[Draumur] The whole thing begins to unravel. Roman is engulfed by the memory of that awful, blisteringly warm summer day when he and Kora - both packless, without the totemic connection that binds them now - responded to the whisper of tiny little air gaffling from across the gauntlet and threw themselves into the midst of a battle for the river - one the river was losing. She was engulfed by a literal wave of poison that afternoon, swallowed by the massive oilslick; he was left there, alone - on the docks, fighting what seemed to be a hopeless battle. Then the sudden heat behind him, washing over him - engulfing him, burning the goddamned air out of his lungs when he opened his mouth to howl some silent scream.
That day - months ago, moons ago - he awoke on the riverbank, half in the water, Sorrowing coughing out lungfuls of black water, puking it up on the sodden banks. This night, he shook himself free of that fever dream, the flames disappearing like a ghost, the pain gone - just this low ache from where he thrashed himself trying to put the phantom fire out.
The park was quiet, the sirens still. Just the wash of orange lights over the dead bodies of the police officers, that sense of attenuation, that flicker somewhere deep in - not his body, not his spine, but his spirit, that sense of thinness.
In a split second he follows Joey, Hunter, Asha across the gauntlet, and finds himself stumbling into the middle of a battle. The nameless, shuffling, tenacle-covered spirit bristles with a thousand nameless fears, screams a thousand, lonely deaths, and it rears back - all at once - invasive - battering the inner wall of his skull, filling his eyes, his nose, his mouth, erupting from his tear ducts, bursting through his capillaries, searing through his lymph nodes, dark within his bone marrow.
Then gone.
This absence, sudden but not entire. The relief of it leaves him floating in the sort of semi-pleasant darkness of an invalid waking from anesthesia; too dark, too murky, too senseless to be a dream.
--
Not gone.
Roman wakes; finds himself in a flat, gravel covered plain. There are clouds on the horizon, flat gray, fat with the promise of snow, and ice underfoot. The place feels featureless except for the movement of the earth underfoot - not rolling, but rising in one direction toward a great crest of jagged cliffs barely visible through the low clouds, and falling away in the other toward - some gray horizon, the definition of which is swallowed by a distant snow squall.
He's by himself.
He's not alone.
There's a sort of wrongness - in the back of his throat. It tastes like ash and motor oil; it tastes like the crushed abdomends of an army of spiders; like loss, like that anemic twist of fear when your bowels turn to water. The first death; the last.
The only thing he can hear is the wind.
[Roman Turner] He was alone and everything was screwy. Where was he? How did he get here? All these things were going through his mind as he felt his head, face, body, even wiggled his fingers in his ears. Something was wrong, not only with where he was, but something was just not right and that meant he needed to stay far, far away from Kora and the Kin until he figured out what the devil was going on. Afraid if he found his way back, he might give them the flu or whatever it was that was wrong with him.
"Where the devil.....where is everyone?"
He had joined the battle, or so he thought, but, but something went weird. Now everyone was gone and he was..lost?
"Hey!"
He called out both with his mouth and mind. Maybe one of the others would hear or feel him?
[Draumur] There's no response; not from the near featureless landscape in which Roman finds himself. His voice rises, cuts through the eerie howl of the cold wind here, expands - and echoes back to him, empty, unanswered.
The gravel rolls beneath his feet as he moves his body, shakes his head, wiggles his fingers as if reminding them of their ordinary function. He stumbles to his feet, leaving a few lonely footprints in the otherwise wind-scoured snow.
There are no signs of anything else here; nothing living, nothing dead. His breath comes out in a quiet burst of air.
When he stops shouting, that sense of nothingness returns.
And the wrongness underneath, like a mask laid wrongly over the planes of a dead face. Like a glass eye, all reflection, no depth.
[Roman Turner] He called out, turning in each direction before something clicked in his head.
"I must be dead. Well damn it all to Hell and back."
He seldom cursed and was taught not to do it around the women folk. Right now, he wasn't around any women folk.
His thoughts darted to would his family ever know what became of him? How bad was he hurting them by up and dying? What about his Pack? He promised Kora he would never leave her if he could help it unless she told him to go away. Though this saved her the trouble of deciding between him and her own Tribe when it came to Pack. What the Hell ever happened with Sparrow anyway? Maybe all these questions would be solved now that he was dead.
And...what the Hell was up with the next life? Did all CoG go to this lost place when dead because they didn't have some big Mead Hall to go to? Did he just sit around here till the next life? What about food, what about T.V.? What about a girlfriend?
"Dang it all, done screwed the pooch Roman."
Down hill looked cold, he was sick of cold. Uphill it was. Might as well start walking. Something was so wrong with this....with him....
[Roman Turner] Stam+Ath
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Draumur] [And this?]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 5, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] per+alert
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Draumur] [And then another thing.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Draumur] Uphill.
It's steeper than it looked from that graveled plain on which he first found himself. The first rise is easy enough, breaking trail in drifts no higher than mid-calf at the deepest. Then a brief downhill, an eddying little valley, where he plunges into snow deep enough that it crests his knees and skims his thighs. It's like wading into a half-solid surf - there's that sense of both immensity and movement beneath his feet - but he rights himself and pushes through.
The cold is strong enough to sear his lungs; he hardly notices it with all the thoughts running through his mind. The promises made and left unbroken; the people he left behind. Soon enough that downslope flattens. He pushes his way out of a massive drift up to another little plateau, graveled spindrift flying everywhere. There's a whine through the air; some figure ahead, just above him, where the plateau rises again to some narrow ridge too minor to have a name even if this were a place with names.
He's all in black; that's what it seems at first, though later Roman will imagine it just a trick of the shadows. Something definite against the open expanse of gray stone and white snows. A man: taller than Roman, with ragged hair that's gone unwashed for sometime, a bow in hand, an arrow unleashed. Roman sees registers the man's presence at the same time he register's the arrow's whine. Like a mosquito in his ear.
