, massive, roughly bipedal, roughly lupine. Its fur is rich and black. A cloak of skins hangs from its shoulders, woven with trophies of a thousand horrors: jawbones, ears, fingers, feet. As they watch, wretched creatures, cowering and simpering, crawl forth to lay new trophies at its feet.
When it turns to face its acolytes, they can see the curious mark on its face: a scar or a birthmark; impossible to tell. Five clawed fingers and a palm: a remarkably perfect simulacrum of an enormous handprint covers the left side of its face, over the orbit of the eye.
When it steps down from shattered concrete to accept the offerings, they can see the skeleton of the Chicago skyline behind it: ruins.
--
They dream:
The shape of things that were.
A different world. No electricity. No interior plumbing. No concrete, little glass, and only the most primitive of steels. The floor beneath their feet is stone, great chunks of it quarried out from the earth, cemented together. The walls are stone. The windows are covered in skins, and the door is solid oak.
In the hearth, a fire roars. A baby squalls. When the door flies open, a flurry of snow bursts in. For a moment the creature in the door is not human; then fur fades and shape shifts and a man strides in. His face is grim and lined and weary, and his hair, once jet black, is greying. Beneath all that, he can't be much more than thirty years old.
The woman in the birthing-bed is much younger. The elder bent by the fire is much, much older. It's this final figure that holds the child, wet and bloody still from the birth. The man goes to him, and the elder speaks.
"This is the one who was foretold."
The child's face is marked: a perfect simulacrum of a clawed handprint on his face.
"Greatness is in his blood. His line will extend a thousand years. Under Gaia, his get will rise to glory and victory. Under the Wyrm, they will plunge the world into ruin. All is balanced on the edge of a knife."
"What must we do?" asks the mother.
"It is already too late. His fate is decided."
"How can that be?" the father demands. "He's a newborn. His life is not lived. Anything can happen yet."
The elder turns his face from the fire. His eyes are milky and blind.
"Everything has already come to pass. Thrice will the Wyrm touch the child. Once to harm. Once to ward. And once to corrupt his soul, his blood, his line."
"That cannot be!" argues the father. "Tell us what must be done!"
Darkness is creeping into their minds' eye. The vision fades from the edges, going to black.
The elder whispers into their minds:
"All has already been said and done."
--
They awaken:
It's raining, and cold. They're far from home. Nothing smells, feels, seems familiar. Something is missing from the world, and it's some time before they realize it's the smell of petroleum, the hum of electricity, all the trappings of the modern world.
They have their possessions with them; whatever it is they may think to bring on an ordinary sojourn into the world. None of them remember stepping out of their front doors, and yet here they are.
Dawn is still barely on the horizon. They are at the foot of a great stone tower, and the landscape is black, save for the distant light of torches.
[Imogen Slaughter] She sits up -
the rain reminds her of home.
But it's not home. It's unfamiliar, strange, and that realization comes crashing down abruptly, like a dash of cold water - the raindrops falling from the sky. She passes a hand sharply over her face, a hand passing to the small of her back, and is comforted by the weapon there.
Her eyes pass over the others, touching longest on Kemp as she gets to her feet, brushing hands over her backside, and looking toward the dawn, over the blackened landscape. A muscle moves in her jaw. Her eyes briefly close than open again.
Still the same.
"Did everyone dream?" Even her voice sounds wrong - with no city noise as its backdrop.
[Kemp Oates] He wasn't sure if he were still dreaming or what. Hell, nothing smelled as it had always smelled to him, like a city. Nothing was as it should be. And where the Hell was he and how did these others turn up here, especially Imogen?
"What the fuck? How the fuck did I..we..what the fuck? I know I ain't no fuckin drugs, but something fucking, fucked up my dreams and I think I'm fuckin dreaming still. Cause, well fuck, this ain't Kansas and that ain't home."
He gestured at the stone tower as he spoke, rising with a grimace as he shoved the hair from his eyes with one hand while pointing at the tower.
"And I KNOW I didn't go to bed with you."
This time the finger went towards Imogen.
"Unless I did...and...yeah, Decker killed my ass for it."
[Katherine Bellamonte] The dreams are as much nightmare as vision.
The Philodox who sleeps through the first snarls in the midst of it, tossing and turning, fingers clawing at the sheets of her bed, or the ground, or the snow, where so ever she is, her lip peeled away from the lower, teeth bared like some feral thing toward the creature she sees standing, responsible for death's coming. For destruction.
She is equally nettled by the vision of the past, of the desire to reach and destroy the child as much as to shelter and protect it. Everything has already come to pass, the words stay with her, echoing in her ears as she awakens abruptly --
to the patter of raindrops landing on her face. Katherine sits up, startled, uncertain to the sound of Imogen Slaughter's voice asking if they had all dreamed. The Fenrir begins to curse, and the Half Moon raises her hands to her cheeks, wiping away the rain. "Yes, I dreamed… strange things." She tentatively pushes herself to her feet, her pale eyes wary as they come to rest upon the stone tower.
[Danicka Musil] She doesn't usually have nightmares. She is not scared of the dark. The things in her head when she's sleeping aren't real, and can't really hurt her. She dreams of things that could have been, but were not. And things that were, but have passed. And things that she wishes, and fears, and cannot cope with while waking. She dreams like everyone else,
but not this time.
Danicka is lying on the ground the way she sleeps, curled on her left side, her left arm cocked and used as a something of a pillow, her right arm loosely draped, hand over her left elbow. Her knees are bent, her body tucked slightly as though she has something to protect herself from. She's dressed to go shopping, in tight skinny jeans tucked into a pair of slouched leather boots she's had since she was far younger. The strap of her rather large purse is under her right hand, pressing into her left arm. Her sunglasses are askew, falling off her face. Her peacoat is hooded and red, covers whatever top she has on. Her hair is down, tousled, everywhere.
She does not move immediately upon waking. Her eyes flicker and blink open as droplets hit her cheek and temple, her gaze is cut between clarity and the darkened lens of her shades. Danicka's shoulders move harder as she breathes in deeply, moving her right hand -- then her left -- to the ground and pushing herself up. She sniffs as she gets to her feet, and it looks like she's wearing a white ribbed turtleneck under the coat. She pushes her sunglasses up to both clear her vision and keep her hair off her face, purse's strap going over her arm, and looks around.
Her eyes are on the tower first, and then she looks down and begins to do up the shiny round black buttons of her coat in silence. Imogen's question touches her ears, and she nods. Looks up, when her coat is fastened, and lifts a hand to her face to partly cover one eye, fingers curling like claws, imitating the handprint that was over the eye of the beast, the eye of the newborn. Her hand drops.
[Lonna Larson] She dreams.
She dreams of things that burn brightly in her head, a sky like blood. Nothing but red as far as she can see. Lonna smells smoke, sees what feels like a battlefield and finds herself looking at an overwhelming sense of pain and longing. There is pain there, and the feeling, at least to the Child of Gaia, that she didn't do enough.
The buildings have fallen. A star- bright red burns in the sky. Touches everything, leaves her feeling dirty without meaning. Or, perhaps, that was the intention.
This is what will be.
The world was different, once. There was little glass, no concrete, with walls of stone and solid oak. There is a man, there, old beyond his young years... but Lonna knew that this was so long ago that thirty was an eternity away.
When she wakes up, she is in an unfamiliar place.
When she sits up, there are people. She reaches for her purse- there's a gun in there. A gun, some ammunition, a mirror and some makeup. Lonna had a wallet in there, but the importance of its contents were doubtable. Her clothes were sticking to her, and when she awakened to the smell of... nothing. The blonde found herself stirring, and speaking while she sat herself up in a more comfortable position.
"I dreamed," she offered, "first, there was... the sky was red and there were bodies and-"
She's having a hard time getting words and thoughts together.
"There was a red star, and there was... something went wrong, somewhere along the lines. The second part of the dream I had... there was a kid born with the same birthmark, a line would last a thousand years. That... the child was... I think became corrupted before he had the chance to really live... that fate's already decided before anyone could do anything."
