noodles.

[Park] The last time Savage Dawn saw Covered Sky, the both of them were recovering from injuries sustained at the hands of a creature who the Philodox confessed had been present at the death of Tiny Doom several weeks ago, one of them with ribs and organs exposed and the other with her throat cleaved straight through. Their injuries were not dire, and they were able to rest in the concealment of an alleyway in forms not their own while their bodies took up the task of healing.

It is four nights later, four heavy-mooned nights later, and Park is out in the early morning hours without anyone at her side, boots tromping heavily on the pavement, hands thrust into her pockets, eyes alert and focused on the colorfully-lit world around her. She walks with a purpose, as though she has somewhere to be, someone to meet, some reason for being out on these unforgiving streets past midnight, or at least she does a damned fine job of pretending as though she does.

[Lukas] Chinatown sleeps late. There's a noodle shop on 18th Ave open til 3am. Situated next to the Buddha Lounge, it's a wildly popular spot for club kids to grab a late snack after working up an appetite. At 1:30am, it's crammed full, standing room only. Lukas is standing outside with a styrofoam bowl of udon in hand, slurping away.

[Keith] It's colder than cold can cold the cold. Which is very cold, indeed. With windchill factor, it's getting to below zero, so only the truly insane want to be out. Want to be walking, want to be patrolling, but there's something stronger than self-preservation, something more intense than the drive to survive. In Keith, Savage Dawn, Voice of Carnage, one might very well assume that it's the drive to kill, the will to do some sort've violence, to wreak some pain on the wrongful wound the city's driving into the Mother's heart every single fucking day, and quite a few people avoid him for it. Such as the cab driver, who'd peeled away in a moment of supreme weakwill, rather than let the ahroun in. Well, fine. Fine! Fine! He's walking through Chinatown, cold as hell, and he pricks his head up when he spies Park up ahead, and on the corner between himself and Park, outside the warm (mm warmth) looking noodle shop, Lukas. And you know what? Maybe one of them has a car. He puts his fingers in his mouth and WOLF WHISTLES.

[Lukas] Lukas's head snaps up and around, noodles half in his mouth. Then he spies Keith; slurps said noodles in, lowers the bowl. Waves.

[Rory] She doesn't do much. That's what folks might say about Rory. She's not very bright, she's got no schooling, she's got nothing really to go for her - but damn, she can sure fix stuff good. The nice thing about Chinatown is that here, in the glaring lights and late night life, even in the daytime streets of carts and haggling - there's a barter system that's alive and well, and Rory has skills, skills that can net her a few dollars, and even better, a hot meal.

Which is why she's people watching here, outside the noodle shop. She doesn't attract attention, keeping to herself, with her head down, seated one a bench just across the walk. In her hands, not some tinkering task, not right now, but a container of fried rice. In her lap, between her thighs, another filled with Mongolian beef.

The whistle pulls her attention that direction, red curls flying, and she watches as she shovels another mouthful of rice between her lips.

[Park] The dark-haired woman perks up when she hears that musical ear-piercing call, the instinct of everyone within earshot to do the exact same thing, and it is the looking towards the noise that has her catching sight of the tall Fostern slurping down noodles in the frigid pre-dawn air. With the corners of her lips threatening to tug upward, Park pulls her left hand out of her coat pocket and raises it to wave to the Ahroun.

Her steps have her reaching the other Lord first.

"Lukas," she says, coming to a halt just beyond arm's length of him. Her eyes flick to the Styrofoam bowl in his hand, and she asks, "How are they?"

[Lukas] "Mmm-mm mmm," Lukas says. And gulps. And repeats, "Really good. Four bucks a bowl. Five if you want the seafood variety. I wouldn't though; it's like two shrimp and a clam."

[Keith] Chicago's a weird city. Keith's dad probably didn't expect to send his precious damned Ahroun baby boy there to toughen up and find, instead, he was hanging out with a bunch of damned Shadow Lords all the time, but lo. This, it seems, is pretty much the case. Lukas waves, Park's now next to Lukas, and there's a Rory who's yet to be noticed, but who will be soon, if only for her redred hair and her purepure blood (as pure as any of the lesser tribes get, anyway, which is pure enough). It'll take Keith a while to actually get to outside the noodleshop, so carry on without him while he picks up the pace, rubbing his hands together like the friction is an act of god, will get him warm again. "Hey," he says. "Either of you have a car? I'm stranded."

[Rory] Rory's got her backpack with her, of course. It's leaned against her hip, as she sits there crosslegged on the bench. She's wearing almost everything she owns, as it's damn cold out tonight. She doesn't have much in the way of warm outer clothing - her coat is flimsy at best, and she lost her knit hat, so her head is bare. Her fingers too, slender and pale and fragile looking, are without covering. If not for the pulsating heat of rage, she'd be frozen.

As it is, she's not - and her green eyes watch the meeting of the Fang and Lords just across the way.

[Zeke] Park's Cellphone quite suddenly erupts. Cradled in quick, sudden burps of sound. The voice on the other end doesn't bother to wait for Park to offer a Hello, as soon as the ring is interrupted in response-

"...Seems things are beginning to wind down in the southern districts. I'm on the edge of the Rich zone, hanging on your last whereabouts. Do you need a ride home or are you still out walking?" The tone is casual, comfortable even and if Zeke gives any indication as to what he's talking about, it isn't immediately known.

[Lukas] When Park turns away to answer her phone, Lukas replies to Keith. "Yeah, I'm parked around the corner. Where are you headed?"

[Park] Park nods as if there is far more at stake than the salvation of a dollar. "I can live without a couple of shrimp and a clam."

And then: Hey. The Philodox cranes her neck to get Keith in her sights, leaning slightly to see around the much taller Fostern, then takes a step back and says, "Sorry. You need money for the bus? That's the best I can--"

And then her cell phone goes off. Park quickly fishes it out of her pocket, a brand-new piece of silicon that she squints at before inexpertly hitting a green button and bringing it to her ear.

"I'm still out. Where can I meet you?"

[Zeke] "...Give me an intersection. I'll find you." The sound of the car, humming around a corner is easily heard in the cellphone's receiver, Zeke going quiet for a moment, something electronic beeping insistently, then interrupted a half-moment later.

[Keith] "Either of you know her?" The 'her' in question is Rory. Because Keith noticed her, watching them, and clearly Fianna. He's watching her back now, and he's still as he does. Lean and mean. "Home," he says, to Lukas. And then he grins, crooked. "Not the loft. I thought I'd give the pool some time to decontaminate. Thanks again for the trunks." Park offers bus fare, and then she gets a phonecall; he shook his head slightly at the offer of money anyway, because -- well. He didn't actually have any money on him, not even a dime, because he'd given it away to somebody, or forgot it in some restroom, or spent it all on food. But he shook his head because he'd much prefer not to take the bus, if possible, tonight.

[Park] Park rattles off the nearest cross streets, then thumbs the phone asleep and thrusts it back into her pocket, returning to the conversation in time to hear something about the pool being decontaminated. She huffs out a touch of laughter, then says, not having had both ears free to overhear travel arrangements being made behind her, "Zeke's on his way here, if you want to catch a ride back with us."

[Lukas] Lukas peers across the street. "Yeah, that's Rory. Used to be packed with Rises Above, who died last month." He puts his chopsticks down again; waves.

And: "I can give you a lift too, but I'm going to have another bowl first. So if you're in a hurry, ride with Park." Pause. "Zeke is back in town?"

[Rory] She scoops up some more rice, and when Keith notices her watching her, she tips her head slightly. Just acknowledgement that yes, she sees him too. She lifts her chopsticks and waves at Lukas in return, her cheeks splashing with color as she ducks her head, a shy little grin playing across her lips.

Then she continues to eat her meal, scooping it up like she hasn't eaten in days - even though Edwin made sure she was fed well last night.

[Zeke] ...Directions offered and the collective would have time to discuss in brief, Keith's adventures in Lukas Trunks before the Towncar, sleek black and well maintained, quiet and comfortable, rolling around the neighbouring corner at a stalker's pace; slow and scrutinizing.

It rolls to a halt a dozen feet down from the group on the sidewalk, the tinted windows performing adequately in maintaining the secrecy of it's interior. The Car putters to a standstill, the driver's side swinging open and the well-dressed Ragabash climbing free. He faces off toward the opposite side of the street Where Rory stands and watches.

She's given a brief flickering of gloved fingers in the form of a wave, and a lopsided smile on careful features, before he turns, bald of head and dressed in his chaffeur best, to regard the trio on the sidewalk.

"It's a might cold out, folks. One's gotta be all sorts a suspicious about people willing to be in a chill like this..."

[Zeke] ...A pause, those coal eyes turning to regard Lukas, smile evening out into a broad display, as arms rise to lean against the open threshold of the driver's door.

"Lukas. Always a pleasure."

[Lukas] (for the record, the noodle shop everyone's in front of is packed full with plenty of spillover!)

[Rory] From where she sits and watches from her bench, she waves at Zeke too.

[Keith] "Who's she packed with now?" He's very comfortable discussing someone who's nearby just as if they weren't nearby at all. Park says, hey wait, Zeke can give you a lift, and Keith goes: "Who's Zeke?" at about the same time Lukas says: Zeke's back in town? And then not only is Zeke back in town, Zeke is right there, and he's totally Host of Traitors. Keith huffs, then says, "I'm going [some neighborhood that's not great, but not the shittiest shit of all shitastic neighborhoods ever]."

[Park] Zeke is back in town?

"Mm," she confirms, about the time the town car is rolling up to the intersection. Park reaches up to swipe an errant strand of black out of her eye, then turns so that she is facing the road as the dark-skinned metis joins them on the sidewalk.

[Lukas] "Zeke." Lukas lowers the bowl and the chopsticks to one hand, stepping forward to clasp forearms, or hands, with the Ragabash. "Good to see you again." A beat. "Mrena died."

[Zeke] (....hooo)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 8, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[Lukas] Oh, and:

"Why don't you ask her?"

That was to Keith.

[Zeke] Zeke blanches as Lukas lays out Mrena's death, the Ragabash's features twisting into an all too obvious frown that is at once pained and all together assessing. No stranger to such things and yet...everytime...

"...That is...unfortunate." Not the word he was looking for to begin with, as he finishes a firm grip of Lukas arm, before releasing. "...I had high hopes for her."

And then, as if to remove the stain of the moment, he turns to regard Keith, the frown taking it's time in fading.

"...That's on my way. I can drop you."

[Keith] "I'm going to take five minutes to say hello," Keith says, maybe being polite and letting the Shadow Lords have a moment. Zeke's expression was pretty -- well, hell. Even Keith noticed it. Appears to have noticed it. "If you're still here, I'd appreciate that, man."

And then he's off to do what he said he was gonna do: say hello to Rory.

[Rory] Keith heads her way, and her eyes widen slightly, before she ducks her head to hide behind her curls, and scoop up the last bit of her rice from the container, as if he might take it away from her - or to just get to the beefy goodness waiting in the second container.

Either way, she peeks up from under her curls, to see his approach, and offer a shy little grin.

[Park] The noodle house behind them is packed, with no room for bodies at any of the tables inside, but Park decides to take her chances with the line at the counter anyway as Lukas steps forward to greet Zeke with a clasp of hands on forearms. She steps back from the group without announcing where she intends to go or when she plans on coming back, ducking inside and out of the cold.

More than a few people filter out of the noodle house after the Philodox enters their midst. It's too crowded in there, anyway.

[Lukas] Unfortunate, Zeke calls it, understating. Lukas nods. "Yeah," he agrees: understating.

They're a tribe that does not abide weakness. Not even about these things. Lukas lets go, raises his bowl, finishes it off and tosses it into a nearby trashcan. It's overflowing from dozens of bowls just like his. Even on a night as cold as this, the doors of the noodle shop are wide open -- held there by people queued up to grab a bowl of hot $4 udon. Or la mien. Or whatever else was being sold by the cheap, apparently pan-asian noodle joint.

"So, you guys are acquainted?" He starts to turn back to Park, but too late: the Philodox is disappearing to get her own bowl. "Hey, can you get me another one?" he calls after her. "Beef!"

[Zeke] "Of course." He nods after Keith, features climbing down from their previous unsettling, brow the last to begin to smooth over as the seconds tick by comfortably. He turns in place, perk a brow up at Lukas whilst casting an eye toward Park as she braves the crowd of the Noodle house.

"...I take it the Circle's had some hard troubles then, what with..." Pause. "...What was his name then? Mjolnirs~Fist-..Heart" Nodding as if to himself. "Mjolnirs~heart and that entire affair and now Mrena."

[Park] "Beef!" she calls over her shoulder, confirming the order before the door slides closed.

[Keith] "You're eating like a 'gnawer," Keith says, the very soul of political correctness. "You okay?"

[Rory] She wrinkles her nose, and lifts a shoulder - one that is most assuredly very thin under those layers - into a shrug. "Hungry."

He couldn't know that she was packed with Gnawers (though maybe he does) or that old habits die hard. She eats like it'll be taken away, like she hasn't eaten in some time, and she doesn't bother with napkins, just wipes her mouth with her hand, her hand on her tattered jeans.

If not for the breeding, she could easily be mistaken for a Gnawer, truth be told.

A beat, and then. "ok." confirmation that it's situation normal. (all fucked up.)

[Keith] He probably didn't know very much about Rory or her former pack. In fact, he didn't. That's why he'd asked Lukas and Park, although Rory didn't know that either. He regards Rory thoughtfully for a moment, for two. "I heard your packmate died," he says, and that's a cheerful way to start a conversation, isn't it? But he didn't have tact. Or he did, but not right now. "I'm sorry to hear that. And I wanted to say hey. I'm Keith. What'cha eating?"

[Zeke] "Yes, acquainted would be the best word for it, really."

Zeke's gaze flicks into the Noodle place, jaw rolling off to one side, all traces of news on Mrena, fading swiftly from his features, the last lingering presence that of a few lines between his eyes that vanish before his next words are done.

"Interesting thing really. Met her in New Orleans. Showed an interest in Chicago and it's depths. Wastes. Wyrm and Warriors. I obliged with what info. I had, though-" A modest shrug "-Months old, really. Offered to be her driver and introduce but she's taking to the life admirably, really."

A pause, gaze flicking back up to Lukas, though his head remains oriented toward the Noodle shop. A passing thing, Ragabash art ensuring his eyes don't find the Fostern's own. Ragabash art and Metis training.

"Congratulations by the way."

[Rory] She hesitates with a bite partway to her mouth, shadows passing over her vision, her eyes closing briefly, before she nods, slightly. And then confirms - but corrects. "Alpha."

She stirs the beef up with the chopsticks as she peeks up at Keith again, curious, though she never meets his gaze for long, dropping them immediately. Respectful. "Rory." Her name - and single words are easier - as evidenced by the rest. "Bongolian Meef. Want some?"

She doesn't seem to notice the mistake - hearing what she intended to say rather than what she did, as she tips the container toward him.

[Lukas] "Mrena's loss hit us pretty hard," Lukas admits. "We lost Sampson too not long after. After that we reorganized and rethought our direction a bit. We're a little more pragmatic now, you might say. These days we go by the Unbroken, under the aspect of Thunder, Perun.