The projectile grazes his cheek; the merest touch. A scatter of blood over the snow, too fucking red for this black and gray world. It stings, sharp, like a scraped knee his mothered covered in neosporin.
"I don't think you're dead. Not yet, anyway," The stranger says; his bass voice has no resonance, but it carries. "Wouldn't've felt that if you were?
"Maybe they left you here. Exiled. Easier than killing one of their own."
[Roman Turner] He was huffing and puffing. Each breath came out in a white cloud of effort as he waded through snow to the next little rise. Maybe his brain was frozen because he was still squinting at the figure ahead, raising his hands to cup around his mouth to call out when the guy shot the arrow at him. In fact, his brain was still going...."Is that an arrow? Is that damned fool shooting at me?"....when the sound then sting registered. His reaction? He hit the ground. Slapped a hand over his cheek. Looked at the blood on his hand and then called out.
"Ya danged fool! Ya could of just said it! Ain't suppose to shoot at a man unless ya mean to kill him!"
He was still hollering as he regained his feet in one quick leap.
"My Pack wouldn't exile me! Ya take that back ya yella belly, arrow slinging, no good son of a skunk!"
His temper flared even as the finger of doubt whispered in his mind. "But the others might."
[Draumur] "Sometimes I can't help myself," the stranger called back, a quick smile flashes across his pale features like lightning behind the clouds. He's dropped the bow, though he still holds a second arrow there, half-knocked. Roman can see the features, the same bright red of his blood, gleaming dully against the darkness of the stranger's garb. " - used to fancy myself William Tell. It's all about the aim. There's an art to it, you know?"
The half-smile's bleeding from his face as Roman jumps up, hollering back at him, calling him a yella belly no good son of a skunk. The hint of laughter on his pale features vanishes and he's starting to turn around, with a dramatic flare of a dark cloak like the movement of tattered graveclothes on the wind.
When he stops, poised at the edge of that next ridge, evidence only because of the hint of absence behind. Another hidden defile. Another slogging descent, exhausting climb.
Glances back at Roman, and shakes his head, briefly. His face caressed by licks of unwashed black hair, his eyes link a wound. "You said it yourself. You took something in you, didn't you? No one comes here by mistake. They probably don't want it getting loose, infecting them."
[Roman Turner] He threw his hands up in the air when the guy turned away and started walking off before speaking again.
"Ya see? Ya running off cause I hurt your feelings. Give up mighty easy for someone that fancies himself William Tell."
That finger of doubt was tickled when the guy mentioned the others sending him here because he might infect them and they didn't want to risk it. Maybe they had? He was made of different stuff, he wouldn't abandon those depending on him and in combat each person depended on the other but the ones he had fought with weren't his Kin, weren't his Pack.
There was only one thing to cling to at the moment and that was something the guy said.
"Can you see it in me? I can taste it, like I licked a battery but I ain't got no idea what it is, or where it is, or how to get it out. Hey....don't leave?"
That last came out like a plea. He didn't want to be left here, especially alone.
[Draumur] "C'mon," says the stranger, lifting his gaze toward the cliffs in the middle distance. "I'm heading that direction. Climbing. You can come with if you can keep up. Though," then there's this - ripple of movement in his torso, some unerring suggestion of a human shrug, like a memory wrapped in a cloak of shadow rather than functional movement of muscles underneath skin. " - if you can't keep up, I'll leave you behind."
Eyeing him, then, a glance over his shoulder, as he holds the bow down, the fletching of the arrow as bright as heartsblood against the darkness. At last, a grudging answer, a narrow sort of nod. "I can see it in your. It's a little bit everywhere, underneath your eyes and skin; at the root of your tongue. Moves with you like a shadow you'll never shake. Weakness.
"Your kind are so breakable. No wonder they sent you away."
The gravel crunches underneath Roman's boots. The stranger waits for him, poised, his mouth twisted downward. "Can't imagine that they'll ever want you back, either. You have someplace else to go?"
[Roman Turner] per+pu
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 5, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Draumur] There's something in the wind; like a half-remembered voice. In the middle distance. Not the path that the stranger has chosen; but aslant from it, nearly perpendicular.
Something about the voice feels right; tugs at some essential strings under his skin, hits some certain chord.
to Roman Turner, Stray Wisp of Regret
[Roman Turner] He could see it? Well that couldn't be good, but the thought was warring with a few other issues. One, he didn't like the guy kept the arrow notched. Two, did he have somewhere to go? And the thought popped in his head like breathing.
"My kind? My kind has someplace to go. I gotta go home. I ain't finished yet. Maybe you are, though gotta say, fella wanders around here fancying himself someone else, maybe he needs someplace to go? Me? I'm afraid I gotta change my mind. Maybe a rain check?"
With that, he turned to follow his own guy instincts; that certain little something that told him where he belonged.
[Roman Turner] (guy=gut)
[Roman Turner] stam+ath
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 5, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Draumur] [And this.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 5, 6, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] per+PU
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Draumur] Roman turns, following that certainty in his gut that pulls him away from the cliffs the stranger seeks. The man turns, watching as the boy starts to slog through the drifts. The ground falls gently away from the gravel-covered plateau into a world of moving white.
It's a hard slog; has him breathing deeply, each breath crytalline, sharding in his lungs. Each breath an echo of remembered air. Sometimes the needled cold of the errant wind is bright as flame against his exposed skin. He grits his teeth, pushes through the drifts where they accumulate in the strange hollows of the otherwise featureless landscape.
At first, the stranger just watches him. His eyes are a hidden sort of darkness, sharp as an eagle's, cold as a shark's. No, wait - there's a twist of his mouth like drinking straight bitters from the liquor cabinet when he thought they were booze.
