[Holds the Line] [Alright, to make it clear. This is taking place right after the challenge between Karl and War-Handed? Or would Kora wait with approaching Karl? And I can send you the transcript of the scene between Karl and Joe over aim (its in pdf format) if you like to catch up to what exactly has happened]
to Sorrow, Trudy Adler
[Sorrow] (not me! hah!)
[Sorrow] I am thinking this would occur right away - like, what remains of the tribe shows up? - but it has been so long that I am willing to say it is happening now for continuity? though I've only done a couple of scenes since then.
to Holds the Line, Trudy Adler
[Holds the Line] [After it was decided we were going to do this, ive kept from mentioning the jarl thing at all with Karl, so it works as retro for me : )]
[Sorrow] Cool. Let's do retro then. (grins)
[Holds the Line] ((Respost for the post after War-Handed fell))
[ Holds the Line ]
They are Fenrir. This is not the peace and love tribe. They settle matters traditionally, claw
and fang showing true strength. This challenge is no different. The Modi faces down the Rotagar. It is not the
first time. For these two, it is the third time.
The first time Joe had given Karl what he needed. An outlet for his rage, and the Rotagar had been bested by
the more powerful Fenrir.
The second time, they had faced each other over matters of honor and pack. Holds the Line had done that,
held the line and shown the strength of his pack and totem.
This third time, it is with a frenzy of blows, and blood that the challenge is settled. It is over quickly, as these
things often are. But as War-handed goes down under the assault of hummingbirds chosen, Holds the Line
stays the blow. He was not here for War-Handed’s life. Taking a step back, the massive hispo breathes hard,
then shifts to Crinos. He takes a step back towards the battered Fenrir. His massive hand flexes, claws
catching the light, stark white against his midnight fur. A growl born deep in his chest reverberates through
his entire form as he reaches out with those wicked claws…
Karl helps War-handed up after the other wakes and sends him to the side where he collapses in a pile, opening a can of beer to drink even as he tries to heal.
Holds the Line turns to the witnesses, glacial blue gaze going over Sorrow and then to Fistful of Reason. This challenge was won, the old Jarl fallen. It was now up to the other Fenrir if he was to stand, or fall as War-handed had before him.
[Sorrow] Whatever passes between War-Handed and Sorrow remains unspoken. The Skald gives her modi this sharp look, full of banked fire, the curve of her generous mouth twists into something dark - nearly bitter, like the dregs of coffee boiled away to a black crust, like the pith of pomegranate. They will sever their ties to their totem tonight. War-Handed will apologize to her and to the spirit that bound them together: again and again, for all the wrong reasons. They he'll leave; maybe he'll make an offering on their Alpha's grave. Maybe he'll just go: away, once his body has knitted itself back together. Just now - the sense of that sudden absence, the severing that will be completed tonight - sucks all the air from her lungs.
The creature's pale skin is starker in the shadows tonight, her eyes swimming dark inside her white face, her rage is hot inside her - heart-of-the-flame, coruscating when she turns her head to follow Joe's path away from the battleground. "I challenge." Kora says, the words sharp, snapping as she glances toward the Forseti, a band of tendon evident in her jaw.
[Trudy Adler] Trudy watches the challenge go down. It's quick and bloody and over in a matter of seconds. Holds the Line looks across to the other Get of Fenris present. She looks back at him, still in her human form. Its when Sorrows snapping challenge comes from her lips that she turns her gaze over to the other female Garou, looks her over, then glances back to Holds the Line.
The Forseti is silent, for now, watching it play out before her. Bearing witness.
to Holds the Line, Sorrow
[Trudy Adler] Trudy watches the challenge go down. It's quick and bloody and over in a matter of seconds. Holds the Line looks across to the other Get of Fenris present. She looks back at him, still in her human form. Its when Sorrows snapping challenge comes from her lips that she turns her gaze over to the other female Garou, looks her over, then glances back to Holds the Line.
The Forseti is silent, for now, watching it play out before her. Bearing witness.