[Liadan Whelan] Líadan doesn't remember falling asleep. She was sitting in her apartment, watching television, and the next thing she knew she was dreaming of a dead Chicago and of children born of prophecy. She'd be inclined to discount the dreams as something concocted by her imagination (too many sci-fi movies, too many adventure commics, too many fantasy books), except when she wakes the world feels wrong.
First there is the smell. The air is too pure, too clean. Too natural. It doesn't feel like her apartment, or a coffee shop, or a city street. When she opens her eyes and peers at the world through her dark-rimmed glasses, the sky is the wrong shade of grey. It's cold, but somehow, even though her last memory is of being in her home, she's dressed for it. She's wearing jeans and a single-breasted wool coat, her leather messenger bag tugging at her torso. Like she dressed to go out, but doesn't remember doing it.
She sits up and looks around, taking in the surroundings. The tower dominates everything. The Fianna kinswoman looks up and up at it, shaking back her long red hair before finally climbing to her feet.
There are others around. She recognizes Imogen and Danicka and Lonna, has a vague recollection of seeing Katherine, has never met the dark-haired young man before. She nods yes, she dreamed. And her eyes go to the tower, then to the distant torches. She pulls a small digital camera from the depths of her bag, checks to see if it works, then tries to use the zoom feature on the lights.
[-the foretold-] The ground beneath them is mud. Some patches are slippery: grass, trampled into the muck. It's not winter; it would be colder, if it were. The landscape is shrouded in mist that obscures the distance. They can make out rolling hills, patchy-green, and farther away, the shadow of knife-edged mountains cutting into the sky.
Apart from the stone tower they stand at the foot of, the only sign of civilization is the small village down the hill. Then again, to their 21st century eyes, all villages, all towns, all cities would seem small. This one, however, is truly so: a huddle of ten or twelve, some stonewalled, most wooden; thatched roofs; fenced enclosures for animals. Smoke is curling from the chimneys of one or two. A few figures move in the half-dark.
The tower, then: tall, but so broad that it appears squat. Perhaps it's a sentry tower, or an armory. If there's a door, it's on the other side.
The rain continues to fall. No one seems to have noticed them yet, this gaggle of strangely dressed, unusually clean and hygienic individuals. There is no indication as to why they, of all people, have been brought here.
Into the past. Or into this waking dream. Or...
[Imogen Slaughter] Kemp is given a disparaging glance. "I don't believe that's a concern," she replies, coolly. Her hair is bound back like she might have done it in the morning - though she has no recollection of doing so.
Danicka and Katherine get to their feet, Lonna speaks and Liadan begins to use her camera to see or tries, at least.
Imogen is briefly quiet, her attention turned inward, and then back toward the stone building, her gaze sweeping over it, studying it's make.
"The Wyrm will touch it thrice," she paraphrases, "Once to word, once to harm, once to ward and once to corrupt."
A glance over the gathered. "It was the same fer all o' us?"
[Liadan Whelan] [Camera-scope, GO!: percept + alert]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 6, 8 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Katherine Bellamonte] [Percept + Alert, just seeing what I can see]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Lonna Larson] [per+alert: look! A village!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 5, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Danicka Musil] [perception: 'apprehensive' + alertness]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 5, 6, 6, 6, 8, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Imogen Slaughter] (perception+alertness)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 7, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Kemp Oates] "Yep."
He squinted towards the village and pushed the damp hair from his eyes again.
"The guy with the hand print mark on his face like in the Lord of the Rings sorta? Or like that ball on that movie Castaway?"
[Kemp Oates] (percep+alert)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Lonna Larson] She looks at the tower again, and walks up to try and check out the door. The blonde looks back at her companions.
"I think that, maybe, we should try to blend in," she is very... very much preoccupied with the tower at the moment. She doesn't notice that there is a village, she doesn't notice that there is anything but a fairly large, fairly obtrusive tower in front of her.
[Imogen Slaughter] (Remove the "once to word" bit. TYPO!)
[Katherine Bellamonte] The Philodox is, thankfully, not wearing white at present. She is instead in a pair of workable jeans and a black winter's coat, the sleeves of which are dotted with specks of mud and water. Katherine immediately begins to flick the mud from herself out of a long-ingrained habit, and then makes her own study as do the others of their surroundings. She narrows her eyes at the signs of life in at least one of the smallish houses, the curling smoke, the suggestion of movement further on.
"Perhaps that is the key of it, somehow, the three occasions it is touched by the Wyrm. Perhaps..." Katherine's boots sink in the mud as she takes a few considering steps. "This is one of the occasions."
[-the foretold-] There's some movement down in the village: someone has exited one of the huts.
to Danicka Musil, Imogen Slaughter, Katherine Bellamonte, Kemp Oates, Liadan Whelan
[-the foretold-] It's a small boy, maybe 8 or 10.
to Danicka Musil, Imogen Slaughter, Liadan Whelan
[-the foretold-] He's looking around apprehensively, like he's sneaking off somewhere. When his face turns toward the hill and the tower, Danicka can see he has a birthmark on his face, patches of discolored skin like a handprint.
to Danicka Musil
[Liadan Whelan] There's a whirr as Lee zooms her camera in as far as it will go, aiming it for the village. Lonna says they should try to blend in, but there are things about Lee that she cannot easily hide, such as her vibrant red hair and her glasses. Well, she could hide her spectacles, which will no doubt declare her an outsider no matter what clothing she finds, but then she wouldn't be able to see very well. Her hair could be hidden under a hat.
But the fact remains that they're at the base of a stone tower, with no changes of clothes immediately at hand. Unless there's something inside the tower they could all change into. Lee finds that very unlikely.
"There's a kid down at that village," she says, perhaps unneccessarily. She shuts off her camera and drops it back into her bag, looks around at the others gathered. "I don't think we'll be able to blend in. We should probably get out of sight or something. We don't know what kind of defense force they have."
[-the foretold-] (free posting for now! i'll yell if i need people to stop.)
[Kemp Oates] "Blend in?"
His nose wrinkled as he started to circle the tower, looking for a way in or a way up. He had a way up, if his Gift didn't fail him, but a mundane method while not as fun, would be a hell of a lot easier.
"That's like trying not to stand out in a nudist camp of 5 people when you're the one wearing the oversized strap-on and silver Go-Go boots."
[.dust.] Wha's the email for the werewolf box, I got some questions I wanna ask before I make a character
to -the foretold-
[Danicka Musil] The next thing the blonde, red-coated kinswoman does is reach into her purse and take out a small travel umbrella. It's black on the outside, the underside printed with a blue sky and white fluffy cloats. She opens it with a gesture, swings it up over her head, and shields herself from the rain without so much as a moment of self-consciousness about the act that, given the circumstances, seems a bit mad.
As though rain is a concern, at this point.
The others talk. Lee takes pictures, or at least uses the viewfinder and zoom. But Danicka's attention to what's going on around is neither a particular fascination with detail nor extremely sharp vision. It's that she seems to always, always be waiting for the other shoe to drop, looking for the manifestation of a feeling of foreboding that's been present since she was a child.
She looks down at the village for awhile, thoughtful. When she finally does open her mouth, her voice is quiet, as though she's used to speaking in silence, but there's a hesitance to it, because she has to think to modulate her tone according to the lack of background noise.
"That's him -- the boy. He has the mark on his face. And he's sneaking off somewhere." She pauses. "I think he may be coming up here."
[-the foretold-] werewolf@chicagodusk.com! be sure to read the ground rules section too.
to .dust.
[Kemp Oates] "And here we stand, a crowd of strangers, one with a red umbrella that might as well blink like a fuckin stop light."
He looked for cover with the news ole Wilson face was coming their way and figured this was not going to work so well under the circumstances. This should be interesting.
"I wonder if they believe in The Welcome Wagon?"
[-the foretold-] Now that their attention is drawn that way, the six can see that there is, indeed, a boy down in the village. Those with keener eyes can see that he comes from one of the larger, more well-built huts. The walls are stone; the roof looks tarred beneath the thatch, and watertight. Heavy skins obscure the windows. The door is solid wood, and it takes the boy some effort to push it open.
