[Drawn in Blood] By this point, the Last Watch has to be somewhat suspicious of anyone who would dare knock on their door during the prescribed dinner hour. It does not matter that whoever comes to call has little to no manner of deciding whether there is anything to be interrupted before arriving; as humans have to worry about telemarketers causing their phone to ring with a jarring scream while the potatoes are being passed, so do Garou have to worry about their peers pounding on their hovel's front portal while they're attempting some semblance of normalcy.
Those who were born into this world, or at least been a part of it long enough to prescribe to a general notion of The Way Things Are and to even make strides towards accepting them, don't so much make attempts at normalcy as they do simply appreciate quiet when it comes. Then there are those who would fight the war twenty-four hours a day, every day of the week, if it were physically possible.
The man coming up the sidewalk tonight does not do so roaring on an obnoxiously loud motorcycle in the dead of winter, or shouting obscenities meant to vex the people inside. He isn't even noticeable until he mounts the front steps and knocks on the door; by Midwestern standards, tonight is a terribly warm night. Above freezing, water is dripping from gutters and the snow piled up on the sidewalks have turned to slush. The streets are running with melted ice, and the man's footsteps patter as he steps on the concrete.
He's tall, though not obscenely so compared to some of his auspicemates. Were one to look at him and be incapable of scenting his breeding, the initial thought most Kinfolk have is that he cannot be anything other than one of Fenris's. His eyes are blue, the structure of his face is strong and sharp; he does not appear as though he smiles frequently, if ever. Pride is written into the cut of his shoulders, how he appears as though he would meet another warrior's eyes were it not socially unacceptable.
Should Linus meet him on the sidewalk or after the door has been knocked upon and opened, that is what he is greeted with: a tall, lightly-complected stranger, dressed in heavy boots and heavy jeans and a heavy zip-up sweatshirt with ghosts of blood stains on the sleeve and throat, no jacket or hat or gloves.
He's silent.
In lieu of a verbal greeting, he hands him a receipt from a North Side cafe, the back of the paper presented first. There have been scratched glyphs that are as near to fluent as one can get using pencil; on the front, on the blank space underneath the itemized order and total, there is the name of Linus's sister and Alpha, and the address they're standing at.
[Linus] "Well...straight forward and to the point. Much preferred all things considered..."
It's his reaction to the piece of paper that the young Modi presents. Even if the Rage and Breeding hadn't given Linus a clue (intelligence and discerning as the Godi is), there would still be the faded stains (War body), the Lack of Proper winter garb (Berzerker Warmth) and the sort of regard you only ever got sizing people up for body bags (Murder Comfort).
Linus, for his part, is a different story. He carries himself, displays himself and puts out an honesty that is less forthright and unbending than the Forseti and more reflexive and effortless than a Rotagar. The Dark circles beneath chestnut eyes are indicative of a weariness, more common than suspect, while the lines in youthful features telltales of sights, sounds and sensations experienced that can't be found in mortal worlds and realms.
His is a life of two sides, from the strange singe marks on the hems and threaded lines of his cargo pants, sneaker shoelaces and black half-jacket to the slim and wire of a shape that splits it's diet between Spiritual sustenance (Gnostic regen.) and Take-out equally. A meal a day in the physical with an umbral snack.
Lean and Hungry.
He answers the door with a grunt, pulling one side of the thick double oaks, never meant to be treated like normal doorways, but more as portals to be left open for mass and closed for every other time. It is not so much a struggle as it is a feat, oddly suggestive of the Last Watch's policies and choices. The Door opens only if you're serious about entering. Serious about taking part.
Hidden meanings in everything.
"...C'mon in."
He motions with a nod of his head, pulling back and leaving the door open for the Modi to step through, turning on a heel to proceed deeper into the church. The interior is a hallmark of 'Construction in progress' and something of the old standards of Human Faith. The Altar up front is empty, the crucified representation of mortal faith having been removed and requisitioned elsewhere. It hollows out the Christian standing and yet seems to leave behind that fortitude, that lends the Church it's hallowedness.
The pews are all there, wood and stone combined into subtle, discomforting things, while bundles of clothes and blankets and makeshift pillows scatter around them, telling tales of their current use as beds and shelving space. A small collection of couches exists off to one side of the Altar itself, coupled with the folding tables one might see at a Church Fundraiser or Bake sale. A distant door on the Dais' other side, is darkened and no doubt leads into the Church's guts.
The smell of pizza fills the church, coupled with the older scents of other take out types. Greek, hints of Pasta, whiffs of Chinese. Pungent aromas, that linger. Droplets of water into buckets stationed around the Pews, where the snow and melting ice on the roof, riddled with large holes that have been covered by common blue tarps meant to keep out the worst of it, falls through with uncommon consistency. The buckets are half full, most of them, and the large puddle in the garden bed outside the front steps tells tales of their emptying.
"What brings you to Chicago exactly?" If the Godi sounds a little sardonic, even suggestive of disbelief, it's because he is. Most of the Tribe would know about Truth~in~Frenzy and Silence. Of the Eagles and the nearby Caern only blocks distant. They'd also know something of the fall from grace the Tribe had suffered here not too long ago.
[Drawn in Blood] Even after Linus speaks, there is no answering quip, no apology for his abruptness, nothing verbal at all. He does lift his heavy eyebrows, the amusement on his face a fleeting and watered down affect, and that may very well be the only indication that he is not, in fact, deaf. That has been a point of inquiry recently, a question that has had to be asked to determine just how much difficulty one is going to have communicating with him in the future.
He can hear. He can hear fairly well, is aware of the single squawk of a siren in the distance, of the melting water sluicing over the roof, of music thumping from a sound system in a souped-up vehicle somewhere in the distance, yet for whatever reason, he does not speak.
Linus invites him in, and the Modi glances at the doorway before he takes him up on the offer. The glance starts from one crook of the doorway, tracing its way around the perimeter of the frame until he comes to whatever wordless conclusion he has drawn, and then he nods, once. It's a strangely solemn gesture, considering, and while he doesn't speak, the expression on his face gives the nod a greater semblance of purpose.
Thank you.
A moment is taken to scrape salt and sludge off the soles of his boots before he steps into the sanctuary, and once inside, the Modi gives another curious look around. Nostrils flare with the scents lingering in the air, between the stratosphere of culinary ghosts and the ongoing construction, sweat and substance. His olfactory system, in this form, is imperfect. Only the most obvious smells come to him.
It's no matter.
The dweller of two worlds wants to know what brings him here. What on earth is he doing here. He is the descendent of great warriors, and in this world they're living in, the climate they find themselves inheriting, the strength of his blood alone is something of a rarity. Less of them are being born this way. That isn't what he says, but the implication is clear: with everything the rest of the Nation knows about this place, why the hell is he here?
Unlike a nervous young warrior with something to prove, the Modi does not fidget or flinch before answering a question from a stranger in this new city. He has no reason to, that anyone can tell at a first glance. Stepping into the Godi's space, he points to the back of the ticket, where the glyphs live. They were not written so long ago that they've started to fade. The transaction only occurred yesterday.
Drawn in Blood
Cliath Modi
Pack gone
That's not an explanation to one who finds purpose in riddles. It could be enough; it could just be a starting point.
[Linus] Linus is honest. It isn't so much obvious as a statement of fact. Lying is a game and Fenrir rarely play. With tribe, it's honesty, rooted or otherwise. When the Modi steps into his space, Linus receives it sideways. Not directly (challenge) or even indirectly (distraction), but as a question (riddle man). The Modi points at the ticket and Linus lifts it to shake between them (refusal of full contact) like it was the answer for both unasked questions.
His was Isn't that enough?
Linus' was Should it be, Brother?
The Godi meets his eyes, dark circles like clockwork enigmatic. He's kept up many hours, the kind of exhaustion that comes without a set sleep schedule. A soldier's designs, catching a few hours every so often without any real chance for the body to regulate. Selling parts and pieces of himself and his services. Draining the body and re-charging again with whatever was handy (Take out and Meditation).
"Bone~Writer. Cliath. Godi in service to Hermodr-" Pronounced with an accent. Like it had been practiced a thousand times, that name. That spirit "-and the Last Watch. Kora's the Jarl here, but you know that already. You'll be wanting to talk to her about the specifics and details of how the Tribe works here, now-" As in what came before no longer applies "-but in the meantime, you should understand a couple of things..."
The Godi steps away from him, without any real sense of...consideration. Wolves meeting usually put themselves in positions and standing. Alphas, betas, omegas. It's a reflex. An instinct and yet...the Godi is not so much immune, as he is outside of it. The Other world is a demanding part of things and it is recognizable in the way he seems to carry himself on his way to the tables and the couches, where a couple of pizza boxes sit, closed and yet pungent with the aromas of meat and more meat. He doesn't seem to care-...No. He doesn't seem to mind the Modi's Rage. Breeding. Recognized place in the Tribe as Leadership.
He has his duty. So does the Modi. So does Kora and that was Jarl. That was for the two of them to hash out. That didn't mean he didn't have something to say.
"This place is fucked. Not fucked as in history, but fucked as it, not normal. They've set up some of their own laws. Own decrees and...some would call it heresy. Others would call it unorthodox. They seem to think it's ok. We...?" The Tribe "...Well, the Tribe's important here. Whether you know the history or not." Nodding, leaning against one of the tables, flipping open a pizza box to showcase a steaming meat drenched pizza, with a slice missing.
"...You coming here says a lot of things your ticket doesn't." He flaps it again, against his thigh. "...Also tells me nothing about your intentions. Which I'm curious about but..." His eyes go into the pizza box, to pick out a slice. "Silence~Rhya's not here anymore. Neither's Truth~rhya. Eagles are dead. So if you've got some idea in your head about that, dish it quick and start asking questions."
He shoves the box a little ways down the table. Away from him. Toward the Modi. An offer.
[Drawn in Blood] To take in that the young Modi does not speak, and to extrapolate from that that he has nothing to say, would be careless. One would say it would be unbefitting of their tribe, or of Bone-Writer's auspice, to assume that because for whatever reason he is not using spoken word to communicate that there isn't a thought inside of his skull, that there isn't a purpose beating beneath his breastbone, that he is content to coast through life allowing others to assume his intentions or to speak for him.
Linus had not been present yesterday when, even with the towering presence of his auspice leader making impossible demands of him, the Modi had refused to ask his tribeswoman for help. He did not ask her to speak for him, to explain who the hell he is and what he was doing in Lukas's protectorate. He'd looked around for something to write on himself, and the Rotagar had grown frustrated with the silence and the Shadow Lord's mounting irritation and had thrust paper and pencil at him.
Looking at Drawn in Blood, one could readily suspect he comes from a place where the way of life entails hard manual labor and being out of doors for the majority of the day. Even beneath his clothing, his physique can be made out. He's strong, even if he is not a hulking feat of masculinity, and he has hands that appear capable of greater tasks than pulverizing humans in bar fights or punching Bone Gnawers in the throat because they call him by a nickname he does not like. The intelligence in his eyes is not stamped out by his Rage, and he does not struggle with the latter; he is not slavering or champing at the bit for something to destroy.
The moon is darkening, though. He has not been tested recently. All of them, even the most mellow of No Moons, has the potential for mindless depravity, senseless violence. They are all of them inhuman, whether or not they have accepted it. Not being human does not equate to being a monster, yet the line is thin enough to be overlooked.
That's neither here nor there. Despite his silence, despite the intensity of his Rage, he seems resolute. Bone-Writer introduces himself, asks a question, explains his interpretation of the events in the city, and the Modi stands still and attentive, listening with some degree of detachment, nodding in places, frowning in others.
When he's told to dish it quick and start asking questions, he gives no impression that that is impossible, or even difficult. There's a beat to pause, to consider, and then he glances towards the ceiling as though searching his brain for inspiration.
Having found it, the Modi points to the ticket. He has to believe that given how little is written on it, when he draws a line across his throat--unscarred, for what it's worth--and grimaces, it can only apply to the third line. His pack isn't just gone; they're dead.
Another pause, and he draws a mirrored set of lines in the air with his index fingers. It vaguely resembles a typical house. He mouths Home, his expression questioning, searching to see if the Godi understands what he's trying to intimate. Home, he mouths again, without the illustration this time, and shakes his head. That's gone, too.
As for why he's here: he realizes that such an abstract, intrinsic explanation is not going to be clarified using vague gestures and body language. He falters for a moment, visibly mulling over his response, and pauses to draw a breath.
[Linus] The Line across his throat-
"Yeah I heard you the first time." Linus hadn't assumed. A long wolf in a city claiming to have a pack that was Gone. It wasn't hard to extrapolate.
The indication of a Home.