[Holds the Line] Holds the line fixes his pale gaze on Sorrow, his eyes burning with rage and the heat of battle that had just passed. He flexes his claws slowly, silent for a long moment.
~Sorrow’s wolf-yuf….~
The high tongue comes easily, low growls and barks from the massive midnight crinos.
~Before I accept your challenge, answer me this… I have beaten your alpha. A modi. If you believe your strength greater than his, why have you not challenged before? Why have you allowed weakness to lead? ~
He does what his auspice is supposed to do. He questions, seeking answers perhaps for himself, perhaps for them all, but it is a question that needs to be answered.
[Sorrow] "You have no choice but to accept my challenge, Holds the Line-yuf. You are not above me, here. You are not Adren. You are not Fostern. You are a cliath Rotagar, in the city barely a moon. I accepted War-Handed's leadership when Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya died in battle, against the Hive. I followed him in battle because I saw more in him than he showed me tonight, and more in him than I have seen in you." Her arms are crossed; she's bright, her dark eyes gleam in the ambient light. Her rage is sharp tonight, coiled around her body, burning through her blood.
"Already you show your weakness. When Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya claimed the position of Jarl, he took every challenge given him, and gladly, though everyone there knew that they would follow him. He did not just accept the challenges, he welcomed them, and those who fought him did so to honor our history and our tribe. Do you think you are so much greater, that you have the right of refusal?
"Tonight, you bested War-Handed in battle calling on your bird-totem.
"He fought you without Hermodr to aid him. He fought you alone: his strength, his speed. His teeth and his claws - not on some spirit's wings. If you think that your strength won that fight, then you will fight me now - without your bird-totem to aid you, without fetishes, without talens. You will fight me naked as I am, and prove yourself to me."
[Trudy Adler] Still she watches, listening to the words that are played out and the intentions behind them. Her arms are not crossed but loose down by her sides. Trudy's feet are bare, resting against the dirt of the yard that was the Jarl's territory and now lays only as pack territory.
Listening, she waits, watching the two of them.
[Sorrow] (modified post!)
[Sorrow] "You have no choice but to accept my challenge, Holds the Line-yuf. You are not above me, here. You are not Adren. You are not Fostern. You are a cliath Rotagar, in the city barely a moon. I accepted War-Handed's leadership when Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya died in battle, against the Hive. I followed him in battle because I saw more in him than he showed me tonight, and more in him than I have seen in you." Her arms are crossed; she's bright, her dark eyes gleam in the ambient light. Her rage is sharp tonight, coiled around her body, burning through her blood.
"Already you show your weakness. When Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya claimed the position of Jarl, he took every challenge given him, and gladly, though everyone there knew that they would follow him. He did not just accept the challenges, he welcomed them, and those who fought him did so to honor our history and our tribe. Do you think you are so much greater, that you have the right of refusal?
"Tonight, you bested War-Handed in battle calling on your bird-totem.
If you think that your strength won that fight, then you will fight me now - without your bird-totem to aid you, without fetishes, without talens. You will fight me naked as I am, and prove yourself to me."
[Holds the Line] ~I have no intention to refuse your challenge Sorrow-yuf. But it is my right to question your reasons, just as it is your right to question mine if you choose.~
He rolls massive, furry shoulders and releases air in a low, long growl.
~So you would fight without the use of your full strength? Or do you simply believe Hummingbird to be stronger then Hermodr.~
The last huffed out. His gaze brilliant.
~But if you fear the gifts of hummingbird, I will not use them against you. I will fight you on your terms Sorrow’s wolf-yuf, naked, without aid from the totems or spirits in any way. Our own strength as you call it, even if one could argue that the choice of a totem is a very personal one indeed. I will not call upon the ancestors or the talens. Will this satisfy you .~
His body shudders and he falls forward to all fours, taking the hispo skin.
~And I do appreciate that you would compare me with a hero of Truth-in-Frenzy’s caliber…. I have a long way to go before I can claim to be near his strength. That you would think a mere cliath to be able to hold his standards… Thank you.~
She might not have meant it as a compliment, but he seems to ignore that fact.