"Suit yourself!" The stranger calls out, his voice nearly swallowed by the wind.
Roman can feel the man's eyes on his back as he goes, pushing through the snow. Then, the crunch of boots behind, jogging through the trail Roman broke, coming up behind him, walking alongside.
Like he meant to come this way, all along.
"I'm not sure this is the right way." The stranger confides, his cloak whipping out behind them in the wind. The bow is in hand, but the arrow he has returned to his quiver. The fletching of the arrows are all in primary colors - red as blood, black as oil, neon green as bile - the only bright points in the land. "You said yourself, there's something in you. Probably leading you off course. Like a siren.
"Couldn't live with myself if I let you go to a death like that. Fucking alone."
He talks as they walk; that certainty - the voice in the distance - crystallizes. He can hear it still, just not quite the shape of it.
"Maybe it wasn't her." The stranger continues, this air of speculation. " - the brother, right? Easing you out of the way. Doesn't want the contamination. Maybe has an eye on your kin. That girl - how can you take care of them like you are now? Someone's bound to want her. She's so soft. Someone could rip her apart. You see why they sent you away?"
[Roman Turner] He was panting, his head slightly down with the top leading the way like an icebreaker on a ship, cutting through the cold wind. Tears threatened to freeze on his face, his eyes stinging from the cold. Those blue-gray eyes so much like faded denim, barely glanced towards the guy as something tickled his mind along with the little familiar feeling that called to him.
"Ya know, for someone that was gonna leave me if I couldn't keep up, seems to me ya should be holding to your word, not following me with your slick words. Something else bothers me."
He barely glanced towards the strange guy calling himself William Tell.
"Ya sure know a lot about me fella. Why don't ya get out of my head and leave me to find my way home?"
He was like a dog with a bone, as long as he felt that little voice he was going to stick with it, besides this fella was starting to ring too many alarms, playing on his fears. How did he know what was going through Roman's mind? That was enough to distract him from his own worries, that someone was picking his thoughts out of his little pea brain.
[Roman Turner] stam+ath
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] per+pu
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Draumur] [This here.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Draumur] A second wind; that's the only way to describe it. Roman gathers himself, renewed by conviction, listening to that voice in the distance. The stranger - maybe abashed by Roman's directness - falls back this time. Roman's in the narrow, snow-bound valley while the stranger is a good dozen steps back by now, squinting up through the gathering gray clouds.
That certainty is gone though; that echoed voice, it's drowned out by the howling of a sudden wind, curried up from the lowlands, all winter bluster. Roman can sense the Stranger pulling himself upright, tugging his heavy cloack forward, turning a shoulder into the buffeting wind without giving in to it.
"Everyone who comes here has the same story, man." The stranger assures Roman. "That's how I know. And you, I'm telling you you're going the wrong way. Isn't that what you said yourself? The best thing for you to do is to go away until you figure this out. You can't risk them. Their place, the kid. The kin. You can't - "
And the voice is gone; that gut-sure sense of peace, of place. Of direction. The wind's too loud to hear it, the voice - too soft to be male - has been drowned out by sudden squall.
Or maybe the stranger was right; it was never there at all.
There's just white; Roman, breathing frost, strong but covered in snow, he has it crusting over his hips in places, frozen into every fold of his stiff dark Wranglers. His nose is running and that wind is loud enough now that he cannot hear himself thing.
Ahead is like a white-out, just this gray cloudy snowsquall. Behind him, the stranger is defined against the grayed out world.
Then, the movement of something high up, dark, struggling against the moving wings. Black wings, beating the wrong way, pushing forward through the murk. Until it breaks free of the clouds and backwings once for steadiness, then strains for altitude, making a caw sound at Roman.
"Fucking birds." The stranger mutters, notching a bile-green fletched arrow. Training it against the sky.
[Roman Turner] This guy just never shut up, voicing doubts, adding to his own fears. It was like....
"He paused when that tiny voice was drowned out. Paused to drag his sleeve over his running nose. Paused to look back at the blathering guy.
"I know your name, it's not William Tell, it's Diarrhea. Your mouth is like a leaky faucet, just keeps running and running."
This was about the time the bird appeared and with it, that finger of hope again. And it was about the time he caught the words of Diarrhea and saw the bow come up. He really didn't think too much because the guy was threatening his hope. Instead he went in to action, trying to shove that bow down in time to save the bird.
"NO!"
[Roman Turner] dex+ath
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 6, 6, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6) [WP]
[Draumur] [And.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 4, 5, 7, 9 (Failure at target 6)
[Draumur] Roman lunges, struggling up the hill to shove the bow down before the stranger can launch the arrow. The black-winged bird screams once, something like defiance, and plunges through the clouds toward the stranger, clawing at his pallid face just as Roman pushes the bow and arrow forward and down, into the snow.
"You fucking - " the stranger snarls, the green-fletched arrow dislodged from the bowstring now, this long stratch opened ragged over his brow, down across his cheek bone. Blood like black sludge oozing through. " - fucking useless little - " He's all opened up with the snarl, livid, surging forward, holding the bow down now, the arrow no longer knocked, his whole self drawn up like he's ready to - "I'm going to devour your fucking heart. I'm going to turn you inside out. I'm going to - "
The bird divebombs again. The stranger responds with a snarl like a lion's roar; his breath a wash of blistering heat that envelopes the bird. " - flay you open. Until there's nothing left. Your marrow's already mine - "
[Roman Turner] FIRE! FLAMES! Something inside him totally freaked with the wash of fire that enveloped the bird. Sometimes, sometimes words of wisdom surfaced at the oddest times. Like in that instant he heard his granddad saying.
"Some times Roman, the only way out is through. Ya gotta just say what the Hell and dive right down the middle or stick your head between your knees and kiss your backside goodbye."