"You'll remember Kate and Edward from the Circle; Caleb too, when he's out of the Umbra. Sinclair and Theron run with us now too. I don't think you've met either of them, though Theron's a Tribesman. He's expressed interest in holding a tribal moot. With you back in the city that makes at least six of us, so it's a consideration."

Then, a nod. "What's with the chauffeur getup? Your side job?"

The congratulations surprises Lukas, but only briefly. Rank and dominance are more than words; they infuse every facet of the being. Lukas doesn't stand, speak, look or even smell the way he did nearly a year ago. "Thank you," he says, simply.

[Keith] "Bongolian Meef, huh," he echoes, and he doesn't seem to notice that there's much of a difference either. At least, not yet. The words are close enough and, to Keith, who's just listening to the basic shape and sound of the word, not how they're crafted, who's just listening to what Rory says as so much noise while he stares at her, eyebrows pulling together, furrow appearing between his eyebrows, grumpy Ahroun, it's all one. "Yes," he says. "Thanks." And he'll take off one glove, and pick a piece of Mongolian Beef out of her container, popping it into his mouth as quickly as he can before it's so damned cold his hand falls off 'fore he gets the glove back on. Chew, chew, chew. "Who're you running with now?"

[Zeke] "Best way to pay the bills, keep the monkeys from guessing and ensuring the veil, really." About his 'side job'. "That and my ride provides some very easy solutions to some very unpleasant problems, more often then not." His glance narrows briefly, eyes trailing toward his car, brief and appreciative.

"I recall Katherine. Edward, not as much." A twist to his features. "Don't think we ever met, really. Caleb either, though I recall the name some." A pause, a breath sucked in. "A Moot would be beneficial, if only to ensure the Tribe's representation is clear to everyone, new and old." A flick of curiosity in that quizzical glance now.

"I have to admit. I never thought you'd step back from a Totem with such power and esteem as the Talons, much less convince a pair of Kings and Queens to stand with Thunder in any aspect. Consider me impressed."

[Rory] She tips her head, slightly as he says it backwards, and waits for him to say something about it. When he doesn't, she relaxes slightly. He takes a bite and pulls his gloves on, and asks his questions.

She straightens her shoulders, slightly, with a bit of pride that she found another pack, that she was accepted so readily. "Bogeymen."

Odd, she doesn't look at all like a monster that hides under the bed - currently, anyway.

[Keith] "Who are they?"

He finally looks away from Rory for a moment, to check out the Lords. How their conversation is progressing, and all that. His attention is still mostly on Rory, though.

[Lukas] "I'll see about making arrangements, then."

As for the Talons: "It wasn't an easy choice. We'd followed the Talons of Horus for years. But ultimately our visions and purpose were starting to diverge from that of the Talons. As for Kate and Ed -- they don't really hold to traditional Fang views in some respects. Not all, though.

"Speaking of which. You might want to watch out for Dirge of the Covenant. He's as hardline Silver Fang as they come. He has no love for our tribe and less scruples."

[Rory] "The bonsters under the med." Clearly. Or not, exactly. It's said with a little grin, and then she rubs the side of her nose with a cold finger, absently, and nods.

"Edwin, Delmar. Others."

[Keith] "What's that, some new kind of drug?" He frowns, sidelong, at her. The frown is in response to her first remark, not the names she's giving, names which he just files away, because they don't mean much to him at all. He says: "Glad you've got people, though. You seem ...nice."

[Zeke] "....Mmmm, Dirge of the..." A pause, frowning. "...Name sounds vaguely familiar." And almost as easily, a dismissive flicker of a gloved hand. "I'll keep the name in mind. Easy to avoid those with loud voices. Just gotta listen for the cringing in the crowd."

He tugs his gloves on tighter, fingers lifting to pluck at his nose, a faint tinge of red creeping into his nostrils as the night's chill climbs further below.

"I suppose that makes sense. Chicago's always been a haven for free methods of thought and loose on it's stringencies." A beat. "...but then, that might be part of the issue." A glance up at Lukas again. "Park tells me you've had a rash of deaths lately?"

[Rory] She wrinkles her nose, her brow furrowed, as she tries to make sense of what he said, what confused him - and then she realizes she must have made a mistake, and sighs. Her shoulders slump, and she tries again. "Bogeymen. Monsters." a beat, and hopeful that she managed it by going slowly. "Get it?"

Then she flushes, as she smiles a little, glancing up at him and back down again. How someone with so much rage can be so shy, so controlled, so... nice... is an oddity she couldn't begin to explain, even if she really wanted too. "Who do you wack pith?"

[Keith] He scowls. "I know what 'bogeyman' means." And then he blinks. "I wack lots of people. I've never used a pith before, though; that's a helmet, right?"

[Lukas] The topic makes Lukas frown faintly, his eyes flicking past Zeke to the street, then back.

Quieter, "The Children of Gaia were nearly obliterated recently. The Bone Gnawers and the Furies took a hit too. Rory," he nods across the street, "just lost her Alpha not too long ago. A Bone Gnawer. Bones-to-Dust died too, if you've met her. And Evan Judgment-of-Sterling Silver, who's been with the Sept since long before I got here.

"There's no real pattern; it's not any one Wyrmling with any particular M.O. It's a combination of bad luck and lack of cohesion."

[Park] She isn't gone long, comes back on the combination of bad luck and lack of cohesion. When she returns from the line she's carrying a plastic bag with red THANK YOU lettering emblazoned on the side. The plastic rustles as she moves, and as she comes abreast of Lukas she reaches into to pull out the Styrofoam container marked B.

"Here you go," she says, passing the container off to the Fostern.

[Rory] She gets flustered, it's obvious. She drops a piece of the beef on her thigh, plucks it up and shoves it into her mouth, before she closes the container, and tucks it back into her pack. She then lifts her pack - which clanks and clatters - to sit in her lap, and hugs it close.

She doesn't look at him again. Then, softly, admits, "I don't talk go sood. Sorry."

[Lukas] "Thanks." Lukas passes Park four bucks to cover it; for a moment, passing cheap food and meager cash back and forth, they seem less a group of fearsome monsters and warriors, more a cluster of college-ish kids.

[Zeke] "...Bad Luck? Lack of cohesion?" Zeke stares up at Lukas frankly. Openly.

"A Few deaths, maybe, Lukas. Just a few." And Park creeps back into their little collective, Zeke interrupting his own speech to offer a flick of a nod toward the Rage heavy Philodox. "...But Orders are followed. Mistakes are learned from. Packs take care of one another. We've been doing this for enough millennium to know how to work it better."

...His hands vanish into long jacket pockets, the tie adjusted briefly just beforehand.

"That many? I'd be looking in Seer heads for omens for a solid week by now.."

[Keith] "Oh," he says, frowning. "It's okay; I don't do patience so well. Everything else, sure. Not patience, though." He doesn't say that like it's a joke. He is, after all, a Silver Fang. "And it's really damned cold out here, so I'm going to go back across the street and see about the status of my ride home. You should come join the rest of your people, if you want." And with that, Keith's re-joining Lukas and Zeke and Park.

[Rory] She glances up at him, and then across the street, and then nods. A moment after he stands, she does too, hesitating a moment before she makes a decision and heads toward the group as well, slipping her pack on her back as she does so.

[Keith] ooc: I think I'm going to have to bow out in another post, y'all. Keith can just stand around all quiet-like until either Lukas or Zeke are ready to go, and then he'll ride on with whoever. Just a warning!

[Lukas] Lukas exhales a laugh, humorless. "Now you're the idealist, Zeke, if you think we still live in a world where a dozen deaths a year could only happen if the Wyrm were doing something drastically out of the ordinary.

"If you want to consult the Theurges, though, start with Gossamer Wing. She's a Fostern of the Fenrir, and the current alpha Theurge in the city." He pops the top off his second bowl of udon and starts to eat.

[Zeke] "...Ideals are for visionaries. Paranoia, on the other hand..." A 'tsk' sound escapes his lips, though less for Lukas and more a 'What're we gonna do' mention. Lukas offers a name: Gossamer Wing and Zeke offers a nod in return, the register of a Fenrir not bothering to awaken anything special in Zeke's regard. Instead, he turns to glance across the street at Rory and Keith's approach.

"...Park, you want that ride back home, it better be soon, this face and these hands were not made for cold bones and hard winds."

An eye at Rory, smile creeping into something less Shadowlord. More genuine.

"How are the new digs treating you?"

[Park] A crinkle of paper have the bills being crammed into Park's right barn coat pocket, the transaction occurring all but wordlessly as Zeke speaks of deaths and orders and mistakes, of a search for reason and explanation as to what she can only assume is the reason they're here: the rash of deaths that have been spoken of as far away as the west coast.

She has nothing to say about the matter. She tightens her grip on her bag, then sniffs moisture out of her sinuses. Before she can comment on the weather, Zeke does for her.

"I haven't been out of California long enough for fifteen degrees to be tolerable," she agrees. "Enjoy your dinner, -rhya."

With that, she opens up the back door of the town car and, perhaps before or perhaps after Keith, clambers into the back. It's not much warmer in the sleeping vehicle, but there is no wind, and that's good enough for her.

[I require sleeps! Thanks for the RP, fuckers!]

[Keith] "I'm catching a ride with whoever's leaving first," he says, determined to get somewhere warm, it would seem.

ooc: and with that, I'm out. thanks y'all!

[Rory] She smiles shyly at Zeke, relaxing a little with a familiar face and genuine smile. "Good. Mave hy own room!"

Someplace warm to go home too - sometimes it's the little things. "And got to keep cy mat."

[Lukas] (iiii'm gonna have to head bedward too!)

"California," Lukas says, laughing quietly. "My sister lives out there. She's forgotten how to live in the cold too."

He puts the lid back on his noodles, then, dropping his chopsticks in the bag with them. "I think I'm heading out too. I'll be in touch about the gathering, Zeke. See you around."

[Zeke] "...Good to hear."

Zeke's gaze flicks to Keith and Park, creeping into the open and running Towncar, before returning to Rory. He pulls a gloved hand from his pocket, a slim card, etched with minimal writing: His Name (Zeke), his Number (Cellphone), his occupation (Driver), all in small letters barely visible from anywhere but two feet.

"You need help or want something to do, give me a ring. I can point you in some good directions."

And with that, he offers a nod to Rory, then a glance up to Lukas as he makes to depart. "...Enjoy the noodles, Lukas." Then he is around the hood of the car toward the Driver's side, plucking the car open and climbing in. The towncar would head off toward various drop off points.

(Alas, After 4 AM and I'm dead in the head. Bed calls.)

thresher.

[.Filth.] Do they have to change their name if the heart of the circle is cut out?
Broken?

Little flashes that are nothing but reflection on death stick like sharp pins into the flesh of the Gaians. Sam's constituation keeps him from even feeling the nicks of it, the flesh closing around the weapons before they can even draw up blood. But Mrena isn't so lucky. The shadow lord is not an Ahroun and at times the din of the battle distracts her mind enough that she cannot speed along those natural healing processes of the war-body she carries. People scream around them, roll about underfoot, things shatter as the background noises to the end of the world.

From all sides the attacks come and the cliaths hadn't counted on the clowns being quite so strong. One would swear any one of them could lift a car with it's bare hands. The second knife crosses infront of her face as Sam deals a flesh wound to the closest to him. He's throwing himself at the other werewolf and it's doing the same when the third strikes her though, forcing it's painted hand all the way into her insides behind a knife, taking intestines with it.

It's emotionless face never breaks glassy eye from glassy eye as it faces her down with her innards. Seeming almost surprised, enamored as she reverts back down to her breed form.

.....a scared little girl.....
...was any of it real?....
....I'm dying.....
....You killed me.....

The Fenrir reacts in fury, one hand flying back to tear the head from the possesed monstrosity that dared get within arm's reach, the sick rolling sound of it across the dance floor is down out by the cries and sobs of the terrified masses still trapped in the place. The floor beneath them is sick and he and the lead clown go at each other with teeth first, hitting the ground the process. Sam's teth find it's ribcage, tearing it wracked open like the jaws of life might an auto accident.

The clown stops moving, it's men turn on Sam and hesitate again. Then flee not of fear pout pure preservation, One going for the bar and the last thing Mrena remembers before dying is the fire. The first of the flames that lick out around them.

============================================================================

"Please wake up. Please wake up." The next thing White Eyes sees is her a pile of blonde hair collecting against her abdomen. The back of the head it belongs to faces her as her recognizable packmate lies down there. His voice is soft, hoarse. A way she's never, ever heard him. "Please."

She's in the brotherhood. In one of the empty rooms. Some of her things have been brought in though and There are some balloons that read 'Get Well Soon'. A few cards, some with the same message, some with those of birthday wishes line the dresser, propped open so they can be seen on their covers from the bed. She doesn't remember it, she couldn't. Nothing but the Red, the bloody fists of her packmate raining down about her, his sobbing as he'd carried her home. It's not back in her conscious yet, but someday she will. They always do.

She'll remember the pretty blonde girl who'd bought herself and Sam shots and had done her best not to act afraid when Mrena's brother had thanked her. She'll remember the girl's face torn to ribbons under claws and her limb not cut or bitten but torn off. The taste of the blood in her mouth and how it had seemed so tempting to simply stop and feast. How it had felt right to simply destroy so wantonly.

"I'll do whatever you ask me to, just bring her back." He's been here awhile, the way his hair tangles and there are marks in his shirt from days worth of sweat. He sounds exhausted. He sounds beaten.

Could that be Sam?

[Caleb Delacourt-Alden] ( So uh... Location, location, location? )

[.Filth.] ((Monday afternoon-ish, brotherhood, spare room where Mrena's been zonked for a full day)

[.Filth.] ((and a half, *L*))

[Caleb Delacourt-Alden] ( I shall post after Damon, and hopefully he will include something about Caleb in his post. "So a Shadow Lord and Silver Fang walk into a bar..." )

[Armstrong] She had not been fortunate that evening.

The only saving grace that Mrena could have counted on was the fact that Sam had been there. There was blood everywhere and, for her part, she had moved with as much grace and as much composure as she could, but it wasn't enough. It hadn't been enough to keep her intact and it had only barely been enough to keep her alive.

And she hadn't thought of anything at that moment. Taking one blow, dodging another, and then finally taking the one that should have killed her. That rendered her from being a weapon of war to a bleeding, breakable little girl. And then?

Just a rag doll with the stuffing torn out.

And the last thing she remembered before the world went out was fire.

-----

Please wake up, he said. When silvery eyes opened, she didn't notice the light in the room, she didn't notice the Get Well Soon wishes or the cards, the noticed londe hair collected against her abdomen-

[And the flash of blood was felt across her memory. She didn't know it yet, but she'll remember that it felt amazing to tear that poor girl to bits. She'll remember that the taste of blood on her tongue felt right and deserved and that it was in her nature, on some level, to be so destructive. That was how some part of her would justify it. And this would be the part that would make her sick to her stomach, make th theurge wish that she could throw up. Because it felt right.]

She let her fingertips raise up, gently moving to Sam's hair. She stroked some of the blonde curls, and for her part she seemed confused. Because the world did not make any sense for the time being. And she was trying to pull it all together and she was trying to push it all into focus and it Just. Wasn't. Working.

"I'm sorry, Sam," she couldn't think of what else to say. She was pulling for it. She was trying to gain some sort of information and it just... wasn't... working. She was trying to remember what had happened for the rest of the night and...

and...