[Trudy Adler] An eyebrow arches. Her mouth presses into a faint line then relax again. Eyes gleam.
They have set their terms. She doesn't interfere.
[Sorrow] Sorrow's arms are crossed, her body language tight. Give her this: she is a stoic creature, and when Holds-the-Line steals her words, deliberately reinterpreting her reference to her dead Alpha, she simply grinds her teeth, her jaw tight, the flash of light in her dark eyes the only sign of her reponse. He lectures her about totems: about strength, and she loosens in that moment, this hint of the girl-she-was in he animal-she-is, a loose-jointed shake of her lean frame, a huff of air.
"Listen, I demanded that you prove yourself to me. You. Not your totem. Not Alpha's talens: you, alone. Don't insult the tribe, my name, my glory, or this Sept by implying that I'm afraid of you. Those are a fool's words, and if you intend to be Jarl, you had better be more than a fool."
The admonishment is almost conversational; it's quiet, anyway, and low - taut with her twin sensations of rage and loss, but not angry. She has nothing more to say, that much is clear. Instead, she lifts her chin in the Forseti's direction once. "The terms are acceptable."
Her gaze sharpens, then, drifting over his pelt, looking for wounds. "You're not hurt, are you?" She casts a sidelong glance at the Forseti, then. " - if he is, I have a talen. I will heal him."
If the answer is that he is unwounded, she sinks from her human skin, then, through the forms, into hispo. Like the first fight, this one will be quick, and bloody.
[Holds the Line] [Init! +9]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3
[Sorrow] [+9]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4
[Holds the Line] [Declare
(Resist pain already active from former fight)
1a. Bite (-3)
1b. Bite (-4)
1c. Bite (-5)
Rage 1. Bite
Rage 2. Bite
[Sorrow] Declare! 1 WP - Resist Pain
1a. Bite.
1b. Bite.
Rage 1. Bite
Rage 2. Bite
[Sorrow] 1a! -2
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5)
[Sorrow] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 8 at target 6)
[Holds the Line] [Ouch! soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Sorrow] 1b. -3
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 4 at target 5)
[Sorrow] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 8 at target 6)
[Sorrow] (pulling at incap!)
[Holds the Line] [Heah! Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Holds the Line] [What would it have been like? 1a. Bite -3]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 4 at target 5) [WP]
[Holds the Line] [Damage ]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 6, 6, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)
[Holds the Line] [pulling at incap]
[Sorrow] SoAK!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Sorrow] This fight, like the last, is short and bloody. They stand, the both of them, in their great dire wolf forms. Holds the Line shows his purebreeding in every line of his massive frame. she who offers sorrow has no such pure blood. She is merely Garou. He is without his totem, the unearthly grace Hummingbird grants him; she is without her ancestors, the hoary hoardes that whisper in the back of her mind, in her sleep, in her waking dreams stories of the old days.
Look: they fight. They trade bites. Blood sprays wildly across the tarmac as she tears into him; as he returns like for like. Then, she ends it. Humans watching would see so little - a sudden flash of motion, the spray of blood in the air, the flash of bloodied teeth, too large to be anything ordinary - she pulls back at the end as he falls to the concrete, rage still hot inside her, her rage still covered in his blood.
She snorts once, clearing her senses of the blood and battle haze, shaking her massive frame free of the moisture. She's wounded too - she can sense where her body has gone wrong, but she cannot feel the pain.
--
Sorrow melts out of her direwolf form, her body bulking into Crinos, then sinking all the way to her human skin. Her sharp features are smeared with blood, her blond hair askew, whatever she had used to bind it tonight broken when she changed. She's still close to the Rotagar, in the middle of the tarmac. After a moment's thought, she stands, glances at the Forseti once, then crosses and deliberately smudges out whatever circle their may have been. That is a lesson she learned - rather to her shame - from an Athro modi so rage-bound she could hardly speak in his presence.