The Godi nods. Apparently whatever further explanation the Modi was searching for was unnecessary. Pack Dead. Searching for a Home. Chicago was...a good place for that. A fucked up place, but a Good place nonetheless. Linus motions at the pizza on the table and finally slaps the ticket down next to it, as if the entire moment had been closed.
The Godi is used to conversing with things that speak with the crackle of fires. The rush of water. The bubble of oil. The click of the mechanical. The english language is hardly something he deems necessary for communication. The abstract of the Modi's thoughts and explanation, simple as they may be, difficult to deliver, are understood.
That doesn't make Linus' words any less relevant however.
"You're here for a good reason. Lots of Wyrm to fight. Shit load, actually and we're low on competence. Tribe's taken a huge hit in this area, like I said. Like you probably know or if you didn't, you do now. We could use an arm and a leg and a pair of jaws that know War by birth and if you're Modi, then that's you." Certainty. Nothing of question or even suggestion. Modi was War. Like a translation.
"...We're three strong. Myself, Kora and a strong CoG No Moon, Roman. Good kid. Great Ragabash." A pause, brows furrowing together, taking a bite out of the slice of pizza and munching absently.
"Take a slice." Hospitality. Lone Wolf invited to dine. Brother to the Tribe. Linus continues to munch, watching the creature, all Scrutiny and consideration.
"Kora's policy's pretty simple. This turf is open to the Tribe. Come and go and she's always got an ear for any of Fenris. She'll tell you that again, but it's important you take that seriously. Too many idiots from other tribes and one or two of our own, thinking they can make it on their own out here."
[Kora] "That's the truth."
The small door set into the stone wall by the chancel opens. It's dark back there, but warm enough that the pack can walk the halls without needing full winter gear. The same isn't true out there, there a wintry chill pervades the vast stone hall except for the small living space - beneath the choir loft - scattered with couches, chairs, those folding tables. There's enough correspondences between Linus and Kora - something about the line of their noses, the set of the eyes beneath the brow - that kinship can be read plainly between them. They are nearly of a height, close enough that the different disappears with distance, appears only when her path through the chill sanctuary - quickstepping, here - through the ruins, the chancel, across the alter - closer to the tribe: stranger and brother.
Which is to say: she's a tall creature, with pale blond hair that haloes her features in the uncertain light of the interior, pale northern skin and quick blue eyes, darker than the shadows around them, that fix on Drawn in Blood and remain there, steady. Narrow shoulders are set straight and level, and her long limbs move in a steady sweep. The power of her body rests in the promise of movement; long legs, long arms, long-fingered hands, thumbs hooked into the belt loops of her dark jeans, new enough that there are no bloodstains; that blood has not yet worked its way into the seems, become a fixture as much as the thread used to stitch them.
New because she's pregnant, the firm swell of her stomach evident beneath simple clothes - a gray t-shirt, boatnecked, over a white thermal, long-sleeved, the cuffs pushed far enough up her forearms to reveal the bracelets at her wrists, a half-dozen on either wrist, all leather or tatted fiber, fishing line, netting, rope. Suede. Skin flayed from her enemies, tanned and cured. The frayed end of a rope worked braided in a quiet hour.
"I'm Kora," she tells Drawn in Blood, a dark flicker of a look, up and down. "Eyjólfsdóttir to my kin. She Who Offers Sorrow, Renders Bone to the Nation, fostern Skald. Fostered in Hjaltland at the Sept of Wind and Rain. Ran under Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya until he died. It's good to meet you." A pause, a ghostly twist of her generous mouth. Like a memory. "Been a while since we had a Modi in town."
[Drawn in Blood] [GOING TO WORK BACK IN LIKE AN HOUR]
[Linus] Doesn't speak. Mute, but no throat scars. Possible Metis. Dead pack. Lone Wolf fresh to town.
The totemlink flares to life with statistics and analysis from the Godi, a twang of curiosity evident.
to Kora
[Drew Roscoe] The rumble of a Dodge Ram will one day become a familiar thing, easy to recognize as the diesel engine works the dark cherry vehicle up to the curb along the side of the church-- flanking its stone walls rather than halting directly in front of the double doors that open into the sanctuary. The engine cuts, dies easily and without struggle as opposed to how the old green clunker she'd affectionately named Thelonious would groan and wheeze and protest and creak even after the engine had been cut for over a minute.
Drew hopped down out of the driver's side door, hauling a large laundry sack out with her-- easily half her height in size. It was tossed over her shoulder as her sneakers hit the ground, the truck was locked with the press of a button, and the keys were stuffed into the pockets of her coat, left undone as she had no intent to stay outdoors for more than a minute or two.
She would hop up the front steps easy enough, even with the excess weight of the laundry bag at her shoulder. Her steps had always been light and easy. She'd been called a sprite recently, and while it wasn't wholey accurate it wasn't a far shot either, and easy to see how that would pose as a prominent first impression. She was petite, and while she didn't glide when she walked like some well trained ballet dancer she managed with a certain grace and strength-- nothing compared to her True-Born cousins but more than the average foot-stomping march that people spending their lives browbeaten into the rhythm of the city had to offer.
Knuckles would rap thrice on the door before she invited herself in-- it was more of an announcement that she'd arrived than a request for entry. The Kinfolk would step inside and shut the door behind herself, nudging it with her foot before making a beeline to the nearest pew and depositing of the laundry bag on its bench, followed up by stripping off the winter jacket and laying it across the back of the same bench as well. The girl wore a light purple sweater, fuzzy and comfortable with an open collar so she didn't feel she was being strangled by a turtleneck or crew cut. Matched with jeans it was simple rather than attention-grabbing.
As she did this-- dropping off the laundry sack and shrugging out of her coat, she spoke, eyes having pegged the trio of Fenrir that was a duo just moments before she arrived herself. She's smiling, of course. "Hey." And she's leaning against the bench rather than striding over like she's been a part of this crew for as long as it's been together-- while she may have been here claiming Chicago as her home before any of the three she'd been gone, and things had snapped and shifted and changed drastically in that time.
She would linger, loiter, and give them the chance to dish through introductions before piping up beyond the initial greeting. Her eyes lingered a few moments longer on Drawn in Blood, the side of his face, and she appeared satisfied to see him here. Good, he listened to Lukas and came a'knocking.
[Kora] We could use a Modi. She returns; it's more than idle. It feels wrong to follow a Fenrir totem without a Modi by your side. There's a brief spark of her gaze against Linus' features then. More than idle: she knows as well as he does that soon enough she'll be entirely sidelined. The babe quickened a moon ago, but now it moves more. Enough that others can feel it through her skin.
to Linus
[Linus] We could use a lot of things. It wasn't disagreement. The thread of her thoughts are an obvious fact and one the Godi's been anticipating for some time. A modi. A good modi could see to any war needs for the pack while Kora's position and station made ensuring the Jarlhood could remain strong.
Want to try him out? He sounds as if he has something in mind. Or at least, knows something nearby.
to Kora
[Drawn in Blood] A combination of having very little innate ability nor convincing motive to attempt to lie and possessing a face that is by design open leaves little room for debate as to what it is he's thinking. Thus far he has appeared content to withhold knee-jerk response to anything Bone-Writer has told him, has stood placid and listening to what it is the Godi has had to say. When he informs him, bluntly but not with any discernible malice, that he already heard what it is Drawn in Blood had to say about his pack's fate, the Modi snorts--the sound is unvoiced, air passing through his throat having nothing to do with his vocal cords, if he has any--and flicks his eyebrows, the effect dry.
As the Godi comes to the conclusion of his introduction to life within the tribe in Chicago, a doorway to another part of the church opens. Without startling or flinching, the Modi turns his head to look in the direction of the aforementioned Alpha of the Last Watch. He had been in the process of eating a slice of pizza after the second offer; he abandons the effort promptly and wipes grease from his fingertips. It's entirely possible he was not expecting a small, pregnant female to walk out to greet him; perhaps a female, given the name. If there is anything about her baffling or in opposition to what it was that he was expecting, the blue-eyed young man has the sense not to advertise this truism on his face.
For his part, were he wearing plaid or chewing tobacco, that is likely the only thing that could make more abundantly clear the fact that the Modi comes from a part of the world where life is as far from the city as one can come without dwelling in the deepest reaches of the forest. His skin is not simply tan but weathered, and though he cannot be far out of his twenties if one is measuring life in human years, his appearance is decidedly rugged. 'Grizzled' might be a better word, for his face not having seen a razor in some time. His brown hair is kept short, and he stands still and watchful as the Skald comes closer.
She looks him over, finds him to be fit and whole and healthy. When she introduces herself, he gives a silent nod. His possession of the action shooes aside the idea that he is lazy, or believes himself above physically answering a Fostern of the tribe. When Kora tells him it's been a while since there has been a Modi in town, he looks over to Bone-Writer. It's a fleeting thing, but it allows him to see that Drew has joined them.
The brief smile he gives looks more like a tic than anything else. Back to the matter at hand, he appears briefly uncertain as to how to respond. What he comes up with is an open-armed not-quite-a shrug, as if to say Well, here I am, yet there is no cockiness in it, no bravado, no sense that he believes himself to be the answer to any prayers or hopes that the Fenrir of Chicago might have had. He's here, and by all appearances he is ready to work.
Lowering his hands, he lets them rest at his sides without fumbling for a place to put them.
[Linus] ...the Modi's flickering nod and Kora's entrance are received with the same semblance of calm that he's been so far this night. The tiredness is there (endured, obvious, dismissed) as is the vague sense of distraction that normally shrouds his auspice, but beyond that he seems intent on the pizza slice in his hand steadily being devoured.
He had said his piece to Drawn~in~Blood and as much as he was willing to offer beyond letting Kora deal with opinions and facts. She had her own way of doing these sorts of situations and despite his opinion on some of the facts, the obvious level of respect for her station, place and the blood ties that bound them is obvious.
"Brought some pizza in."
A mention to Kora. Two boxes on the tables, one is full of pizza, another thick with several of the ingredients he'd found she (and the kid) were craving over the last couple of months. Drew is given the same flitting glance that indicates a help yourself and a brief nod that is exacting as much as it is, dismissive. Linus' opinions on the Kin of the Tribe (or any tribe for that matter) seemed to be made of brief and terse sorts of deals; Stay out of the Way, Do what you need to and Make nice when necessary.
Part of that was Fenrir training. Part of it was the cocky young shit of a twenty something year old. Most of it was the Godi, with his head, eyes and concerns in other worlds.
[Kora] "Deep fried cheese sticks?" - Kora queries Linus, casting a glance in his direction as he mentions the pizza he brought in. She circles the tables, not touching the food yet. Instead, she sinks to her haunches beside the table, touches the top of the cooler for a second. A quick - "You want a beer?" Tossed to all and sundry, Drew included. If anyone requests one, she'll drag them out of the slurry of ice and water, set them free on the table above, gleaming with moisture.
That wasn't her objective, though. Instead, she has her index finger hooked over the loops of a dull brown corduroy messenger bag. "Thomas hated that I wrote shit down," she says, a glance tossed to Linus briefly. "My old packmate," she explains to both Garou. "That's how I learned the runes, though. Repetition, like everything else." After digging through the contents, she pulls out a mostly unused notebook, black and white cover, clothbound - a composition book - and follows it with a Bic, setting them on the table beside the pizza. Oh, she pages through the front before she gives them up - only a few pages have been covered, those with a thick set of closely worked runes - the angular lines of the old norse Alphabet. "You're welcome to use that if you need to." she tells the Modi, standing with a certain ease. He has three, maybe four inches on her - no more than that - but the look she gives him is easy, level.
"Our territory's open to the tribe. The Caern's just north of here. Maelstom's the totem, and he demands a sacrifice from those who pledge to him. Something of worth. We'll take you bye, introduce you to the guardians if you've yet to visit it. The city's at war, and has been since before the Caern was raised. There's a Hive in the north, and a fair share of Fenrir dead among the graves.
"We buried a Godi last moon.
"Some Fianna kin run a boarding house, but you're welcome here, too. We've got space enough - and there's always food of some sort." A half-hooked smile, there. "This territory was held by the Eagle's before us. It's been in Fenrir hands since the Caern was raised, I am aim to ensure that it stays that way."
[Drew Roscoe] Introductions, formalities, they appeared to intermingle with invitations to food and beer. Drew decided that the glances in her direction were close enough to an invitation to come join, and so she did. The sleeves on her soft lilac colored sweater were folded back twice and pushed up to her elbows following that-- the folds ensured they wouldn't slide down every few minutes. This she figured out when she wore her long sleeved shirts to waitress in the wintertime, no one likes a messy sleeve cuff on the person bringing them food, after all.