He reacted with the horror of what he was seeing; reacted like those echoed memories told him to. He tried to snap shift and either way, if it worked here or not, he lit in to the stranger like there was no tomorrow. Diving in to him to beat the tar out of him.
[Draumur]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10
[Roman Turner] ((Hispo))
+9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9
[Draumur] Roman: 19
Stranger: 18
Stranger: [1a. Load arrow; 1b. Shoot arrow (green) @ Roman.]
[Roman Turner] 1a claw stranger
1b bite stranger
1 r claw stranger
[Roman Turner] 1a Claw Stranger
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 5, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] 1b Bite Stranger
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 5) Re-rolls: 2
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Draumur] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 5, 5, 7, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Draumur] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Draumur] Arrow: green.
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] WP
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 5, 7, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] 1 r Claw Stranger
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Draumur] Arrow damage:
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Draumur] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 6, 6, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Draumur] Inits: round 2
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4
[Roman Turner] soak
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 6, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] int +9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2
[Draumur] Stranger: 12
Roman: 11
Strange: [1a. Load arrow; 1b. Shoot black arrow; 1c. Howl.]
[Roman Turner] 1a Bite
1b Bite
1r Bite
[Draumur] Stranger: 1a. Load arrow. 1b. Shoot arrow
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Draumur] Damage:
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Roman Turner] WP
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] 1a Bite
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 7 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] 1b Bite
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 5) Re-rolls: 4
[Draumur] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Draumur] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 4, 4, 7, 8, 8 (Failure at target 6)
[Draumur] 1c. HOWL.
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 4, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] WP
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] 1r Bite
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 4, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 4, 4, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Draumur] Init
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Roman Turner] +9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9
[Draumur] Roman: 19
Stranger: 16
[Stranger: 1a. HOWL; 1b. Load Arrow; 1c. Shoot.]
[Roman Turner] 1a bite
1b bite
[Draumur] KORA: +9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5
[Draumur] Kora: 14
[1. Call of the Wyld to bolster Roman]
[Roman Turner] 1a bite
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 5) Re-rolls: 2
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Draumur] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 4, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] 1b bite
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Draumur] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Draumur] HOWL.
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] WP
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 5, 5, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Draumur] 1b. Arrow thingy. 1c. SHOOT.
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Draumur] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 5 (Botch x 2 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] WP
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Draumur] Kora: Call of the Wyld
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 5, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 7) [WP]
[Draumur] Stranger: +8
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9
[Draumur] Kora: +9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Roman Turner] +9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Draumur] Kora: 17
Roman: 17
Stranger: 17
[Draumur] Stranger: 1a. Load arrow; 1b. Shoot arrow. 1c. Howl!
[Roman Turner] 1a Bite
1b Bite
1r Bite
[Draumur] Kora: Snarl of the Predator at the Stranger.
[Draumur]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 8) [WP]
[Draumur] (Note: that goes into effect against the Stranger next round.)
[Roman Turner] 1a bite
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 5, 6, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 8 at target 5)
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 11 at target 6)
[Draumur]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 6, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] 1b Bite
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 5) Re-rolls: 2
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Draumur] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Draumur] 1b. Shoot RED arrow @ Roman.
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 5, 5, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Draumur] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] soak
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] WP
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Draumur] Howl!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] wp
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] 1r bite
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8 (Success x 5 at target 5)
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 6, 6, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Draumur] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Draumur]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Roman Turner] +9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2
[Draumur] Roman: 11
Stranger: 10
Stranger: 1a. Load Arrow. 1b. Shoot!
[Roman Turner] 1a bite
1b bite
[Roman Turner] 1a bite
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 4, 4, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] 1 b bite
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 7, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Draumur] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Draumur] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 5, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] WP
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 4, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Draumur] Roman snapshifts to hispo and - snarling - launches himself at the stranger, tears into flesh that tastes like ash and the memory of an endless storm, like soil from a grave and the sour scent of your own flop sweat. The stranger's mouth - that ragged thing - peels back from his teeth in something like a smile. This ragged hole of a mouth, blackened teeth, a dark wash of breath that smells both broken and sulferous.
The stranger knocks an arrow; pulls back. Looses it at the Garou as the Garou launches himself at the stranger.
They repeat the same dance; and again. Three times, the stranger knocks an arrow. One bile-green, one utter-black, one hearts-blood-red. Only the last one grazes Roman, but that opens a slicing line of a wound across his chest. Again and again Roman launches himself at the Stranger, whose flesh comes away like paper in his jaws. Whose blood tastes like black mist. Whose heart crunches like a lump of glittering black coal.
Again and again the stranger opens his mouth, unleashes a howl that arcs against the rib cage of the broken gray sky, unscrambles something necessary insire Roman's frame. He can feel his body de-coupling from itself, the breakdown in his organs, digs inside for something more when he must and launches himself again, nevermind what it costs him.
Once last night, the stranger loads an arrow, pulls back the bowstring, point black baby. This one has fletching the deep purple-yellow of a grotesque or a storm against the western sky, the sort that boils out of nowhere and sends twisters corkscrewing out of its dark depths.
And this time, something breaks.
Everything rushes back, disturted, like the whole of the world is being sucked back into a vaccuum. The only thing solid is the stand he has, four paws on the ground, his own blood staining the snow. There's a roar in the background, deep in his ears, filling his senses, and engulfing him.
[In the middle of it all; he can feel them again. The back of his mind, the strength of the totem. Whatever was inside him is - gone. Ejected. Tearing itself free.]
[Stray Wisp of Regret] -and like that the thrum and flood of the totemlink, the gallop of Hermodr's mighty steed, the call an anthem of War in the winds. It makes the connection vibrate, a searing thing like the latching of hooks and the branding of hot irons. A moment, nothing longer, than the sound of the Godi's voice tears into being.
