Rules: 1) kinda fast and loose, been a while since i did one.
2) you will in this scene have one free re-roll.
3) let me know if you have any triggers.
4) we will probably get to dicing pretty quickly.
5) i am going to post and then make a negroni.
6) this francisco goya piece: http://www.artandcointv.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/goya_2.jpg
is hopefully okay with y'all. it will be inspiration.
perditionFilth in the sacristy. The scent of it: no more than a whiff but enough to set skin a-crawling, even without a theurge. Both the host and the flame missing from the chapel; half a muddy footprint on the altar.
A smear of blood on the third station of the cross which is:
Jesus falls for the first time.
A smear of something-else on the eighth station of the cross, which is:
Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem.
The others are all left undisturbed.
--
Something like a hunt ensues. City streets wrapped in darkness. Wracked by darkness, the edges of the night and strangers all around them, close to ordinary. The flare of headlights, the sudden blare of a horn. Bass from a passing Camaro, far-too-loud. The smears of strangers, their beating, bleating hearts. They are wolves, and even here there is a trail to be followed: to be harrowed. To be hunted.
--
The gatehouse of Fairmount Cemetary looks like a huntsman's lodge. It is well past dark and the gates are closed and solidly locked.
The trail goes right through them. Which means: their quarry has a key.
Bleak DawnHasn't really explained why he keeps an eye on that church but he does. Wasn't wolf himself that discovered the desecrations but the congregation -- largely Hispanic and, on a Friday night, mostly older. Little old ladies sobbing on the sidewalk and all. Suffice it to say wolf was angry, almost mad enough to go tearing off on his own.
Has a pack now though. So he texts them, and they come, and now they're hunting together. Wolf's still mad, silent and glaring, fists balled up as he follows the track, the alpha. Once in a while he realizes it, shakes his fingers out. Ten paces later they're back in fists.
Gates are locked. Wolf's not impressed. Goes right up to them and grips them in those angry, angry fists; gives the gates a shake so sound that the fence rattles for yards all around.
Radiant HonorAvery adores Rafael's church. She adores the nearby bar with a slight nod to Prohibition-era speakeasies, she adores the little used bookstore that smells bad and not at all like musty books, she adores that the yearly Pride parade goes right past it, and she adores the architecture, and she adores that Rafael adopted this church ages and ages ago and has been protecting it all by himself all this time. Not once has she assumed that she is welcome to patrol there, or intrude on this protectorate that he claimed as his, alone. She has mentioned her willingness: a comment that should he ever wish his packmate to share the ground one night, hunt evil there with him, all he need do is call. And she did not mention it again; he should know by now that even the sweetest of Avery's pleasantries must be taken with all earnest sincerity, as they are intended.
Still: she's not there when Rafael discovers the mess that has been made of his house. She is there soon after, when called by text, because they use their ability to speak to one another in distant silence only rarely, and usually only in combat. Rafael is two steps away from being a to-the-bone lone wolf, and Avery has her own demons of self-isolation to grapple with. He texts. She sends one back, sets her phone down, and kisses her husband on the cheek before rolling away from him, explaining that she has to leave you, darling, but only for a while, which is a very pretty way to intimate to him what is happening before he sees her putting on some now-familiar dedicated clothing.
She looks, when she arrives to meet Morgan and Rafael, like a trophy wife about to go for a run: cropped yoga pants in charcoal grey with a subtle pattern, sports tank top, a light zippered jacket over it all but left open for now. She is not angry, and though she has her hair up in a ponytail and little sneakers on her feet and is wearing workout clothes, she walks like the royal she is, all grace and noble certainty. They go together from there. They track. They hunt. They come to a gate.
Avery breathes in.
Exhales with a: "Hmm."
Rafael, of course, tries to shake them open. Avery pauses to see if it works, then walks forward, thoughtful. "Perhaps focus on the lock itself," she suggests. "I don't want to leave a broken-up gate, but I can always send them a fortuitous anonymous donation if we damage anything terribly."
perdition..... ?
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 6, 8) ( success x 2 )
FirebrandMorgan's strangely quiet in the face of that gatehouse -- in the face of the church, really. Solemn, pale little face housed half concealed in a black hoodie; all that glorious amber-licked hair of hers tumbling loose and free where it can; spilling from the edges where it stubbornly refuses (refuses and flouts her objections to sail and flutter behind her in motion like a brilliant, proud herald to her ancestral glory) to be tucked behind her ears.
She's got little ears, the warrior of Stag.