He looks around warily, as though afraid of being caught. Then he slips out, leaving the door a little ajar. Quickly, lightfooted and agile, he darts around the corner of his house, past the hen enclosure. His neighbor a stone's throw away has emerged from his hovel as well, stretching and yawning, cinching his baggy, shapeless trousers with a solid leather belt. The boy shrinks smoothly back behind his chimney, hiding there until the neighbor has moved on toward what passes as the central commons of the tiny village, a stool and a wooden bucket in hand.
There's a well there, and a patch of grass. A single, skinny milk-cow is tied there. The neighbor sets up there. The boy, unseen, trots up the long path from the village to the tower. It's perhaps a good quarter mile or more. He hasn't seen them yet, though that won't last much longer.
--
Meanwhile, Kemp is circling the tower. He finds a door on the other side, stout and oaken. There's no visible lock, but he can't open it. Must be barred from the inside.
[Danicka Musil] "My umbrella is black," Danicka says mildly after the Ragabash circling the tower. "My coat is red. Though if you have an extra I can change into, I'll gladly take you up on the offer. It's chilly."
She does not put her umbrella away, but continues watching the village and -- specifically -- the boy. If she's wary of his approach or considering hiding, it doesn't show. She doesn't move.
[Katherine Bellamonte] The Silver Fang is instantly alert, she glances sharply at the only other Garou with her before doing a mental head count on their numbers. "We are to many to try and hide, but maybe... can you open that?" She's moved to join Kemp in studying the door, she pushes at it, and then slides her hands over the heavy oak.
[Kemp Oates] "I'd take cover if this doesn't work."
He concentrated and started doing his mojo on the door (Open Seal) seeing if he could get it opened. Though Danicka did get a muttered.
"Black, red, coat, umbrella, hello? Stands out either way."
[Imogen Slaughter] Like Katherine, Imogen is likely thankful to be wearing jeans rather than some of the other alternatives. A wool coat, a blouse beneath. She glances down at her own attire, then around the others, her eyes narrowing a little, before her attention returns to the boy visible down in the village, and as Danicka has said, is heading this way.
"I think Katherine's right," she says simply. "It would make sense we're here to accomplish something. After all," her observation is mild, "there must be easier ways t'kill us."
She steps back for a better view of Kemp attempting to open the door, a hand swiping over her dampened hair, her jaw tightening then easing again.
[-the foretold-] Open Seal works as well in the ... what is this, anyway? 11th century? -- as it does in the 21st.
However, locks here are somewhat different. There's a tremendous KA-CHUNK! from the other side of the door as the beam of wood barring the door spontaneously flies free.
There are voices at the top of the tower now; urgent calls, muffled and indistinct.
[Lonna Larson] She looked at the tower and took a few steps back and over to the side. Lonna wasn't wearing pants; she was wearing a skirt. It's something that's loose fitting and comfortable, just like her sweater was loose fitting and comfortable. She takes a second and tries to make out what the urgent calls in the tower are, but finds them to be indistinct.
[-the foretold-] (reflexive wits/primal urge or wits/intuition roll if you'd like. all or nothing -- 3 or more succ gets a tip.)
[Katherine Bellamonte] (wits/primal urge)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Danicka Musil] [Wits + 'Intuition']
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Kemp Oates] "I think I set off the scream alarm."
Once more he made a face that said he was less than thrilled. Knowing he should of just climbed the damned tower. With that thought he pushed the door open to enter. Maybe he would hear better in here? Maybe a big clawed hand would rip his face off?
"Fuckme, this should be interesting as fuck now that they are screaming their asses off and waking up the entire damned little fuckin ass village. Fuckme."
[Liadan Whelan] [wits + intuition]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 2, 3 (Botch x 1 at target 6)
[Lonna Larson] [not enough dice to make the roll, sorry kiddo!]
[Imogen Slaughter] Wits!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] Lee is convinced the people yelling at the top of the tower are alerted to their presence, and are about to react violently.
to Liadan Whelan
[Kemp Oates] wits+PU
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Liadan Whelan] Lee reaches into her bag again, pulls out a small elastic band and begins tugging her hair up into a ponytail. She doesn't mind the drizzling rain. She's not wearing any make-up that might run, and her hair doesn't generally frizz, not that she'd much care either way.
The Garou move around the tower to the door. Lee moves to stand near Danicka, watching the boy's approach. Katherine is right. There are too many of them to hide, though perhaps they could at least use the tower itself to shield their presence from view.
Not that it matters. The loud crash of wood from within the tower draws the redhead's attention, as well as the attention of those within the tower. Guards or sentries, perhaps. Shit is about to get real.
[-the foretold-] Despite all the yelling, no one seems to be coming down. Could it be possible that they're not actually reacting to the door coming unbarred?
to Katherine Bellamonte, Kemp Oates
[Katherine Bellamonte] The Half Moon's breath hisses out as the wood heavily clunks from its barring hold across the door, she listens, her senses keen for the sound of the voices upstairs. She turns to glance over her shoulder at the slowly approaching boy. "They are not reacting to us, I believe it is the boy they are concerned with."
[Liadan Whelan] Lee glances around. Kate says the guards are reacting to the boy. The redhead turns back to watch his approach again.
"If this is the time the Wyrm harms him, are we...are we supposed to protect him?"
[Kemp Oates] His voice was muffled as he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
"No one seems to be coming down. Either they are unaware of us, we are spectators that happen to be getting wet and cold and muddy, or they are busy screaming about some other shit. Could be you're right."
He nodded to Katherine.
" I'm gonna go up and take a look "
With that he reached for Blur and started on in for that look.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen shakes her head slightly at Liadan's question. "No way t'know. For all we know, we should kill him and be done wi' it. Or stop th'wyrm from touchin' him at all - harm or ward, and maybe it will stop th'flow."
Her breath exhales sharply, then she draws in another breath, a little more slowly.
"S'no way t'tell," she repeats. "So a decision will ha' t'be made."
Kemp disappears inside, and Imogen casts a brief glance toward Katherine. "Perhaps get t'the far side o' the tower so th'boy can't see us right away," she says. "At least until we know why he's comin' here."
[-the foretold-] It's dank and gloomy inside the tower. The first floor is deserted. A flight of stone stairs spirals up along the walls, leading up.
If Kemp follows them, the second floor is likewise deserted. Footsteps run to and fro on the third, though. He can hear shouting --
"Raise the alarm! Alert the warriors and the kin! The riders are coming! The riders of the Golganog Hive!"
--
Outside, the landscape suddenly resounds with the clamor of bells. The boy, halfway up the path to the tower, freezes in his tracks.
Then he breaks into a run -- up the hill, toward the tower.
[Danicka Musil] "That's the million dollar question, isn't it?" Danicka says when Lee asks if they're supposed to protect the boy. "The elder in the dream didn't seem terribly hopeful. He also," she adds with a small pause, "seemed like a grouch. So."
Imogen suggests they get to the far side of the tower, and Danicka echoes a thought Kemp put forth: "I'm not entirely sure anyone here will be able to see us. If the sentries didn't glance down and notice us, maybe we're invisible. I think if we looked on the other side of the hi--"
Bells clang. Danicka looks up, tilting her umbrella back, then turns and looks immediately for the boy instead. "I think this is 'harm'," she says, louder, over the bells. "And I am not going on the other side of the tower, now."
She folds her umbrella, tosses it to the base of the tower, and reaches into her purse with both hands, looking down to load her firearm without removing it from the bag yet.
[Kemp Oates] He was up the stairs in time to hear the warning and down the stairs like grease through a goose.
"Hive coming! Get your asses moving! Kin, get what cover you can!"
Barking orders as he searched for the direction of the coming force and began to shift.
[Katherine Bellamonte] Truth's Meridian's expression was tense, but not frightened. They were, so far as they were aware at present, anyway, the Monsters in this scenario. That being said, caution was the better side of valor, as the saying went. Kemp vanishes with the aid of his moon's Gift up the stairs in time to hear the Silver Fang's whispered watch yourself as he goes.
She looks back to the boy and Imogen and begins to nod when the bells ring.