-swear to whatever single horned tit horse you worship, Roman, if you don't wake up 'n help us with this I'm gonna personally come and kick your ass!
[Roman Turner] wp
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 6 (Success x 2 at target 6)
That day - months ago, moons ago - he awoke on the riverbank, half in the water, Sorrowing coughing out lungfuls of black water, puking it up on the sodden banks. This night, he shook himself free of that fever dream, the flames disappearing like a ghost, the pain gone - just this low ache from where he thrashed himself trying to put the phantom fire out.
The park was quiet, the sirens still. Just the wash of orange lights over the dead bodies of the police officers, that sense of attenuation, that flicker somewhere deep in - not his body, not his spine, but his spirit, that sense of thinness.
In a split second he follows Joey, Hunter, Asha across the gauntlet, and finds himself stumbling into the middle of a battle. The nameless, shuffling, tenacle-covered spirit bristles with a thousand nameless fears, screams a thousand, lonely deaths, and it rears back - all at once - invasive - battering the inner wall of his skull, filling his eyes, his nose, his mouth, erupting from his tear ducts, bursting through his capillaries, searing through his lymph nodes, dark within his bone marrow.
Then gone.
This absence, sudden but not entire. The relief of it leaves him floating in the sort of semi-pleasant darkness of an invalid waking from anesthesia; too dark, too murky, too senseless to be a dream.
--
Not gone.
Roman wakes; finds himself in a flat, gravel covered plain. There are clouds on the horizon, flat gray, fat with the promise of snow, and ice underfoot. The place feels featureless except for the movement of the earth underfoot - not rolling, but rising in one direction toward a great crest of jagged cliffs barely visible through the low clouds, and falling away in the other toward - some gray horizon, the definition of which is swallowed by a distant snow squall.
He's by himself.
He's not alone.
There's a sort of wrongness - in the back of his throat. It tastes like ash and motor oil; it tastes like the crushed abdomends of an army of spiders; like loss, like that anemic twist of fear when your bowels turn to water. The first death; the last.
The only thing he can hear is the wind.
[Roman Turner] He was alone and everything was screwy. Where was he? How did he get here? All these things were going through his mind as he felt his head, face, body, even wiggled his fingers in his ears. Something was wrong, not only with where he was, but something was just not right and that meant he needed to stay far, far away from Kora and the Kin until he figured out what the devil was going on. Afraid if he found his way back, he might give them the flu or whatever it was that was wrong with him.
"Where the devil.....where is everyone?"
He had joined the battle, or so he thought, but, but something went weird. Now everyone was gone and he was..lost?
"Hey!"
He called out both with his mouth and mind. Maybe one of the others would hear or feel him?
[Draumur] There's no response; not from the near featureless landscape in which Roman finds himself. His voice rises, cuts through the eerie howl of the cold wind here, expands - and echoes back to him, empty, unanswered.
The gravel rolls beneath his feet as he moves his body, shakes his head, wiggles his fingers as if reminding them of their ordinary function. He stumbles to his feet, leaving a few lonely footprints in the otherwise wind-scoured snow.
There are no signs of anything else here; nothing living, nothing dead. His breath comes out in a quiet burst of air.
When he stops shouting, that sense of nothingness returns.
And the wrongness underneath, like a mask laid wrongly over the planes of a dead face. Like a glass eye, all reflection, no depth.
[Roman Turner] He called out, turning in each direction before something clicked in his head.
"I must be dead. Well damn it all to Hell and back."
He seldom cursed and was taught not to do it around the women folk. Right now, he wasn't around any women folk.
His thoughts darted to would his family ever know what became of him? How bad was he hurting them by up and dying? What about his Pack? He promised Kora he would never leave her if he could help it unless she told him to go away. Though this saved her the trouble of deciding between him and her own Tribe when it came to Pack. What the Hell ever happened with Sparrow anyway? Maybe all these questions would be solved now that he was dead.
And...what the Hell was up with the next life? Did all CoG go to this lost place when dead because they didn't have some big Mead Hall to go to? Did he just sit around here till the next life? What about food, what about T.V.? What about a girlfriend?
"Dang it all, done screwed the pooch Roman."
Down hill looked cold, he was sick of cold. Uphill it was. Might as well start walking. Something was so wrong with this....with him....
[Roman Turner] Stam+Ath
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Draumur] [And this?]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 5, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] per+alert
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Draumur] [And then another thing.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Draumur] Uphill.
It's steeper than it looked from that graveled plain on which he first found himself. The first rise is easy enough, breaking trail in drifts no higher than mid-calf at the deepest. Then a brief downhill, an eddying little valley, where he plunges into snow deep enough that it crests his knees and skims his thighs. It's like wading into a half-solid surf - there's that sense of both immensity and movement beneath his feet - but he rights himself and pushes through.
The cold is strong enough to sear his lungs; he hardly notices it with all the thoughts running through his mind. The promises made and left unbroken; the people he left behind. Soon enough that downslope flattens. He pushes his way out of a massive drift up to another little plateau, graveled spindrift flying everywhere. There's a whine through the air; some figure ahead, just above him, where the plateau rises again to some narrow ridge too minor to have a name even if this were a place with names.
He's all in black; that's what it seems at first, though later Roman will imagine it just a trick of the shadows. Something definite against the open expanse of gray stone and white snows. A man: taller than Roman, with ragged hair that's gone unwashed for sometime, a bow in hand, an arrow unleashed. Roman sees registers the man's presence at the same time he register's the arrow's whine. Like a mosquito in his ear.
The projectile grazes his cheek; the merest touch. A scatter of blood over the snow, too fucking red for this black and gray world. It stings, sharp, like a scraped knee his mothered covered in neosporin.