For all her height and that trembling monster that breathed and flexed and felt, like an extension of her own Rage, the fury of her pack mate. She's an eager sort, is our Morgan. Quick to temper, quicker to act and Rafael can't be more than a step ahead of the younger female before she's there - rattling that gate like some smaller bundle of echoing agitation.
She's already looking for a way to climb over it. Sniffs and wipes her nose with a sleeve that's slightly too long for her arm; the cuff draping over her fingers.
"S'not a righ' thing to mess with a Church." Clear eyes observe the gatehouse from beneath her hood; she crosses her arms over her chest and slouches out a hip. Lingering phantoms of teenage disapproval.
Bleak DawnOf course Morgan'd say that. Irish, after all. Catholics, etcetera. At least he thinks she's Irish, though he's not sure. Maybe he just thinks all Fianna are Irish. At any rate, he doesn't care that it's a church. It's simply that it's his church, with people that he's been keeping an eye on for more than a year, now.
It is suggested to him that perhaps focus on the lock would be better. It's a good suggestion. All of his shaking and Morgan's shaking doesn't seem to be doing much. So the wolf immediately turns his ire to the lock mechanism: gripping the two halves of the doors and bending his considerable strength to it, grunting -- growling, really -- aloud.
Bleak Dawn[NNNNGHHHH!!!! *strength*]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )
perdition.... ?
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (4, 5, 6, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )
perditionperdition @ 8:08PM
Private Message to Bleak Dawn
.... ?
Roll: 5 d10 TN6 (4, 5, 6, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )
"No, my dear, it is not," Avery says, agreeing with Morgan. There's a trace of prim annoyance in her tone, but not directed at the Fianna; of course not. Just the sort of people who smear blood and mud all over a place where the poor humans are just trying to connect with the world of spirit.
And there goes Rafael, trying to break the lock. Avery stands where she is, half keeping an eye on her pack and half keeping an eye on the streets to make sure they aren't about to talk to police.
FirebrandIrish, yes.
Though whether the Ahroun's solemn disapproval stems strictly from some ingrained understanding or whether it was simply the idea of what it stood for was anyone's guess. Firebrand rarely (if ever) discussed things like belief. It was clear enough now however, that she at the very least, held a low key respect for the place of it.
An understanding of why it mattered. Why Rafael protected this place (even if his desire had little to do with belief). When something was sacred -- it mattered. That's as much as Morgan Roche needed to know. They were called to help, her and Avery, to help and protect.
She might not have been skilled at much, the young Full Moon, but she could do this. Protecting and defending was her birthright and she begins a slow prowling circuit near her packmate with this exact thought in mind -- her hood sliding down as she does.
Rafael attempts to break the lock -- Morgan's pale eyes flick to his efforts and she conceals a tiny smirk; bites back the urge to offer assistance. Not the time, Roche. Not now.
perdition(Rafael and Morgan both have - as they have wrapped their hands around the iron gate - the same flash of vision that feels sick, slick, insinuating. This pasty face, huge, leering, grotesque, lifting a knob of something bloody and wriggling to its needle-toothed mouth. COME AND SEE.)
perditionThe gates are cold they are iron and they are wrought, the night though, the high plains night is still half-warm, the remnants of the heat of the day radiant from earth and pavement and there is a moon somewhere high above them but a moon that they cannot see, no. Half-hidden by clouds, by the clotted, noisy detritus of the city's ambient light pollution.
They rattle the fucking gate.
The fucking gate rattles. Groans a bit. Doesn't that sound like the ghost-of-something from some old teleplay. Christmas-past or all-your-sins or - but yes: nothing. Not even with all their rage, because they are on-the-street, still all hungry-human.
Avery says: the mechanism. And lo: the locking mechanism is a chain looped through and secured by combination lock. The wolves do not know the combination. They do not need it. Rafael bends his strength to it, and the chain strains, and then breaks, in his hand. Easy enough to pull the rest through, to shift open the gates.
Inside is dark than without. A kind of clotted strangeness to the night, and only when they are past the gate and wrapped fully in that darkness do they catch the flicker of something less artificial than streetlights. The leap-and-lick of fire that will draw them down the quiet (shadowed) groves of the dead to a sepulchre of modest proportions. The marble is stained with time: outside - a small, banked campfire. A hunk of meat speared over it on a makeshift spit. The spit and sizzle of fat and blood. Organ meat: liver, kidney, heart.
Echo of voices from inside the sepulchre. One resonant, dark. One high, whining. Complaining, hungry. The threshold is dark, all wrapped in shadow. The dusty old stained glass windows illumined as if in pantomime.
Bleak DawnWolf startles back, first time he touches the gate. Neither of his packmates know why. Well -- not until Morgan puts her hands on it as well. Then she knows. Then she knows all too well.