When what passes for the circle is broken, she returns, sinks to her haunches beside Karl. Her heart is pounding; her pack is gone, her Alpha fallen. She has blood in her mouth, on her tongue.
"Silence-rhya once told me," she begins, looking down at him. Though, really - she's humanskinned, sitting on her haunches. She might have to look up, even when he's unmoving on the ground. There's a gourd in her hand now, " - that I was coddling the modis when I offered to heal them after a challenge. I don't wish to insult you, Holds-the-Line-yuf," she continues, her voice low, snapping with tension she struggles to keep in check. " - or coddle you. I'd be honored if you would allow me to heal you."
[Trudy Adler] It's over for the second time in the same night. War-Handed falls. Holds-the-Line falls. For a moment she considers if she could get She Who Offers Sorrow to fall. But that is not in Fistful of Reasons nature. There's no reason for her to do as such then to prove a point that can be done in other ways. None of these Get of Fenris present are bad representation of their Tribes. They all have qualities of strength and a willingness to fight for their ideas and their Tribe.
She breathes a little easier as there's no threat of dead Garou at their feet - a chance always taken when garou step into the challenge circle. It would have been an unnecessary loss and luckily their strength and prowess is greater then that. Their ability to pull back, too. Not mindless beasts, not like the one that Sorrow now mentions.
For this she is silently grateful.
[Holds the Line] Quick and bloody. It is the fenrir way. Without the aid of totems or ancestors, they are of similar skill. Similar strength and speed and stamina. But tonight, Sorrow is just that much faster, her rage the more prominent of the two.
When Holds the Line hits the ground, there is still no pain in him. He is shielded from it. But his body wont move. His body torn to shreds. There is blood in his mouth. His own and Sorrows. His pale blue gaze following the other even as he struggles to maintain consciousness. He does, but barely.
When she crouches beside him. He fixes his gaze on Sorrow. He coughs, trying to shift his body around, still holding on to his hispo skin. When he speaks, it si with a coughing of blood.
The choice is a simple one, and the reason he accepts? The same as he had given War-Handed. The challenge between Fenrir aside, the sept is at war, and no one, winner or looser should be weakened to the point where they cannot fight for the sept or caern, even for a short while.
~Yes.~
The growling huff splatters blood on the ground. The gourd is crushed against him, its energies filling him, knitting together flesh enough that his body once more comes under his control. He gets to his feet, unsteadily at first, and shaking his massive head as if to clear the mists still lingering in front of his eyes. A few moments, and his form shimmers and he flows up to two legs, taking the glabro form. He reaches up, feeling his shoulder where part of a wound is still visible.
He rolls his shoulders, nodding to Kora, looking at her. He reaches into the small leather sack, retrieving a gourd not dissimilar to the one Kora had used on him.
“Thank you Jarl Sorrow’s Wolf… Will you accept the same from me in return?”
When she nods in agreement, he crushes the gourd against Kora’s wound, causing it to knit together completely. After it is done, Karl takes a step back, turning his head to look at Trudy. He offers her a deep nod.
“thank you Forseti, for standing witness. Odin’s blessing.”
[Trudy Adler] "No worries," she tells them with a bemused smile to her mouth. "Now that we're done with beating each other and playing kissin' make up, I'm heading home to the kids." Nodding to each of them, she begins to make her way out again. Calling; "Lookin' forward to the next gathering."
Trouble is, she won't be there. She gets called out of Chicago, back to her home Sept. The kids go with her.
[Sorrow] Kora's courtesies are sharper tonight, bright things under her skin. She studies Holds the Line with direct dark eyes for a spae few seconds before she nods her pale head, accepting his offer. "Thank you," she tells him, at the end. She gives Trudy her thanks, too, then looks around, expecting others - some new challenger - but they are alone, their tribe sharply diminished since the moot.
"Excuse me, Holds the Line-yuf," she says, with a courtesy that is stiffened by emotion, loss and rage swallowed inside her. Her dark eyes trace their surroundings, finding and following Joe's path away. "I have - " her mouth twists over the words. She doesn't say them. "We'll speak soon, I'm sure."