"I don't think you're dead. Not yet, anyway," The stranger says; his bass voice has no resonance, but it carries. "Wouldn't've felt that if you were?
"Maybe they left you here. Exiled. Easier than killing one of their own."
[Roman Turner] He was huffing and puffing. Each breath came out in a white cloud of effort as he waded through snow to the next little rise. Maybe his brain was frozen because he was still squinting at the figure ahead, raising his hands to cup around his mouth to call out when the guy shot the arrow at him. In fact, his brain was still going...."Is that an arrow? Is that damned fool shooting at me?"....when the sound then sting registered. His reaction? He hit the ground. Slapped a hand over his cheek. Looked at the blood on his hand and then called out.
"Ya danged fool! Ya could of just said it! Ain't suppose to shoot at a man unless ya mean to kill him!"
He was still hollering as he regained his feet in one quick leap.
"My Pack wouldn't exile me! Ya take that back ya yella belly, arrow slinging, no good son of a skunk!"
His temper flared even as the finger of doubt whispered in his mind. "But the others might."
[Draumur] "Sometimes I can't help myself," the stranger called back, a quick smile flashes across his pale features like lightning behind the clouds. He's dropped the bow, though he still holds a second arrow there, half-knocked. Roman can see the features, the same bright red of his blood, gleaming dully against the darkness of the stranger's garb. " - used to fancy myself William Tell. It's all about the aim. There's an art to it, you know?"
The half-smile's bleeding from his face as Roman jumps up, hollering back at him, calling him a yella belly no good son of a skunk. The hint of laughter on his pale features vanishes and he's starting to turn around, with a dramatic flare of a dark cloak like the movement of tattered graveclothes on the wind.
When he stops, poised at the edge of that next ridge, evidence only because of the hint of absence behind. Another hidden defile. Another slogging descent, exhausting climb.
Glances back at Roman, and shakes his head, briefly. His face caressed by licks of unwashed black hair, his eyes link a wound. "You said it yourself. You took something in you, didn't you? No one comes here by mistake. They probably don't want it getting loose, infecting them."
[Roman Turner] He threw his hands up in the air when the guy turned away and started walking off before speaking again.
"Ya see? Ya running off cause I hurt your feelings. Give up mighty easy for someone that fancies himself William Tell."
That finger of doubt was tickled when the guy mentioned the others sending him here because he might infect them and they didn't want to risk it. Maybe they had? He was made of different stuff, he wouldn't abandon those depending on him and in combat each person depended on the other but the ones he had fought with weren't his Kin, weren't his Pack.
There was only one thing to cling to at the moment and that was something the guy said.
"Can you see it in me? I can taste it, like I licked a battery but I ain't got no idea what it is, or where it is, or how to get it out. Hey....don't leave?"
That last came out like a plea. He didn't want to be left here, especially alone.
[Draumur] "C'mon," says the stranger, lifting his gaze toward the cliffs in the middle distance. "I'm heading that direction. Climbing. You can come with if you can keep up. Though," then there's this - ripple of movement in his torso, some unerring suggestion of a human shrug, like a memory wrapped in a cloak of shadow rather than functional movement of muscles underneath skin. " - if you can't keep up, I'll leave you behind."
Eyeing him, then, a glance over his shoulder, as he holds the bow down, the fletching of the arrow as bright as heartsblood against the darkness. At last, a grudging answer, a narrow sort of nod. "I can see it in your. It's a little bit everywhere, underneath your eyes and skin; at the root of your tongue. Moves with you like a shadow you'll never shake. Weakness.
"Your kind are so breakable. No wonder they sent you away."
The gravel crunches underneath Roman's boots. The stranger waits for him, poised, his mouth twisted downward. "Can't imagine that they'll ever want you back, either. You have someplace else to go?"
[Roman Turner] per+pu
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 5, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Draumur] There's something in the wind; like a half-remembered voice. In the middle distance. Not the path that the stranger has chosen; but aslant from it, nearly perpendicular.
Something about the voice feels right; tugs at some essential strings under his skin, hits some certain chord.
to Roman Turner, Stray Wisp of Regret
[Roman Turner] He could see it? Well that couldn't be good, but the thought was warring with a few other issues. One, he didn't like the guy kept the arrow notched. Two, did he have somewhere to go? And the thought popped in his head like breathing.
"My kind? My kind has someplace to go. I gotta go home. I ain't finished yet. Maybe you are, though gotta say, fella wanders around here fancying himself someone else, maybe he needs someplace to go? Me? I'm afraid I gotta change my mind. Maybe a rain check?"
With that, he turned to follow his own guy instincts; that certain little something that told him where he belonged.
[Roman Turner] (guy=gut)
[Roman Turner] stam+ath
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 5, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Draumur] [And this.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 5, 6, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] per+PU
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Draumur] Roman turns, following that certainty in his gut that pulls him away from the cliffs the stranger seeks. The man turns, watching as the boy starts to slog through the drifts. The ground falls gently away from the gravel-covered plateau into a world of moving white.
It's a hard slog; has him breathing deeply, each breath crytalline, sharding in his lungs. Each breath an echo of remembered air. Sometimes the needled cold of the errant wind is bright as flame against his exposed skin. He grits his teeth, pushes through the drifts where they accumulate in the strange hollows of the otherwise featureless landscape.
At first, the stranger just watches him. His eyes are a hidden sort of darkness, sharp as an eagle's, cold as a shark's. No, wait - there's a twist of his mouth like drinking straight bitters from the liquor cabinet when he thought they were booze.
"Suit yourself!" The stranger calls out, his voice nearly swallowed by the wind.
Roman can feel the man's eyes on his back as he goes, pushing through the snow. Then, the crunch of boots behind, jogging through the trail Roman broke, coming up behind him, walking alongside.