He perseveres, though. Strength or raw anger breaks the chain, and he drops it at his feet with a rattle. Pushes the gate open.
Glance toward Firebrand -- "You see that? Whatever that was?"
Radiant HonorThe chain breaks in Rafael's hands and the corner of Avery's mouth quirks into a small approving smile. She steps forward, following the Ahrouns, and then her brow furrows, eyes narrowing. She sees something and her head tips, her frown deepening. To Rafael's question she gives a small nod, without turning to look at him.
Do you hear that? she adds, a half-echo of his question, spoken only to he and Morgan's minds. Moreover, what made you both jump away from the gate?
Bleak DawnSaw something, comes his reply. Still not too used to this mind-talk thing. Replies are short, choppy. Often un-useful.
Radiant HonorAnd Avery is patient, all the same. What did you see? More than the fire?
FirebrandA glance returned.
Morgan's fiery brows pitched down. Furrowed. Furious, really. She does not enjoy it: "I saw it. Somethin' is playin' with us." Then: We saw somethin'. It was holding something up. Meat. Blood.
The idea of a growl plays across the younger Ahroun's mind. All of their minds: We're bein' taunted. Somethin' is expectin' us to come looking. The Ahroun lifts her head, sniffs. Then, again. Sharp little look between her pack-mates and her footsteps pick up a little pace.
"Do you smell tha'?"
(Trust a Fianna, one has to sigh, to quest with their stomach).
Bleak DawnSomething eating something, is his addition to Morgan's more-helpful input.
And, on that note -- he stalks into the graveyard. Follows that scent, alarmingly delicious, of roasting organ-meats, searing fat.
Radiant HonorAvery frowns deeply. She doesn't say another word. And she begins to stride forward. Apparently, she does not like being taunted. Apparently, she'll walk into what may very well be a trap in order to show a person -- or whatever -- why it does not do to taunt werewolves to come and get it.
perditionBird-calling meat-roasting whisper-cowl. The shadows are deeper inside: that sense of threshold-crossing as one strides in and then the other and then the other and here the night smells different. The musk of the city, the car-exhaust, the ordinary ghastly oily-ness of their lives is gone.
There is pine; there is bone-dust. There is meat, and there is rot.
There is always rot.
Ahead of them: the campfire. The sepulchre. The yawning-dark mouth of its entrance. A figure - pale and human-shaped and filthy comes careening out of the opening, which is darker than shadow. Spins and starts running towards them. There is that face Morgan and Rafael saw - pale and yawning, smeared with blood, dirty-blue eyes bloodshot and bright with panic. Then Then he - she - it sees them, and turns and starts running the other way.
Bleak DawnWolf doesn't even hesitate. He explodes into a dead sprint, racing after the Thing -- kicks the campfire over on his way, sparks flying, trailing embers in his wake.
So much for wisdom and restraint.
Radiant HonorNone of them do. Because you mustn't run from predators. From hunters. All it does is tell them you're something worth chasing.
Avery leaps forward, and suddenly those clothes she wore seem quite fitted to the task at hand.
perditionThing 1 +4
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (3) ( fail )
perditionOther Things +5
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (7) ( success x 1 )
Radiant Honor[-1R Snap-shift to hispo
+10]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (1) ( botch x 1 )
perditionand then Him. +8
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (7) ( success x 1 )
Bleak Dawn[-1 snapshift ... I GUESS HISPO SINCE SOMEONE DOESN'T PLAN AHEAD.
+10]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (2) ( fail )
FirebrandMorgan sees that thing dancing out past the campfire and stops dead in her tracks. She tilts her head, the Fiann with an expression of utter bemusement turned horror (and no small degree of confusion) before Rafael takes off like a shot.
Then Avery leaps after him and the redhead lets out this deep, low huff as if she has to take a moment to clear her mind of the insanity of taunting a pack of Garou and this pack because, well, failure has never particularly tended to occur to Morgan Roche. Then she rolls her shoulders and lets out a low snarl that builds and she begins to run -- lands after a beat (only a few heartbeats, really) - on heavier feet. Clothing surging to brilliant, flame hued fur.
[ Snap shifting like a boss to Hispo since the cool kids are.
+ 8]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (4) ( fail )
perditionHim 15
Rafael 12
Morgan 12
Others 12
Radiant Honor 11
Thing 1 7
Thing 1: run away.
Radiant Honor[-1 W for Fangs of Judgement
-1 W for Resist Pain
Reflexive Totemphone: Rafael, Morgan can handle that one. There are more coming; I believe I'll need you back here.