She tenses, her head swinging around around as Kemp yells, and the word Hive sends a chill down the woman's spine. "Do not be too certain on the harming of the boy," she says, over the din. "This may well be the occasion the Wyrm first tries for him, perhaps we are here to fight them off him."
She is following in Kemp's wake as she speaks, calling over her shoulder. "Danicka, Imogen, you both have weapons, look to Lonna and Liadan where you can, and try to stay behind myself and Kemp. If all else fails -- you run."
[Katherine Bellamonte] (delete one of those 'around's.)
[Lonna Larson] Danicka Musil, it seems, has the right idea. The other blonde, the decidedly taller and top-heavier one, moves to load the little hand cannon in her purse. She can not place her name, as that they have only met in dire occasions. It's never good for introductions, but she does remember that she knows how to handle herself in a bad situation.
So, she did what she was good at. The Child of Gaia kept her mouth shut, stuck with Lee, and prepared for the worst.
[Liadan Whelan] Everyone else has weapons. Kinfolk have guns, Garou have claws and teeth. Lee has...well, Lee has her fists, and her feet. She stands a moment, thinking. And she decides to go for the boy.
Her Chucks squelching in the muddy earth, she runs to intercept him and, if she reaches him, hopefully get him safely into the tower.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen looks up as the bells begin to clamour and does not answer Danicka's assertion, instead turning her attention up at the sound of Kemp's cry, then toward Katherine as she speaks.
She reaches beneath her coat, retrieving her weapon, and thumbing off the safety with practiced ease. She is already behind Katherine - but she starts to move deliberately to get between them, her head turning sharply as Liadan takes off toward the boy.
She does not call out, or even attempt to stop her.
However: she moves so that she can see her, her gun remaining by her side, her finger on the trigger guard.
Her attention is thus divided. The direction of the approaching hive, Katherine's back, and Liadan, running toward a boy heading too far away for the redhead's gun to do any good.
[-the foretold-] The reaction in the village below is immediate. The villager milking the cow bolts upright at the sound of the bell. He kicks his stool away, pulls a knife from his belt, cuts the rope on the cow and begins hustling her away into one of the stonewalled cottages. Meanwhile, other doors are bursting open -- some men and women rush from the cottages toward the path and the tower, children in hand. Others step out into the chill morning rain, crane their necks, shed their human guises like skins.
A man steps from the house the boy snuck from earlier. He is the same man they saw in their dreams, older now, his hair white, falling to his shoulders. Even at this distance, they can see his face is lined with more years than he's actually lived. And even at this distance, they can see the mastery of his presence; the way he directs the other Garou hither and to, his voice strong enough to carry faintly even to the tower.
In moments, the Garou in the village have gathered to face the threat. As their kin flee for the safety of the tower, the Garou form a defensive perimeter around their village, warformed now, ready.
--
Meanwhile, the sentries in the tower have raced down the stairs. They burst out of the door -- there's nowhere for the six to hide now, and for the first time, the inhabitants of this time look upon those from another.
The first man out the door is a youth, fierce-eyed, struggling into rough armor of boiled leather, sword in hand. He bears a distinct resemblance to the boy running up the hill -- the boy that's perhaps five hundred feet away now, and a good thousand or more ahead of the rest of the villagers hurrying toward the tower -- his brother, perhaps. No matter; he stops dead, staring at the six, stunned, speechless for a second.
"Who are you?"
--
What was visible from the top of the tower is visible, suddenly and finally, to those below. From the east, racing over the misty hills, a group of eighteen or twenty. Most of them ride horses, chargers foaming at the mouth and lathered from galloping. As they draw closer, the six can see that the horses roll their eyes in terror, can see their riders driving spurs into their flanks again and again until the animals bleed.
Some riders sit at strange, unnatural angles. All are bristling with arms and armor. The one in the lead does not ride a horse at all. Brandishing an axe, he rides an enormous, furless Hispo-wolf, reined and bridled, larger than any Hispo they've seen before. The direwolf's eyes are empty and stupid. His tongue lolls past his bit, hanging from his mouth. He appears to be enjoying himself immensely.
The majority of the force bear down on the village and its Garou defenders. A small number -- perhaps half a dozen -- peel off from the rest and spur for the tower.
--
Liadan, leaving the shadow of the tower, runs toward the boy. The boy, still a good four hundred feet away, gives her one wide-eyed stare, then runs for the youth that emerged from the tower.
"Philip!" he calls. "Philip!"
[Kemp Oates] He responded to Philip instantly, letting the weight of his rank and what he was sing out.
"Not the enemy! No time for talk. Time to defend! Call your brother, bring him to safety now!"
He knew they were all going to freak when gunfire started. Still he barked orders over his shoulder.
"Protect them! The boy!"
He snapped up into Warform with a suddeness that showed years of doing so. Now covered in black marked fur with impressive teeth and claws. The marks of his rank marring his chest along with scars from wounds that should of sent him to the next life over and over and over again. His intentions clear as he took up position to protect the boy fleeing their way.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen turns sharply toward the Garou who have exited the tower. She does not answer immediately, but removes her coat, dropping it to the ground despite the chill. Her gun remains in her hand, but her grip changes, freeing a few fingers, allowing her the dexterity to undo the cuff of her blouse, and roll it up revealing the tattoo on her arm.
The Fianna glyph, firmly marked into her arm, inked there solidly. It is a silent testimony to match her breeding, to match the blood that flows in her veins.
One of her ancestors is back this far. One of them is farther. It has meaning even here. The pale skin, the red hair, the dark, dark eyes. The set to the jaw, the graceful elegance. It has meaning here.
Of course, it means nothing to the kinfolk.
Still, the glyph might.
"We're not supposed t'be here," she says, "but since we are, we're here t'help."
Where-ever it dwells and where-ever it breeds. It's hard to say if Imogen knows this tenet of the litany or not, but she clearly lives it.
With that she turns, lifting her gun - and if any war-formed beast heads toward the running boy or Liadan, she'll take aim.
[Katherine Bellamonte] Who are you?
The stunned boy asks, and the Silver Fang merely responds with the faintest of smiles: "Friends. We are here to help." Before she surrenders her total focus to the smaller contingent, breaking away from the rest of the hoard thunder for the village and headed straight for them. There is a ripple, and brilliant, snow-bright fur erupts over the Half Moon's body, her muscles elongating, growing stronger, more powerful until before them stands a Hispo wolf with impossibly pale blue eyes and a mussel pulled back to reveal razor-sharp teeth.
The Silver Fang snaps at the air, spittle dancing off her lips and drags her claws through the mud, like an overexcited canine on the scent, waiting its time to be set loose.
Protect the Kin. Protect the boy.
It is all she knows now.
[Katherine Bellamonte] (okay, I have to correct this. LMAO. Muzzle, not mussel! Not seafood! *dying*)
[Lonna Larson] There was a quiet fear there, Liadan went running off towards the boy, and the blonde kinfolk's eyes widened and she moved to try and haul ass towards the Fianna. There was fear in her mind, that something could happen to her, that someone could hurt either the Boy or Liadan or both of them. Tension rides through her form, made evident in tightened muscles and a sudden, sharp breath.
Lonna didn't wait.
The Child of Gaia went to try and bridge the gap between herself and her friend.
[Danicka Musil] [perception + empathy: philip]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Lonna Larson] [per+empathy, yay empathy]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 9, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Liadan Whelan] Líadan continues running for the boy, her leather messenger bag bouncing against her right hip as she races down the hill toward the boy. She sees the wild-eyed stare and realize she must look strange to him in her grey wool coat and her jeans and her mud covered canvas shoes. He diverts toward the young man who exited the tower. Lee guesstimates where their paths will cross, and redirects for that point.
Where she stops to wait for him, her breath coming heavily but not sharply. She's not gasping for breath, not yet. That will likely come when she turns to run back up the hill.
First, she turns to look around her, taking in the sight of the village warriors, bristling and preparing for battle. She sees the riders heading their way.
It's still some time before the boy reaches her. Whenever he finally does, Lee doesn't reach for him, nor does she explain that she's here to help, to protect him if she can. They don't know why they've found themselves in this strange place, in the midst of an attack, where they don't know if they're supposed to protect or kill a child from prophecy. Lee knows one thing. She's going to make damn sure the little shit stays alive long enough for them to figure out.