"Please don't be upset."

[.Filth.] He's been the only sound in the room for just under an hour now.

Since the earliest hours of Sunday morning, when he'd come stumbling and screaming with her limp, unconscious body through the doors of the brotherhood, Sam has barely said more than a few mumbled incomprehensible words to anyone. After he'd thrown an ashtray at Sampson so hard that tiny bits of it would likely be found in the hardwood's nooks and crannies for years to come the visitors had slowed. To his packmate though, this small slight ashen-eyed girl whose face he'd turned to what looked like rotting prunes just to subdue her, and who now, thanks to one of the healing talen's she given him was now in pristine shape save for three scars, one like a wicked ball of hatred right on her abdomen, the one where that thing's knife had first found her, made her mouth bubble dark crimson.

His head snaps up, like a wolf hearing squirrels in the brush at the edge of it's territory. His eyelids are nowhere to be seen, opened back along his eyes so far as to make them seas of white with only an arctic glacier floating in the center. The back of one hand streaks across both eyes as he bounds up onto the bed taking her without regard for want or need up between long, strong arms.

"You made it." He chokes on the words. If he even heard her apologizing he doesn't register it, doesn't mention it. Just holds on for a few more seconds before turning back toward the door. "She's awake! She's awake!"

The folks in the restaurant have to love that.

[Wyrmbreaker]

[Wyrmbreaker] (err. ignore that.)

[Wyrmbreaker] (it was a leftover from my talenmaking in the other window. i put it in the wrong window. hurr.)

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas spent the previous night in the Caern itself, or he would've brought Caleb earlier. As is, the Ahroun is coming in the back door of the Brotherhood just now, talking to the Theurge as he goes.

"...badly hurt and almost died," he's saying as the door opens into the kitchen. "Sam's pretty shook up. Apparently he had to subdue her after her rageback Frenzy." Footsteps on the steps now. "Might make him feel better if you healed--"

She's awake! She's awake!

Lukas grimaces and picks up the pace, mounting the stairs two at a time. Mind the mortals, Sam. I brought Caleb to fix her up.

[Caleb Delacourt-Alden] "Indeed. It can be a nasty thing, frenzy," he said in a half-murmured voice as he ascended the stairs behind Lukas. This might be neutral territory, but he still considered the entire establishment Circle territory. "At least the girl survived."

With Sam's bellowing like a madman, Caleb likewise picked up the pace and bounded up the stairs behind the Ahroun. When he had learned the girl that had become more of a bratty kid sister to him than a girl to watch and be wary of constantly had been hurt, he had indeed answered the summons. That, and as a theurge it was his duty to perform such actions.

[.Filth.] His celebration is cut off by the voice of his Beta through the slit left in the door that he hasn't let quite go shut save for when it had gotten loud once the previous evening, sternly reprimanding a group of kinfolk from downstairs who'd only been asked to clean the bathrooms across the hall.

They'll likely never cross the lower threshold of the stairway again.

"I..." Okay The voice of an eagle giving address to a higher flying hawk, quiet like it's miles off in their minds. "I already used the last bandage I had." He's still cocked sideways on the bed next to Mrena, one arm still beneath her head as his body cheat away toward the door. The pal mof that hand hold him upfirmly with splayed fingers on her pillow. As if realizing the folly in not even asking, in barely even addressing the theurge who's prone next to where he sits he does turn and look down at her. His eyes are puffed, red, his whole face seems gaunt and sleepless too.

"I'm so sorry," It's all he can say, parroting it right back at her.

"I didn't get him."

[Armstrong] It was almost an endearing sound. Mrena, once upon a time, was very much a fan of her personal space. Even now, there were times that Mrena did not want anyone near her, that she would push and look distinctly uncomfortable. But now? Now was not one of those times.

For her part, she was drained on multiple levels. And there was Sam, sounding smaller than she had ever heard him and something about that hurt. Hurt on an almost spiritual level, really. And so, when pulled into an embrace she didn't exactly push him away, or try to wriggle out of it. He said that she made it, and he sounded damned near excited. Elated, even.

And for her part, all Mrena could think to do was hold onto Sam for dear life. After awhile, a moment that felt like an eternity, she had to sate her curiousity. [Curiosity gets you dead.] She looked at Sam, and he relayed that he was sorry. Brows knit and she cocked her head to the size in an almost avian gesture.

"..." silence. Sam didn't get him.

a beat passed.

"... what happened?"

[Wyrmbreaker] (delete last post -- new info, gotta redo.)

[Wyrmbreaker] It's Monday afternoon. The battle was Saturday.

In the meantime, Mrena -- healing, unconscious -- has been recuperating in her room at the Brotherhood. Her packmates have been by: her Alpha, her Beta, the prospective inductee. They come for five minutes, half an hour, thirty seconds. They leave to attend to patrols, scouting, life, war.

The only constant is Mrena and Sam. They don't move.

4:23pm, and the back door opens. Lukas and Caleb, returning from ... wherever. The conversation had nothing to do with Mrena; they were discussing Caleb's joining the pack.

"...should induct you properly once Mrena's back up to fighting trim," he's saying as he reaches the Theurge's door. He raises his hand and raps his knuckles against the wood, pushes it open a second later and walks in.

He finds Sam rumpled and pale, dark circles under his eyes; unshaven; almost certainly in clothes going on 48 hrs old now. The Ahroun gives his auspice-mate a brief look. Then he looks at Mrena.

"Good to see you're back with us." In contrast to Sam's unrestrained grief and unrestrained joy, Lukas seems almost detached to the news of Mrena's reawakening. He'd never doubted it.

[Caleb Delacourt-Alden] "Indeed," he said casually as he walked along beside the Shadow Lord. "I suppose it will take a weight off of Mrena, by being there. Being the theurge of a pack of more than four Garou can be trying for the best of us."

His demeanor was as cool as Lukas' - he knew what stuff Mrena was made of, after all he had been teaching her the use of a sword for some time now. She likely wasn't near the level of blademaster and neither was Caleb, but at least the Silver Fang could keep her from cleaving off her own foot when things got hairy.

Stepping inside with Lukas, he cast an appraising eye around the room. His eyes first went to Mrena to assess how she was feeling, then to Sam. The Fenrir certainly looked as though he hadn't slept, the rumpled clothes and red bloodshot eyes.

"From all that I have heard, I for once thought I was going to have peaceful mornings for a change," he said with a half-curve to his lips as he stepped a bit closer. Their back-and-forth banter by now was likely known to the rest of the Circle, Caleb viewing the incorrigable younger theurge as his little sister to an extent. "Do you require further healing?" he asked.

[.Filth.] "He was down, I swear," He sounds guilty. As if he's done something wrong. "I got the one beside me and I went after that Spiral and then you." He swallows. His eyes wrench down in what's unmistakable as anger, human anger. It isn't Rage, the two aren't nearly the same and this if at all possible is the more dangerous of the two. "By the time I got those things away from you..."

He swallows hard. "I couldn't find him. He was gone."

He stands up running his fingers into his thick blonde hair, parts of it stick off at odd angles after that as the unwashed locks simply stick and tangle with two days without cleaning the blood and sweat and grime from them. "I should've had a plan Mrena, it's my job to protect you-" Perhaps it's by virtue of their powerful totem, their auspicious formation, but they are a pack who does not see defeat, and it couldn't be more evident than right at this moment. "-i'm sorry."

Because Edward doesn't even get this kind of display. The lanky form of the Fenrir pacing around the room a hair's width from losing his temper. Rage and breeding and everything Gaia could've given ready to snap into a mindless killing machine at a moment's notice. And not simply because they'd been beaten to at least a stalemate.

But because it hadn't been him lying there dead.

[Wyrmbreaker] (this is an open scene, folks. it's just retro -- monday afternoon)
to liar, Peek, peep, rock

[rock] (Whoo! Cuz I r BORED. :) )
to liar, Peek, Wyrmbreaker

[Peek] (Hmmm...sounds like fun)
to liar, peep, rock, Wyrmbreaker

[Zeke] Eyes and ears on different things. Important matters. Disquieting moments.

It is easy to be oblivious to the sudden change in the Common Room's air pressure, free of bodies or presence (a quick peek had confirmed that).

Pop

Goes the gauntlet. Then the rustle of clothes as a seat is taken

(Placemarker. Will get more involved in a minute..)

[Armstrong] It's the first time that she had taken a breaking like that. Well, that she remembered. It wouldn't be the first, certainly, and it hopefully wouldn't be the last. All things considered, however, she was in better spirits than usual. Her voice was out of use, and for her part she seemed vaguely aware of her visitors.

It was the best she could really hope for.

"... Oh god, you brought him? Really, Lukas?" She couldn't help but grin, though it was slight. Something vaguely pleased, and he asked if she needed further assistance. Mrena shook her head; Darkensky knew she was a prideful creature. "I'll be fine, don't worry. I'll be up and about making your life a new shade of awful soon enough."

Sam swallowed, and for her part looked at him in silence. And she listened. There he was, by her side and not moving or wavering in a quiet state of self-loathing. This was the dance of a battle lost. He blamed himself, he should have had a plan. [She should have moved.] And for her part Mrena seemed desperate to understand what was going through his head.

-I'm sorry.
"Don't," she said. "If we have learned something from this, then it wasn't a waste. We were out-classed."

It was the best comfort she could offer. God, she was trying though. It had to be worth something.

[Wyrmbreaker] There's a pop! of a body suddenly appearing where once there was air -- a subaudible and instantaneous pressure-change that has Lukas raising his head like a wolf scenting a stranger.

Which is, in a way, exactly what he is.

"That's enough," he says, low. "Pull yourself together, Sam. You're not doing anyone a favor by falling apart for thirty-six hours. We need you on the front lines, not weeping in a sickroom." With that, he puts out his hand to Mrena, intending to tug her back to her feet. "Come on, White-Eyes. On your feet now."

[Maija] She is something of a ghost about the Brotherhood, coming in late, leaving early, doing little more than sleeping on an empty bed in whatever room she shares with whomever needs the other beds. She hasn't been around for a couple of days though, and perhaps those that had noticed her ghostly brief presence, might have noticed. Or not. Either way, it's a little odd to be here in the daytime.

She's scored a recent shower, and her clothing is clean, her jeans threadbare, but with the addition of another patch under one ass cheek. Otherwise, she is the same as she always is. Not exactly tall, very much too thin, and huddled inside a hoodie that's at least 2 sizes too big, the hood pulled low to cast her face in shadow. Her pack is slung over her shoulders, her beat to hell hiking boots making little sound as she slides through the backdoor, to the stairs on the way to the room where she slept last.

She'd misplaced something, and has come to find it. Simple enough.

[.Filth.] A lopsided thing, sad comes over his face there in the bedroom. It's a smile, sure, but behind it there's nothing in the way of happiness or contentment or any of the other things Sam had been trying to find again in that crowded drinking hall with his packmate. Things he'd not had in awhile and had convinced himself or perhaps allowed himself to be convinced that he should at least be able to have on his birthday of all times.

And then Lukas speaks.

And it disappears.

So does Sam.

[Caleb Delacourt-Alden] Caleb stood with arms folded as he watched the inter-play between Sam, Mrena, and Lukas. The other theurge playfully antagonized him, and he quirked a brow and replied. "You make my life a new shade of awful every day," he said wryly. "I can't see as how it's something new day in and day out, but it is. Although when you showed up drunk out of your mind and nearly vomitted on my livingroom floor, that was more amusing than awful."

It even brought a chuckle to his lips, a quiet one. When Lukas bent to help her up, Caleb could only watch on in silence with his arms folded.

[Armstrong] She looked at Lukas for a minute; her Beta gave her instructions, and she wasn't going to ignore them. The theurge rolled her shoulders back, straightening herself out so that she wasn't a complete mess. A quick analysis of the damages; Mrena concluded that her hair looked like shit. That she needed a shower. And that both she nad Sam still smelled like battle and death.

She stood and then the theurge, in her diminuitive glory, gave Caleb possibly one of the most startling, bone-chilling glares that someone of her stature could. There was a sound in the common room, an audible pop and she tensed.

[Wyrmbreaker] As Maija and Zeke enter the Common Room, they can hear muffled voices coming from the room Mrena and Dylan share. The door is tapped shut, but not latched.

Inside, Lukas grasps Mrena by the forearm, but before he can tug, the Theurge stands on her own. Lukas's smile is barely visible - a tug at the corner of his mouth. He lets her go and looks her over.

"So? Show me the scar."

[Caleb Delacourt-Alden] Caleb's lips twitched, fighting a smile at that cold glare. There is nothing in this world that Mrena could come up with that would terrify the Silver Fang any more than what he has seen in his life, and she is one of very few that know what terrifies him the most on the face of Gaia.

"Yes, let's see it. You are a tough woman," he said. "It must of been some wicked blow that nearly felled you."

[Zeke] The Man on the couch, as Maija climbs the stairwell to enter the common room is...well, worse for wear. His clothes are a tattered mess of ribbons and shorn shreds, sections dangling in long strips around larger portions of fabric that have managed to maintain their consistency. Black soot marks line many of the lacerations in the clothing. Amazingly enough the flesh beneath it all is remarkably unharmed, dusted lightly with soot as it were.

shaved bald, sporting a trimmed goatee and cradling his chin in one hand, the elbow resting on a couch arm, he has one ankle resting comfortably on the opposite knee, back slightly hunched and eyes regarding the wall directly ahead of him somewhat lazily.

One might be tempted to call it a moment devoted to finding some clarity.

[Maija] There are reasons she doesn't like to hang out here during the day. There's something about being surrounded by Garou when their awake that is completely different than when they sleep - it's easier to lie o oneself and say they're not walking talking death machines when you hear them snoring and snorting, and imagine them drooling on their pillows, after all. The energy is completely different when they are awake, talking and walking and meeting and greeting - then they are more aware, and it makes slipping in and out unnoticed a virtual impossibility.

Yet onwards, anyway.

She steps into the commons room, a quick glance placing the muffled voices, and where Zeek is in the common room. Then it's back to head down, quick walk, as she moves toward 'her' room, not far from Mrena's.

[Armstrong] And she lit up with a sort of macabre pride; it was as if he had asked to see her sketch book or wanted to see something she had painted or was asking how a date went. [Horribly, she usually answered. The question was rarely asked, as that Mrena did not seem to court and those that she courted rarely lived up to her expectations. Not the point. We're talking about scars, here] The theurge took a moment to adjust, living her shirt up just enough that it rested halfway up her torso.

She'd been stabbed in the stomach,a little to the side, but a solid hit none the less. Something deep, less-than-pleasant looking. It seemed to be the primary concern. "There's that, and..."

She turned a little showing her side and back to her packmate and company. Something less painfully deep on her back and another, slightly more wicked mark on her side. It was hard to tell what order those blows had come in, but they came none the less. Mrena then smoothed her shirt down, covering up all of her necessities. "Those."

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas inspects the scars with the sort of interest usually reserved for -- well. Works of art. When he straightens, he grins. "Well, at least they aren't on your back.

"Come on. You must be famished. When you've eaten we should discuss summoning the Totem sometime soon. In case you haven't heard," being unconscious and all, "Caleb's going to join us."