1a
1b
R1
R2 - held. she's going to be turning mainly on Him and Others but... doesn't know where they're at yet!]
Others:
Other 1. Bite Morgan!
Other 2: Bite Rafael!
Other 3: Tackle Thing 1! LOSER!!!!!
Firebrand[Firebrand is going to:
1a. Bite Thing 1
1b. Bite Thing 1
And R1: Possibly another bite.]
Bleak DawnWolf draws up short, snarling. Packmate goes darting off -- red amidst the gravestones, mist. He wants to follow. Hunt's in his blood, bloodthirst strong as lust itself.
But he halts. Swivels on his hindq
Bleak Dawnuarters. Stands beside the Alpha; fights.
[dropping 3 rage!
1. spur claws to other 2!
R1. biting other 1!
R2. biting other 1!
R2. biting other 1!]
perditionHIm: Howl of the Banshee.
perditionCharisma + Intimidation
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 5 )
Bleak DawnI
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )
Firebrand[WP?]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 4, 5, 10, 10) ( success x 2 )
Radiant Honor[WP for allies of the Fianna since she is packed with one and married to one and will likely have wee Fianna babies one day]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 1, 5, 5, 5, 8) ( success x 1 )
Bleak DawnDice: 10 d10 TN5 (2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 12 ) Re-rolls: 5
Bleak Dawn[I'M SAVING THAT FOR LATER K.
rolling claw]
Dice: 10 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 6 ) Re-rolls: 2
Bleak Dawn[dmg]
Dice: 13 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 6, 6, 7, 8, 10, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 8 )
perditionOther 2: ??
Dice: 3 d10 TN8 (5, 7, 7) ( fail )
perditionOther 2: x_x
Firebrand[1a. Biting the Thing! (-2 Split)]
Dice: 6 d10 TN5 (1, 2, 2, 4, 4, 10) ( success x 1 )
Firebrand[Damage]
Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (4, 6, 7, 9, 9, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 7 )
perditionThing 1:ACK!
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (6, 9, 9) ( success x 3 )
Firebrand[1b. Biting the Thing (-3)]
Dice: 5 d10 TN5 (1, 2, 8, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )
Firebrand[Damage + 2]
Dice: 10 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 4, 4, 6, 6, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 5 )
perditionThing 1: soak!
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 8) ( success x 1 )
perditionThing 1: x.x
perditionOther 1: bite Morgan!
Dice: 6 d10 TN5 (2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 9) ( success x 3 )
perditionDamage
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 1, 2, 4, 5, 9) ( success x 1 )
Firebrand[Soak!]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 3, 5, 8, 8) ( success x 2 )
perditionOther 3: Ooops: change action. Bite Rafael.
Dice: 6 d10 TN5 (3, 4, 6, 6, 7, 10) ( success x 4 )
perditionDamage
Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 1, 3, 5, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )
Bleak DawnDice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 7, 10) ( success x 3 )
Radiant Honor[Reflexive: I'm going after the howler! Or whatever it is.
1a. close distance
1b. Bite Him
R1. BITE HIM
R2. GRRRR NOMF]
Radiant Honor
1a. Run!
1b. Bite! dex + brawl -3
Dice: 5 d10 TN5 (1, 2, 2, 5, 9) ( success x 2 ) [Doubling Tens]
Radiant HonorDamage!
Dice: 10 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 4, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 5 )
perditionThere is a wild capering - chaos outside: scrambling humanoids, a herd of them, pasty and vicious, all limbs and a deep, aggravating, laughingly wrong chaos, one after the other after the other. Two are already obliterated, one in each of the ahrouns' jaws: a bloodied, blooded mist that seems to both freeze and drift in the air.
Radiant Honor plunges through the mouth of the tomb: and into darkness. That howling-thing.
--
Inside the tomb feels: so much larger than it seems without. Large enough for a hispo and a howling crinos to fight.
Him: SOAK!
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8) ( success x 2 )
Bleak DawnDice: 10 d10 TN5 (2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 11 ) Re-rolls: 3
Bleak Dawn[dam +10. TEN, MOTHERFUCKERS.]
Dice: 20 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 1, 2, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 11 )
perditionOther 2: SOAK.
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 4, 5, 8, 10) ( success x 2 )
perditionOther 2: x.x
Firebrand[Rage 1: Biting the Thing! THE NORTH REMEMBERS.]
Dice: 8 d10 TN5 (1, 1, 3, 6, 6, 8, 8, 10) ( success x 5 )
Firebrand[Damage + 4]
Dice: 12 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 4, 4, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 8 )
perditionOther 3? HALP!!!!!