With that, she takes her leave.
[Holds the Line] [and done! finally. it only took a month *grins*]
to Sorrow, Trudy Adler
[Sorrow] (not me! hah!)
[Sorrow] I am thinking this would occur right away - like, what remains of the tribe shows up? - but it has been so long that I am willing to say it is happening now for continuity? though I've only done a couple of scenes since then.
to Holds the Line, Trudy Adler
[Holds the Line] [After it was decided we were going to do this, ive kept from mentioning the jarl thing at all with Karl, so it works as retro for me : )]
[Sorrow] Cool. Let's do retro then. (grins)
[Holds the Line] ((Respost for the post after War-Handed fell))
[ Holds the Line ]
They are Fenrir. This is not the peace and love tribe. They settle matters traditionally, claw
and fang showing true strength. This challenge is no different. The Modi faces down the Rotagar. It is not the
first time. For these two, it is the third time.
The first time Joe had given Karl what he needed. An outlet for his rage, and the Rotagar had been bested by
the more powerful Fenrir.
The second time, they had faced each other over matters of honor and pack. Holds the Line had done that,
held the line and shown the strength of his pack and totem.
This third time, it is with a frenzy of blows, and blood that the challenge is settled. It is over quickly, as these
things often are. But as War-handed goes down under the assault of hummingbirds chosen, Holds the Line
stays the blow. He was not here for War-Handed’s life. Taking a step back, the massive hispo breathes hard,
then shifts to Crinos. He takes a step back towards the battered Fenrir. His massive hand flexes, claws
catching the light, stark white against his midnight fur. A growl born deep in his chest reverberates through
his entire form as he reaches out with those wicked claws…
Karl helps War-handed up after the other wakes and sends him to the side where he collapses in a pile, opening a can of beer to drink even as he tries to heal.
Holds the Line turns to the witnesses, glacial blue gaze going over Sorrow and then to Fistful of Reason. This challenge was won, the old Jarl fallen. It was now up to the other Fenrir if he was to stand, or fall as War-handed had before him.
[Sorrow] Whatever passes between War-Handed and Sorrow remains unspoken. The Skald gives her modi this sharp look, full of banked fire, the curve of her generous mouth twists into something dark - nearly bitter, like the dregs of coffee boiled away to a black crust, like the pith of pomegranate. They will sever their ties to their totem tonight. War-Handed will apologize to her and to the spirit that bound them together: again and again, for all the wrong reasons. They he'll leave; maybe he'll make an offering on their Alpha's grave. Maybe he'll just go: away, once his body has knitted itself back together. Just now - the sense of that sudden absence, the severing that will be completed tonight - sucks all the air from her lungs.
The creature's pale skin is starker in the shadows tonight, her eyes swimming dark inside her white face, her rage is hot inside her - heart-of-the-flame, coruscating when she turns her head to follow Joe's path away from the battleground. "I challenge." Kora says, the words sharp, snapping as she glances toward the Forseti, a band of tendon evident in her jaw.
[Trudy Adler] Trudy watches the challenge go down. It's quick and bloody and over in a matter of seconds. Holds the Line looks across to the other Get of Fenris present. She looks back at him, still in her human form. Its when Sorrows snapping challenge comes from her lips that she turns her gaze over to the other female Garou, looks her over, then glances back to Holds the Line.
The Forseti is silent, for now, watching it play out before her. Bearing witness.
to Holds the Line, Sorrow
[Trudy Adler] Trudy watches the challenge go down. It's quick and bloody and over in a matter of seconds. Holds the Line looks across to the other Get of Fenris present. She looks back at him, still in her human form. Its when Sorrows snapping challenge comes from her lips that she turns her gaze over to the other female Garou, looks her over, then glances back to Holds the Line.
The Forseti is silent, for now, watching it play out before her. Bearing witness.
[Holds the Line] Holds the line fixes his pale gaze on Sorrow, his eyes burning with rage and the heat of battle that had just passed. He flexes his claws slowly, silent for a long moment.