Like he meant to come this way, all along.
"I'm not sure this is the right way." The stranger confides, his cloak whipping out behind them in the wind. The bow is in hand, but the arrow he has returned to his quiver. The fletching of the arrows are all in primary colors - red as blood, black as oil, neon green as bile - the only bright points in the land. "You said yourself, there's something in you. Probably leading you off course. Like a siren.
"Couldn't live with myself if I let you go to a death like that. Fucking alone."
He talks as they walk; that certainty - the voice in the distance - crystallizes. He can hear it still, just not quite the shape of it.
"Maybe it wasn't her." The stranger continues, this air of speculation. " - the brother, right? Easing you out of the way. Doesn't want the contamination. Maybe has an eye on your kin. That girl - how can you take care of them like you are now? Someone's bound to want her. She's so soft. Someone could rip her apart. You see why they sent you away?"
[Roman Turner] He was panting, his head slightly down with the top leading the way like an icebreaker on a ship, cutting through the cold wind. Tears threatened to freeze on his face, his eyes stinging from the cold. Those blue-gray eyes so much like faded denim, barely glanced towards the guy as something tickled his mind along with the little familiar feeling that called to him.
"Ya know, for someone that was gonna leave me if I couldn't keep up, seems to me ya should be holding to your word, not following me with your slick words. Something else bothers me."
He barely glanced towards the strange guy calling himself William Tell.
"Ya sure know a lot about me fella. Why don't ya get out of my head and leave me to find my way home?"
He was like a dog with a bone, as long as he felt that little voice he was going to stick with it, besides this fella was starting to ring too many alarms, playing on his fears. How did he know what was going through Roman's mind? That was enough to distract him from his own worries, that someone was picking his thoughts out of his little pea brain.
[Roman Turner] stam+ath
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] per+pu
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Draumur] [This here.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Draumur] A second wind; that's the only way to describe it. Roman gathers himself, renewed by conviction, listening to that voice in the distance. The stranger - maybe abashed by Roman's directness - falls back this time. Roman's in the narrow, snow-bound valley while the stranger is a good dozen steps back by now, squinting up through the gathering gray clouds.
That certainty is gone though; that echoed voice, it's drowned out by the howling of a sudden wind, curried up from the lowlands, all winter bluster. Roman can sense the Stranger pulling himself upright, tugging his heavy cloack forward, turning a shoulder into the buffeting wind without giving in to it.
"Everyone who comes here has the same story, man." The stranger assures Roman. "That's how I know. And you, I'm telling you you're going the wrong way. Isn't that what you said yourself? The best thing for you to do is to go away until you figure this out. You can't risk them. Their place, the kid. The kin. You can't - "
And the voice is gone; that gut-sure sense of peace, of place. Of direction. The wind's too loud to hear it, the voice - too soft to be male - has been drowned out by sudden squall.
Or maybe the stranger was right; it was never there at all.
There's just white; Roman, breathing frost, strong but covered in snow, he has it crusting over his hips in places, frozen into every fold of his stiff dark Wranglers. His nose is running and that wind is loud enough now that he cannot hear himself thing.
Ahead is like a white-out, just this gray cloudy snowsquall. Behind him, the stranger is defined against the grayed out world.
Then, the movement of something high up, dark, struggling against the moving wings. Black wings, beating the wrong way, pushing forward through the murk. Until it breaks free of the clouds and backwings once for steadiness, then strains for altitude, making a caw sound at Roman.
"Fucking birds." The stranger mutters, notching a bile-green fletched arrow. Training it against the sky.
[Roman Turner] This guy just never shut up, voicing doubts, adding to his own fears. It was like....
"He paused when that tiny voice was drowned out. Paused to drag his sleeve over his running nose. Paused to look back at the blathering guy.
"I know your name, it's not William Tell, it's Diarrhea. Your mouth is like a leaky faucet, just keeps running and running."
This was about the time the bird appeared and with it, that finger of hope again. And it was about the time he caught the words of Diarrhea and saw the bow come up. He really didn't think too much because the guy was threatening his hope. Instead he went in to action, trying to shove that bow down in time to save the bird.
"NO!"
[Roman Turner] dex+ath
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 6, 6, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6) [WP]
[Draumur] [And.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 4, 5, 7, 9 (Failure at target 6)
[Draumur] Roman lunges, struggling up the hill to shove the bow down before the stranger can launch the arrow. The black-winged bird screams once, something like defiance, and plunges through the clouds toward the stranger, clawing at his pallid face just as Roman pushes the bow and arrow forward and down, into the snow.
"You fucking - " the stranger snarls, the green-fletched arrow dislodged from the bowstring now, this long stratch opened ragged over his brow, down across his cheek bone. Blood like black sludge oozing through. " - fucking useless little - " He's all opened up with the snarl, livid, surging forward, holding the bow down now, the arrow no longer knocked, his whole self drawn up like he's ready to - "I'm going to devour your fucking heart. I'm going to turn you inside out. I'm going to - "
The bird divebombs again. The stranger responds with a snarl like a lion's roar; his breath a wash of blistering heat that envelopes the bird. " - flay you open. Until there's nothing left. Your marrow's already mine - "
[Roman Turner] FIRE! FLAMES! Something inside him totally freaked with the wash of fire that enveloped the bird. Sometimes, sometimes words of wisdom surfaced at the oddest times. Like in that instant he heard his granddad saying.
"Some times Roman, the only way out is through. Ya gotta just say what the Hell and dive right down the middle or stick your head between your knees and kiss your backside goodbye."
He reacted with the horror of what he was seeing; reacted like those echoed memories told him to. He tried to snap shift and either way, if it worked here or not, he lit in to the stranger like there was no tomorrow. Diving in to him to beat the tar out of him.