[Caleb Delacourt-Alden] Nodding thoughtfully to himself as Mrena shows off her scars--badges of honor--Caleb smiled slightly and shook his head. Ahrouns typically would react to any such scarring as badges of honor. Caleb considered such things to be badges of luck, although he was glad to see no serious harm had come to her. Serious, as in the kill-you-dead kind of harm.

"I've spoken to Katherine about it," the theurge said. "It seemed to me that she would of been disheartened if I wouldn't of ever asked."

A wolf can never run alone for so long until it finally dies. He had been packed, briefly, but that ended just as quickly. There was still that matter to attend to. He would speak to the two Shadow Lords seperately about it in time.

[Armstrong] At least they weren't on her back- god the implications would have killed her. She then took a moment to listen to the two of them. Mrena had a lot to catch up on, it seemed. There was quite a lot that could pass while one was less-than-conscious. But, then Lukas had to mention food. Eyes widened slightly and then her stomach protested.

Oh, yeah, she hasn't eaten in thirty six hours. And then? A good chunk of Mrena's calories had come from whatever alcoholic beverages she and Sam had been drinking. "That? Sounds amazing."

She started to head out of the room and out into the common room. She turned back and spoke to Caleb as she did. "Looks like you won't be getting rid of me any time soon then, will you?"

The theurge looked to the side, noticing that... this was new. The theurge regarded Maija for a moment, and there was that curiosity again. The kind of thing that had gotten her into trouble before, that had contributed to those scars that she had. The theurge seemed to regard Maija, the sum of her parts, and cleared her throat.

"Haven't seen you before," she said.

[Maija] She glances over her shoulder at Zeke one more time, before her hand slides around the doorknob of the room she'll never exactly call her own. A turn, and she pushes the door open, and pauses. She listens inside to see if any of her bunkmates are in, and there's an inaudible sigh of relief to find the door empty. It's not as if she has anything to hide really, but she is not one who likes to answer questions.

Ever.
And Garou always ask.

Case in point - there's the question, that stops Maija in her tracks. Eyes close briefly, before she turns her head enough to let Mrena know she's heard her. She doesn't push her hood back, leaving her face in shadows, as she clears her throat slightly. "Ain't 'round much."

Simple truth. Always the best policy.

[Caleb Delacourt-Alden] Following the other two, Caleb shrugged. "Not as like I ever could," he answered blithely before sauntering along with his thumbs hooked into hip-pockets.

Mrena paused before Maija, and her voice sparked some form of recognition in him. He'd seen her before, but where? Brows furrowing, the too-handsome cajun eyed the shadows of that hood. Not to try penetrating them, but more to try and see through them. As if a face wasn't important - Maija might feel as though those Falcon's Eyes were peering into her soul.

[Wyrmbreaker] And suddenly there are three werewolves out in the hall.

Maija has probably seen Lukas now and again. The Ahroun -- because that's what his rage marks him to be -- wears the form of a young man most days; dark of hair, pale blue of eye. She would've seen him reading on the sectional couch, shaving with a straight razor in the bathroom ... coming in at ridiculous hours, staying up all night.

He's quiet, but it's not for shyness or lack of confidence. Lukas has that fabled bearing of eagles about him, straight-backed, eyes sharp.

He's seen her enough that she's not a stranger to him, but they've never spoken. He looks at her curiously, but uninvolvedly -- as Mrena stops to speak to the girl, he lays such a familiar hand on the Theurge's shoulder that they're marked immediately and indelibly as packmates.

I'll go see what Saint Jen's got on the stove, the mental comment, and bring some up.

"Hey, Zeke," Lukas greets his tribesmate casually, offhandedly, as he's descending the stairs. His gait is steady and paced, one step after the next, solid and unhurried.

[Zeke] "Need a minute of your time, Lukas..."

It comes with a nod toward the Ahroun. He seemed to have been expecting the other Thunder to emerge eventually, settling back into the couch with a comfortable clearing of the throat and the words as a reply to the greeting.

"...When you've got a minute of course." As if to indicate that Zeke was aware at least of something pressing occuring down the hall. A rush? No but the tone of his voice seemed to suggest a certain level of...importance? Somewhat. Closer still to resignation.

[Armstrong] "How long have you been here?" Curiosity or suspicion. It could have been a nice blend of both.

She hadn't exactly been conscious for a few days; Mrena was likable at times. The rest of the time she was sharp-tongued, inquisitive, and downright infuriating. Whether this would become one of those times was hard to tell just yet. The theurge looked at Maija and shut her door once all were out of her room.

Mrena was another creature that came and went at strange hours. She usually left before dawn. That was neither here nor there.

"Have a name?"

Because, you see, she would ask. Because those scars had yet to teach her anything about curiosity.

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas pauses halfway down the stairs -- half his body still above the floorline.

"Yeah?" He considers a moment. "Why don't you follow me down? I'm just going as far as the kitchen to see what's on the stove."

Provided Zeke does, Lukas waits for him. When the Ragabash catches up the Ahroun starts walking again, taking the steps quicker now: a rapid one-two trot to the stone tiles of the kitchen.

[Maija] And suddenly there are three, and he hair on the back of her neck rises, and her shoulders tense, her spine stiffens. It's an automatic fight or flight response, one that she withstands only because she has known it most of her life, before she ran. She pulls her hand from the doorknob, and shoves it deep into the 'roo pocket to join it's mate.

She moves to allow her back to press into the wall, as if for all the world she'd become one with it if she could. Caleb stares, and she glances up - just once- then finds something interesting on the floorboards to fix her gaze on - a speck of dust, something.

Mrena asks, and "Yeah," she answers. It's automatic, and obedient, if not all together comfortable, or willing. "Maija."

Mi-yah, she offers, and it rolls off the tongue easily enough that one can assume it's her real name.

[Zeke] "Actually..."

Lukas is half-way through a continuing step down the stairs, as Zeke pipes in quickly.

"This is gonna need to stay here." His hands gesture down flat, at the Common room "...Given my current state of dress and topic of conversation, I think it best I just wait for you to get back from the Humans only section." And he does. Or at least seems willing to. Patient and shifting around to get more comfortable.

[Wyrmbreaker] A cocked eyebrow. "Kitchen's off-limits to the humans too, Zeke."

Nevertheless, Lukas proceeds down alone. And returns alone a few minutes later, bearing not a bowl but a stack of bowls, and an entire fucking pot of stew.

This he sets down on the coffee table, presumably for all. He hands Zeke one of the bowls -- in case the Ragabash assumed it was a pack-only dinner. Then Lukas takes his usual place at the bend of the sectional couch, ladling a heaping portion into his bowl.

"All right, what's up?"

[Zeke] The Bowl is refused with closed eyes, a shake of the head and a wave of an errant hand. Soot falls from what's left of the sleeve on his shirt, joining the pockets of black dust thinly coating his right leg. He leans back into the couch, thumb beneath his chin and fingers running up the side of his cheek.

"How much do you and your number know about Threshers?" Unless Zeke had developed a sudden taste for large farming machines, it was obvious he was talking about something else.

[Armstrong] There was no offering of her hand, no need to do so. It was just the sort of pleasantry that came with them passing. Mrena was not the best of neighbors, by any means. She wasn't much of a talker, she got up at ridiculous hours, and she never once came by to greet Maija with a fruit basket.

Her name was Maija.

"Mrena," she said. Not Armstrong, oddly enough. Said wtih faith, a truth that it would be pronounced correctly. "Guess you're my neighbor."

A beat.

"I'll try not to have loud sex. I don't know if you're a light sleeper or not."

If she had known Mrena, this would be absolutely hilarious. As that Mrena was a stranger, and seemed to be completely serious, it seemed to be a genuine offer.

[Wyrmbreaker] (remind me wtf threshers are? *LOL* he has 1 dot in occult so he'd know roughly what they are)
to Zeke

[Zeke] (Large Bane, jaggling. Ugly and hateful fuckers. As an Ahroun, Lukas would know them as a Full-pack necessary threat. Also? Fire oriented.)
to Wyrmbreaker

[Maija] Guess you're my neighbor, the woman says, and Maija simply nods. Then there is a beat, and the following statement, and that got the girl to look up, perhaps a beat longer than before, enough to give a hint of the face in those shadows, the line of her jaw, perhaps, and the escaped wisp of dishwater blond hair that has braved the air outside the fleece.

Thin fingers - the girl could not possibly be more than 110 if she had a brick in each pocket and was soaking wet - lift to tuck away the strand, baring the line of her jaw, and very, VERY briefly the splash of a bruise faded to almost healed across her cheekbone. "Ain't no worries, ma'am." she murmurs. "ain't here long 'nuff for it to matter much, most nights, an' sleep heavy 'nuff."

Her voice is a conglomeration of accents - here, there, and everywhere, a true mix of Americana in bad grammar.

[Wyrmbreaker] "Not a lot." Lukas doesn't beat around the bush; he doesn't try to disguise ignorance beneath mountains of bullshit. "Big banes with an affinity for fire. Why?" Zeke not eating doesn't keep Lukas from eating: the Ahroun pauses to deliver a big spoonful to his mouth. After he chews and swallows, "Did you run across one?"

[Maija] ((*tags on*))

And, deep in the 'roo pocket, her other hand presses against her belly to still the growl the scent of that stew awakens.

[Zeke] "Yea'. I've been tracking one's migration patterns throughout the city for the last few weeks..."

Zeke leans forward to inspect the inside of the pot, face scrunching up in a brief sniff that is ultimately dismissive as the Ragabash leans back into the comfort of the couch.

"Fire's just one of their little party tricks. Up-close is next to impossible, made up of an assortment of twisted metal, hardly any organics. Things are like tanks. Mow through whatever they find and cut it to ribbons" He plucks at the shredded shirt and pants he's wearing as if to evidence. "Heavy doses of toxins on the metal. Corrosions and acidics. Eats a path where it rests for too long but..."

Zeke rubs along his right shoulder, wincing ever so slightly at the red raw flesh that is exposed for a moment beneath the ribbons.

"..This thing's been moving a lot. Hard to keep tabs, except in it's aftermaths. Spirits are scared of it." A pause, eyes regarding Lukas.

"Migration keeps changing, but it seems to be moving in a box. Certain borders. Traced a few of 'em to see what might be keeping it penned in but I haven't found any spirit evidence. Leads me to think it might be getting prodded..."

Another heartbeat, Zeke leaning forward with a critical eye at Lukas.

"Milo mentioned you ran into some BSDs not to long ago?"

[Wyrmbreaker] A wry look. "I'm an Ahroun, Zeke." This isn't a boast; it's plain fact. "I run into Dancers on a semi-regular basis.

"Why? You think some Dancers are herding your friend around like cattle?"

[Armstrong] Mrena Armstrong was petite. Not yet five and a half feet tall, of a weight that seemed to fit her distinctly petite frame. But Mrena did not present it as a weakness; the theurge prsented herself as a creature without fault and one beyond contempt. She was a recently twenty year old creature, cheeks round, eyes bright. Eyes that were damned near white; pale grey at the best.

"That's fortunate," she replied. Not a hint of accent. No origins. No dirty secrets, no tales from the road. Just a young woman with a voice that was high pitched and unadorned.

Her stomach growled unhappily.

Mrena frowned and all but glowered at her rather empty stomach. The look might have been a familiar one; it all but screamed shut up, I hear you, growling isn't going to get you fed any faster.

[Wyrmbreaker] (sorry to cut it short man, but i gotta dash to bed really soon! say... 20-30 min?)
to Zeke

[Zeke] Zeke takes a deep breath, lower jaw rolling in a slow circuit as he regards Lukas.

"The thing's bein' kept on the River's east side, but seems to be avoiding the Eagles turf by a good three blocks. Follows a line right above their Northern Border, like they know Silence is just waiting there to tear this thing up..." A heartbeat. "...That's too...coincidental, for my tastes. For the life of me though, I haven't seen anything that says as much but..."

Zeke's jaw hangs open slightly, thoughtful, his eyes having found the middle of Lukas' bowl to concentrate on.

"...East side of the River means it's got room to breathe. Room to roam and if someone is pushing it?" A minor shrug. "Could cause trouble for the Caern.."

[Zeke] (Np. This is a 'Letting you know' sort of scene. Not gonna need much more 'n that methinks.)
to Wyrmbreaker

[Wyrmbreaker] "Hm. I can have a look around there in the morning, see what I see. Or send our Strider." While Zeke talks, Lukas eats, watching the other over his bowl with sharp pale eyes. By the time Lukas says this, the bowl is empty, and he setting it down lightly.

There's a bit of sauce at the corner of his mouth. He wipes it off on the ball of his thumb, a slight, understated gesture. Then, "Any reason you think we shouldn't just throw two or three packs at the Thresher and take it down? Are you trying to follow the trail back to the herders and turn up a bigger can of worms?"

[Maija] Mrena's belly growls in concert, loud enough to be heard, while the streetrats is all but silenced with the press of her fist deep against her belly under layers of fleece. It's fortunate, the small woman says, and Maija nods slightly, once, in agreement.

Part of her is demanding she go, go NOW, get what she forgot and go hide elsewhere - perhaps near someone's book case, where other worlds beckon page by printed page. The other part knows better, and stands her ground, back pressed against the wall, as if to keep any more trueborn from showing up behind her. It's a survival move, one made without conscious thought. It says not so much that she is afraid - as she is more apprehensive than fearful. It screams instead that she has been hurt before, and more than once. It's in the little nuances of her body, the way she holds herself, the way she shrinks into the fleece, the way she answers obediently, yet carefully.

"Yes, ma'am." is what she answers, polite, even though the woman before her cannot be much older than herself.

A beat, and she follows the growl of Mrena's stomach with a soft. "Ain't meant to interrupt nuthin or keep ya. Jus' pickin somethin' up an' I'll be on my way agin." As if Mrena had the right, or need, to know.

[Zeke] "Yes and No. Yes, I've been following the damn thing trying to track it back to whatever might be keeping it 'boxed in'. No, I haven't found anything that might be linked to the effort. For all I know this spirit could be intelligent and knows not to fuck with the big bad in Cabrini..."

He huffs lowly. There is frustration under Zeke's tone.

"I'm also a little worried at this thing's power level. Organics are few and far between. Eyes and torso are near it and they're pretty well protected by the edges and blades. I tried putting some of the Weaver in it's path. Mowed through and left the spiders behind to clean up it's mess. Whatever the blades don't seem to grab, the acidics scare off or weaken. Get the feelin' we just throw folks at it? We might well get one whole pack up and running out of the survivors."

A pause.

"Came to you, because the Circle's got numbers. You've got a pack more suited to war then the Shadow and right now our numbers are spread across too many fronts to handle this thing. Even if we weren't it's a little too big...and a little too suspicious for me to want to throw things at it. It hasn't caused any major damage but..."

A helpless little shrug, a shred of his shirt dropping off to drape over the arm of the couch.

[Armstrong] "You don't have to leave," she said. "You live here too."

A pause, and the theurge studied her mannerisms. They were different. yes, quite different. But something about the younger woman seemed intrinsically pleased with the fact that Maija was apprehensive. And, on some level, she was more pleased by the sheer awareness the younger woman seemed to exude.

Obedient, but careful. Chose her words, didn't let them choose her.

The theurge started to take a step down the hall to make her stomach (finally) shut up. Lukas was right; she was famished. "You didn't interrupt anything, I just woke up."