As she approached, she had her head tipped back, chin aimed up, eyes on the ceiling. She noted the gaps here and there, places in need of repair. Made a tally and a materials log in her head, and slowed her steps to a crawl in doing so. Better to idle slowly than stumble over an errant pillow or prayer bench. Attention hopped back down to the three werewolves, though, and she got close enough to draw up a seat across the table from Kora, between Godi and Modi and staring a pregnant Skald in the face.
Thomas is mentioned, he hated the habit of writing Kora had apparently. Something sad and momentary shadows the Kin's face before passing along. Instead of dwelling, she smiles pleasantly and accepts the offer for beer, but leaves the pizza alone for now. "Good to see you made it, Stranger," she offers to Drawn in Blood before looking back to Kora and hiking a thumb over her shoulder. "Donations for the 'my clothes are all bloody and beyond repair' fund."
[Roman Turner] He had the habit of coming in the back way; seldom through the front door. This time as he slipped through the door he smelt fried food and picked up the sound of a voice that wasn't familiar. One of the drawbacks of being the lone Coggie in a Fenrir pack was, well he was the lone Coggie and Fenrir tended to be a bit like a cross between a Mule and a Badger, stubborn and cranky ass.
So he sucked in a breath and slipped towards the sound of voices to take a peek before diving in head first.
[Drawn in Blood] It's hard to tell which is more of a relief: the beer, or the composition book. He accepts the former with a nod of his head, finally deigning to sit down at the table across from Bone-Writer. Though he possesses a degree of dexterity that staves off the idea that he is a lumbering lug, he sits down somewhat awkwardly, as though he is used to taking his meals standing up or hunkering over a fire. The beer is taken with another nod of gratitude, and he drinks deeply.
Outside it's frigid but not inhospitable, yet he has been walking for a long time if the condition of his boots, well cared-for yet splattered and stained all the same. His thirst seems sated once he's drained a third of the bottle. He does not have to watch Kora's lips to get the gist of what she's saying; even facing away from her, he is not deaf. By the time he looks back, she has explained that her old packmate hated her writing shit down. He sets down the beer as Drew comes to sit between him and the Godi, briefly glancing over at the petite female, and reaches out to take the notebook with more than a hint of reverence.
That reverence isn't explained, and he doesn't immediately scribble any thanks onto its pages. He bows his head, eyes lowering for a moment, and then slides the pen closer.
After she's spoken, and only after she's indicated that she's finished, does the Modi pick up the pen in his left hand. It's as awkward as his attempt to gracefully sit down; he holds it like a weapon at first, in a lightly clenched fist, before adjusting his grip so that it becomes an instrument.
I want to stay with Tribe.
This, she can read likely from where she sits without him turning it around; he writes large, his penmanship sloppy yet legible. A glance around the interior of the church precedes his continuation.
Im good in fight. Can do more than fight. Also good with buildings. Fixing things. I help fix if you want it.
Want to help Tribe if I stay with Tribe.
[Kora] "I was gonna say - " Kora says to Drew as she offers an explanation of the big bag o' laundry, her generous mouth curving into a easy half-smile. "Trent takes care of my clothes for me, and Linus likes smelling like a rotting foot, and I'm pretty sure Roman has a special ritual he uses to starch his wranglers."
A glance back toward the half-opened door, for Roman.
"But, donations to the my clothes are more blood than cotton fund are always welcome.
"Drawn in Blood, this is Drew. Drew, Drawn in Blood's a Modi, new to town. There's pizza, but no cheese sticks," a reproachful glance at Linus for this failing. That's what happens when you entrust earthly matters to a Godi.
She's drinking something out of a bottle, Kora is. It's not beer. But she holds it like beer, tips it back to lean over the paper and -
I want to stay with Tribe.
New house guest. she shares over the spiritual connection with the pack. The thought is instant; her expression changes too. It doesn't soften so much as sharp, like a blade drawn over a whetstone, a certain pride underneath her skin, a certain sense of concordance. Drawn in Blood. Cliath modi. The last is for Roman, a repetition like a chorus in an old song.
"When I first came to Chicago, Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya was the Jarl. He invited me to stay with him, and I did until he died in battle. You're welcome here. And - " a flick of her glance upward, the holes in the ceiling. "There's plenty to fix. Roman's been working on this side, Linus the other.
"And there's plenty of Wyrm, too. You interested in a hunt?"
[Roman Turner] He slipped through the doorway. Hat clutched against the chest of his coat and a nod for each.
"Howdy Miss Drew."
And yes, he checked out the new house guest. His own blue-gray eyes were a shade of faded denim. Chestnut hair showed it was more accustomed to being covered by a hat from the shape of it. And as Kora mentioned, his jeans were dark blue and so stiffly pressed it looked like he used a box of starch and a heavy duty press iron on them daily.
"Drawn in Blood."
He nodded next.
"Ya got an everyday name to go with that in public?"
[Drew Roscoe] "Hey Roman, is Drew's response. She's helping herself to a beer, tipping the mouth of it toward Kora in a gesture of thanks, and leaning back more comfortably in her chair to take a drink.
Kora introduces her formally to Drawn in Blood, and Drew's nodding, finishing another swig from the beer bottle and holding her wrist to her mouth for a second before talking. "Met him just the other night, actually. Gave him a ride on out to where he needed to go. I know how hard a taxi can be for you guys not only to get, but to suffer." She shrugged one shoulder and grinned a bit, and glanced at the pizza contemplatively before deciding to accept-- what's beer without some kind of food to go with it, right? She snags a slice and nods to Roman when he comes in, smiling cheerily. It was easy to forgive and forget the wranglers now that she was more accustomed to them. "Hey Roman."
As for being interested in a hunt, Drew's eyes hop to the Modi, the Godi, then up toward the ceiling, once more examining patches that could use work.
[Roman Turner] He was unwrapping. Off came the scarf from Christmas. Off went the sheepskin lined coat. Beneath was a denim shirt that had been buttoned all the way up, allowing just a faint couple of fingers worth of discolored, mottled flesh showing on his neck. Burn scar tissue was never a pretty thing, so he did his best to keep it covered.
"Always up for a hunt Miss Kora."
[Drawn in Blood] Does he have an every day name.
The Modi finds a clean portion of paper somewhere further down on the page, rather than flipping to the back or starting over on a fresh one, and his response comes with the same economy of language and awkwardness of technique that had been seen in his response to the Skald.
John.
He doesn't smile or nod his agreement to the mention of the difficulties of a taxi, yet when Drew grins the thought crosses his mind. Nothing comes of it, and when he's asked if he's interested in a hunt, the answer isn't exactly offered with the enthusiasm of a puppy who has heard its leash removed from the closet, yet he nods quickly and somewhat brightly all the same.
Another long tug off of his beer, and he takes a moment to eat the slice of pizza he has been inadvertently ignoring for the last several minutes.
[Roman Turner] He waited for the response and it took a moment for him to figure out the guy wasn't just doodling. Leaning in to read his response was.
"John? Ok, I can remember that. Ya can't talk?"
Yeah duh, sometimes he stated the obvious.
[Drawn in Blood] That gets a flash of a smile from the Modi. He doesn't appear to be completely humorless, or as though he's simply looking for a reason to get worked up or into a fight. Roman asks if he can't talk, and while it's fairly obvious, it's a valid enough question. There have been Garou within Maelstrom's borders who have taken vows of silence before, against their will or voluntarily; he could just be choosing not to, yet the Child of Gaia asks, and after swallowing a bite of food, he shakes his head No. The expression on his face makes it into a Nope, as though he'd accepted this such a long time ago he has reached a point of nonchalance about it.
[Kora] There's time to finish the pizza; to hang out with Drew and finish the beer. Or root beer, in the Skald's case, which flushes sweet through her senses. She eats a slice of pizza, considers a second, and nixes the idea, reminding herself of the old eating/swimming rule. It must apply to hunting, too.
---
Near midnight, a cold night but not frigid. The temperature's fallen back down below freezing, and all that runoff has started to refreeze.
They walk, a loose group down the salt-stained sidewalks, cutting through familiar alleyways, old workyards, underneath the ruins of an old trestle bridge near the river. Soon enough the familiar territory - the few hard-won, hard-fought blocks earned in the blood of both the living the dead disappear behind them. Their target is a solid third of a mile or more outside the pack's territory. Maybe a half-mile. Six city blocks or more.
The building is an old brick ruin, flanked on one side by a long alley, on the other side by a window factory running a single minimum wage shift, where immigrants assemble cheap vinyl replacement windows from 5 a.m. to 5 p.m. every day.
Some of the warehouses here are in use; one or two were slated for conversion to loft style apartments. Most are used by the homeless, drug dealers, pot-growers, prostitutes, junkies, criminals, and the criminally insane. There's an impromptu market in the parking lot of one of them, every Friday afternoon. Where you can buy everything from diapers that were probably manufactured out of pure lead to knock-off chanels to designer (and not-so-designer) drugs of every name and effect, to men and women of every age.
Call it capitalism.
There's no trade tonight, though. The homeless have drifted away from the neighborhood, those sober enough to still care about their own well-being. No bodies have turned up, but Imogen could hear the concern in the voice of her informant. No, the fear, raw enough to draw her attention.
---
The pack+1 hunkers down outside the old factory, in the shadow of an embankment leading toward the river. The moon's waning, hidden behind the patchy cloud cover, and the light here is imperfect but pervasive - that glow in the sky from the city's lights.
Kora sends Roman off to scout the factory; since Liz is doing this quicklike, he returns with the information they want. The broken things are too inhuman to venture outside except under cover of deepest dark. They're awake now, but distracted by prey, clattering bloodily over a corpse.
Hard to tell how many, because the number of limbs do not seem to match the number of bodies. He counted: two heads and eight extruded arms, like a spider, all fused together in a terrible amalgam. And a pack of lesser things, one-human on all fours, with peeling skin, blunt teeth terrible appetites for flesh. Three, or four maybe, one a runt.
[Erek Skulason] *Erek snuck in the back door, remained quiet whilst nomming pizza and waved... then got invited to hunt!* (invitation courtesy of kora*cough*)
[Roman Turner] He wasn't gone overly long, though he wasn't one of the ones waiting for news, so for himself it didn't seem so long. Some of what he saw was sent back to Kora and Linus on the totem link, the rest was given to all when he made it back to them. Descriptions and the layout of the building along with a head count.
[Roman Turner] dex+stealth
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Roman Turner] Per+PU
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 7, 8, 8, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Linus] The pizza is devoured in short order by the bellies of beasts used to carving off calories through the heat of expansion or the loss of blood, meat and otherwise. He remains somewhat hushed during the exchange of information throughout the collection of bodies, keeping himself insular for the moment as the air quips with introductions and measures of familiarity. His eyes go a touch distant and his regard, somewhat lacking in quality. Not entirely in other worlds but considering such.
When the call for a Hunt goes out he isn't the first to leap at the chance, instead 'hmmm'ing quietly before offering a nod. The Totemlink hums briefly with a distracted murmur that speaks of the Godi's, by now, familiar checklist of spiritual presence for this little fight. He's mentioned to Roman how the CoG's healing abilities are for emergencies only and has himself enlisted the assistance of several healing spirits, including the still bound Unicorn Jaggling that occupies the umbral expanse of the Church.
It would serve to heal those who might well sustain heavy damage, if necessary, a fact he makes sure of with a quick trip into the Shadow to speak with the spirit. Whatever payment is coming through for this effort has not been spoken of or seen by any of the Pack or Bodies that pass through this landscape and the Godi seems unwilling to talk much about it either. All the better to move onto other topics more than likely.
Hrafn is along for the ride as well, a silent figure on the outskirts of perception that haunts the umbral borders of the Church and several areas throughout the Pack's Territory. He is oddly recalcitrant about interaction maintaining a distance from speaking with others and the Godi is, likewise hush hush about his dealings there except for one small matter amongst the Packmates
"...Part of the deal with Hrafn is that any fallen the pack calls, they get the eyes. So save 'em or leave 'em intact on the bodies, or keep the heads. I'll point out some 'deposit' spots throughout the turf you can leave 'em near..."
If he expected the Modi to adhere to this principle, he didn't say as such. Nor did he deny the effort either. It was something left up to the Full Moon to decide for himself.
* * * *
When they find the structure, Roman is off to scout and report back. Linus takes a moment to safeguard and check the surrounding umbral landscape. He shakes his head in the negative to Kora on any possible trouble that could come from the otherside.
"...Nothing substantial. Some pain and murder gaffs. Couldn't cross even if they knew we were here..."