[-the foretold-] Priorities: little brother!
Kin running up hill!
He's also distantly worried about the Garou down in the village, but sort of resigned about that.
Afraid of: the riders of the Golganog hive. Very, very afraid.
Somewhat wary of the strangers, but right now, he doesn't really have time for them.
Not afraid of: dying horribly in the rain. How Hemingwayesque.
to Danicka Musil, Lonna Larson
[Danicka Musil] It's dark. They have the stars. They have torches, however distant.
Danicka knows that sound, though, that twist of shadow of a Garou taking on their crinos shape. It happens in the village, and then it happens nearby, with Kemp unfurling from homid into warform. The crack of bone, the stretch of muscle, the odd sound of an unvoiced groan as the body changes. She does not answer the young man -- the boy, really -- who exits the tower and asks who they are.
She closes her eyes and she tries, visibly, not to break down into immediate, overwhelmed, terrified tears. Her hand is still in her purse, holding onto the grip of a nine millimeter. Her eyes stay closed for a moment, two, long enough to take two quick but deep breaths, and then she forces them open. She takes off her shades, drops them just as she dropped the umbrella.
"Philip, my name is Dani&+269;ka," she says to Philip, for once pronouncing her own name correctly, perfectly, despite the fact almost no one around her ever will. "Tell your brother to listen to me. I won't let anything happen to him."
She is not taking her gun out of her bag. She's taking out a small bag as she's talking to him, unzipping it. It's the sort of thing she'd keep makeup in. And then she's heading towards the boy, whatever his name is, as fast as the mud and her heels will let her.
[-the foretold-] The youth, Philip, hesitates. There's little time. There's no time at all. His eyes fly wildly from Kemp, to Imogen, to Imogen's glyphs, to Katherine, to Danicka.
Suddenly his decision is on his face, an abrupt and resigned sort of trust, an instant before he simply turns from the six to shout down the hill at the kin still struggling through the mud and the rain:
"RUN! CHRISTOPHER! EVERYONE! RUN, FOR THE LOVE OF GAIA, RUN!"
--
They run. Some of the children slip in the mud and are hauled to their feet by their parents. Some are simply scooped up. The kinfolk of the small village -- and there are perhaps thirty or forty of them -- are coming up the hill as fast as they can, but the ones in the back keep looking over their shoulders, and the riders are bearing down, and --
--
Liadan reaches the boy. Or rather, the boy reaches her -- and casts her one wild look before he bolts right past, slipping and stumbling in the mud, racing past Liadan, past Lonna, past Danicka, running for his brother.
--
A great din rises from the village. The riders have reached the Garou. Clangs of steel on steel, snaps and snarls, the noise of breaking bones -- it rises from the village below, boils over the landscape, rolls up the hill and assaults their ears. Behind them, the bell is still tolling, a frantic, insistent clangclangclangclang! that soon becomes a backdrop, a monotonous hammering heartbeat.
The boy runs into the circle of his brother's protecting arm, not bothering to slow down, slamming solidly into the youth's side. Philip embraces his brother for a moment, hard, and then pushes him at Danicka.
"Go, Christopher. Stay with her. Stay."
The first of the village kin are beginning to reach the tower now, too. Two more men have descended from the sentry post, one bearing weapons -- spears and swords -- that he tosses to the menfolk. The other hustles the women through the narrow doorway, their children in hand. Shouts are on the air -- Hurry! and Quickly! and Now, now, now!
The smaller group of riders ... smaller, but with the hispo-riding leader amongst them -- is a stone's throw away down the hill. They'll be upon them in seconds.
--
The east is brightening; the very first touch of red beginning to stain the luminous blue glow of breaking dawn.
[Kemp Oates] His big shaggy head rolled as he cracked his neck. Powerful shoulders tilted back about the sametime his muzzled lifted towards the sky and he howled a challenge as only a Fenrir could howl.
[Liadan Whelan] Lee waits until just before the boy reaches her, then she turns to run with him, staying alongside him as best she can while they race back up toward the tower. She watches him slam into the youth who must be his brother, and she looks around again, taking in the surroundings. Battle is happening down the hill, with another unit of the enemy headed for the tower.
This is different from fighting a single fomor in the streets of Chicago. What training Lee has had in hand-to-hand combat is not likely to help her in a battle like what is heading for them.
"V, you've got a gun, I don't. I'll stay with him," she says when the boy named Christopher is shoved toward the Shadow Lord. She reaches for the boy, and if Philip, if Danicka, if Christopher allow her, she guides him into the tower with the rest of the kinfolk.
[Katherine Bellamonte] Truth's Meridian cranes back her head and joins in the howling. She is no son of Fenris, but she is a child of Falcon and she can howl with the best of them.
She holds her ground, and readies herself for the strike.
[Activating Resist Pain]
[Kemp Oates] He grabbed for gifts as he roared his challenge over and over, calling death towards him.
((Resist pain. Trollskin as doable.))
[Lonna Larson] There was a strange realization that Lonna came to when she came to Chicago.
She was slow. She was slower than she had been a few months prior, she was weaker than she was, and she simply could not keep up with her peers. Lonna Larson realized, several months prior, that her survival skills were damaged, not irreparably, but rather, badly enough that she had few options than she had in the past.
In short: Lonna Larson couldn't run to save her life, literally.
But, as they say, when being chased by a bear, you don't have to outrun the bear, you have to outrun your slowest friend. Lonna Larson was, in fact, that friend.
She drew her gun, and the blonde waited. This was different than fighting a single fomor on the street. This was very, very different, and the blonde intended on protecting those she was with, whatever ways possible.
[Danicka Musil] "I'm not using the gun," Danicka says matter-of-factly to Lee, taking something small out of the bag, found by touch. It's a small clay bead, hand-rolled, sun-baked, and she grabs Christopher's hand, turning it palm-up and leaning over to find his eyes. "Christopher, swallow this. Before they see you. Don't be scared."
She folds his fingers over the bead and straightens, looking at Lee. Kemp and Kate's howls make her shudder, make her jaw tremble slightly as she looks at her former roommate. "Use the flash on your camera," she says, and hands Lee two things: a familiar vial full of dark fluid and one of the clay beads. "And either of those, if you need to."
Danicka stays near Christopher, trying to keep the tower at her back, and finally takes out her loaded nine millimeter.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen remains behind the Garou. She tenses as the beast that was once Kemp howls, her spine tightening, her stomach clenching. She hates this.
The thought flickers, subsumes, like a shark fin slicing the water.
Katherine howls. One imagines others howl. She can hear it. The howling, the growling of beasts. They are all 'it' now, there is no sex, no gender, no identification. She knows it is Kemp because of where Kemp had stood before. She knows it is Katherine for the same reason.
Otherwise, they are all monsters.
She moves near Danicka, Liadan, the boy, but farther ahead. She has kept her gun trained on a single target.
She waits.
[Kemp Oates] trollskin
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 5, 5, 6, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 7) Re-rolls: 2
[Imogen Slaughter] (+9)
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1
[Danicka Musil] [Init: +6]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Liadan Whelan] [+6]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6
[Katherine Bellamonte] [+8]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10
[Lonna Larson] (5+1d10)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10
[Kemp Oates] +9
Init roll
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4
[-the foretold-] (Action order:
Kate
Lonna
Danicka
Kemp
Liadan
Bad guys
Imogen
Good guys + kid)
[-the foretold-] (Declares:
Kid: gulp! talen
Good guys: The women are hustling kids into the tower. The men who are armed now are fighting back, several vs one Rider. Also, some of the unarmed kin still struggling up the hill are getting cut down like summer grass.)
[Imogen Slaughter] Fire on her target.
3rb
fire once
[-the foretold-] (Bad guys:
6 total, plus leader on hispo.
4 of 6 are riding up the hill, hacking kin down as they go
1 is swinging an axe at Kate.
1 is swinging a sword at Lonna.
Leader: attacking Kemp.)