Understatement.

[Wyrmbreaker] "All right, fair enough," at Zeke's account of its strength and might. "It might be a better idea to figure out how the herders are herding it. Then we can take them out and herd the thing ourselves at our own target. I'm sure we can find a nest of Dancers somewhere to send it at. Fellow Wyrmling or not, when their house goes up in flames I'm willing to bet they'll react.

"What's Milo say about this?"

[Zeke] "Haven't told him the full details yet."

It might say something that this is all Zeke offers to Lukas on that particular matter, the Ragabash climbing to his feet, soot falling from his clothes like dust off a weary traveler.

"Had to borrow a Healing talen to put my ass back together after my last recon. Damn thing lit the building I was using on fire, brought it down on me and then proceeded to stomp through the wreckage to get to where it wanted to go..."

Shaking his head, murmuring.

"I'll keep tabs on it and let you know more when I've got it. Meantime, you talk to your people and see if they can't dig anything more up. Say you've been fighting a fairly regular presence of Spirals? Get me some info. on any Theurges that you took out if you've got any. Same goes for your Packmates."

A nod down at the Ahroun, the No Moon preparing to depart.

[Maija] She lives here to. Sorta. If that's what one calls when you show up exhausted only to sleep for 4-5 hours and leave again before dawn, living. And let's not talk about how little she actually partakes of Jenny's cooking, which she's been told time and time again is there for the taking. She's not a charity case, and hates to be seen as such. She does nothing to earn her keep as of yet, and that failure has caused her to miss many, many of he meals offered, until she can scrounge together a buck or two to pay for something downstairs.

Of course, 9 times out of then her 2 bucks buys a 5 buck meal, but those details need not be quibbled over. At least she tries, and in her mind, that is the important thing.

She just woke up. "Yessum. Glad yer better." Everyone had seen Sam's worry, and whispers told of the state of the young theurge when she was brought in. Maija has always been acutely aware of her surroundings - to miss that would have been a gross oversight.

[Wyrmbreaker] Damn thing lit the building I was using on fire, brought it down on me and then proceeded to stomp through the wreckage to get to where it wanted to go...

Lukas laughs aloud at that. It's open, nothing held back, a good hard laugh. It's also not mean-spirited, and perhaps that's rare for a Shadow Lord.

"We'll keep an eye out and let you know." Zeke gets to his feet and Lukas joins him. This is courtesy, and Lukas has no shortage of that. "Thanks for the heads-up, Host-of-Traitors."

[Wyrmbreaker] (btw, you STing any of this? i might get stuck with the ST rotation this week since it's monday night and i ain't heard shit from CC *LOL* so if you want, i can maybe ST some suspicious BSD theurge behavior into my oneshot)
to Zeke

[Zeke] "...It's Zeke."

A Reminder to Lukas. If his expression, slight as it may be, is any indication, the Ragabash was not terribly attached to the formality of his deedname.

"...And anytime." It's just as Mrena 'rounds the corner, that Zeke lifts a hand to wave at her, a half an ass grin on his face and then...

Pop

He's gone.

[Wyrmbreaker] (thanks for the scene all! i'm off to bed myself)

[Zeke] (*chuckles* Actually I was going to blame the entire thing on one of the recent but past one shot deals. Enough BSDs runnin' around lately that stirrin' up this sort of trouble would have been all too easy to blame on 'em. Would also explain why Zeke hasn't found any obvious evidence but!

If you are interested in using this to fuel something in your One Shot, go for it.)
to Wyrmbreaker

[Armstrong] (night mister men! Thank you for playing!)

[Wyrmbreaker] (alright, i'll see if i end up on-duty this week or not. sent CC a PM... we'll see if she responds *LOL* night man!)
to Zeke

[Zeke] (Take it easy mate!)
to Wyrmbreaker

threshold of the caern.

[Toxic] [ Just waiting on a few more people, feel free to begin interacting IC, all of you. Just as long as it's in the Caern you're within reach of the hook for this storyline. ]

[Host of Traitors] The borders of the Caern Grounds.

It was a cemented scattering of wrought metals, sundered detritus and concrete scattered over the up and down highway of an abandoned wharf. It had been sitting here, degenerate and lost by the city for years and with little other reason then the Kin within Hill House that kept it that way under the City Council's nose and eyes. Few people came looking this way. Fewer people really cared. It was one of the most well guarded secrets in the city and had remained that way for a long time, much to the diligence and stoicism of it's resident guardians.

Perhaps it is one of the reasons Zeke can be found on the outskirts and edges of the bawn, a sensation not unlike the frisson of adrenaline you get before battle or when you've been up too long and your body begins to send you not so subtle signals that deprivation of sleep was unhealthy. He jangles inside, confident that none of those within the physical world would be able to trace him back here.

His attire is a simple long coat and a tidy hoody beneath, the T shirt masked under the latter's zipper. Black cargo pants and a pair of mangy old boots. His features are dusted with the shadow of the area, what little light there was spawned from the far off city streets and buildings. He was smiling. Vaguely.

Tonight was his moon. Tonight was the Doubting Time.

[Thunder's Judgement] *The man entered the general area, following scents perhaps others didn't notice. Fortunately, he knew the right things to say. Knew what the guardians were, even if his look might appall them. It wasn't the first, and it wouldn't be the last. But in these times few, turned away a willing solider. Especially one that called for a specific pack, and a specific person by name. He was here to find his tribe mate Fell Prayer. And was lead inside to be checked out apparently by packmates of the pack of the Cackling Shadows....he didn't get too far, a few steps and he was lead to the one outside.*

[Thunder's Judgement] *The man walked with the guardian, not trusted enough to be left alone for now. He seemed to be covered in a leather jacket of some sort, a hood pulled over his head. He carred a large black hard plastic case, and a stuffed duffle bag. For now saying nothing.*

[Odins Eye] The hulking Fenrir named Odin's Eye

[Odins Eye] ((Gah! Ignore that... I accidentally hit the post button prematurely))

[Host of Traitors] As the hooded one and his guardian escort approach the outer bawn, there is the distinct impression of distance. It was not hard to discern the Guardian's lack of interest and bare tolerance for the man beside him, if evidenced only by the sudden and swift departure of the wraith of a Garou once they cross the Bawn...

...Leaving the Hooded creature to walk the rest of the way alone.

Zeke's head levels on the sudden detached presence that moves amid the shade and dark, eyes narrowing slightly. His feet shift atop one of the massive pieces of twisted hulk and metal that litters the surrounding wharf, a bygone throwback to an age of ships and gunnery, long since abandoned to this makeshift junkyard for the monstrosities humanity once built in it's heyday.

Zeke crouches, heedless of the brief tilt and re-settling the sudden shift of weight produces in the chunk of metal beneath him, elbows settling on knees and hands left to dangle between his legs. As the Hooded Man approaches closer still, Zeke offers a nod up toward him, both a silent hello and a query.

"Don't think the locals like you much."

[Odins Eye] The hulking Fenrir named Odin's Eye approaches the Caern with the self-same herald as is in his nature; the sound of heavily soled leather boots upon the pavement. The slim breath of wind floating among the old pier toyed with the golden mane of shoulder length hair flowing from his scalp, framing a stern countenance and gray eyes made black in the darkness.

A plaid flannel shirt, in shades of navy and red, hung buttoned but untucked to his hips, just allowing a gray tee shirt to peek from the unbuttoned collar. Dark denim jeans flow to the laces of his brown boots, devoid of logo or brand name tags.

As he approaches, Matthias finds a curious sight awaiting him. A man, or what looks like a man, standing in a hooded leather jacket, watched over by the Caern guardian. His expression grows curious as the guardian stops him and informs him of the man's request.

Turning to the newcomer, a low bass rumble flows from viking lips.

"You seek Milo?"

[Host of Traitors] (Whoops. Scratch my Post.)

[Odins Eye] ((*blink* Sorry... Got knee deep in writing mine and didn't check before posting. *shakes head* C'mon brain... work better.))

[Host of Traitors] Zeke's head levels on the sudden detached presence that moves amid the shade and dark, eyes narrowing slightly. His feet shift atop one of the massive pieces of twisted hulk and metal that litters the surrounding wharf, a bygone throwback to an age of ships and gunnery, long since abandoned to this makeshift junkyard for the monstrosities humanity once built in it's heyday.

Zeke crouches, heedless of the brief tilt and re-settling the sudden shift of weight produces in the chunk of metal beneath him, elbows settling on knees and hands left to dangle between his legs. Brief flicker of impatience fiddles around in his soles, shifting his weight from one bent leg to the other, before-

-Matthias can be heard. [i]Felt[/]. Seen. The Ragabash turns and leans further off of the Metal chunk, peering at the towering Modi with a flicker of a grin.

"...Milo's on Spirit call tonight. He'll be 'round later." A brief glance at the newcomer then, though Zeke doesn't forfeit his perch to get closer. "...Sure is popular these days, though."

[Thunder's Judgement] "Da, I do." *The man's voice seems harsh in texture and low in tone. The head turns to looks at the man, and immediate perhaps the reason for such is visible. The burn marks flashing completely over the left side of his face, and reaching over to the other.*
"Do you know Fell Prayer?..." *There was a small sniff apparently from the ruined nose cavity* "...brother warrior?" *The english had a strong edge of accent, perhaps eastern european.*

[Thunder's Judgement] *A nod given to the newest voice...another sniff...and another nod, perhaps to himself*

[Toxic] [ Alright. One more round of posts, this time in alphabetical order, for anyone who hasn't established a position either in the physical or Umbral reflection of the bawn. Count me out of posting order, I'll post last. ]

[Wyrmbreaker] (i'm attaching lukas to katherine, so count me outta the post rotation)

[Razor's Edge] There was something to be said about not sleeping. Or, at the very least, not sleeping well. Her mind was running a mile a minute, and she could still taste her dreams. It was, for lack of better wording, an unpleasant experience. She was, however, more-than-content to take the night in on her senses and enjoy. To live and breathe it, to look at the sky and...

And to take in the caern. To be there, actually be there. It was a reminder. refreshing, yes, and a reminder none-the-less. Meredith was there to take in it in on the other side though. The Ahroun found herself in the umbra.

the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

Attire was comfortable- jeans and a tee shirt. She wore a jean jacket, and her work boots were splattered with red dirt mingling with whatever earth Chicago had. It was caked into the grooves and ridges on the bottom of her hiking boots.

[Razor's Edge] (ohfuck! Sorry! *kicks that away*)

[Dances on Fire] Andrew is there. By the Grave. Tending a grave. Not happily, of course. But he's there. It is punishment. And required. He kneels by the grave of Barcode and clears the stone that's been placed there. Frowning down at the grave, he presses his hand into the dirt and pushes himself to his feet.

Rising, he brushes at his knees but it won't help any. The sweatpants have absorbed the wet mud and will need to be cleaned. Again. He lets out a sigh and starts towards the Caern's heart.

[Host of Traitors] (Gah! Fuck. I just lost my post to a refresh. Skip me folks, sorry about that.)

[Odins Eye] Matthias' gray eyed countenance turns to Zeke, a brief nod of greetings follows.

"It would appear so."

Then, the large man looks back at the newcomer asking after Milo, considering how best to answer that question. The low bass rumble issuing from his lips answers, after a fashion.

"He is alpha of my pack."

[Odins Eye] ((I was next 'til I wasn't. put that after Muerte Fria's post, please.))

[Truth's Meridian] (*bursts!* I have a post, I want it thrown in. Sorry if I jumped queue.)

Two members of the Unbroken Circle were present inside the grounds of the Caern this evening. Katherine and Lukas, Alpha and Beta were strolling side by side amongst the graves of the fallen before them. There was little intention to their present location other than the Silver Fang's off-hand desire to glimpse the names of her own tribal members. Perhaps it was whimsy that led her here, or perhaps it was the bent figure of Dances on Fire tending to a freshly dug grave.

Or -- perhaps the Mistress of Challenges needed no reasoning at all to stroll within the Caern's grounds. Katherine's pale eyes do follow after Andrew for a beat however, before they tick toward the newest addition to the graveyard.

[Thunder's Judgement] "Da, good. I am here to join my tribemate's pack. It will be good to hunt the guilty once more." *The man's harsh voice says simply* "I am Vasily. Is this place safe for real introductions?"

[Toxic] Broken behemoths settle deeper into their final resting places, slowly returning to the earth from which they were abducted and enslaved into these creaking forms by man. Spirits do their work, that which they must to be that which they are, with little complaint as they flit, crawl or otherwise making their way in or around the bawn. It is another night in this sacred place, which is saying a lot as the Caern remains standing strong and unchallenged, Maelstrom churning away upon his great hill. The totem is as a glimpse into one of the Mother's own rushing arteries, trembling in the fevered sweats of these final nights.

Her tumultuous sleep does not last for long. Those Garou in the physical feel it like the tide, their very bones trembling like lodestone toward some spiritual magnetic North through the thin Gauntlet of the Caern. It calls them to the otherworld.

Those already inhabiting the realm of spirit-stuff, this sanctuary of Gaia's soul so deep in the blighted Scabs? Those that heed the call into the Umbra, slipping through in this bastion at the totem-sung and unmistakable tug? They can hear it as it begins, the crashing of waves as Maelstrom's pit begins to rise in a rolling boil. Froth breaks upon its shores with a white fire like fireworks or exploding ordinance on the bawn's flat horizon, emanating fluctuating cold and heat in currents that summon the howls of the Guardians, marshaling with deadly efficiency in terrible forms of war.

The Guardians and the Blood of the City have their contingencies. Those other Garou are swept up by the wind, pushed with tearing gusts toward the Heart.

Andrew is there first. As it should be, the Theurge is the first to witness as the tempest within the Heart grows.

As others approach, it easily becomes visible as the ground begins to tremble and the ghostly apparitions of ships sitting along the water are tossed on penumbral waves. Maelstrom blossoms in crashing and swirling waves that growl from five to ten feet within the space of moments. And then, they turn a violent scarlet.

Not with blood or pain, but with Rage.

[Toxic] [ Posting order is still alphabetical, by the way. ]

[Dances on Fire] At the tug, the song, the pull of True North, he closes his eyes and lets himself slip through the veil. Like stepping through a cool waterfall. There's a little pop as the opening he tears collapses behind him.

And he's there. Staring up with awe as the Caern's heart rises violently and turns red with rage. There's a flicker-snap as his bulk, muscled, human form leans forward. Falls towards the ground. And implodes into a leaner, slightly less-bulky, lupine shape. Landing on his paws with near-silent thumps.

And he tilts his head back and keens out a piercing howl of warning.

[Host of Traitors] Zeke stares at the new addition.

Not a soul-searching, shadow flaying stare. A resolute level of confusion and written bewilderment sort of thing. The kind you offer life when it tosses a chicken at your feet when you asked for an apple. Or something equally unheard of.

"Either Milo's reputation is much broader and vaster then I had originally snooped into? Or people are forgetting what sort of Totem Goblin really is..."

He hops down off of the metal slag piece, landing with a triumphant grunt, hands planted infront of him, legs bent in no small part to the force of the landing that nearly sends him sprawling forward. An upward grunt follows the first, as Zeke rights himself steadily and paces his way toward Matt and...Vas. A closer vantage point for the time being, that bewilderment clinging to the lines of his features. It's perhaps a moment, as Zeke's mouth begins to open with the first of a potential barrage of questions when-

Rage

-Like cataclysms. Like heartbeats turned to attacks. Life veins exploding and eyes set to bulge. If anyone doubted the wisdom of the New Moon, let them wait for the night's end and give proper praise to that shadow in the sky.