[Draumur]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10
[Roman Turner] ((Hispo))
+9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9
[Draumur] Roman: 19
Stranger: 18
Stranger: [1a. Load arrow; 1b. Shoot arrow (green) @ Roman.]
[Roman Turner] 1a claw stranger
1b bite stranger
1 r claw stranger
[Roman Turner] 1a Claw Stranger
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 5, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] 1b Bite Stranger
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 5) Re-rolls: 2
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Draumur] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 5, 5, 7, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Draumur] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Draumur] Arrow: green.
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] WP
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 5, 7, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] 1 r Claw Stranger
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Draumur] Arrow damage:
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Draumur] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 6, 6, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Draumur] Inits: round 2
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4
[Roman Turner] soak
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 6, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] int +9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2
[Draumur] Stranger: 12
Roman: 11
Strange: [1a. Load arrow; 1b. Shoot black arrow; 1c. Howl.]
[Roman Turner] 1a Bite
1b Bite
1r Bite
[Draumur] Stranger: 1a. Load arrow. 1b. Shoot arrow
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Draumur] Damage:
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Roman Turner] WP
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] 1a Bite
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 7 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] 1b Bite
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 5) Re-rolls: 4
[Draumur] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Draumur] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 4, 4, 7, 8, 8 (Failure at target 6)
[Draumur] 1c. HOWL.
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 4, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] WP
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] 1r Bite
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 4, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 4, 4, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Draumur] Init
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Roman Turner] +9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9
[Draumur] Roman: 19
Stranger: 16
[Stranger: 1a. HOWL; 1b. Load Arrow; 1c. Shoot.]
[Roman Turner] 1a bite
1b bite
[Draumur] KORA: +9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5
[Draumur] Kora: 14
[1. Call of the Wyld to bolster Roman]
[Roman Turner] 1a bite
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 5) Re-rolls: 2
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Draumur] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 4, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] 1b bite
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Draumur] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Draumur] HOWL.
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] WP
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 5, 5, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Draumur] 1b. Arrow thingy. 1c. SHOOT.
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Draumur] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 5 (Botch x 2 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] WP
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Draumur] Kora: Call of the Wyld
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 5, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 7) [WP]
[Draumur] Stranger: +8
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9
[Draumur] Kora: +9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Roman Turner] +9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Draumur] Kora: 17
Roman: 17
Stranger: 17
[Draumur] Stranger: 1a. Load arrow; 1b. Shoot arrow. 1c. Howl!
[Roman Turner] 1a Bite
1b Bite
1r Bite
[Draumur] Kora: Snarl of the Predator at the Stranger.
[Draumur]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 8) [WP]
[Draumur] (Note: that goes into effect against the Stranger next round.)
[Roman Turner] 1a bite
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 5, 6, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 8 at target 5)
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 11 at target 6)
[Draumur]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 6, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] 1b Bite
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 5) Re-rolls: 2
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Draumur] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Draumur] 1b. Shoot RED arrow @ Roman.
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 5, 5, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Draumur] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] soak
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] WP
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Draumur] Howl!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] wp
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] 1r bite
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8 (Success x 5 at target 5)
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 6, 6, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Draumur] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Draumur]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Roman Turner] +9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2
[Draumur] Roman: 11
Stranger: 10
Stranger: 1a. Load Arrow. 1b. Shoot!
[Roman Turner] 1a bite
1b bite
[Roman Turner] 1a bite
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 4, 4, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] 1 b bite
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 7, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Draumur] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Draumur] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 5, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] WP
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 4, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Draumur] Roman snapshifts to hispo and - snarling - launches himself at the stranger, tears into flesh that tastes like ash and the memory of an endless storm, like soil from a grave and the sour scent of your own flop sweat. The stranger's mouth - that ragged thing - peels back from his teeth in something like a smile. This ragged hole of a mouth, blackened teeth, a dark wash of breath that smells both broken and sulferous.
The stranger knocks an arrow; pulls back. Looses it at the Garou as the Garou launches himself at the stranger.
They repeat the same dance; and again. Three times, the stranger knocks an arrow. One bile-green, one utter-black, one hearts-blood-red. Only the last one grazes Roman, but that opens a slicing line of a wound across his chest. Again and again Roman launches himself at the Stranger, whose flesh comes away like paper in his jaws. Whose blood tastes like black mist. Whose heart crunches like a lump of glittering black coal.
Again and again the stranger opens his mouth, unleashes a howl that arcs against the rib cage of the broken gray sky, unscrambles something necessary insire Roman's frame. He can feel his body de-coupling from itself, the breakdown in his organs, digs inside for something more when he must and launches himself again, nevermind what it costs him.
Once last night, the stranger loads an arrow, pulls back the bowstring, point black baby. This one has fletching the deep purple-yellow of a grotesque or a storm against the western sky, the sort that boils out of nowhere and sends twisters corkscrewing out of its dark depths.
And this time, something breaks.
Everything rushes back, disturted, like the whole of the world is being sucked back into a vaccuum. The only thing solid is the stand he has, four paws on the ground, his own blood staining the snow. There's a roar in the background, deep in his ears, filling his senses, and engulfing him.
[In the middle of it all; he can feel them again. The back of his mind, the strength of the totem. Whatever was inside him is - gone. Ejected. Tearing itself free.]
[Stray Wisp of Regret] -and like that the thrum and flood of the totemlink, the gallop of Hermodr's mighty steed, the call an anthem of War in the winds. It makes the connection vibrate, a searing thing like the latching of hooks and the branding of hot irons. A moment, nothing longer, than the sound of the Godi's voice tears into being.
-swear to whatever single horned tit horse you worship, Roman, if you don't wake up 'n help us with this I'm gonna personally come and kick your ass!
[Roman Turner] wp
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 6 (Success x 2 at target 6)
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