[Liadan Whelan] [talens go in the pocket, camera comes out
1a: flash one of the 4's horses, hoping it throws the rider (and doesn't trample Lee)
1b: kick that fallen bitch! spending WP]
[Kemp Oates] (declare)
Stupid Kemp, he is howling challenge and going out for a meet and greet with the leader that is coming for him.
1a. Claw Leader's mount.
1b. Claw Leader
1rage action....Bite leader.
[Danicka Musil] [3RB on Lonna's attacker]
[Lonna Larson] action!
Three round burst on whatever is trying to attack her (likes living)
[Katherine Bellamonte] Declare:
1a. Launch self at Leader, bodily knock him off the Hispo beast.
1b. Bite 'im
Rage: Bite/Bite]
[Katherine Bellamonte] (Body Tackle Leader! Dex + Brawl + Totem + Hispo -2 Split Action)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 6, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 8)
[-the foretold-] (stay mounted!)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 5, 6 (Failure at target 9)
[Katherine Bellamonte] (Dex + Ath Stay on feet!)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 5, 5, 6, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Katherine Bellamonte] Bite (Dex + Brawl + Hispo + Totem -3 Split -2 Diff)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 5, 10 (Success x 3 at target 3)
[Katherine Bellamonte] (Damage!)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Lonna Larson] dex3+firearms2+3rb=8, diff 7
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 6, 6, 6, 6, 8, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 7) [WP]
[Lonna Larson] damage
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (Lonna's bad guy, WP to not run)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Danicka Musil] [dex + firearms + 3 (three round burst)]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6, 7 (Failure at target 7)
[Kemp Oates] 1 a....claw rider.....
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 9, 10 (Failure at target 4) Re-rolls: 1
[Kemp Oates] 1 b.....try again, bite rider....
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 3) Re-rolls: 1
[Kemp Oates] dam
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Liadan Whelan] [kick!: dex + brawl - 3 + WP]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 5) [WP]
[Liadan Whelan] [damage: str + 1 + 2]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (Lee's guy soaks!)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (Leader: attacks Kemp)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (Damage +2)
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Kemp Oates] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 8 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (Kate's guy, swinging an axe)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 7)
[-the foretold-] (dam +1)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 6, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Katherine Bellamonte] [Soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (Lonna's guy, swinging a sword)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 6, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (damage +1)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 9 (Failure at target 6)
[Imogen Slaughter] 1a 3rb
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 8 at target 4) Re-rolls: 2
[Imogen Slaughter] damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 6, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 5, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Imogen Slaughter] action 1 redux
3rb
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 11 at target 4) Re-rolls: 1
[Imogen Slaughter] Damage!
hail mighty Kahseeno, please don't let me be embarrassed.
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Imogen Slaughter] 1b! one shot
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 5, 5, 9 (Success x 2 at target 4) [WP]
[Imogen Slaughter] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[-the foretold-]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (good guys: cumulatively take 2 health off each of the attackers except the leader. quick post coming!)
[Imogen Slaughter] (psst. People have asked in chat about their rage rolls.)
to -the foretold-
[Katherine Bellamonte] [Rage Bite 1 on Leader: Dex + Brawl + Hispo + Totem]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 5, 5, 6, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 5 at target 3)
[Katherine Bellamonte] [Damage]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Katherine Bellamonte] [Rage Bite 2 on Leader]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 6 at target 3)
[Katherine Bellamonte] [Damage]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 5, 6, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (nooo i want to liiiive!)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 7, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Kemp Oates] rage claw mount
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Kemp Oates] dam
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (mount soaks!)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] Danicka barely has enough time to pass the clay bead to the boy Christopher before the riders are upon them. As steel meets flesh, Christopher claps the bead to his mouth, gulps, and
a second later is no longer there. The ground at Danicka's feet is faintly disturbed, as though recently tilled. Philip is staring.
"What are you?" he asks -- and then four riders cleave into the straggling kin on the hill. Their victims: the elderly, mostly, as well as some kin burdened by too many children, their mates fighting in the village below. Swords and axes and maces flash down, catching the purple-pink gleam of breaking dawn. On the upswing they're bloodstained and dulled, the fire extinguished.
The remaining three -- the leader on his hispo mount and two others -- surge up the hill toward the six. Lonna, farthest down the hill after running to receive the boy, hears the hoofbeats behind her and whirls. Almost all the kin are packing heat. When Lonna's gun goes off, the noise is surreal in this pre-industrial landscape, a single sharp crack! that echoes off into the distance.
Everyone in the vicinity flinches. Everyone screams. Everyone ducks, as though expecting the skies to split open.
In the muzzle flash, Lonna sees her attacker's face briefly: distorted, deformed, corrupted and mutated by the taint in him. He screams aloud, but the bullet does no damage. A moment later he's on her, swinging for her --
-- the blade scratching harmlessly through her shirt, missing her flesh.
Others are joining combat now. The leader, spurring his stupid, grinning mount toward Kemp -- blindsided by the Fang, tumbled to the ground, savaged by the Fenrir; still alive. His mount is just now rolling itself to its feet, shaking like a dog out of water, swinging its great shaggy head to and fro, confused by the noise and light all around it
as Liadan flashes her camera at another rider; as Danicka and Imogen's guns report again and again in their hands, hot lead flying through air to smash through breastplates and pallid flesh.
The kin defenders are rallying now, screaming at the top of their lungs to drown out the staccato of gunfire and bolster their nerves. They rush down the hill to meet the attackers, several men to one rider, hacking with swords, stabbing with spears. Amidst the turmoil, the Garou leap for the leader: the Fang tearing his throat out in two quick claps of her teeth, the Fenrir ripping into the hispo-wolf that was his mount.
[-the foretold-] Mount: 4HP remaining
Lonna's: 2HP
Kate's: 5HP
Lee's: 3HP
All others: 5HP each
[-the foretold-] (Action order:
Kate
Lonna
Danicka
Kemp
Liadan
Bad guys
Imogen
Good guys + kid
Declare:
Good guys: keep fighting!
Kid: vanished)
[Imogen Slaughter] Same target
split 4 times
fire
fire
fire
fire
[-the foretold-] Lonna's: running away!
Kate's: split axe kate/axe danicka
Lee's: get up/stab Lee with sword
2 others: swing sword at Imogen
1 other: backstab Kemp
Mount: THAT HURT! bite kemp
Rage 1 bite kemp
Rage 2 bite Kate
[Liadan Whelan] [kick/kick/kick guy, WP on final kick]
[Kemp Oates] 1a...claw mount
1b...damned mount! claw him!
1 rage....stab my back? Claw you too!
[Danicka Musil] There's nowhere to run, or she would. Danicka flicks her eyes at Imogen, standing further out than the rest of them, and changes her focus, turning the barrel of her gun on the creature that Lee is attacking with nothing but the terrifying flash of her camera and the rather surprisingly effective strength of her own body.
[3RB on Lee's]
[Lonna Larson] action:
1a: shoot Imogen's target 1
1b: shoot Lee's target
[Katherine Bellamonte] [Declare:
1a. Bite attacker with axe
1b. Bite again
1c. Claw if still up
R1. Bite Mount]
[Katherine Bellamonte] [Bite Axe Man! Dex + Brawl + Hispo + Totem -2 split]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 4, 4, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Katherine Bellamonte] [Damage]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 3, 3, 7, 9 (Failure at target 6)
[Katherine Bellamonte] [Again! USE YOUR TEETH, WOMAN]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 6 (Failure at target 5)
[Katherine Bellamonte] [FINE. Claw!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 5, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Kemp Oates] 1a..claw mount....
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 5, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Katherine Bellamonte] [Damage]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (no soak against agg!)
[Lonna Larson] Shooting at Imogen's: -2
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 3, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Lonna Larson] Shooting at Lee's, -3
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]
[Lonna Larson] damage
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 6, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Danicka Musil] [dex + firearms + 3rb]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 5, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 5)
[Danicka Musil] [damage: 4 + 5]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 6, 7, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 6, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kemp Oates] dam
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 6, 6, 6, 8, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 6, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kemp Oates] 1b...claw
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Kemp Oates] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 6, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 4, 5 (Botch x 3 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (dead!)