Zeke stumbles, crashing to one knee and clutching at the side of his head like a hammer blow had rained from above. He sucks in a sharp breath and lifts his eye up toward Matt, his other hand already levelled Northward, deep into the Caern Grounds.

"...Fuckin'...That can't be protocol..."

As the wind suctions. Pulls. Tugs on them, Zeke flows with it, for lack of an easier choice, climbing to his feet and snapping a hand at Matt as he goes tromping through the labyrinth of metal and debris, toward the summoning Roar that is swiftly collected under the somber rush of a Warning Howl as Zeke pushes his way through the bawn and the thinned gauntlet.

[Toxic] [ Alright. New game. ACTIVATE EMERGENCY POSTING ORDER: WILLY NILLY. Post as you like. I'm going when everyone's through or when whoever is left has taken too long. ]

[Odins Eye] Matthias does not get the opportunity to answer. His stern countenance turns immediately to the magnetic north of the Siren's call from the Caern's totem, its inexorable pull hastening him to the spirit world. While at the same time he feels the unfathomable Rage drive railroad spikes into his brain. With a low growl, he starts away from Vasily, realizing as he does so that the other must feel the totem's call.

"Later..."

The word is spoken in haste, as narrowed gray eyes seek the nearest entry to the other side of the mirror. He enters the Caern, keeping pace with Zeke, searching for the nearest suitable portal to the otherside.

[Truth's Meridian] She is bent to her haunches beside the newest grave, a small handful of loose soil in her palm when that surge of rage hits them and Katherine staggers, rocking on the balls of her feet and planting a palm flat into the soft earth, her eyes wild and instinctively turned -- seeking toward the Northern boundary, toward Maelstrom.

"Merde! You feel that?"

It is barely a breath issued from between her teeth before she is on her feet, dusting off her gloved hands and beginning a light-footed trot toward the centre of the Caern and across the Gauntlet to hear the final moments of a Theurge's warning cry.

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas is talking to Kate, quietly; the subject doesn't matter now. Pack matters. Plans. That sort of thing. He stops, anyway -- in the same heartbeat everyone, absolutely everyone, stops.

As though drawn by some lodestone, his eyes turn toward the caern's heart. Katherine wants to know if he felt that. Lukas' face is sharp with alertness, taut with strain.

"Yes," very simply. And he leaps forward like a swimmer diving into a pool -- hits the ground on all fours, a black wolf now, deep in the chest, heavy in the shoulders. His big paws churn up the sandy lakeside soil as he runs for the heart of the Maelstrom.

[Thunder's Judgement] *It was neither the first time he has been stared at, and he doubted that it would be the last. The burn scarred man stood unflinchingly, and stood completely non-responsive to both wrong assumptions given. After all it wasn't exactly in his make up to correct the wrong. They would learn in time, or die. Such was the burden of the duty of all those that served gaia.....

And then, it began... It felt like the fire had returned to the burns across his body. The flames of rage flicking like an old memory of old pain. He swayed for a moment, before his eyes narrowed slightly, a colder chill of something else ran through his mind. And with little choice, he followed the others to the great call of a spirit he didn't know. At least, if they didn't attempt to stop him. There was no question, something was going on. Perhaps there would be guilty to judge this night.*

[Razor's Edge] She heard the crashing waves, felt them at her core and knew that it was her time to move. To Move; she was not the type to ignore that tug, and found herself absolutely drawn to the location. There was a warning in the air, a howl that clung to her senses and told the Ahroun that something was coming.

And that this? This was not a time to be anything remotely close to unprepared. And, with that, the female took the opportunity to move into a form much more suited for war or, at the very least, not getting swept away should it come to that. Meredith needed to be a little heavier than what she was, and she needed to be ready for whatever was coming. With that, the Uktena was on four paws at that moment- a dire wolf. Something large, heavy, and fast should the need arise, and she headed to the heart of the caern as quicky as four legs could carry her.

[Toxic] The Garou come, all within the domain of Maelstrom not bound to one of its primary protectors' packs, like troops summoned for orders. And then, the totem calms as much as it can, returning to its normal state, the waves sinking deep into hill.

Andrew's howl mingles with that of the Guardians in the Umbra, and by the sound of it they are taking positions to prepare themselves for a siege.

The calm only lasts a moment, and again the ground trembles. Birth pangs. A geyser of red sprouts out of the earth, forty feet tall and howling with bass-rumbling force. It lasts for maybe ten seconds before the pillar of water defies the laws of physics to topple dead East on the Chicago River, away from the lake and along the penumbral shores.

One direction. One directive.

Many Garou of many different packs, and those few sad packless, though, left to decide its execution, though.

Those of the Crescent Moon, those particularly spiritually inclined, and those who have called the Caern their home for some time and grown to know its totem would remember it is one of unhesitating action and applied force.

As if a reminder, the mist of red at the top of the plume rains down, as hot as oil popping up from a pan to score and sizzle on fur or flesh, whatever is available. It burns, and while it leaves no lasting wounds to the forms of those it touches, it stokes the furnace of fury deep within each Garou.

Those with great scars, greater surface area of ravaged tissue for the rain to fall on, feel an icy tingle that mingles with the burn as the flesh seems to writhe and spur them to action with the memories of past battles and wounds that have blighted the body.

[ All Garou gain one temporary rage. ]

[Wyrmbreaker] Wyrmbreaker turns his face away as scalding red mist falls over him, ears pinning back against his skull. As soon as it's safe to raise his head again he's off, following the direction of the geyser.

A bark -- "Going to see what Maelstrom's trying to show us. Maybe the Theurges can commune with the Totem?"

[Host of Traitors] Zeke turns through the mixture and maze-work of tight confines and broad spaces, clambering over broad obstacles that jut and protrude in his path. He isn't so much leading as he follows the sudden aroma of ozone and fresh rain under his nostrils, creeping into his system and pulling the furrow of a brow even tighter and more pronounced on his face. The hood is laid back and the Ragabash sets his pace from a walk to a jog, boots clomping on umbral terrain hard and unyielding as it's physical counterpart.

No sooner has the Ragabash 'rounded the next bend and clambered atop the nearest piece of wreckage then the towering force of Liquid and Fire, churns upward to stop him in his tracks. He was no proponent of Maelstrom or beggar at the Sept's heels but the Metis knew when to be awed and when to be humble.

This was a situation for both.

Before he can even back-peddle or throw himself prostrate instinctively, the arms are climbing up and a muted-

"-No-"

Rushes from him. Then the waters come and he is thrown to the deck under their weight, sliding several feet with the wash of red, a sizzling sensation not unlike pop-rocks erupting from his mouth, accompanying an inarticulate growl of all too human design. He lifts his head, shaking it abruptly, droplets falling away from his scalp and clothes and his eyes...livid with Rage untouched before, find the Ahroun and the mess of a stranger not far behind.

"...What the fuck?!" Heated and breathy. Struggling back to his feet.

[Dances on Fire] He finishes his howl and then waits. No seige has begun yet, or he 'd hear the howls of battle. No sounds of battle. And the pillar shoots into the sky again and hot Rage falls from it. Searing it's way into his body. He lets out another howl, of fear at the awesome sight, or starts to. His back arching as he calls out.

And the battles of the past are remembered. His form ripples and surges, muscle appearing from no where as he moves up into Hispo. His howl of fear dies in his throat and turns into a lusty roar of Rage. Not undirected. As the rain mingles with his many scars, his mind goes back to the battles of his youth where he got them, but his heart aches for the pain and suffering of the mother.

And then he lets out another howl, keening and warbling into the tongue of the spirits. "Great Maelstrom, what angers you?!" Fear and desperation mixing with his tones.

[Truth's Meridian] The regal Silver Fang is among the last to fall to four paws on the Umbral earth. Her sleek fur coat of pure white with grey markings around her maw is shaken out, her large clawed feet scrape the ground in uneasy agitation as the Maelstrom seems to at once calm and then explode anew with red fury.

Truth's Meridian bares her teeth, her ears flatten against her head and she growls, low and steadily as the plume of red mist rains down all around them, gifting all of Gaia's children with a spur of rage as burningly pure as the heat pouring from the Umbral earth surrounding them.

Wyrmbreaker takes up the charge, and Katherine is at his heels, her head turned toward the lone Theurge at the heart of the Caern, howling before she doubles her speed to catch up with her pack-mate. They were, after all, the Circle and stronger as a unit than apart.

[Thunder's Judgement] *Running after the others, his things left in a pile in the fake world of the physical. His hesitation only to shift in to the great war form...his great scars across his left side of his body still with him in crinos. His right side coverd in dark fur where the burns didn't quite made it across. He runs after the others, letting them lead in this their home, while he was still a stranger.

He let out a soft sigh, as the liquid ran over his form as he stood in all four paws. It was if falling into the comforting embrace of an old lover. There was no doubt to him now... the ghosts would be silent this evening. For this was a sign he could understand*
"There is guilty to be...judged" *His voice said darkly in response to Zeke* "Let us join the hunt."

[Odins Eye] His arms pump like pistons as the muscles of Matthias' form surge to action. Right alongside Zeke, the garou called Odin's Eye is equally caught up in the acidic plume. Then, as the liquid fire burns his garou skin, red hot pokers cauterizing his every wound, Matthias' lips draw back in a snarl of Rage... The urge to kill, maim, rend some foe pumping in his veins like adrenaline.

With eyes narrowed to furious points of darkness, the blond maned man stands and whips his head about like a wolf, excess pain from Maelstrom's fury flying from it in all directions.

"Which way?"

The words are spoken through tightly clenched teeth, while meaty digits seem to work of their own volition in silent strangling motions.

[Razor's Edge] She was one of those unlucky few that found themselves packless. She was, however, not aimless. The geyser rushed upward, reminded her of battle, left the taste of blood in her mouth. Summoned memories of cracked ribs and fallen packmates [She hadn't always been packless, after all] and reminded her what she was here for. She had been an intense creature before; Dances on the Razor's Edge was a killer. She was a predator. She was a warrior. She was intense, she was tense and taut before but now? Now, with that reminder fresh on her mind she was nearly unbearable.

And so, she followed where the geyser pointed. Dead east, against all natural laws, it seemed.

[Thunder's Judgement] *The flame scarred crinos didn't answer, but started running. The others would follow or not...and found that others had already begun the chase. He ran dead east....toward where the geyser pointed. To search for answers....and perhaps to search for the guilty once more*

[Toxic] Those who run along the path that the fallen pillar has laid out, down the banks of the river, are first to see the catalyst of Maelstrom's rage. On one shore of the river, outside of the bawn by a length of a good two and a half American football fields and on the side they and the Caern fall on, the reflection of large rocks, boulders and stout wooden pillars down from the man made ledge lining the river glow an unnatural green, laced with black veins that pulse and undulate like serpents into the water that also holds a florescent and toxic glow. The faint Weaver's webs there crack and slough off in running streams of gossamer.

As the slick spreads, the water it touches seems to coagulate. And from it they are birthed, impish creatures, thin but wiry with muscles, each creating its own cloud of steam that crackles with heat and glows a sickly neon green. Each head holds one single, huge eye that flickers with quick blinks like a malfunctioning electrical circuit. Their teeth are long and look to be made of some kind of rock, and they gnash as they shake loose their muscles and stretch into their new forms. They dance along the water, following the growing yellow brick road of radiation that branches away from the source at the river's shore.

Host of Traitors and Odin's Eye can just see this glow from their vantage point atop a part of the ship they stand on.

Their direction, and the direction of the bleeding, is the Caern, though they seem to be taking their time. That, or it is the bleeding that limits their advance. Where the geyser's remains, Maelstrom's great arm, falls into the river a similar red slick spreads to meet them.

Andrew gets his answer. “The Shadow-warrior follows the path to the battle. Tell them I provide them with the battle ground. Where my influence touches the river, they may stand and fight and will not flounder.”

[Wyrmbreaker] Wyrmbreaker turned east first, but others are near behind him -- he slows his pace just enough for them to catch up.

Odin's Eye and Host of Traitors peel off, seek the high ground. Wyrmbreaker, Truth's Meridian, and Thunder's Judgment -- a stranger to the Circle -- run for the river's bank.

When they exist the Bawn, it's like plunging through an invisible membrane into a different world. Lifeless. The energy, the vitality of the Caern falls off. This is an urban caern, deep in the city; the umbral ground is nearly featureless, hard and ungiving.

Against that backdrop, the throbbing glow of radiation is livid and unmistakable.

Wyrmbreaker draws up short at the edge of the river, barking a halt at the two with him. He is not the type to plunge blindly into battle, and never was. The black wolf throws his head back and howls, the long cry carrying clearly back to the Theurge at Maelstrom's edge.

"What word from Maelstrom, Dances-rhya?"

Midway through the howl, the timbre changes; broadens and deepens even as the chest giving rise to the sound broadens, deepens, thickens. A direwolf now, Wyrmbreaker stands stifflegged at the river's edge, tail up, hackles up, pale eyes fast on the creatures across the river.

[Toxic] [ Anyone who can see them that wants to try and figure out what they are, roll Intelligence + Occult or Wyrm Lore, whichever is higher. If you have Science, difficulty is 6, if not difficulty is 8. ]

[Host of Traitors] "We need intel..."

It was not his place to head into a fight without some sort of information. That his request came out more a snarl of displeasure at not having said info., was somewhat irrelevant. He clambered back to his feet with a snapping eye out toward, the various factions beginning to arrive and those already present. One hand is already reaching for the comfort of that .44 magnum tucked into his waistband, his jacket having been lost in the transfer of worlds and the hoody discarded to the ground below while he crawled back up to a standing position on the hunk of ship he'd called perch.

"...Need a Theurge's ear. Or at least some standing orders from Rankers." His plumes out a hot breath and turns to look down at Matt from his vantage, the sudden lunge of motion from Vas given a brief glance and then given up on. He wasn't thinking with the clarity these situations normally brought. Instead, the New Moon above them had thrown him a curve ball. A little doubt in his certainty.

Later, someone might ask why Zeke was grinning as he turned his attention back out to the waters. Wide and vaguely hysterical. It's only as the images begin to swarm and bleed from the Riverbed and lake, that Zeke's eyes catch and his features drop. The flesh begins to ripple and the body lunges down off of the piece of ship wreck. Wyrmbreaker's howl rips upward and the rush of movement flows in his wake. Zeke is only half paying attention, his eyes leaping out into the waters and that slowly advancing corruption.

He's in Crinos, mangy, black furred, free of telling scars. His back is slightly hunched and his bones peek through in malnourished ways around him. He chuffs hard toward Matt, even as he begins the long legged rush in the wake of the rest.

Eastward.

(Intelligence (3) + Occult (2): Wyrm Inspection)

[Truth's Meridian] (Intel + Occult: What the...?)

[Razor's Edge] (int+occult= 4 - 1 (nightmares suck.), diff 8. Hail! haaaaail!)