[Slaughter] Perception+Alertness
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 4, 6, 6, 7, 9, 10 Re-rolls: 1
to Kora
[Erek Skulason] *The young Get of Fenris isn't so talkative tonight. He is silent, watchful and curious, as he tags along with the Last Watch. His attention splintered between Kora (for directions) and watching their asses, since he didn't possess a link to share with them. Physical directions was all Erek had to go on. The dark colors of his clothing allow him to blend a little better to the shadows, his blond hair kept hidden under a knit cap pulled down low over his ears. He breathes in and out slowly. An eyebrow shoots up every so often at Linus as he explains about the eyes being left behind for the Hrafn*
[Kora] Roman might've been seen that time - if the monsters were not distracted by the fresh kill they dragged into the old factory. They cluster in the leeside of the massive stone pillars - the remains of some structure, the purpose of which seems long lost. The scent inside the place is sharp and bloody, shot through with piss and pain and fear enough to drown a herd of goats. The Ragabash was sharp-eyed enough to note the patchy, peeling skin of the humans on four legs, the razor sharpness of the extruded legs, the nimble way the inhuman beast uses them all. He also found the back way in; through an old shipping bay, maximum concealment behind the huge concrete pilasters.
"Alright. We've going in the way Roman found. We'll ambush; take out the little things with the first blow, as many as we can, then focus on the spider-bitch. I'm taking direwolf form, but I'm using claws unless I know for sure that the flesh and blood of those things is not poisoned. If one of you takes a bite - " a brief twist of her mouth. "Let me know. We ready?"
[Slaughter] She is dressed in dark clothing, barely worth mentioning. They're dirty now, a swipe of dirt across each knee, one torn on a sharp edge of concrete, damp with blood. She had pressed her hand there briefly, willing it to clot and still, and it had. Half the time, she catches herself holding her breath, the other half of the time, she wills herself to breathe easily, slowly. Silently.
Within the greenery, Imogen barely moves, even when she caught sight of Roman. It is only after he's gone out of sight that she lifts her weapon, aiming it on the beasts, her ears straining for every sound beyond the tearing of flesh, the gluttony of mastication and gulping. She picks one.
(breathe in, breathe out)
And for now, stops the internal monologue of blame.
And waits for the fireworks to start.
[Drawn in Blood] [LAZY-ASS POST TIME!
Snap-shift to Crinos!
-1R, activate Razor Claws!
-1WP, activate Resist Pain!
Stealth+Dexterity (+1): I don't know what we're sneaking for! +1 diff (unskilled).]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 7)
[Roman Turner] He like Kora took Hispo form when the time came to slink in and attack.
Dex+steatlh
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 5, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Erek Skulason] Dex+Stealth
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 6, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6) [WP]
[Erek Skulason] *assumes Erek is in his crinos form when making the ambush*
[Kora] They cross the weedy yard, climb up the loading dock, and slip through the blasted freight doors. There's the long shadow of the pilasters Roman described, the sharp scent of glutinous things tearing into the flesh of a dead human. They eat everything. Clothes and bones and gristle, fingers and ears, rings. The crunching remains of the bottle of cheap vodka he had been drinking, shattered in his hand.
Nothing goes to waste.
Inside the factory, Sorrow shifts to hispo.
[ -1 WP Resist Pain!
-1 Gnosis: Trollskin!]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 5, 5, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 7)
[Kora] Dex + Stealth
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 6, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 7 at target 6)
[Linus] The Godi takes several keen looks at the collection of Garou, frowning openly as they step into place around Roman's directions. A snuff of breath and then a quick glance at the Umbral skien has him cursing under his breath before the pop of bones pulls him up into Crinos, the long haft of a spear snapping into one hand. He'd take up the Rear of the group, turning the Spear's length around to settle into a throwing position.
(1 WP for Resist Pain.)
[Erek Skulason] (-1 wp for resist pain as well *cough*)
[Roman Turner] (Me too! Resist Pain y'all!)
[Kora] Thing 1: I see DIB!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 6, 8, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Kora] Thing 2: I see Roman!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 5, 5, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Kora] Thing 3: I see Erek!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 6, 7 (Botch x 2 at target 8)
[Kora] Thing 4: I see Kora!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 5, 5, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Slaughter] dex+stealth
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Drawn in Blood] [Brawl+Dexterity (+1): claw... whatever's closest! +1 pool (ambush).]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Drawn in Blood] [Don't do me any favors, Kahseeno.
Strength +4 (Crinos) +1 (claw) +1 (RAZER CLAW) +1 (suxx)]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 8, 9 (Failure at target 6)
[Drawn in Blood] [Mulligan :( ]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8)
[Roman Turner] +4 Clawing.
+3 bonus
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 8 at target 6) Re-rolls: 4
[Roman Turner] Damn
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 3, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Kora] Thing 2 is stunned.
[Slaughter] three round burst
dex+firearms+3 (3rb)+3(ambush)
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 4) Re-rolls: 1
[Slaughter] (5 successes officially on last roll was target 6 not 4 +2 dice for aiming)
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 2, 3 (Failure at target 6)
[Slaughter] Damage!
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 6, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Erek Skulason] +3 Biting +7 bonus
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 5)
[Erek Skulason] Bite Damage
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 6, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 8 at target 6)
[Kora] I SOAK U
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 7, 7, 7 (Failure at target 8)
[Kora] Thing 3: I NOT. I DED.
[Kora] Kora: Claw Thing 4 +6
Dice Rolled:[ 16 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Kora] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 3, 5, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Kora] SOAK
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Linus] (Dex 4 + ath 2. Throw spear at Runt.)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 3, 6, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Linus] (Str 6 + 1 Spear + 3 Sux)
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 9 (Failure at target 6)
[Erek Skulason] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Linus] (Mully!)
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Kora] Runt: I SO SOAK THAT!
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Kora] Tally:
Thing 1: okay.
Thing 2: stunned, cannot act next round.
Thing 3: so ded.
Thing 4: I ARE TOTALLY FINE YO.
Thing 5, aka the Runt: stunned. WHY IS EVERYONE PICKING ON ME.
Two-headed spider-monster: more snacks just walked in! Celebrate!
[Slaughter] (+9)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7
[Kora] Spider-Monster! +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1
[Roman Turner] Inti. +9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2
[Drawn in Blood] [Listen you galloping ham beast of a trollop if you don't stop messing around I'm going to tell everyone what you were up to last summer and then you won't be so cute anymore.
+7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4
[Linus] (8 +...)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Kora] The Collective Things +5
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5
[Kora] Kora: +9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6
[Erek Skulason] Dex (5) + Wits (3) = 8+ initiative.
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6
[Kora] Imogen: 16
Linus: 16
Kora: 15
Erek: 14
Roman: 11
Drawn in Blood: 11
The Thing Collective: 10
Spider-Monster: 8
[Kora] Spider-Monster:
Actions: 1. Slice Drawn in Blood! 2. Slice Erek! 3. Slice Roman! 4. Slice Kora! 5. Slice Linus! 6. EAT. Am Hungry, yo. 7. Slice Drawn in Blood! 8. Slice Erek!
Rage 1: Spin web!
[Kora] Thing 1: 1. RUN AWAY.
Thing 2: 1. loll, cannot act.
Thing 3: 1-4. be dead.
Thing 4: CHOMP IMOGEN.
Thing 5: lol. cannot act. MEANIES.
[Drawn in Blood] [1:
R1:
R2:
R3: all claws on the spider monster! Sweet Jesus!]
[Roman Turner] per+pu
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 5, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 7)
[Roman Turner] 1a Claw +4
1b Claw +4
[Erek Skulason] 1a claws on Spider thing, engaging it
1b claws on spider thing again.
[Kora] Kora: 1a. Claw spider. 1b. Grapple spider! Rage 1: Claw Spider! Rage 2: Snarl of the Predator on spider!
[Linus] Initial Action: Block for Kora.
Rage 1: Claw spider Thing
[Slaughter] Shoot thing 4
Shoot thing 4
shoot thing 4
shoot thing 4(+WP)
[Slaughter] Shoot!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 6 at target 4) Re-rolls: 1
[Slaughter] damage!
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Kora] THING 4 SOAK
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 6, 7 (Failure at target 8)
[Kora] Thing 4: stunned, cannot act.
[Slaughter] shoot 2!
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 4) Re-rolls: 2
[Slaughter] Damage
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 6, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Kora] Thing 4: x.x
[Slaughter] shoot spider!
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Slaughter] damage!
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 6, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 7, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Kora] Thing 1: stunned!
[Slaughter] Shoot!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 4, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Slaughter] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 3, 4 (Botch x 1 at target 8)
[Kora] Thing 1: stunned, eats own liver. Oops!
[Kora] Kora: 1a. Claw!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Kora] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kora] 1b. Grapple!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Erek Skulason] Claw +1, -2 dice
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 3, 6, 8 (Success x 2 at target 4)
[Erek Skulason] Damage
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 7, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Erek Skulason] Claw +2 -3 dice
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 5, 10 (Failure at target 4)
[Roman Turner] 1a Claw Spider
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 6, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 4) Re-rolls: 1
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] 1 b Claw Spider
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 4) Re-rolls: 1
[Roman Turner] Damn
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 4, 6, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Drawn in Blood] [1: WHAM! -2 diff (restrained).]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 6 at target 4)
[Drawn in Blood] [So help me god if you fuck with me Kahseeno the things I will do to you...
+5]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 8, 8, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 5, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Kora] Drawn in Blood slams into the two-headed Spider-Monster. There's a crack in the carapace. Though not yet dead, one of the legs spasms, unusable.
[Kora] Spider-Monster: 1 Slice!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Kora] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4 (Botch x 1 at target 6)
[Kora] Spider-Monster: 2. Slice Erek!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 5, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kora] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Kora] Spider-Monster 3: Slice Roman!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kora] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 7, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Erek Skulason] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Kora] Spider-Monster 4: Slice Kora!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 6, 8, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Linus] (Block! Dex 4 + Brawl 1.)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]
[Kora] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Kora] Slice Linus!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Kora] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Kora] 6. EAT. ?
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8)
[Kora] (Heals 2 Agg)
[Kora] Slice Drawn in Blood!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Kora] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Drawn in Blood] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Kora] Last LEG: BROKEN.
[Linus] (Dex + Brawl. Claw Spider.)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Linus] (Strength 6 + 1 Claw)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 6, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Kora] Kora: rage 1 Claw!
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Kora] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 5, 7, 7, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Kora] Rage 2: Snarl of the Predator
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Drawn in Blood] [R1: WHAM!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Drawn in Blood] [Damn]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 5, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Drawn in Blood] [R2: wham]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Drawn in Blood] [Damn]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 6, 6, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 5, 7, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Drawn in Blood] [R3: wham]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Drawn in Blood] [Damn]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 6, 8, 8, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kora] RAGE BACK YO!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4 (Failure at target 8) [WP]
[Kora] Tally:
I did not keep track of y'alls damage.
Thing 1: 5 Agg, stunned.
Thing 2: 6 Agg, not stunned, but -5 dice means no actions.
Thing 3: be dead.
Thing 4: Imogen killeded me.
Thing 5: AKA THE RUNT. 2 Agg, no longer stunned.
Spider-Monster: so very dead.
[Kora] The whole battle is impossible to transcribe. It happens in a nanosecond. The Garou shake free of the small herd of quadripedal once-humans fighting over the entrails of a dead man - some dead, others still living, bloodymouthed, shaking with need - and launch themselves as the massive, disjointed thing. Two human torsos joined awkwardly at the sternum. Two human heads, one looking forward, the other aft, both so misshapen and pockmarked and blistered by the unmaker that they only gesture at human. There are eyes, lumpen, a ruin of a nose, flesh peeled back from bone for the mouth.
The thing skitters about on sharp, narrow legs, nearly delicate but razor sharp. It moves them almost as one, lashing out with each of them in a sort of whirling dervish of an attack that is enough to shake the Skald holding it free, send her sliding over the slice carapace to the dirt-strewn ground. Imogen levels her weapon, fires at the misshapen human - one of those who escaped the ambush - running right for her, and destroys it before it comes close to tasting her blood, then stops the second, that was running away.
The Garou coalesce on the spider, surrounding it, tear at its chitinous skin with their claws. The thing survives the first concerted assault, then its razor-sharp legs fly out all around, slashing at them. Linus deflects the blow aimed at his sister, enough to lessen it - she emerges, unscathed.
Mid-fight, almost delicate, the thing spears some morsel of organ meat from the cracked chest cavity of its victim. A glistening lobe of lobe skewered with a cracked rib. Devours it, and some of the wounds leaking black blood close.
Linus, Sorrow, Drawn-in-Blood renew their attacks, raging, while the monster begins to extrude a think, rope-like substance that smells sharply of formaldehyde and Elmer's glue from its rear; the modi takes it down, and the thing staggers backwards, collapses on the gleaming ropes of its own webs, a flailing death rattle from which it cannot recover.