[Liadan Whelan] [kick!: dex + brawl - 3]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 5, 8 (Success x 1 at target 7)
[Liadan Whelan] [damage: str + 1 + 2]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 5, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Liadan Whelan] [again!: - 4]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 9 (Failure at target 5)
[Liadan Whelan] [again!: - 5 + WP]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8 (Success x 2 at target 5) [WP]
[Liadan Whelan] [damage: str + 1 + 1]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] Bad guys!
Lonna's: running
Kate's: axing kate! -2 split, -2 injury
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7 (Success x 1 at target 7)
[-the foretold-] (damage!)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 6, 6, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Katherine Bellamonte] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] Kate's part 2: out of dice. Flails ineffectually.
Lee's: get up. Part 2: stab Lee. -3 dice split; -2 dice for pain mods. Also flailing ineffectually.
Imogen's first friend: swinging a sword! -1 pain mod.
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 6, 6, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Imogen Slaughter] Dodge!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 5, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (damage!)
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Imogen Slaughter] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 2 (Botch x 1 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] Imogen's second friend: swinging a sword! -1 pain mod.
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Katherine Bellamonte] [Blocking attack on Imogen!]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (Kemp's friend: back attack, -1 die for damage)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 9 (Success x 1 at target 4)
[-the foretold-] (damage!)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Kemp Oates] soak
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] Mount: bite kemp!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 5, 7, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5)
[-the foretold-] (damage +3)
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Kemp Oates] soak
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 5, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (IGNORE THAT.)
[Imogen Slaughter] (3rb + 1
3rb - GUY WHO STABBED HER
1 shot - guy who TRIED TO STAB HER.)
-2 diff, +1 diff
-4 dice + 3 dice
3rb!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 5, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 5)
[Imogen Slaughter]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 5, 6, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[-the foretold-]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Imogen Slaughter] Next shot!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]
[-the foretold-] (soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 4, 7, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Imogen Slaughter] 1 more damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Imogen Slaughter] Rerolling 10s for shot 2! (skipping the one cancelled by the botch)
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 2, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Imogen Slaughter] Kill da bitch
Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Kemp Oates] turning to claw fucker that backstabbed.
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Kemp Oates] damnit
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (no agg soak. village kins' cumulative effect: take another 2 damage off all attackers, which pretty much polishes everyone off cept Imogen's second friend. think we can drop back IC to wrap this installment up! post coming.)
[-the foretold-] The riders are no match for the sheer technology the six bring back with them. They turn the tide, and they do it quickly, and decisively. By the time the villagers beat, bludgeon, stab and hack the last of the riders down, the air is thick with gunsmoke, obscuring the brightening morn.
Both Katherine and Kemp are bloody now. The attackers were not quite human, but nowhere near Garou either. Their bodies were flimsy and fragile in their jaws. Their leader and his mount were far tougher -- but they too lie amongst the dead, torn apart.
Their ears are ringing from the echos of gunfire. Very dimly, they can hear triumphant howls from the village below: the attackers repelled there as well. There's less celebration up at the top of the hill, near the tower. The village kin are looking at the six suspiciously, warily, eyeing the smoking guns in their hands. Not all weapons have been lowered.
For some time, no one speaks at all.
Then Philip steps forward. He sheathes his sword with a quick, decisive rasp. "We don't know where you come from, strangers," he says, "nor where you gained such powerful magic, the thunder and lightning of the sky itself. But the day would've been lost without you. For that you have my gratitude, and the gratitude of my father, Scars the Dusk.
"Now, where is my brother?"
[Lonna Larson] Lonna takes a second, and she is listening to what's going on. The Child of Gaia tries to take a moment to survey the area, to take count of who was alive and who was not, who was wounded, who was broken, who needed help who wasn't immediately one of her current companions.
She spends some time looking over Imogen, seeing how bad things were.
For now, the Child of Gaia's biggest worry was those around her. The second biggest worry was keeping her shirt in presentable order.
[Katherine Bellamonte] She is covered in blood.
But none of it is her own.
When the last of the attackers are slain, the crimson and white Hispo wolf cranes back her head and emits a lone, long howl of triumph. It is eerie; it is beautiful. Then, she turns toward Truth in Frenzy, her tongue lolling from her mouth as she shakes off her body and nudges the powerful Fenrir in a gesture of camaraderie, of pleasure at winning out over the Hive swarm.
When Philip steps forward, the Hispo beast is watchful; her pale eyes narrowed on the sword until it is sheathed, then, only then, does Truth's Meridian shift back down to her human skin. She is abruptly a lovely young woman with pale gold hair and a face smeared with blood.
She looks alien, ethereal, standing among the dead painted in their blood.
[Liadan Whelan] Lee stands back, breathing heavily from exertion and adrenaline. The other kinfolk who woke up in this strange era all have weapons, and the skill to use them. The fashion photographer has her body and, remarkably, her camera. The small Canon is still in her hand, her hand on the shutter like a trigger.
The enemy invaders have all dropped, felled by gunfire and sharp fangs and claws. She turns off the camera, and as she drops it into a pocket of her coat she's vaguely aware of cheering from the village. There's nothing more for her to do at the moment, so her hands go into the pockets of her coat, one hand wrapping idly around her camera, the other around the bead and vial given to her by Danicka.
Philip wants to know where his brother his. Líadan cannot answer; she's never seen a trapdoor boon in use before. So she goes over to one of the villagers.
"Where are we? Do you know what the date is?"
[Danicka Musil] That eerie, beautiful howl makes Danicka close her eyes again. She's lowered her firearm, flicked the safety on with a gesture so practiced it may look surprising, coming from someone who has been on the verge of tears since the first Garou took warform down in the village. Her hands, however, don't start shaking until she's put the gun away.
She turns to Philip. "I gave him a talen and the earth absorbed him. He can come out whenever he wants, so," she pauses to take a breath, suppressing a shiver, "I think you should call out to him."
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen takes a step back from the dead bodies of the swordsmen, her free hand pressing to her ribcage where the blade had sliced between the bones. Her jaw sets and her hand quickly washes with blood.
She takes a deep breath. Then another. She does not feel the crushing tightness of a collapsed lung, nor yet hear it clicking beneath the sound of her breathing. Her heart beats regularly. Blood still flows from beneath her hand, but it does not pulse or pump.
Her assessment is quick, efficient. A glance affirms that none of the other five are injured, that all are standing.
Her attention turns to Phillip, her mouth tight, her jaw set, unmoving as she listens to him, glancing toward Danicka with the question, then back to the armed kinfolk.
How strange the women must look. Dressed in trousers, most of them in a fabric which hasn't even been made yet. Blouses, shoes, hair, skin, all of a century unknown and unconceivable. Likely, the six here have never woven their own clothing or sewn it, or suffered from fleas or slept in beds made of rustling hay.
Kemp is not much better, his jeans, his boots, his unkempt hair.
The weapons the women use - lightning, thunder guns. They are lucky to be among Kinfolk and Garou and not humans. Otherwise, they might be burnt at the stake.
She holsters her own weapon, the metal hot still as she slides it into leather, one-handed. She raises her eyes to Lonna when the blonde kinfolk looks her over, the concern evident.
"Can you stitch a wound?" Assuming perhaps that if one shows concern, one may have the skills to act on it.
[Danicka Musil] Her eyes track over to Imogen. "I have a bandage," she says, and something about that word sounds like she isn't talking about gauze, or tape, or a first-aid kit hiding in her purse. But the fact that she does not simply walk over to Imogen and hand it over but offers instead is something of a question.
[-the foretold-] Compared to the six, the villagers' toll has been grievous. The path up from the village is littered with bodies -- kinfolk that had not made it to the shelter of the tower. Of the armed defenders, several lie dead; most are wounded. Of the forty or so kin that had sought sanctuary in the tower, less than a dozen are unharmed.
Medicine is primitive in this age. Many more of the wounded will sicken and die of infection in the weeks to come. That is inevitable.
The villager Liadan speaks to is young, a girl, her hair and skin dull from the meagre diet and poor hygiene that is the standard of this time. Still, she has all her teeth, and large clear eyes. In this age, she's a beauty. She looks at Liadan with wide-eyed wonder, studying the Fianna's red hair, her finely stitched clothing ... her glasses.