[Odins Eye] Gray eyes turn to the shimmering glow, as a low growl escapes the norseman's throat. Running now, legs of man churn the ground in their haste to meet the foe. Even as he runs, his form shifts... The already large form becomes more heavily muscled, less human... approaching that of a neanderthal, perhaps. Then, the shift continues, as gray fur bursts from sweat slicked skin. His shirt and shoes fade beneath the thickening gray coat, though his jeans grow larger to accomodate the form. At his hip, without the benefit of its former cover, a camp hatchet bangs his crinos leg with each loping step.

The gray eyes seem focused on the glowing shimmer, even as they move to a golden hue, his lips drawn back in what might be a smile, what might be a snarl... Rage suffuses his form, as the crinos Modi slips into the four legged run of the unblemished gray war form.

"What say you, Host of Traitors?"

[Wyrmbreaker] (intel 3/occult 1)

[Wyrmbreaker] (KAHSEENO, HOW HAVE I OFFENDED THEE?)

[Host of Traitors] (...You did not hail. Blasphemer.)

[Thunder's Judgement] *The crinos of black fur and burn scars pauses at the edge of the water. and began to circle around a bit...watching.... What the unknown might have attempted to bark and order at him was ignored of course, that it happened to be what he was already doing, perhaps a lucky thing. His clawed paws flex into fists and then loosen... He waited for now. This felt more like a theurges battle of cleansing and spirits. And he missed his rifle in this battleground of the spirits.

But there was duty to consider, and that meant pain ahead. For himself, and for the guilty. And there would be no doubt, these things... were guilty for attempted crimes against gaia and this sept. For that there could be only one punishment... soon the battle would begin, but he could affort to be patient for now.*

[Odins Eye] ((Intel + Occult, Diff = 8

Hail the KAHSEENO!))

[Dances on Fire] His head swivels to look down the length of the River. Where the pillar, and the now rising red tide are flowing down the banks. Heading off towards the ooze that he can't quite see yet. Fight where his influence is. On the water. In the water. Whichever. Provides the battleground. It seems strange to him. Wolves and water aren't the best of friends but... Sometimes you gotta trust the spirits.

He tilts his head back and bellows out a howl in reply. "Great Maelstrom provides footing for us. You can fight on Maelstrom's water's."

And then he raises his head to Maelstrom again. Calling out, in the ululating spirit tones. "What creatures are these?"

[Wyrmbreaker] (lukas thinks they're COTTON CANDY.)

[Truth's Meridian] (now drink the water, Lukas, there's a good boy)

[Host of Traitors] The Crinos lunges into step alongside Matthias, a series of snarls and yelps ripping free of his chuffing maw, even as he broadens his approach to come at the gathering point around Wyrmbreaker's position. Zeke, like most battles, was looking for some distance. Especially considering-

"Radiation Banes!" It's bellowed, though Zeke doesn't seem to have the lung power most of his brethren do. He snarls, hiccups and hits the straight and open terrain of the pier at a run, beginning to close the gap between Lukas and the Rest.

"Radiation Banes! Close Quarter Threat! Avoid contact if[i]" Pant "[i]If you Can!"

A finger levels toward the encroaching green miasma of Radiation and the spill of Maelstrom's reddish hue, rushing to meet one another in a furious tangle of Rage and Decay.

"Fight there!" And the last hundred feet, bring Zeke down into his Glabro shape, less burly. Height without the added girth, his hand around the comfortable grip of his Magnum. The missing trigger guard was just for such occasions. he's breathing hard but still standing, eyes leveling on the plain of red that's stretching out across the River waters. A bloody red mat upon which to War...

[Host of Traitors] (For the sake of space I'm just gonna leave the HTML typos, though it galls me so *fist shake*)

[Truth's Meridian] Lukas howls, and the Silver Fang comes to a stop nearby, lowering her snout to the earth, she snuffs at the ground and stamps her paws as howls rend the air around her, back and forth. Her Beta morphs to his war-form and Katherine, her eyes narrowed upon the struggling, surfacing creatures across the river bares her teeth in a clear warning growl.

Her fur ripples; hackles rising.

Claws flex into the ground and she listens to the reply of the Theurge. And then the shouts: Radiation Banes! Fight there! It was all that she needed; Meridian's Truth springs into action; bounding into the river toward the clash of neon reds and greens.

[Wyrmbreaker] Wyrmbreaker ... is not convinced. He nips at Truth's Meridian's flank as the white wolf turns and splashes for the mingling waters of the banes and the Maelstrom:

"No! We need to get in close. We need to push them back!"

[Odins Eye] Matthias barks his acknowledgement and agreement. Then, considering their options, a series of barks, coughs and growls make his suggestions clear.

"Hold back, use the gun. I will take the fore with the other Full moons...

Find a theurge to act as battle medic."

His piece said, Matthias' calculating eyes begin searching for ways to flank the bane front and turn them.

[Thunder's Judgement] *There was no grumble, no curse. Just the intake of breath and then out with it. There were few other shadowlords to fight beside. These here....would have to do. There was...suggestions given. And the scarred crinos moved to the edge of the water. Touching the red water of Maelstrom, seeing if it would be a swimming fight or if somehow it held their weight. After all....the umbra was consistant in one value, it was always making up new rules.*

[Toxic] [ Pause. Okay, according to Andrew, fighting on the red tide that Maelstrom has created will keep them from having to deal with the penalties of fighting underwater. It's effectively solid ground. They can walk on it.

There are ten of these imps at this point. They vary in size. The earliest birthed are larger, and depending on how long after the first they get progressively smaller. They aren't changing size or growing in strength.

Roll Dexterity + Athletics, difficulty 8, to jump down to the water. Ranged attacks can be made from the shore.

Failure on the Athletics roll means you act last in initiative from jumping down onto the red water and becoming unbalanced because it is still moving slightly. ]

[Toxic] [ And roll initiative, please. ]

[Wyrmbreaker] (HAIL KAHSEENO.)

[Wyrmbreaker] (HAIL KAHSEENO init + 8)

[Razor's Edge] Meredith could survey those around her. The wolves. All poised, collected, different vantage points and what-have-you and, at that moment, her eyes stayed on them before traveling to the creatures that were coming up. Something didn't feel right. Not in the least bit, at that moment. Her stomach turned, and a growl came from the Uktena's muzzle. She didn't know what they were.

Later, she would blame this on her unfamiliarity with the city. That these were creatures she should have known.

Her job, however, was to take the front lines. At that moment, she didn't have the option, so she took to the front lines and fought. She jumped into the water and headed for it
(Dex4+Athletics3+Hispo2=9 -1 (nightmares suck), diff 8)

[Thunder's Judgement] init (dex + wis = 7 in crinos)

[Host of Traitors] ...Zeke skids to a halt alongside the pier, snarling sharply, Glabro canines snapping out at the air around him, even as his attention levels on the nearby scattering of the pier. Detritus and pieces of debris were gauzy ghosts, scattered distant. Weak projectiles at best once he ran out of bullets.

We need to get close. We-

His ears lay back as he snaps 'round toward Lukas, jaws clamping shut and hard as the fervor of Battle roars around them. Then Matthias speaks up and Zeke is nodding, only to blink and chuff a curse, hard and unpleasant as his hand raises the Gun and he takes sight along it's barreled length, one eye closed and-

"Stop shakin' Zeke..."

(Initiative. Wits 4 + Dex 3 +...)

"

[Thunder's Judgement] dex + ath

[Razor's Edge] (aaand initiative. +9)

[Wyrmbreaker] (sorry, another +2 to the init from totem)

[Truth's Meridian] (Init! +10)

[Truth's Meridian] (Dex + Ath)

[Toxic] [ First roll is Large Banes (2 of them): 8 +

2nd is Medium (3 of them): 6 +

3rd is Small (5 of them): 4 + ]

[Toxic]

[Toxic]

[Toxic]

[Odins Eye] ((Dex + Athletics , diff = 8

Hail the KAHSEENO!))

[Odins Eye] ((Initiative [+7]))

[Dances on Fire] ((Init + 9))

[Toxic] [ Declaration is: Medium Imps, Razor's Edge, Small Imps, Wyrmbreaker, Thunder's Judgement, Large Imps, Host of Traitors, Odin's Eye, Truth's Meridian.

1 Medium Imp each biting at Odin's Eye, Razor's Edge and Wyrmbreaker.

Razor's Edge, Declaration? And so on. Will pop in as NPCs fall into the declaration. ]

[Toxic] [ You can prose up your declarations IC if you like, but no more than 5 to 7 minutes please. ]

[Wyrmbreaker] (BTW -- i should really sleep in about 1.5 - 2 hrs. been up since 6am!)

[Thunder's Judgement] ((yeah, I'm waaay past the bed time myself. *chuckles* tomorrow is going to hurt. *grins*))

[Razor's Edge] (skipping my pretty declaration this round

declare: Clawing at the nearest bane
rage 1: split dice pool: claw nearest bane and claw it again.
rage 2: split dice pool: claw nearest bane and claw it again.)

[Razor's Edge] (Crap! Mindy hasn't played an ahroun before. My bad!
More like this.
declare: clawing
rage 1: more clawing
rage 2: even more clawing.

[Toxic] Small Imps: 2 attack Thunder's Judgement, 2 for Truth's Meridian, one goes after Zeke.

[Wyrmbreaker] (3 rage, split on first action.
1a) spur claws on small imp that's attacking kate
1b) spur claws on other small imp
-- btw, i checked w/ mei on this a while back. when spur claws is split, both targets get +1 diff (provided both attacks succeed)
2,3,4) biting the large imp that Razor's Edge is attacking until dead -- from flanking or back attack position if possible -- then moving on to the next large imp.

Also: he will verbally call for the other Garou to focus on 1-2 targets at a time and use flanking/back attacks as much as possible)

[Wyrmbreaker] (oh almost forgot: 1WP to resist pain)

[Thunder's Judgement] ((clawing first small imp,
2 rage spent:
one more claw on first small imp (hopefully it will be dead)
second rage: claw on last imp attacking him))

[Toxic] 1 Large attacks Zeke, other Large Imp attacks Lukas back.

[Host of Traitors] "...Don't stay in that smoke around them! Minimize-!" He sucks in a breath "Contact!"

He's trying to be heard above it all, despite the thrum of his lungs. The run here had been brutal enough, nevermind the exertion of a lesser form putting up with such effort. His nostrils flare beneath the ridges of flesh, hardened and vicious in the Glabro shape. He wills his hands to steady, watching as the tremors diminish, even as the creatures climb and bob like winged monkeys, into range.

"...Need a Healer at the Front! Keep them on their Feet!" More bellowing amidst the snarls.

(Split action: Shooting the Small imp coming for him twice. 1 in the stomach. 1 in the head. Different Difficulties.
2 Rage spent for extra actions: 2 Shots on the Large one, same target areas.)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 10, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Host of Traitors] (Whoops! Ignore that Roll!)

[Odins Eye] Matthias howls his fury as he surges to the enemy front, selects a target and attacks. He knew the price... He knew the cost...

Regardless, unless someone had a machine gun under their coat, there was no other option.

So, a grim smile upon his wolfish snout, the pinwheel of death that is his claws begins in earnest...

((1 Wp Spent = Resist Pain

2 Rage Spent = 2 addtl actions.

Base Action = Claw attack medium bitey bane
Rage Action 1 = Claw attack a different bane (from side or back if possible; Large bane attacking Zeke)
Rage Action 2 = Claw attack on still different bane (from side or back if possible; same bane as Rage action 1))

[Truth's Meridian] (Okaaaaay.

1 WP to Resist Pain
2 Rage for additional actions.

1.) Bite Large Imp attacking Lukas' back
2.) Rage 1: Bite Wee Little Imp attacking her
3.) Rage 2: Bite Wee Little Imp again.)

[Toxic] [ Truth's Meridian, roll. ]

[Truth's Meridian] (Bite!)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 7 (Success x 2 at target 5)

[Odins Eye] ((Base action: Claw attack 1 at Bane attacking Odin's Eye

Dexterity + Brawl, diff = 6

Hail that Kahseeno!

*marks damage on sheet*))
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 5, 10, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Truth's Meridian] (Damage! )
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 2, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 8 at target 6)

[Host of Traitors] (First Shot: Firearms 3 + Dex 3 - 2 = 4. Diff 6. Hail y'all...)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 7, 8 (Failure at target 6)

[Toxic] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Host of Traitors] (Second Shot: -3 Dice. Diff 8)
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 4, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8) [WP]

[Host of Traitors] (Damage: 6 for Magnum +5 for Headshot.)
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Toxic] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] (think you're up, dude)
to Thunder's Judgement

[Wyrmbreaker] (wait sorry, large imps are up_
to Thunder's Judgement

[Thunder's Judgement] woops! thanks
to Wyrmbreaker

[Thunder's Judgement] claw (1)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 4, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[Host of Traitors] (Large Banes attacking next in the order.)

[Wyrmbreaker] (that was my bad, i told him it was his turn)

[Thunder's Judgement] ((oops))

[Toxic] Large Imp Attack: Lukas
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 8, 8 (Failure at target 6)

[Host of Traitors] (No worries. Roll on!)

[Toxic] Large Imp Attack: Zeke
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Host of Traitors] (...Oh that's clever.)

[Toxic] Damage
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)

[Host of Traitors] (Soak. FUCKIN' HAIL!)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] (split action 1a, 1/2 a spur claw on the first small bane going at kate)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] (whoops 2 more dice from totem)
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 4, 5 (Failure at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] (damage -- also kate's small bane +1 is at +1diff now)
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 5, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] (split action 1b, the other half a spur claw)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] (damage)
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Toxic] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 4, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Toxic] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Toxic] Small Imp: Truth's Meridian (other is dead)
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 6, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Toxic] Damage
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 6, 6, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Toxic] Soak, please.

[Truth's Meridian] (Soak Plz)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Toxic] Small Imp: Thunder's Judgement
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 4, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Toxic] Woops. 1 more.
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Toxic] Damage
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Thunder's Judgement] ((sweet))

[Toxic] 2nd Small Imp on Thunder's Judgement
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 3, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Toxic] Damage
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Toxic] Soak Please

[Thunder's Judgement] soak
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[Toxic] Razor's Edge, roll.

[Razor's Edge] (Clawing the big one: dex4+hispo2+brawl4= 10 - 1 (nightmares suck)= 9)
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]

[Razor's Edge] (damage. str 3+ hispo 2 + 1 = 6 )
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 7, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Toxic] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 4, 5, 8, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[Razor's Edge] (ohfuck, forgot a die)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3 (Failure at target 6)

[Truth's Meridian] (1st Rage action: Bite!)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Truth's Meridian] (2nd Rage action: Bite again)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 6, 6, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Host of Traitors] (Medium Banes turn?)

[Toxic] Medium Bane: Lukas
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] (no, TM's second rage action doesn't go yet, and her first damage hasn't been rolled)

[Truth's Meridian] (Oops, scrub that second Rage action. My bad. Damage on first bite!)
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 6, 7, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Toxic] Damage
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 6, 6, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Toxic] Soak

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

[Toxic] Medium: Razor's Edge
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Toxic] Damage
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Toxic] Soak

[Razor's Edge] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] (sorry guys, that was my bad again. kate goes AFTER the medium banes. *stops giving bad advice*)

[Toxic] Medium: Odin's Eye
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 6, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Toxic] Damage
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 7, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Toxic] Soak

[Toxic] Truth's Meridian, roll damage, +3 sux, +3 sux.