--
They hunt the rest down. Tear off the heads without mercy in another span of heartbeats. Even Then it's over. Six corpses - and a fucking two-headed exoskeleton. Even touching the flesh of the Things leaves their fingers burning, as if they'd bathed in pepper spray - but the impact fades with time, as whatever fueled the wrongness leaves the empty corpses.
[Drawn in Blood] [Thanks again Liz!]
Those who were born into this world, or at least been a part of it long enough to prescribe to a general notion of The Way Things Are and to even make strides towards accepting them, don't so much make attempts at normalcy as they do simply appreciate quiet when it comes. Then there are those who would fight the war twenty-four hours a day, every day of the week, if it were physically possible.
The man coming up the sidewalk tonight does not do so roaring on an obnoxiously loud motorcycle in the dead of winter, or shouting obscenities meant to vex the people inside. He isn't even noticeable until he mounts the front steps and knocks on the door; by Midwestern standards, tonight is a terribly warm night. Above freezing, water is dripping from gutters and the snow piled up on the sidewalks have turned to slush. The streets are running with melted ice, and the man's footsteps patter as he steps on the concrete.
He's tall, though not obscenely so compared to some of his auspicemates. Were one to look at him and be incapable of scenting his breeding, the initial thought most Kinfolk have is that he cannot be anything other than one of Fenris's. His eyes are blue, the structure of his face is strong and sharp; he does not appear as though he smiles frequently, if ever. Pride is written into the cut of his shoulders, how he appears as though he would meet another warrior's eyes were it not socially unacceptable.
Should Linus meet him on the sidewalk or after the door has been knocked upon and opened, that is what he is greeted with: a tall, lightly-complected stranger, dressed in heavy boots and heavy jeans and a heavy zip-up sweatshirt with ghosts of blood stains on the sleeve and throat, no jacket or hat or gloves.
He's silent.
In lieu of a verbal greeting, he hands him a receipt from a North Side cafe, the back of the paper presented first. There have been scratched glyphs that are as near to fluent as one can get using pencil; on the front, on the blank space underneath the itemized order and total, there is the name of Linus's sister and Alpha, and the address they're standing at.
[Linus] "Well...straight forward and to the point. Much preferred all things considered..."
It's his reaction to the piece of paper that the young Modi presents. Even if the Rage and Breeding hadn't given Linus a clue (intelligence and discerning as the Godi is), there would still be the faded stains (War body), the Lack of Proper winter garb (Berzerker Warmth) and the sort of regard you only ever got sizing people up for body bags (Murder Comfort).
Linus, for his part, is a different story. He carries himself, displays himself and puts out an honesty that is less forthright and unbending than the Forseti and more reflexive and effortless than a Rotagar. The Dark circles beneath chestnut eyes are indicative of a weariness, more common than suspect, while the lines in youthful features telltales of sights, sounds and sensations experienced that can't be found in mortal worlds and realms.
His is a life of two sides, from the strange singe marks on the hems and threaded lines of his cargo pants, sneaker shoelaces and black half-jacket to the slim and wire of a shape that splits it's diet between Spiritual sustenance (Gnostic regen.) and Take-out equally. A meal a day in the physical with an umbral snack.
Lean and Hungry.
He answers the door with a grunt, pulling one side of the thick double oaks, never meant to be treated like normal doorways, but more as portals to be left open for mass and closed for every other time. It is not so much a struggle as it is a feat, oddly suggestive of the Last Watch's policies and choices. The Door opens only if you're serious about entering. Serious about taking part.
Hidden meanings in everything.
"...C'mon in."
He motions with a nod of his head, pulling back and leaving the door open for the Modi to step through, turning on a heel to proceed deeper into the church. The interior is a hallmark of 'Construction in progress' and something of the old standards of Human Faith. The Altar up front is empty, the crucified representation of mortal faith having been removed and requisitioned elsewhere. It hollows out the Christian standing and yet seems to leave behind that fortitude, that lends the Church it's hallowedness.
The pews are all there, wood and stone combined into subtle, discomforting things, while bundles of clothes and blankets and makeshift pillows scatter around them, telling tales of their current use as beds and shelving space. A small collection of couches exists off to one side of the Altar itself, coupled with the folding tables one might see at a Church Fundraiser or Bake sale. A distant door on the Dais' other side, is darkened and no doubt leads into the Church's guts.
The smell of pizza fills the church, coupled with the older scents of other take out types. Greek, hints of Pasta, whiffs of Chinese. Pungent aromas, that linger. Droplets of water into buckets stationed around the Pews, where the snow and melting ice on the roof, riddled with large holes that have been covered by common blue tarps meant to keep out the worst of it, falls through with uncommon consistency. The buckets are half full, most of them, and the large puddle in the garden bed outside the front steps tells tales of their emptying.
"What brings you to Chicago exactly?" If the Godi sounds a little sardonic, even suggestive of disbelief, it's because he is. Most of the Tribe would know about Truth~in~Frenzy and Silence. Of the Eagles and the nearby Caern only blocks distant. They'd also know something of the fall from grace the Tribe had suffered here not too long ago.
[Drawn in Blood] Even after Linus speaks, there is no answering quip, no apology for his abruptness, nothing verbal at all. He does lift his heavy eyebrows, the amusement on his face a fleeting and watered down affect, and that may very well be the only indication that he is not, in fact, deaf. That has been a point of inquiry recently, a question that has had to be asked to determine just how much difficulty one is going to have communicating with him in the future.
He can hear. He can hear fairly well, is aware of the single squawk of a siren in the distance, of the melting water sluicing over the roof, of music thumping from a sound system in a souped-up vehicle somewhere in the distance, yet for whatever reason, he does not speak.
Linus invites him in, and the Modi glances at the doorway before he takes him up on the offer. The glance starts from one crook of the doorway, tracing its way around the perimeter of the frame until he comes to whatever wordless conclusion he has drawn, and then he nods, once. It's a strangely solemn gesture, considering, and while he doesn't speak, the expression on his face gives the nod a greater semblance of purpose.
Thank you.
A moment is taken to scrape salt and sludge off the soles of his boots before he steps into the sanctuary, and once inside, the Modi gives another curious look around. Nostrils flare with the scents lingering in the air, between the stratosphere of culinary ghosts and the ongoing construction, sweat and substance. His olfactory system, in this form, is imperfect. Only the most obvious smells come to him.
It's no matter.
The dweller of two worlds wants to know what brings him here. What on earth is he doing here. He is the descendent of great warriors, and in this world they're living in, the climate they find themselves inheriting, the strength of his blood alone is something of a rarity. Less of them are being born this way. That isn't what he says, but the implication is clear: with everything the rest of the Nation knows about this place, why the hell is he here?
Unlike a nervous young warrior with something to prove, the Modi does not fidget or flinch before answering a question from a stranger in this new city. He has no reason to, that anyone can tell at a first glance. Stepping into the Godi's space, he points to the back of the ticket, where the glyphs live. They were not written so long ago that they've started to fade. The transaction only occurred yesterday.
Drawn in Blood
Cliath Modi
Pack gone
That's not an explanation to one who finds purpose in riddles. It could be enough; it could just be a starting point.
[Linus] Linus is honest. It isn't so much obvious as a statement of fact. Lying is a game and Fenrir rarely play. With tribe, it's honesty, rooted or otherwise. When the Modi steps into his space, Linus receives it sideways. Not directly (challenge) or even indirectly (distraction), but as a question (riddle man). The Modi points at the ticket and Linus lifts it to shake between them (refusal of full contact) like it was the answer for both unasked questions.
His was Isn't that enough?
Linus' was Should it be, Brother?
The Godi meets his eyes, dark circles like clockwork enigmatic. He's kept up many hours, the kind of exhaustion that comes without a set sleep schedule. A soldier's designs, catching a few hours every so often without any real chance for the body to regulate. Selling parts and pieces of himself and his services. Draining the body and re-charging again with whatever was handy (Take out and Meditation).
"Bone~Writer. Cliath. Godi in service to Hermodr-" Pronounced with an accent. Like it had been practiced a thousand times, that name. That spirit "-and the Last Watch. Kora's the Jarl here, but you know that already. You'll be wanting to talk to her about the specifics and details of how the Tribe works here, now-" As in what came before no longer applies "-but in the meantime, you should understand a couple of things..."
The Godi steps away from him, without any real sense of...consideration. Wolves meeting usually put themselves in positions and standing. Alphas, betas, omegas. It's a reflex. An instinct and yet...the Godi is not so much immune, as he is outside of it. The Other world is a demanding part of things and it is recognizable in the way he seems to carry himself on his way to the tables and the couches, where a couple of pizza boxes sit, closed and yet pungent with the aromas of meat and more meat. He doesn't seem to care-...No. He doesn't seem to mind the Modi's Rage. Breeding. Recognized place in the Tribe as Leadership.
He has his duty. So does the Modi. So does Kora and that was Jarl. That was for the two of them to hash out. That didn't mean he didn't have something to say.
"This place is fucked. Not fucked as in history, but fucked as it, not normal. They've set up some of their own laws. Own decrees and...some would call it heresy. Others would call it unorthodox. They seem to think it's ok. We...?" The Tribe "...Well, the Tribe's important here. Whether you know the history or not." Nodding, leaning against one of the tables, flipping open a pizza box to showcase a steaming meat drenched pizza, with a slice missing.
"...You coming here says a lot of things your ticket doesn't." He flaps it again, against his thigh. "...Also tells me nothing about your intentions. Which I'm curious about but..." His eyes go into the pizza box, to pick out a slice. "Silence~Rhya's not here anymore. Neither's Truth~rhya. Eagles are dead. So if you've got some idea in your head about that, dish it quick and start asking questions."
He shoves the box a little ways down the table. Away from him. Toward the Modi. An offer.
[Drawn in Blood] To take in that the young Modi does not speak, and to extrapolate from that that he has nothing to say, would be careless. One would say it would be unbefitting of their tribe, or of Bone-Writer's auspice, to assume that because for whatever reason he is not using spoken word to communicate that there isn't a thought inside of his skull, that there isn't a purpose beating beneath his breastbone, that he is content to coast through life allowing others to assume his intentions or to speak for him.
Linus had not been present yesterday when, even with the towering presence of his auspice leader making impossible demands of him, the Modi had refused to ask his tribeswoman for help. He did not ask her to speak for him, to explain who the hell he is and what he was doing in Lukas's protectorate. He'd looked around for something to write on himself, and the Rotagar had grown frustrated with the silence and the Shadow Lord's mounting irritation and had thrust paper and pencil at him.
Looking at Drawn in Blood, one could readily suspect he comes from a place where the way of life entails hard manual labor and being out of doors for the majority of the day. Even beneath his clothing, his physique can be made out. He's strong, even if he is not a hulking feat of masculinity, and he has hands that appear capable of greater tasks than pulverizing humans in bar fights or punching Bone Gnawers in the throat because they call him by a nickname he does not like. The intelligence in his eyes is not stamped out by his Rage, and he does not struggle with the latter; he is not slavering or champing at the bit for something to destroy.
The moon is darkening, though. He has not been tested recently. All of them, even the most mellow of No Moons, has the potential for mindless depravity, senseless violence. They are all of them inhuman, whether or not they have accepted it. Not being human does not equate to being a monster, yet the line is thin enough to be overlooked.
That's neither here nor there. Despite his silence, despite the intensity of his Rage, he seems resolute. Bone-Writer introduces himself, asks a question, explains his interpretation of the events in the city, and the Modi stands still and attentive, listening with some degree of detachment, nodding in places, frowning in others.
When he's told to dish it quick and start asking questions, he gives no impression that that is impossible, or even difficult. There's a beat to pause, to consider, and then he glances towards the ceiling as though searching his brain for inspiration.
Having found it, the Modi points to the ticket. He has to believe that given how little is written on it, when he draws a line across his throat--unscarred, for what it's worth--and grimaces, it can only apply to the third line. His pack isn't just gone; they're dead.
Another pause, and he draws a mirrored set of lines in the air with his index fingers. It vaguely resembles a typical house. He mouths Home, his expression questioning, searching to see if the Godi understands what he's trying to intimate. Home, he mouths again, without the illustration this time, and shakes his head. That's gone, too.
As for why he's here: he realizes that such an abstract, intrinsic explanation is not going to be clarified using vague gestures and body language. He falters for a moment, visibly mulling over his response, and pauses to draw a breath.
[Linus] The Line across his throat-
"Yeah I heard you the first time." Linus hadn't assumed. A long wolf in a city claiming to have a pack that was Gone. It wasn't hard to extrapolate.
The indication of a Home.
The Godi nods. Apparently whatever further explanation the Modi was searching for was unnecessary. Pack Dead. Searching for a Home. Chicago was...a good place for that. A fucked up place, but a Good place nonetheless. Linus motions at the pizza on the table and finally slaps the ticket down next to it, as if the entire moment had been closed.