~Sorrow’s wolf-yuf….~
The high tongue comes easily, low growls and barks from the massive midnight crinos.
~Before I accept your challenge, answer me this… I have beaten your alpha. A modi. If you believe your strength greater than his, why have you not challenged before? Why have you allowed weakness to lead? ~
He does what his auspice is supposed to do. He questions, seeking answers perhaps for himself, perhaps for them all, but it is a question that needs to be answered.
[Sorrow] "You have no choice but to accept my challenge, Holds the Line-yuf. You are not above me, here. You are not Adren. You are not Fostern. You are a cliath Rotagar, in the city barely a moon. I accepted War-Handed's leadership when Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya died in battle, against the Hive. I followed him in battle because I saw more in him than he showed me tonight, and more in him than I have seen in you." Her arms are crossed; she's bright, her dark eyes gleam in the ambient light. Her rage is sharp tonight, coiled around her body, burning through her blood.
"Already you show your weakness. When Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya claimed the position of Jarl, he took every challenge given him, and gladly, though everyone there knew that they would follow him. He did not just accept the challenges, he welcomed them, and those who fought him did so to honor our history and our tribe. Do you think you are so much greater, that you have the right of refusal?
"Tonight, you bested War-Handed in battle calling on your bird-totem.
"He fought you without Hermodr to aid him. He fought you alone: his strength, his speed. His teeth and his claws - not on some spirit's wings. If you think that your strength won that fight, then you will fight me now - without your bird-totem to aid you, without fetishes, without talens. You will fight me naked as I am, and prove yourself to me."
[Trudy Adler] Still she watches, listening to the words that are played out and the intentions behind them. Her arms are not crossed but loose down by her sides. Trudy's feet are bare, resting against the dirt of the yard that was the Jarl's territory and now lays only as pack territory.
Listening, she waits, watching the two of them.
[Sorrow] (modified post!)
[Sorrow] "You have no choice but to accept my challenge, Holds the Line-yuf. You are not above me, here. You are not Adren. You are not Fostern. You are a cliath Rotagar, in the city barely a moon. I accepted War-Handed's leadership when Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya died in battle, against the Hive. I followed him in battle because I saw more in him than he showed me tonight, and more in him than I have seen in you." Her arms are crossed; she's bright, her dark eyes gleam in the ambient light. Her rage is sharp tonight, coiled around her body, burning through her blood.
"Already you show your weakness. When Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya claimed the position of Jarl, he took every challenge given him, and gladly, though everyone there knew that they would follow him. He did not just accept the challenges, he welcomed them, and those who fought him did so to honor our history and our tribe. Do you think you are so much greater, that you have the right of refusal?
"Tonight, you bested War-Handed in battle calling on your bird-totem.
If you think that your strength won that fight, then you will fight me now - without your bird-totem to aid you, without fetishes, without talens. You will fight me naked as I am, and prove yourself to me."
[Holds the Line] ~I have no intention to refuse your challenge Sorrow-yuf. But it is my right to question your reasons, just as it is your right to question mine if you choose.~
He rolls massive, furry shoulders and releases air in a low, long growl.
~So you would fight without the use of your full strength? Or do you simply believe Hummingbird to be stronger then Hermodr.~
The last huffed out. His gaze brilliant.
~But if you fear the gifts of hummingbird, I will not use them against you. I will fight you on your terms Sorrow’s wolf-yuf, naked, without aid from the totems or spirits in any way. Our own strength as you call it, even if one could argue that the choice of a totem is a very personal one indeed. I will not call upon the ancestors or the talens. Will this satisfy you .~
His body shudders and he falls forward to all fours, taking the hispo skin.
~And I do appreciate that you would compare me with a hero of Truth-in-Frenzy’s caliber…. I have a long way to go before I can claim to be near his strength. That you would think a mere cliath to be able to hold his standards… Thank you.~
She might not have meant it as a compliment, but he seems to ignore that fact.
[Trudy Adler] An eyebrow arches. Her mouth presses into a faint line then relax again. Eyes gleam.