[Odins Eye] ((Mf soak that...

Stamina, diff = 6, Stamina Specialization = Tough (rerolls 10s)))
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6) Re-rolls: 3

[Toxic] Odin's Eye, rage actions.

[Truth's Meridian] (Damage + 3)
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Truth's Meridian] (Damage again)
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 5, 7, 8, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Host of Traitors] (First Rage Action. -2 dice for wounds. Diff 4 for 2 yard range.)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 8, 8, 8 (Success x 4 at target 4)

[Odins Eye] ((Rage Action +1: Claw attack on Big Imp attacking Zeke

Dex + Brawl, Diff = 6

Mf kill that...))
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Toxic] Sorry.

Okay. Last small on Kate is Dead.

Odin's Eye, rage actions.

[Host of Traitors] (Damage)
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Toxic] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 8 (Failure at target 6)

[Odins Eye] ((*points to previous attack roll*

Rage Action +1 Damage

Strength + 2 + 3 xtra sux, diff = 6

Kill 'im!))
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 4, 6, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Toxic] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Host of Traitors] (Second Rage Action: Shot to the Head of big 'un. -2 for wounds. Diff 4 +2 for called shot)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 6, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Host of Traitors] (Damage.)
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 7, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Toxic] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Toxic] Odin's Eye, finish the rest of your rage actions now.

[Host of Traitors] (THAT'S HOW WE DO THE DAMN THING!)

[Odins Eye] ((Rage Action +2: Claw attack on Big Imp attacking Zeke

Dex + Brawl, Diff = 6

Make it be dead...))
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 4, 7, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Toxic] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 5, 5, 6, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[Odins Eye] ((Rage Action +2: Claw attack on Big Imp attacking Zeke

Strength + 2 + 4 xtra successes

Make it DEAD))
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Toxic] Thunder's Judgement, Rage Actions

[Thunder's Judgement] (rage 1) claw -1 because of injuries
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Thunder's Judgement] damage
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 5, 5, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Toxic] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Thunder's Judgement] oops forgot 1 (damage)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4 (Failure at target 6)

[Thunder's Judgement] rage 2, same thing...
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Toxic] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Thunder's Judgement] damage +2 for extra success -1 for hurt+2 claw
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 5, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Thunder's Judgement] ((*laughs* well that was impressive...or not at all... *chuckles*))

[Toxic] [ Remaining, and Garou may shift rage actions to attack these, is one Medium on Lukas, 1 Medium on Razor's Edge, one Medium on Odin's Eye, and 2 Small on Thunder's Judgement. ]

[Toxic] Wyrmbreaker, Rage Actions

[Wyrmbreaker] (i'ma just start rollin'... i'll let you know what he's targeting in a minute. *LOL*

rage 1 bite.)
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 6 at target 5)

[Wyrmbreaker] (rage 2 bite)
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 5)

[Wyrmbreaker] (rage 3 bite)
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5)

[Wyrmbreaker] (rage 1 damage)
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 9 at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] (rage 2 damage)
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] (rage 3 damage)
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] (alright, if possible, he will target, in this order --
razor's medium
his own medium
odin's medium imp)

[Toxic] [ Usually that's done before an attack, Damon. I meant shift as in change targets beforehand. I'll allow it this time, but kinda bad form. ]

[Toxic] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Toxic] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Toxic] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 5, 6, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] (yeah, sorry, just wanted to start rolling so i didn't hold people up while i was waiting on a roll-call of who's still alive and who's hurt.)

[Toxic] Razor's Edge, declare then roll rage actions, surviving is almost-dead Medium on Luke and 2 Small on Thunder's Judgement.

[Wyrmbreaker] (oh and to clarify: he's going to try to attack razor's imp til dead, then move on to his own, etc.)

[Thunder's Judgement] ((Thunder...who apparently is only managing dancing, singing a song, what ever it takes to stall out 2 small imps... *hangs head in shame* *laughs*))

[Razor's Edge] (Rage 1: Clawing the surving almost dead medium on Lukas. dex4+hispo2+brawl4= 10 - 1 (nightmares suck)= 9)

[Razor's Edge]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2

[Razor's Edge] Damage
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 3, 5, 5, 6, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] (SOMEBODY DIDN'T HAIL.)

[Toxic] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Razor's Edge] Rage 2: Let's try this again...
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 6, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[Razor's Edge] and, again. with the damage. str3+hispo3+ successes5 +1claw
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 6, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Toxic] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Toxic] [ Okay, guessing the last two everyone ascends on. Let me get an init from everyone, highest two rollers take them out and get the bragging rights for saving Thunder's Judgement's butt., then it's straight to a wrap up post from me. ]

[Wyrmbreaker] (+10)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5 (Failure at target 6)

[Razor's Edge] (+9, haaaail!)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3

[Host of Traitors] 7 +...
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4

[Thunder's Judgement] ((c'mon saving? he's not really hurt even *laughs* +7))
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3 (Failure at target 6)

[Truth's Meridian] (+10)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4

[Odins Eye] ((+7))
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2 (Failure at target 6)

[Toxic] [ Alright, wrap coming. ]

[Odins Eye] ((*Anti-hails Kahseeno in spite*))

[Wyrmbreaker] (*horror*)

[Administrator] Dances on Fire, welcome to Caern & Surrounding Territories (Now)

[Administrator] Toxic, welcome to Caern & Surrounding Territories (Now)

[Toxic] The Garou hail down fangs and claws, even bullets, upon the banes advancing down the river and toward their Caern. Razor's Edge and Truth's Meridian easily fell the largest of the banes. Lukas is a whirlwind of claws, the Ahroun, picking at those busy attacking the other Ahroun, so much so that he sacrifices a chumping bite that takes a chunk out of his flank when he doesn't fully focus on his own attackers.

Zeke's first shot misses, but as he forces his hand steady one of the smaller bane's heads explodes with the penetration of a single bullet. Is falls, dead. The other large imp, a jaunting across on wiry legs toward the Metis, his gaping mouth ready to chomp, is slowed by a swipe from Odin's Eye. It vault up from the banks and sprints at Zeke, managing to tear at his off arm, nearly taking the forearm that now hangs limply at his side, but Host of Traitors presses the gun to its temple and once again turns one of the creature's heads inside out.

One of the medium sized imps, its legs knocked from under it and crippled, still tries to gnaw at his Achilles tendon, but Razor's Edge steps in to end its miserable existence in another shower of florescent innards.

Truth's Meridian and Wyrmbreaker fall upon the remaining imps circling Thunder's Judement before they can again ascend on him, a well oiled machine that comes to the aid of the other Garou, attacking them from behind as all of their attention seems to have fallen on the Shadow Lord Philodox.

But other warnings have not been heeded. The steam that emanates from these creatures does not seem to burn at first, only condensing on fur and irritating eyes, ears and other openings, but soon fur and skin begins to slough off in clumps and sheets as the radiation begins to set into the Garou.

The red tide created by Maelstrom holds the neon taint at bay, but for how long?

Andrew, on the otherside, advances in the seeming of a mutt toward the source of the radiation and toxic taint. Barrels sit, toppled over the ledge and into the river, gnashed on rocks and leaking their contents out into the Chicago River, far into the unprotected and unsupervised industrial district.

The barrels have a name written on them, in green foil lettering, "A Brighter Future Waste Disposal Corporation," and the Lupus is very sure that a Rite of Cleansing is in order before Maelstrom is besieged by the remaining taint in the otherworld.

[ Damage: Thunder's Judgement: 2 Aggravated

Lukas: 2 Aggravated

Odin: None

Razor's Edge: 1 Aggravated

Zeke: 4 Aggravated

Truth's Meridian: 3 Aggravated

Add to that 1 aggravated for anyone who only did claw attacks, and 2 aggravated for anyone who did bite attacks. -1 to Appearance if you did a Bite Attack until the damage is completely healed. ]

[Host of Traitors] Zeke clutches at the lacerations running over his shoulder with his gun hand, the other hanging limply off to the side, where the flesh has been torn free and the bone exposed around the forearm and elbow. His eyes squeeze shut against hot tears of pain pooling in the wells of his sockets. His teeth are gritted so hard one might think them ready to explode under the pressure and his neanderthalic features are bruised a rich red. His hand still clutches the Magnum, small and wimpish looking in his meaty glabro fist,

Through the red rim of his eyes, he squints out and up at Matthias.

"...Did we win?!" Spoken through a constricted throat, followed closely by a roll over and curl-up motion rife with small obscenities and the like, the pool of blood thickening slowly beneath him.

All Hail the No Moon hung in the sky.

Putting doubt where certainty ever seeks to lie.

[Thunder's Judgement] "Well fought strangers." *The man's harsh voice spills out into the night air. He moves to the edge of the river and out of the taint, shaking his hands slightly to try and get rid of the burning feelings some. It doesn't work, but then he didn't really expect it too. He didn't kill anything this evening, although he might have saved some pain from another. It would have to do....for now.*

[Thunder's Judgement] ((and, I'm off to bed. 3 hours until my alarm goes off. *grins* we'll have to do more real intros later))

[Wyrmbreaker] (night!)

[Wyrmbreaker] (and thanks for the STing, joey! had a blast)

[Dances on Fire] Of course. Humans. It was humans that did this. The Wyrm had a hand, sure as anything, but always humans creating this waste they dump everywhere with no regard. A snarl rises up in his throat as he leaps down the riverbank. Taking a moment, looking around to make sure the people who dumped this stuff aren't still around.

After a moment's effort he lifts himself up off his hands and knees in homid. Brushing his hands off he begins the Rite of Cleansing. Pacing around the blighted area, as best he can. Chanting softly to himself and calling on the spirits. Calling out to Maelstrom for assistance as he goes.

[Thunder's Judgement] ((g'night! and thanks Joey for ST'ing!))

[Administrator] Thunder's Judgement has left Caern & Surrounding Territories

[Truth's Meridian] (yes! Kudos to Joey for awesome STing! *cheers*)

[Odins Eye] Matthias looks to his packmate with concern, golden eyes reviewing his myriad wounds.

"Yes... We won. Wait here; we will return to the Packhouse soon.

Do you carry any talens?"

[Toxic] [ Just to get this all in one place:

Rite of Cleansing will cost 3 Gnosis all together, will be at difficulty 8, and will also take an extended Dexterity + Athletics, difficulty 7, with 5 total successes, roll for doing the circle around the river while swimming and using the purified water or whatever on top of it. All must be successful or you have to start from the top as the rite is interrupted.

Therefore, it would probably be smart for Garou to work together on this, with physical ones doing one part and other the other, etc. ]

[Wyrmbreaker] As the last of the imps dissolve into ichor and gnosis, Wyrmbreaker gives himself a shake like a dog coming out of water, long and thorough.

And then another.
And then another.

And then he's pawing at his muzzle, a low querulous sound of discomfort in his throat. Patches and scuds of black fur come off and float downriver. The skin beneath is bright red, inflamed -- it'll break out in lesions and sores within a few hours.

"We need to get word out to the Sept," Wyrmbreaker notes. He's thirsty -- desperately and suddenly so -- and it's an effort not to duck his head and lap up the tainted water. "Wherever those things came from, they didn't just appear on a whim. They weren't growing any larger, which makes me think the taint came from somewhere else."

[Host of Traitors] Zeke doesn't bother to verbally answer, remaining as still as he can around the shredded arm. He simply shakes his head in the negative. It's a few heartbeats later when-

"Need to get back to Milo. Need to Heal. Let the Sept deal with it's own..."

[Razor's Edge] She looked around. At first, her claws did nothing more than sting. Then? Then it burned. Fur fell out in clumps and skin burned and she ached and felt... felt like she was in her element. Purpose fulfilled.

Meredith paused, and then? Somereply. "Then, it's not done," the ahroun replied. For a moment, she looked around. This place needed to be cleansed and, well, she was off to try and help cleanse the area. She could offer a hand, or in this instance, a soon-to-be burned and boiled paw where she could.

[Wyrmbreaker] (Lukas doesn't know the rite, so he'll do the swimming. here's the roll -- )
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 8, 8 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[Odins Eye] Matthias shakes his head in the negative.

"It is an affront against Gaia. I cannot simply leave it for others.

This will not take long."

That said, Matthias finds the necessary components for the Rite, and begins to cleanse the spill.

((Rolls to follow))

[Odins Eye] ((Rite of Cleansing

Charisma + Rituals, WP spent, Diff = 8))
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8) [WP]

[Host of Traitors] "...Ah-"

Zeke half-laughs into the umbral ground as Matt's sense of duty comes into play. The Ragabash rolls onto his back, cradling the ruined arm over his stomach, eyes regarding the space where Luna should be, as his body makes the painful transformation from Glabro to homid. A last little exhale and the pale metis blinks into unconsciousness with a

"...-Fuck."

[Truth's Meridian] Wyrmbreaker is not the only making sounds of discomfort, the female emerging from the tainted water and sludge is shaking herself off in much the same matter; her fur already patching and red raw beneath, as if she had been flayed alive whist fighting the Imps. Truth's Meridian whines as much to say this is unacceptable as she scratches and flicks away lose pieces from her pelt.

(Just keep swimming, just keep swimming...)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[Wyrmbreaker] "No." It's not done.

Wyrmbreaker's keen eyes study the newcomer for a moment. Then he lifts his muzzle against the wind, nostrils flaring as he takes in the scent. Some of the Garou are gathering to perform the Rite of Cleansing, and -- avoiding the taint now that he's rather convinced it is not, after all, a good idea to wade into it -- the Hispo fords into the river to join them.

"Come on. Let's help in the Rite of Cleansing. Then we'll take the matter before the Sept and see what we can piece together."

[Host of Traitors] (And that's it for moi folks. Thanks for a great scene. Look forward to further efforts on the matter. Take 'er easy!)

[Administrator] Host of Traitors has left Caern & Surrounding Territories

[Odins Eye] ((Night Harvest))

[Razor's Edge] (Rite of Cleansing, -2 for various things)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3 (Success x 1 at target 8) [WP]

[Dances on Fire] ((Joining in with the Rite of Cleansing))
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[Razor's Edge] They'd take the matter before the sept and piece it all together. So, the newcomer, Meredith, was there with the others and put her two cents in. Threw her hat into the running, and helped as needed. It was one of those moments that it was abundantly clear that Dances on the Razor's Edge was not a theurge. Not even close. But she knew the rite, and she was focused.

It was rare, as that her attention usually wandered. But she was downright determined that night.

Which meant, of course, that in the morning the ahroun would be downright unbearable to be around.

[Administrator] Odins Eye has left Caern & Surrounding Territories

[Wyrmbreaker] (SWIMS)
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 5, 8, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 7)

[Toxic] [ NICE! And it's done. ]

[Wyrmbreaker] (thanks again for the STing, joey! looking fwd to the rest of the SL :D

thanks for playing, all!)

[Truth's Meridian] (thanks, all! Twas awesome fun! :') )

[Toxic] [ Glad everyone enjoyed, Night! Thanks so much for playing! ]

[Administrator] Truth's Meridian has left Caern & Surrounding Territories

[Administrator] Toxic has left Caern & Surrounding Territories

[Administrator] Razor's Edge has left Caern & Surrounding Territories