The Godi is used to conversing with things that speak with the crackle of fires. The rush of water. The bubble of oil. The click of the mechanical. The english language is hardly something he deems necessary for communication. The abstract of the Modi's thoughts and explanation, simple as they may be, difficult to deliver, are understood.
That doesn't make Linus' words any less relevant however.
"You're here for a good reason. Lots of Wyrm to fight. Shit load, actually and we're low on competence. Tribe's taken a huge hit in this area, like I said. Like you probably know or if you didn't, you do now. We could use an arm and a leg and a pair of jaws that know War by birth and if you're Modi, then that's you." Certainty. Nothing of question or even suggestion. Modi was War. Like a translation.
"...We're three strong. Myself, Kora and a strong CoG No Moon, Roman. Good kid. Great Ragabash." A pause, brows furrowing together, taking a bite out of the slice of pizza and munching absently.
"Take a slice." Hospitality. Lone Wolf invited to dine. Brother to the Tribe. Linus continues to munch, watching the creature, all Scrutiny and consideration.
"Kora's policy's pretty simple. This turf is open to the Tribe. Come and go and she's always got an ear for any of Fenris. She'll tell you that again, but it's important you take that seriously. Too many idiots from other tribes and one or two of our own, thinking they can make it on their own out here."
[Kora] "That's the truth."
The small door set into the stone wall by the chancel opens. It's dark back there, but warm enough that the pack can walk the halls without needing full winter gear. The same isn't true out there, there a wintry chill pervades the vast stone hall except for the small living space - beneath the choir loft - scattered with couches, chairs, those folding tables. There's enough correspondences between Linus and Kora - something about the line of their noses, the set of the eyes beneath the brow - that kinship can be read plainly between them. They are nearly of a height, close enough that the different disappears with distance, appears only when her path through the chill sanctuary - quickstepping, here - through the ruins, the chancel, across the alter - closer to the tribe: stranger and brother.
Which is to say: she's a tall creature, with pale blond hair that haloes her features in the uncertain light of the interior, pale northern skin and quick blue eyes, darker than the shadows around them, that fix on Drawn in Blood and remain there, steady. Narrow shoulders are set straight and level, and her long limbs move in a steady sweep. The power of her body rests in the promise of movement; long legs, long arms, long-fingered hands, thumbs hooked into the belt loops of her dark jeans, new enough that there are no bloodstains; that blood has not yet worked its way into the seems, become a fixture as much as the thread used to stitch them.
New because she's pregnant, the firm swell of her stomach evident beneath simple clothes - a gray t-shirt, boatnecked, over a white thermal, long-sleeved, the cuffs pushed far enough up her forearms to reveal the bracelets at her wrists, a half-dozen on either wrist, all leather or tatted fiber, fishing line, netting, rope. Suede. Skin flayed from her enemies, tanned and cured. The frayed end of a rope worked braided in a quiet hour.
"I'm Kora," she tells Drawn in Blood, a dark flicker of a look, up and down. "Eyjólfsdóttir to my kin. She Who Offers Sorrow, Renders Bone to the Nation, fostern Skald. Fostered in Hjaltland at the Sept of Wind and Rain. Ran under Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya until he died. It's good to meet you." A pause, a ghostly twist of her generous mouth. Like a memory. "Been a while since we had a Modi in town."
[Drawn in Blood] [GOING TO WORK BACK IN LIKE AN HOUR]
[Linus] Doesn't speak. Mute, but no throat scars. Possible Metis. Dead pack. Lone Wolf fresh to town.
The totemlink flares to life with statistics and analysis from the Godi, a twang of curiosity evident.
to Kora
[Drew Roscoe] The rumble of a Dodge Ram will one day become a familiar thing, easy to recognize as the diesel engine works the dark cherry vehicle up to the curb along the side of the church-- flanking its stone walls rather than halting directly in front of the double doors that open into the sanctuary. The engine cuts, dies easily and without struggle as opposed to how the old green clunker she'd affectionately named Thelonious would groan and wheeze and protest and creak even after the engine had been cut for over a minute.
Drew hopped down out of the driver's side door, hauling a large laundry sack out with her-- easily half her height in size. It was tossed over her shoulder as her sneakers hit the ground, the truck was locked with the press of a button, and the keys were stuffed into the pockets of her coat, left undone as she had no intent to stay outdoors for more than a minute or two.
She would hop up the front steps easy enough, even with the excess weight of the laundry bag at her shoulder. Her steps had always been light and easy. She'd been called a sprite recently, and while it wasn't wholey accurate it wasn't a far shot either, and easy to see how that would pose as a prominent first impression. She was petite, and while she didn't glide when she walked like some well trained ballet dancer she managed with a certain grace and strength-- nothing compared to her True-Born cousins but more than the average foot-stomping march that people spending their lives browbeaten into the rhythm of the city had to offer.
Knuckles would rap thrice on the door before she invited herself in-- it was more of an announcement that she'd arrived than a request for entry. The Kinfolk would step inside and shut the door behind herself, nudging it with her foot before making a beeline to the nearest pew and depositing of the laundry bag on its bench, followed up by stripping off the winter jacket and laying it across the back of the same bench as well. The girl wore a light purple sweater, fuzzy and comfortable with an open collar so she didn't feel she was being strangled by a turtleneck or crew cut. Matched with jeans it was simple rather than attention-grabbing.
As she did this-- dropping off the laundry sack and shrugging out of her coat, she spoke, eyes having pegged the trio of Fenrir that was a duo just moments before she arrived herself. She's smiling, of course. "Hey." And she's leaning against the bench rather than striding over like she's been a part of this crew for as long as it's been together-- while she may have been here claiming Chicago as her home before any of the three she'd been gone, and things had snapped and shifted and changed drastically in that time.
She would linger, loiter, and give them the chance to dish through introductions before piping up beyond the initial greeting. Her eyes lingered a few moments longer on Drawn in Blood, the side of his face, and she appeared satisfied to see him here. Good, he listened to Lukas and came a'knocking.
[Kora] We could use a Modi. She returns; it's more than idle. It feels wrong to follow a Fenrir totem without a Modi by your side. There's a brief spark of her gaze against Linus' features then. More than idle: she knows as well as he does that soon enough she'll be entirely sidelined. The babe quickened a moon ago, but now it moves more. Enough that others can feel it through her skin.
to Linus
[Linus] We could use a lot of things. It wasn't disagreement. The thread of her thoughts are an obvious fact and one the Godi's been anticipating for some time. A modi. A good modi could see to any war needs for the pack while Kora's position and station made ensuring the Jarlhood could remain strong.
Want to try him out? He sounds as if he has something in mind. Or at least, knows something nearby.
to Kora
[Drawn in Blood] A combination of having very little innate ability nor convincing motive to attempt to lie and possessing a face that is by design open leaves little room for debate as to what it is he's thinking. Thus far he has appeared content to withhold knee-jerk response to anything Bone-Writer has told him, has stood placid and listening to what it is the Godi has had to say. When he informs him, bluntly but not with any discernible malice, that he already heard what it is Drawn in Blood had to say about his pack's fate, the Modi snorts--the sound is unvoiced, air passing through his throat having nothing to do with his vocal cords, if he has any--and flicks his eyebrows, the effect dry.
As the Godi comes to the conclusion of his introduction to life within the tribe in Chicago, a doorway to another part of the church opens. Without startling or flinching, the Modi turns his head to look in the direction of the aforementioned Alpha of the Last Watch. He had been in the process of eating a slice of pizza after the second offer; he abandons the effort promptly and wipes grease from his fingertips. It's entirely possible he was not expecting a small, pregnant female to walk out to greet him; perhaps a female, given the name. If there is anything about her baffling or in opposition to what it was that he was expecting, the blue-eyed young man has the sense not to advertise this truism on his face.
For his part, were he wearing plaid or chewing tobacco, that is likely the only thing that could make more abundantly clear the fact that the Modi comes from a part of the world where life is as far from the city as one can come without dwelling in the deepest reaches of the forest. His skin is not simply tan but weathered, and though he cannot be far out of his twenties if one is measuring life in human years, his appearance is decidedly rugged. 'Grizzled' might be a better word, for his face not having seen a razor in some time. His brown hair is kept short, and he stands still and watchful as the Skald comes closer.
She looks him over, finds him to be fit and whole and healthy. When she introduces herself, he gives a silent nod. His possession of the action shooes aside the idea that he is lazy, or believes himself above physically answering a Fostern of the tribe. When Kora tells him it's been a while since there has been a Modi in town, he looks over to Bone-Writer. It's a fleeting thing, but it allows him to see that Drew has joined them.
The brief smile he gives looks more like a tic than anything else. Back to the matter at hand, he appears briefly uncertain as to how to respond. What he comes up with is an open-armed not-quite-a shrug, as if to say Well, here I am, yet there is no cockiness in it, no bravado, no sense that he believes himself to be the answer to any prayers or hopes that the Fenrir of Chicago might have had. He's here, and by all appearances he is ready to work.
Lowering his hands, he lets them rest at his sides without fumbling for a place to put them.
[Linus] ...the Modi's flickering nod and Kora's entrance are received with the same semblance of calm that he's been so far this night. The tiredness is there (endured, obvious, dismissed) as is the vague sense of distraction that normally shrouds his auspice, but beyond that he seems intent on the pizza slice in his hand steadily being devoured.
He had said his piece to Drawn~in~Blood and as much as he was willing to offer beyond letting Kora deal with opinions and facts. She had her own way of doing these sorts of situations and despite his opinion on some of the facts, the obvious level of respect for her station, place and the blood ties that bound them is obvious.
"Brought some pizza in."
A mention to Kora. Two boxes on the tables, one is full of pizza, another thick with several of the ingredients he'd found she (and the kid) were craving over the last couple of months. Drew is given the same flitting glance that indicates a help yourself and a brief nod that is exacting as much as it is, dismissive. Linus' opinions on the Kin of the Tribe (or any tribe for that matter) seemed to be made of brief and terse sorts of deals; Stay out of the Way, Do what you need to and Make nice when necessary.
Part of that was Fenrir training. Part of it was the cocky young shit of a twenty something year old. Most of it was the Godi, with his head, eyes and concerns in other worlds.
[Kora] "Deep fried cheese sticks?" - Kora queries Linus, casting a glance in his direction as he mentions the pizza he brought in. She circles the tables, not touching the food yet. Instead, she sinks to her haunches beside the table, touches the top of the cooler for a second. A quick - "You want a beer?" Tossed to all and sundry, Drew included. If anyone requests one, she'll drag them out of the slurry of ice and water, set them free on the table above, gleaming with moisture.
That wasn't her objective, though. Instead, she has her index finger hooked over the loops of a dull brown corduroy messenger bag. "Thomas hated that I wrote shit down," she says, a glance tossed to Linus briefly. "My old packmate," she explains to both Garou. "That's how I learned the runes, though. Repetition, like everything else." After digging through the contents, she pulls out a mostly unused notebook, black and white cover, clothbound - a composition book - and follows it with a Bic, setting them on the table beside the pizza. Oh, she pages through the front before she gives them up - only a few pages have been covered, those with a thick set of closely worked runes - the angular lines of the old norse Alphabet. "You're welcome to use that if you need to." she tells the Modi, standing with a certain ease. He has three, maybe four inches on her - no more than that - but the look she gives him is easy, level.
"Our territory's open to the tribe. The Caern's just north of here. Maelstom's the totem, and he demands a sacrifice from those who pledge to him. Something of worth. We'll take you bye, introduce you to the guardians if you've yet to visit it. The city's at war, and has been since before the Caern was raised. There's a Hive in the north, and a fair share of Fenrir dead among the graves.
"We buried a Godi last moon.
"Some Fianna kin run a boarding house, but you're welcome here, too. We've got space enough - and there's always food of some sort." A half-hooked smile, there. "This territory was held by the Eagle's before us. It's been in Fenrir hands since the Caern was raised, I am aim to ensure that it stays that way."
[Drew Roscoe] Introductions, formalities, they appeared to intermingle with invitations to food and beer. Drew decided that the glances in her direction were close enough to an invitation to come join, and so she did. The sleeves on her soft lilac colored sweater were folded back twice and pushed up to her elbows following that-- the folds ensured they wouldn't slide down every few minutes. This she figured out when she wore her long sleeved shirts to waitress in the wintertime, no one likes a messy sleeve cuff on the person bringing them food, after all.
As she approached, she had her head tipped back, chin aimed up, eyes on the ceiling. She noted the gaps here and there, places in need of repair. Made a tally and a materials log in her head, and slowed her steps to a crawl in doing so. Better to idle slowly than stumble over an errant pillow or prayer bench. Attention hopped back down to the three werewolves, though, and she got close enough to draw up a seat across the table from Kora, between Godi and Modi and staring a pregnant Skald in the face.