"Why, it's the year of the Christian Lord, eleven hundred twenty-eight. And you stand at the edge of the Sept of the Two Storms, near Compostela in the human kingdom of León. Lady... are you a spirit of Gaia?"
--
Meanwhile, Philip looks dubiously at Danicka. Then the youth cups his hands to his mouth and shouts: "Christopher! Christopher!"
--
A dark shape is running up the path from the village: a Garou in lupus shape, swift on four paws.
[Lonna Larson] Can she stitch a wound, "I can make it more manageable and get you stable."
She offers what she can, but it's the best she can really do. The blonde headed over and looked at Imogen. She half smiles; this would be a good time for Temple to be here but, as it stood, the blonde could say. Danicka offers... no, does not offer a bloody bandage. The Child of Gaia crouches and notices she has an audience. She is concerned, but she can deal with this.
"Mind if we head to the tower if you need help."
[Lonna Larson] (strike that!)
[Lonna Larson] Can she stitch a wound, "I can make it more manageable and get you stable."
She offers what she can, but it's the best she can really do. The blonde headed over and looked at Imogen. She half smiles; this would be a good time for Temple to be here but, as it stood, the blonde could say. Danicka offers bloody bandage-
"Though that would be decidedly less of a hassle."
And less questions asked.
[Liadan Whelan] She's asked if she's a spirit of Gaia, and no wonder. In this day and age, standing at 5'10", Líadan is a giant among women. Her long red hair is held up with an elastic band so that it hangs down her back. Her clothes are made from wool but woven and stitched in a way that won't be invented for centuries. Her pale skin is clean and clear, and the first servicable pair of glasses won't be invented for about one hundred and fifty years. The tall woman not only has all of her teeth, but they're perfectly white and straight when she grins a little at the young villager.
She doesn't recognize the location, but the date has her mind reeling.
"Not a spirit. Fianna. I'm Líadan. Who were those people?"
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen turns slightly toward Danicka's offer, and oddly, seems to genuinely consider it. As if refusal were an option.
Then, she steps forward, covering the slight distance to take it with her free hand.
"Ta," a simple, truncated word. She clearly knows what it is, how it works, laying it over bare skin. Her eyes shutting briefly as the effort is spent to activate it. The gauze comes undone, unweaving, taking on the texture and shape of her skin, the blood slowly seeping into her skin, then her veins. At her ribcage, a sudden and abrupt surge of pain - the flesh knitting and healing faster than it ever met, steals her breath. Without the cushioning of shock, it nearly worse than the receiving of the wound was.
Then, it's gone. She lowers her hand to the rent in her blouse, parting the edges to glance at the pink against the white - a scare, which she knows from experience will likely heal over the passing year, two at the most, until it is only tangible by the most sensitive of fingers.
She returns her gaze to Danicka, her bloodied hand lowering to her thigh, wiping her palm against the jeans. "And thank whoever made it."
Her unbloodied hand lifts and she pushes damp hair from her face, turning her head to look at the villagers, the wounded.
She's assessing; checking to see if there's anyone who might be moving among them. It's more than a little cold-blooded. Consideration before she offers her assistance.
[-the foretold-] In this day and age, at 5'10", Liadan is a giant, period. Even the men must look up at her. Danicka is tall. Imogen, perhaps for the first time in her life, is average height.
Liadan doesn't recognize the location, but perhaps others would. It's in Spain. None of them are speaking English right now. Every last one of them is speaking medieval Leonese, a descendant of Vulgar Latin; a relative of Castelian Spanish. But unless they consciously think of it, none of them realize it.
"They are riders from the Hive of Golganog," replies the young kinswoman. "Kin to the Dancers, corrupted by the Wyrm... I have heard of Fianna," she adds, "but I have never seen one. Your hair is as red as the elders say. It -- "
She cuts off with a small shriek. The earth suddenly explodes outward in a shower of mud and debris. An instant later, the boy, Christopher, Cristobal, stands where only empty air was before. He looks stunned. His brother steps forward, and the boy all but collapses into the youth's arms, face buried against his brother's midriff.
The black wolf running up the hill is closer now, close enough that some of the men raise their weapons in salute. A ragged cheer goes up from the survivors. The wolf doesn't pause, though. It keeps running, heading for Philip and the boy.
The kinfolk cannot read the expression on its face. Katherine and Kemp can, though. It's grim; far from exultant.
[Danicka Musil] When Imogen turns, Danicka takes a cellphone-wrapped bandage out of her purse. It's soaked in blood, dried for months now, blackened. When she walks over, Danicka holds it out at arm's length.
She watches how Imogen uses it, actually applying it to her skin. Her head tilts as she observes, quietly and impassively curious. There's a heartbeat of tension in her jaw at the sight of the maker's blood and energy entering Imogen to heal her. But then it's over, and she takes her eyes away.
Just then, Cristobal erupts from the ground and Danicka flinches in their direction. She puts her hand on his back, rubs gently as he clings to his brother. "Stop that, now," she says in a gentle but low voice, as though to keep it private. "There are worse things."
[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine stands, silent and watchful over the gathered Kinfolk with Kemp. When the black wolf begins to run toward them; grim-faced, she unfolds her arms over her chest and raises her chin, her eyes, pale blue chips of ice -- narrow toward him and she takes the step needed to place herself before the boys, before them all.
Protector.
Protecting.
Still, she says not a word.
[Lonna Larson] She doesn't quite wait, though, the blonde leaves the rest of the group to doing the talking and, instead, is content to go off and try to help the villagers pick up from what had just happened. Many were dead, many more were wounded, but they did need help, and the Child of Gaia felt something akin to purpose while she was acting on this.
She's not injured, not like there was the potential to be. At that moment, Lonna was more intent on trying to help there. Fatigue setting in, with her will not at where it had been, she was starting to feel the strain of the event. When the adrenaline started to wear down, Lonna Larson was acutely aware of exactly how out-of-place she was.
Medicine was primitive in this age. Many of the wounded would become ill, die in a few weeks. She wasn't a doctor, not by any means, but she was different, she was special.
She stops, and she find herself looking in the direction of the wolf. She doesn't move just yet.
[Liadan Whelan] The earth erupts, spewing dirt and rocks and mud. Lee sidesteps, shielding the small kinswoman instinctively as Christopher appears again. She tilts her head at the display of relief and brotherly affection. Then she turns her head toward the sound of movement as men salute the black lupus. She doesn't notice that they're in Spain, that the people are speaking a different language than English. Lee watches, quietly curious, unable to read the wolf's expression or purpose.
[-the foretold-] Eight or ten is not young; not in 1128. Thirteen is adulthood -- old enough to produce heirs; old enough to bear arms. Twenty-five, thirty, is middle age. Forty is old age, or dead.
Yet the boy clings to his brother, and his brother allows it. In an instant Danicka understands that this boy has always been protected, has always been warded, has always been kept safe and sacred because of who and what he is, and what prophecy rests on his head.
Greatness in his blood.
Wyrm and Gaia, warring over his soul.
His narrow shoulders draw together at Danicka's touch on his back. Then he relaxes, little by little. He doesn't unbury his face from his brother, though. Not until the wolf is very near, stopping, then shifting. It is a female, and her changing blood makes her starkly different from the kin: her face unlined, her skin unblemished. Her hair is uncut and wild, though: she's a savage demigod compared to the shining paragons the six seem.
The villagers grow quiet to see the look on the Garou's face.
"Felipe," she says, "Cristobal. Face me."
Slowly, the boy turns. His brother's hand is tight on his shoulder, his swallowing sudden and convulsive. The villagers grow hushed. No; that's not it. Gradually, the six realize the world itself grows hushed -- a darkness stealing in from the edges of their vision. Sounds fall away. The growing brightness of the coming dawn dulls and dims, begins to fade.
They come loose from this time, drift. The voice of the Garou follows them into the dark.
"Philip, Christopher. Your father is slain. Scars the Dusk has fallen in battle against the Wyrm..."
==
(pause point! to be continued!)
celebration.
9 years ago