They have set their terms. She doesn't interfere.
[Sorrow] Sorrow's arms are crossed, her body language tight. Give her this: she is a stoic creature, and when Holds-the-Line steals her words, deliberately reinterpreting her reference to her dead Alpha, she simply grinds her teeth, her jaw tight, the flash of light in her dark eyes the only sign of her reponse. He lectures her about totems: about strength, and she loosens in that moment, this hint of the girl-she-was in he animal-she-is, a loose-jointed shake of her lean frame, a huff of air.
"Listen, I demanded that you prove yourself to me. You. Not your totem. Not Alpha's talens: you, alone. Don't insult the tribe, my name, my glory, or this Sept by implying that I'm afraid of you. Those are a fool's words, and if you intend to be Jarl, you had better be more than a fool."
The admonishment is almost conversational; it's quiet, anyway, and low - taut with her twin sensations of rage and loss, but not angry. She has nothing more to say, that much is clear. Instead, she lifts her chin in the Forseti's direction once. "The terms are acceptable."
Her gaze sharpens, then, drifting over his pelt, looking for wounds. "You're not hurt, are you?" She casts a sidelong glance at the Forseti, then. " - if he is, I have a talen. I will heal him."
If the answer is that he is unwounded, she sinks from her human skin, then, through the forms, into hispo. Like the first fight, this one will be quick, and bloody.
[Holds the Line] [Init! +9]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3
[Sorrow] [+9]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4
[Holds the Line] [Declare
(Resist pain already active from former fight)
1a. Bite (-3)
1b. Bite (-4)
1c. Bite (-5)
Rage 1. Bite
Rage 2. Bite
[Sorrow] Declare! 1 WP - Resist Pain
1a. Bite.
1b. Bite.
Rage 1. Bite
Rage 2. Bite
[Sorrow] 1a! -2
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5)
[Sorrow] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 8 at target 6)
[Holds the Line] [Ouch! soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Sorrow] 1b. -3
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 4 at target 5)
[Sorrow] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 8 at target 6)
[Sorrow] (pulling at incap!)
[Holds the Line] [Heah! Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Holds the Line] [What would it have been like? 1a. Bite -3]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 4 at target 5) [WP]
[Holds the Line] [Damage ]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 6, 6, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)
[Holds the Line] [pulling at incap]
[Sorrow] SoAK!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Sorrow] This fight, like the last, is short and bloody. They stand, the both of them, in their great dire wolf forms. Holds the Line shows his purebreeding in every line of his massive frame. she who offers sorrow has no such pure blood. She is merely Garou. He is without his totem, the unearthly grace Hummingbird grants him; she is without her ancestors, the hoary hoardes that whisper in the back of her mind, in her sleep, in her waking dreams stories of the old days.
Look: they fight. They trade bites. Blood sprays wildly across the tarmac as she tears into him; as he returns like for like. Then, she ends it. Humans watching would see so little - a sudden flash of motion, the spray of blood in the air, the flash of bloodied teeth, too large to be anything ordinary - she pulls back at the end as he falls to the concrete, rage still hot inside her, her rage still covered in his blood.
She snorts once, clearing her senses of the blood and battle haze, shaking her massive frame free of the moisture. She's wounded too - she can sense where her body has gone wrong, but she cannot feel the pain.
--
Sorrow melts out of her direwolf form, her body bulking into Crinos, then sinking all the way to her human skin. Her sharp features are smeared with blood, her blond hair askew, whatever she had used to bind it tonight broken when she changed. She's still close to the Rotagar, in the middle of the tarmac. After a moment's thought, she stands, glances at the Forseti once, then crosses and deliberately smudges out whatever circle their may have been. That is a lesson she learned - rather to her shame - from an Athro modi so rage-bound she could hardly speak in his presence.
When what passes for the circle is broken, she returns, sinks to her haunches beside Karl. Her heart is pounding; her pack is gone, her Alpha fallen. She has blood in her mouth, on her tongue.