Thomas is mentioned, he hated the habit of writing Kora had apparently. Something sad and momentary shadows the Kin's face before passing along. Instead of dwelling, she smiles pleasantly and accepts the offer for beer, but leaves the pizza alone for now. "Good to see you made it, Stranger," she offers to Drawn in Blood before looking back to Kora and hiking a thumb over her shoulder. "Donations for the 'my clothes are all bloody and beyond repair' fund."
[Roman Turner] He had the habit of coming in the back way; seldom through the front door. This time as he slipped through the door he smelt fried food and picked up the sound of a voice that wasn't familiar. One of the drawbacks of being the lone Coggie in a Fenrir pack was, well he was the lone Coggie and Fenrir tended to be a bit like a cross between a Mule and a Badger, stubborn and cranky ass.
So he sucked in a breath and slipped towards the sound of voices to take a peek before diving in head first.
[Drawn in Blood] It's hard to tell which is more of a relief: the beer, or the composition book. He accepts the former with a nod of his head, finally deigning to sit down at the table across from Bone-Writer. Though he possesses a degree of dexterity that staves off the idea that he is a lumbering lug, he sits down somewhat awkwardly, as though he is used to taking his meals standing up or hunkering over a fire. The beer is taken with another nod of gratitude, and he drinks deeply.
Outside it's frigid but not inhospitable, yet he has been walking for a long time if the condition of his boots, well cared-for yet splattered and stained all the same. His thirst seems sated once he's drained a third of the bottle. He does not have to watch Kora's lips to get the gist of what she's saying; even facing away from her, he is not deaf. By the time he looks back, she has explained that her old packmate hated her writing shit down. He sets down the beer as Drew comes to sit between him and the Godi, briefly glancing over at the petite female, and reaches out to take the notebook with more than a hint of reverence.
That reverence isn't explained, and he doesn't immediately scribble any thanks onto its pages. He bows his head, eyes lowering for a moment, and then slides the pen closer.
After she's spoken, and only after she's indicated that she's finished, does the Modi pick up the pen in his left hand. It's as awkward as his attempt to gracefully sit down; he holds it like a weapon at first, in a lightly clenched fist, before adjusting his grip so that it becomes an instrument.
I want to stay with Tribe.
This, she can read likely from where she sits without him turning it around; he writes large, his penmanship sloppy yet legible. A glance around the interior of the church precedes his continuation.
Im good in fight. Can do more than fight. Also good with buildings. Fixing things. I help fix if you want it.
Want to help Tribe if I stay with Tribe.
[Kora] "I was gonna say - " Kora says to Drew as she offers an explanation of the big bag o' laundry, her generous mouth curving into a easy half-smile. "Trent takes care of my clothes for me, and Linus likes smelling like a rotting foot, and I'm pretty sure Roman has a special ritual he uses to starch his wranglers."
A glance back toward the half-opened door, for Roman.
"But, donations to the my clothes are more blood than cotton fund are always welcome.
"Drawn in Blood, this is Drew. Drew, Drawn in Blood's a Modi, new to town. There's pizza, but no cheese sticks," a reproachful glance at Linus for this failing. That's what happens when you entrust earthly matters to a Godi.
She's drinking something out of a bottle, Kora is. It's not beer. But she holds it like beer, tips it back to lean over the paper and -
I want to stay with Tribe.
New house guest. she shares over the spiritual connection with the pack. The thought is instant; her expression changes too. It doesn't soften so much as sharp, like a blade drawn over a whetstone, a certain pride underneath her skin, a certain sense of concordance. Drawn in Blood. Cliath modi. The last is for Roman, a repetition like a chorus in an old song.
"When I first came to Chicago, Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya was the Jarl. He invited me to stay with him, and I did until he died in battle. You're welcome here. And - " a flick of her glance upward, the holes in the ceiling. "There's plenty to fix. Roman's been working on this side, Linus the other.
"And there's plenty of Wyrm, too. You interested in a hunt?"
[Roman Turner] He slipped through the doorway. Hat clutched against the chest of his coat and a nod for each.
"Howdy Miss Drew."
And yes, he checked out the new house guest. His own blue-gray eyes were a shade of faded denim. Chestnut hair showed it was more accustomed to being covered by a hat from the shape of it. And as Kora mentioned, his jeans were dark blue and so stiffly pressed it looked like he used a box of starch and a heavy duty press iron on them daily.
"Drawn in Blood."
He nodded next.
"Ya got an everyday name to go with that in public?"
[Drew Roscoe] "Hey Roman, is Drew's response. She's helping herself to a beer, tipping the mouth of it toward Kora in a gesture of thanks, and leaning back more comfortably in her chair to take a drink.
Kora introduces her formally to Drawn in Blood, and Drew's nodding, finishing another swig from the beer bottle and holding her wrist to her mouth for a second before talking. "Met him just the other night, actually. Gave him a ride on out to where he needed to go. I know how hard a taxi can be for you guys not only to get, but to suffer." She shrugged one shoulder and grinned a bit, and glanced at the pizza contemplatively before deciding to accept-- what's beer without some kind of food to go with it, right? She snags a slice and nods to Roman when he comes in, smiling cheerily. It was easy to forgive and forget the wranglers now that she was more accustomed to them. "Hey Roman."
As for being interested in a hunt, Drew's eyes hop to the Modi, the Godi, then up toward the ceiling, once more examining patches that could use work.
[Roman Turner] He was unwrapping. Off came the scarf from Christmas. Off went the sheepskin lined coat. Beneath was a denim shirt that had been buttoned all the way up, allowing just a faint couple of fingers worth of discolored, mottled flesh showing on his neck. Burn scar tissue was never a pretty thing, so he did his best to keep it covered.
"Always up for a hunt Miss Kora."
[Drawn in Blood] Does he have an every day name.
The Modi finds a clean portion of paper somewhere further down on the page, rather than flipping to the back or starting over on a fresh one, and his response comes with the same economy of language and awkwardness of technique that had been seen in his response to the Skald.
John.
He doesn't smile or nod his agreement to the mention of the difficulties of a taxi, yet when Drew grins the thought crosses his mind. Nothing comes of it, and when he's asked if he's interested in a hunt, the answer isn't exactly offered with the enthusiasm of a puppy who has heard its leash removed from the closet, yet he nods quickly and somewhat brightly all the same.
Another long tug off of his beer, and he takes a moment to eat the slice of pizza he has been inadvertently ignoring for the last several minutes.
[Roman Turner] He waited for the response and it took a moment for him to figure out the guy wasn't just doodling. Leaning in to read his response was.
"John? Ok, I can remember that. Ya can't talk?"
Yeah duh, sometimes he stated the obvious.
[Drawn in Blood] That gets a flash of a smile from the Modi. He doesn't appear to be completely humorless, or as though he's simply looking for a reason to get worked up or into a fight. Roman asks if he can't talk, and while it's fairly obvious, it's a valid enough question. There have been Garou within Maelstrom's borders who have taken vows of silence before, against their will or voluntarily; he could just be choosing not to, yet the Child of Gaia asks, and after swallowing a bite of food, he shakes his head No. The expression on his face makes it into a Nope, as though he'd accepted this such a long time ago he has reached a point of nonchalance about it.
[Kora] There's time to finish the pizza; to hang out with Drew and finish the beer. Or root beer, in the Skald's case, which flushes sweet through her senses. She eats a slice of pizza, considers a second, and nixes the idea, reminding herself of the old eating/swimming rule. It must apply to hunting, too.
---
Near midnight, a cold night but not frigid. The temperature's fallen back down below freezing, and all that runoff has started to refreeze.
They walk, a loose group down the salt-stained sidewalks, cutting through familiar alleyways, old workyards, underneath the ruins of an old trestle bridge near the river. Soon enough the familiar territory - the few hard-won, hard-fought blocks earned in the blood of both the living the dead disappear behind them. Their target is a solid third of a mile or more outside the pack's territory. Maybe a half-mile. Six city blocks or more.
The building is an old brick ruin, flanked on one side by a long alley, on the other side by a window factory running a single minimum wage shift, where immigrants assemble cheap vinyl replacement windows from 5 a.m. to 5 p.m. every day.
Some of the warehouses here are in use; one or two were slated for conversion to loft style apartments. Most are used by the homeless, drug dealers, pot-growers, prostitutes, junkies, criminals, and the criminally insane. There's an impromptu market in the parking lot of one of them, every Friday afternoon. Where you can buy everything from diapers that were probably manufactured out of pure lead to knock-off chanels to designer (and not-so-designer) drugs of every name and effect, to men and women of every age.
Call it capitalism.
There's no trade tonight, though. The homeless have drifted away from the neighborhood, those sober enough to still care about their own well-being. No bodies have turned up, but Imogen could hear the concern in the voice of her informant. No, the fear, raw enough to draw her attention.
---
The pack+1 hunkers down outside the old factory, in the shadow of an embankment leading toward the river. The moon's waning, hidden behind the patchy cloud cover, and the light here is imperfect but pervasive - that glow in the sky from the city's lights.
Kora sends Roman off to scout the factory; since Liz is doing this quicklike, he returns with the information they want. The broken things are too inhuman to venture outside except under cover of deepest dark. They're awake now, but distracted by prey, clattering bloodily over a corpse.
Hard to tell how many, because the number of limbs do not seem to match the number of bodies. He counted: two heads and eight extruded arms, like a spider, all fused together in a terrible amalgam. And a pack of lesser things, one-human on all fours, with peeling skin, blunt teeth terrible appetites for flesh. Three, or four maybe, one a runt.
[Erek Skulason] *Erek snuck in the back door, remained quiet whilst nomming pizza and waved... then got invited to hunt!* (invitation courtesy of kora*cough*)
[Roman Turner] He wasn't gone overly long, though he wasn't one of the ones waiting for news, so for himself it didn't seem so long. Some of what he saw was sent back to Kora and Linus on the totem link, the rest was given to all when he made it back to them. Descriptions and the layout of the building along with a head count.
[Roman Turner] dex+stealth
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Roman Turner] Per+PU
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 7, 8, 8, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Linus] The pizza is devoured in short order by the bellies of beasts used to carving off calories through the heat of expansion or the loss of blood, meat and otherwise. He remains somewhat hushed during the exchange of information throughout the collection of bodies, keeping himself insular for the moment as the air quips with introductions and measures of familiarity. His eyes go a touch distant and his regard, somewhat lacking in quality. Not entirely in other worlds but considering such.
When the call for a Hunt goes out he isn't the first to leap at the chance, instead 'hmmm'ing quietly before offering a nod. The Totemlink hums briefly with a distracted murmur that speaks of the Godi's, by now, familiar checklist of spiritual presence for this little fight. He's mentioned to Roman how the CoG's healing abilities are for emergencies only and has himself enlisted the assistance of several healing spirits, including the still bound Unicorn Jaggling that occupies the umbral expanse of the Church.
It would serve to heal those who might well sustain heavy damage, if necessary, a fact he makes sure of with a quick trip into the Shadow to speak with the spirit. Whatever payment is coming through for this effort has not been spoken of or seen by any of the Pack or Bodies that pass through this landscape and the Godi seems unwilling to talk much about it either. All the better to move onto other topics more than likely.
Hrafn is along for the ride as well, a silent figure on the outskirts of perception that haunts the umbral borders of the Church and several areas throughout the Pack's Territory. He is oddly recalcitrant about interaction maintaining a distance from speaking with others and the Godi is, likewise hush hush about his dealings there except for one small matter amongst the Packmates
"...Part of the deal with Hrafn is that any fallen the pack calls, they get the eyes. So save 'em or leave 'em intact on the bodies, or keep the heads. I'll point out some 'deposit' spots throughout the turf you can leave 'em near..."
If he expected the Modi to adhere to this principle, he didn't say as such. Nor did he deny the effort either. It was something left up to the Full Moon to decide for himself.
* * * *
When they find the structure, Roman is off to scout and report back. Linus takes a moment to safeguard and check the surrounding umbral landscape. He shakes his head in the negative to Kora on any possible trouble that could come from the otherside.
"...Nothing substantial. Some pain and murder gaffs. Couldn't cross even if they knew we were here..."