"Silence-rhya once told me," she begins, looking down at him. Though, really - she's humanskinned, sitting on her haunches. She might have to look up, even when he's unmoving on the ground. There's a gourd in her hand now, " - that I was coddling the modis when I offered to heal them after a challenge. I don't wish to insult you, Holds-the-Line-yuf," she continues, her voice low, snapping with tension she struggles to keep in check. " - or coddle you. I'd be honored if you would allow me to heal you."
[Trudy Adler] It's over for the second time in the same night. War-Handed falls. Holds-the-Line falls. For a moment she considers if she could get She Who Offers Sorrow to fall. But that is not in Fistful of Reasons nature. There's no reason for her to do as such then to prove a point that can be done in other ways. None of these Get of Fenris present are bad representation of their Tribes. They all have qualities of strength and a willingness to fight for their ideas and their Tribe.
She breathes a little easier as there's no threat of dead Garou at their feet - a chance always taken when garou step into the challenge circle. It would have been an unnecessary loss and luckily their strength and prowess is greater then that. Their ability to pull back, too. Not mindless beasts, not like the one that Sorrow now mentions.
For this she is silently grateful.
[Holds the Line] Quick and bloody. It is the fenrir way. Without the aid of totems or ancestors, they are of similar skill. Similar strength and speed and stamina. But tonight, Sorrow is just that much faster, her rage the more prominent of the two.
When Holds the Line hits the ground, there is still no pain in him. He is shielded from it. But his body wont move. His body torn to shreds. There is blood in his mouth. His own and Sorrows. His pale blue gaze following the other even as he struggles to maintain consciousness. He does, but barely.
When she crouches beside him. He fixes his gaze on Sorrow. He coughs, trying to shift his body around, still holding on to his hispo skin. When he speaks, it si with a coughing of blood.
The choice is a simple one, and the reason he accepts? The same as he had given War-Handed. The challenge between Fenrir aside, the sept is at war, and no one, winner or looser should be weakened to the point where they cannot fight for the sept or caern, even for a short while.
~Yes.~
The growling huff splatters blood on the ground. The gourd is crushed against him, its energies filling him, knitting together flesh enough that his body once more comes under his control. He gets to his feet, unsteadily at first, and shaking his massive head as if to clear the mists still lingering in front of his eyes. A few moments, and his form shimmers and he flows up to two legs, taking the glabro form. He reaches up, feeling his shoulder where part of a wound is still visible.
He rolls his shoulders, nodding to Kora, looking at her. He reaches into the small leather sack, retrieving a gourd not dissimilar to the one Kora had used on him.
“Thank you Jarl Sorrow’s Wolf… Will you accept the same from me in return?”
When she nods in agreement, he crushes the gourd against Kora’s wound, causing it to knit together completely. After it is done, Karl takes a step back, turning his head to look at Trudy. He offers her a deep nod.
“thank you Forseti, for standing witness. Odin’s blessing.”
[Trudy Adler] "No worries," she tells them with a bemused smile to her mouth. "Now that we're done with beating each other and playing kissin' make up, I'm heading home to the kids." Nodding to each of them, she begins to make her way out again. Calling; "Lookin' forward to the next gathering."
Trouble is, she won't be there. She gets called out of Chicago, back to her home Sept. The kids go with her.
[Sorrow] Kora's courtesies are sharper tonight, bright things under her skin. She studies Holds the Line with direct dark eyes for a spae few seconds before she nods her pale head, accepting his offer. "Thank you," she tells him, at the end. She gives Trudy her thanks, too, then looks around, expecting others - some new challenger - but they are alone, their tribe sharply diminished since the moot.
"Excuse me, Holds the Line-yuf," she says, with a courtesy that is stiffened by emotion, loss and rage swallowed inside her. Her dark eyes trace their surroundings, finding and following Joe's path away. "I have - " her mouth twists over the words. She doesn't say them. "We'll speak soon, I'm sure."
With that, she takes her leave.
[Holds the Line] [and done! finally. it only took a month *grins*]
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