[Slaughter] Perception+Alertness
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 4, 6, 6, 7, 9, 10 Re-rolls: 1
to Kora
[Erek Skulason] *The young Get of Fenris isn't so talkative tonight. He is silent, watchful and curious, as he tags along with the Last Watch. His attention splintered between Kora (for directions) and watching their asses, since he didn't possess a link to share with them. Physical directions was all Erek had to go on. The dark colors of his clothing allow him to blend a little better to the shadows, his blond hair kept hidden under a knit cap pulled down low over his ears. He breathes in and out slowly. An eyebrow shoots up every so often at Linus as he explains about the eyes being left behind for the Hrafn*
[Kora] Roman might've been seen that time - if the monsters were not distracted by the fresh kill they dragged into the old factory. They cluster in the leeside of the massive stone pillars - the remains of some structure, the purpose of which seems long lost. The scent inside the place is sharp and bloody, shot through with piss and pain and fear enough to drown a herd of goats. The Ragabash was sharp-eyed enough to note the patchy, peeling skin of the humans on four legs, the razor sharpness of the extruded legs, the nimble way the inhuman beast uses them all. He also found the back way in; through an old shipping bay, maximum concealment behind the huge concrete pilasters.
"Alright. We've going in the way Roman found. We'll ambush; take out the little things with the first blow, as many as we can, then focus on the spider-bitch. I'm taking direwolf form, but I'm using claws unless I know for sure that the flesh and blood of those things is not poisoned. If one of you takes a bite - " a brief twist of her mouth. "Let me know. We ready?"
[Slaughter] She is dressed in dark clothing, barely worth mentioning. They're dirty now, a swipe of dirt across each knee, one torn on a sharp edge of concrete, damp with blood. She had pressed her hand there briefly, willing it to clot and still, and it had. Half the time, she catches herself holding her breath, the other half of the time, she wills herself to breathe easily, slowly. Silently.
Within the greenery, Imogen barely moves, even when she caught sight of Roman. It is only after he's gone out of sight that she lifts her weapon, aiming it on the beasts, her ears straining for every sound beyond the tearing of flesh, the gluttony of mastication and gulping. She picks one.
(breathe in, breathe out)
And for now, stops the internal monologue of blame.
And waits for the fireworks to start.
[Drawn in Blood] [LAZY-ASS POST TIME!
Snap-shift to Crinos!
-1R, activate Razor Claws!
-1WP, activate Resist Pain!
Stealth+Dexterity (+1): I don't know what we're sneaking for! +1 diff (unskilled).]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 7)
[Roman Turner] He like Kora took Hispo form when the time came to slink in and attack.
Dex+steatlh
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 5, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Erek Skulason] Dex+Stealth
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 6, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6) [WP]
[Erek Skulason] *assumes Erek is in his crinos form when making the ambush*
[Kora] They cross the weedy yard, climb up the loading dock, and slip through the blasted freight doors. There's the long shadow of the pilasters Roman described, the sharp scent of glutinous things tearing into the flesh of a dead human. They eat everything. Clothes and bones and gristle, fingers and ears, rings. The crunching remains of the bottle of cheap vodka he had been drinking, shattered in his hand.
Nothing goes to waste.
Inside the factory, Sorrow shifts to hispo.
[ -1 WP Resist Pain!
-1 Gnosis: Trollskin!]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 5, 5, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 7)
[Kora] Dex + Stealth
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 6, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 7 at target 6)
[Linus] The Godi takes several keen looks at the collection of Garou, frowning openly as they step into place around Roman's directions. A snuff of breath and then a quick glance at the Umbral skien has him cursing under his breath before the pop of bones pulls him up into Crinos, the long haft of a spear snapping into one hand. He'd take up the Rear of the group, turning the Spear's length around to settle into a throwing position.
(1 WP for Resist Pain.)
[Erek Skulason] (-1 wp for resist pain as well *cough*)
[Roman Turner] (Me too! Resist Pain y'all!)
[Kora] Thing 1: I see DIB!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 6, 8, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Kora] Thing 2: I see Roman!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 5, 5, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Kora] Thing 3: I see Erek!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 6, 7 (Botch x 2 at target 8)
[Kora] Thing 4: I see Kora!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 5, 5, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Slaughter] dex+stealth
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Drawn in Blood] [Brawl+Dexterity (+1): claw... whatever's closest! +1 pool (ambush).]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Drawn in Blood] [Don't do me any favors, Kahseeno.
Strength +4 (Crinos) +1 (claw) +1 (RAZER CLAW) +1 (suxx)]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 8, 9 (Failure at target 6)
[Drawn in Blood] [Mulligan :( ]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8)
[Roman Turner] +4 Clawing.
+3 bonus
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 8 at target 6) Re-rolls: 4
[Roman Turner] Damn
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 3, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Kora] Thing 2 is stunned.
[Slaughter] three round burst
dex+firearms+3 (3rb)+3(ambush)
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 4) Re-rolls: 1
[Slaughter] (5 successes officially on last roll was target 6 not 4 +2 dice for aiming)
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 2, 3 (Failure at target 6)
[Slaughter] Damage!
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 6, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Erek Skulason] +3 Biting +7 bonus
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 5)
[Erek Skulason] Bite Damage
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 6, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 8 at target 6)
[Kora] I SOAK U
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 7, 7, 7 (Failure at target 8)
[Kora] Thing 3: I NOT. I DED.
[Kora] Kora: Claw Thing 4 +6
Dice Rolled:[ 16 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Kora] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 3, 5, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Kora] SOAK
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Linus] (Dex 4 + ath 2. Throw spear at Runt.)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 3, 6, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Linus] (Str 6 + 1 Spear + 3 Sux)
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 9 (Failure at target 6)
[Erek Skulason] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Linus] (Mully!)
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Kora] Runt: I SO SOAK THAT!
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Kora] Tally:
Thing 1: okay.
Thing 2: stunned, cannot act next round.
Thing 3: so ded.
Thing 4: I ARE TOTALLY FINE YO.
Thing 5, aka the Runt: stunned. WHY IS EVERYONE PICKING ON ME.
Two-headed spider-monster: more snacks just walked in! Celebrate!
[Slaughter] (+9)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7
[Kora] Spider-Monster! +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1
[Roman Turner] Inti. +9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2
[Drawn in Blood] [Listen you galloping ham beast of a trollop if you don't stop messing around I'm going to tell everyone what you were up to last summer and then you won't be so cute anymore.
+7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4
[Linus] (8 +...)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Kora] The Collective Things +5
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5
[Kora] Kora: +9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6
[Erek Skulason] Dex (5) + Wits (3) = 8+ initiative.
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6
[Kora] Imogen: 16
Linus: 16
Kora: 15
Erek: 14
Roman: 11
Drawn in Blood: 11
The Thing Collective: 10
Spider-Monster: 8
[Kora] Spider-Monster:
Actions: 1. Slice Drawn in Blood! 2. Slice Erek! 3. Slice Roman! 4. Slice Kora! 5. Slice Linus! 6. EAT. Am Hungry, yo. 7. Slice Drawn in Blood! 8. Slice Erek!
Rage 1: Spin web!
[Kora] Thing 1: 1. RUN AWAY.
Thing 2: 1. loll, cannot act.
Thing 3: 1-4. be dead.
Thing 4: CHOMP IMOGEN.
Thing 5: lol. cannot act. MEANIES.
[Drawn in Blood] [1:
R1:
R2:
R3: all claws on the spider monster! Sweet Jesus!]
[Roman Turner] per+pu
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 5, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 7)
[Roman Turner] 1a Claw +4
1b Claw +4
[Erek Skulason] 1a claws on Spider thing, engaging it
1b claws on spider thing again.
[Kora] Kora: 1a. Claw spider. 1b. Grapple spider! Rage 1: Claw Spider! Rage 2: Snarl of the Predator on spider!
[Linus] Initial Action: Block for Kora.
Rage 1: Claw spider Thing
[Slaughter] Shoot thing 4
Shoot thing 4
shoot thing 4
shoot thing 4(+WP)
[Slaughter] Shoot!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 6 at target 4) Re-rolls: 1
[Slaughter] damage!
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Kora] THING 4 SOAK
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 6, 7 (Failure at target 8)
[Kora] Thing 4: stunned, cannot act.
[Slaughter] shoot 2!
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 4) Re-rolls: 2
[Slaughter] Damage
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 6, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Kora] Thing 4: x.x
[Slaughter] shoot spider!
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Slaughter] damage!
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 6, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 7, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Kora] Thing 1: stunned!
[Slaughter] Shoot!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 4, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Slaughter] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 3, 4 (Botch x 1 at target 8)
[Kora] Thing 1: stunned, eats own liver. Oops!
[Kora] Kora: 1a. Claw!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Kora] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kora] 1b. Grapple!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Erek Skulason] Claw +1, -2 dice
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 3, 6, 8 (Success x 2 at target 4)
[Erek Skulason] Damage
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 7, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Erek Skulason] Claw +2 -3 dice
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 5, 10 (Failure at target 4)
[Roman Turner] 1a Claw Spider
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 6, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 4) Re-rolls: 1
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] 1 b Claw Spider
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 4) Re-rolls: 1
[Roman Turner] Damn
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 4, 6, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Drawn in Blood] [1: WHAM! -2 diff (restrained).]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 6 at target 4)
[Drawn in Blood] [So help me god if you fuck with me Kahseeno the things I will do to you...
+5]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 8, 8, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 5, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Kora] Drawn in Blood slams into the two-headed Spider-Monster. There's a crack in the carapace. Though not yet dead, one of the legs spasms, unusable.
[Kora] Spider-Monster: 1 Slice!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Kora] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4 (Botch x 1 at target 6)
[Kora] Spider-Monster: 2. Slice Erek!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 5, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kora] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Kora] Spider-Monster 3: Slice Roman!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kora] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 7, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Erek Skulason] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Kora] Spider-Monster 4: Slice Kora!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 6, 8, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Linus] (Block! Dex 4 + Brawl 1.)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]
[Kora] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Kora] Slice Linus!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Kora] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Kora] 6. EAT. ?
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8)
[Kora] (Heals 2 Agg)
[Kora] Slice Drawn in Blood!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Kora] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Drawn in Blood] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Kora] Last LEG: BROKEN.
[Linus] (Dex + Brawl. Claw Spider.)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Linus] (Strength 6 + 1 Claw)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 6, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Kora] Kora: rage 1 Claw!
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Kora] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 5, 7, 7, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Kora] Rage 2: Snarl of the Predator
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Drawn in Blood] [R1: WHAM!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Drawn in Blood] [Damn]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 5, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Drawn in Blood] [R2: wham]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Drawn in Blood] [Damn]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 6, 6, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 5, 7, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Drawn in Blood] [R3: wham]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Drawn in Blood] [Damn]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 6, 8, 8, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kora] RAGE BACK YO!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4 (Failure at target 8) [WP]
[Kora] Tally:
I did not keep track of y'alls damage.
Thing 1: 5 Agg, stunned.
Thing 2: 6 Agg, not stunned, but -5 dice means no actions.
Thing 3: be dead.
Thing 4: Imogen killeded me.
Thing 5: AKA THE RUNT. 2 Agg, no longer stunned.
Spider-Monster: so very dead.
[Kora] The whole battle is impossible to transcribe. It happens in a nanosecond. The Garou shake free of the small herd of quadripedal once-humans fighting over the entrails of a dead man - some dead, others still living, bloodymouthed, shaking with need - and launch themselves as the massive, disjointed thing. Two human torsos joined awkwardly at the sternum. Two human heads, one looking forward, the other aft, both so misshapen and pockmarked and blistered by the unmaker that they only gesture at human. There are eyes, lumpen, a ruin of a nose, flesh peeled back from bone for the mouth.
The thing skitters about on sharp, narrow legs, nearly delicate but razor sharp. It moves them almost as one, lashing out with each of them in a sort of whirling dervish of an attack that is enough to shake the Skald holding it free, send her sliding over the slice carapace to the dirt-strewn ground. Imogen levels her weapon, fires at the misshapen human - one of those who escaped the ambush - running right for her, and destroys it before it comes close to tasting her blood, then stops the second, that was running away.
The Garou coalesce on the spider, surrounding it, tear at its chitinous skin with their claws. The thing survives the first concerted assault, then its razor-sharp legs fly out all around, slashing at them. Linus deflects the blow aimed at his sister, enough to lessen it - she emerges, unscathed.
Mid-fight, almost delicate, the thing spears some morsel of organ meat from the cracked chest cavity of its victim. A glistening lobe of lobe skewered with a cracked rib. Devours it, and some of the wounds leaking black blood close.
Linus, Sorrow, Drawn-in-Blood renew their attacks, raging, while the monster begins to extrude a think, rope-like substance that smells sharply of formaldehyde and Elmer's glue from its rear; the modi takes it down, and the thing staggers backwards, collapses on the gleaming ropes of its own webs, a flailing death rattle from which it cannot recover.
--
They hunt the rest down. Tear off the heads without mercy in another span of heartbeats. Even Then it's over. Six corpses - and a fucking two-headed exoskeleton. Even touching the flesh of the Things leaves their fingers burning, as if they'd bathed in pepper spray - but the impact fades with time, as whatever fueled the wrongness leaves the empty corpses.
[Drawn in Blood] [Thanks again Liz!]
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