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 5, 7) ( success x 1 )
perditionx.O
Radiant Honor[R1. BITE HIM]
Dice: 8 d10 TN5 (1, 1, 4, 7, 7, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 8 ) [Doubling Tens]
Radiant Honor[Damage]
Dice: 16 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 7 )
perditionSoak!
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 3, 8, 8, 8, 9) ( success x 4 )
Radiant Honor[R2 COME ON]
Dice: 8 d10 TN5 (2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 9, 10) ( success x 5 ) [Doubling Tens]
Radiant Honor[SERIOUSLY]
Dice: 13 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 3, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 10 )
perditionDice: 7 d10 TN6 (4, 6, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 6 )
perditionRage back?
Dice: 2 d10 TN8 (5, 7) ( fail )
perditionx.x
perditionAfter: quiet. Quiet, and that strange, harsh, wet-sick breathing from the once-human still collapsed on the ground. Quiet and dark and the firelight and their own rage: pungent, their harsh breath, the cushioned sense of: place and sky reasserting itself. The world twisting back into focus. The damp grass, crickets. Wind in dry-trees and the sound of traffic, the plainsong of the city's night. That campfire no more than a guttering candle left to burn on an old granite curb.
Inside - a black spiral dancer falls and does not rise. That sense of expansion, of presence, of space inside that tomb disappears, and this is abrupt. The darkness is close again, muted, not absolute. The space is not surprising. It is dingy and spidery and dull and dun and dust, and though the night is dark and spent and muted as it is, in the interval Radiant Honor had a sense of: backlash, some frission howl, the gibbering, broken-thing sudden cessation, and the clamoring revolt against that loss that tells her that He was not a Lone Wolf.
And as that connection dies: somewhere - a lashing, vicious, certain hiss. She's mine.
Radiant HonorInside the crypt, Avery's gleaming white form stands over the collapsed Spiral, his blood dripping from her muzzle. It smells like normal blood. It tastes like normal blood. He was mortal. He was once some form of her own kind, however twisted. She remembers watching one of her own kind -- her own tribe, even -- die not so long ago, though not by her hands. He was not as twisted as this. But twisted nonetheless. Fallen from purpose. An affront to everything she stands for and wishes to live to protect. An affront to Gaia herself.
Avery spits out his blood. She steps forward, suddenly able to hear her own paws padding on the dusty ground. She presses against the Spiral's form, nudging it to make sure it is dead weight now. She feels the absence of magic where its presence pressed heavily a moment ago. She felt the severing of a pack bond, not as gentle or at ease as her own experience of the same, but recognizable all the same.
She did not expect to hear the words that she hears. She feels something quiver down her spine and turns from the dead thing, walking up out of the crypt to survey what her pack has done. The dead forms littering the ground between her two precious Ahrouns, their muzzles and ruffs and claws matted with dark blood, their eyes bright and savage and joyous and enraged. She is pleased, and this dissipates the chill she felt for a moment. She barks softly to draw their attention.
Though she wears her monstrous form easily, it is still monstrous. It is deeply at odds in some ways with her voice in their minds, refined and gracious. It is also, at the same time, entirely in sync: something about her presence and carriage speaks of her heritage and nobility, even when there is murder still fresh on her teeth.
I will summon my Kin to dispose of the offal. Before they come we must cleanse the area, but they will do a far better job than we will.
There is a pause there. She considers before she adds:
I believe the one inside had a pack. I believe also that now they are quite displeased with me.
Avery does not sound remotely bothered about this, merely pragmatic. FYI. Heads up. We might have a pack of Black Spiral Dancers breathing down our necks some time in the near future. Be advised.
Bleak DawnSometimes the details don't matter.
Sometimes it's just the moment. The instantaneous: the tangent, the derivative, the cold calculus of brutality. Doesn't matter how or what or why or -- all the details, all the fineries. None of it matters. What matters is the crunch of his teeth together, those fine bones splitting. The flesh tearing, the blood pattering around his forepaws. He is a savage creature. He delights in these things, the brutality and the violence. Sometimes the line between him and something
far, far worse
is thin.
But: he's fighting on the right side. And there are terrible chunks and shreds all around him, dead things that he hardly cared to characterize. Enemies. That is the only label they needed. His sides heave; his maw drips with blood and things-much-worse. His tail lashes back and forth. Ears flick.
Ready for more, he broadcasts to his pack, as though they could not guess as much from his wide-braced paws, his bristled hackles. Just lead the way.
Radiant HonorAvery barks. If she were in homid, it would be laughter. There's a swish of her elegant, silver-furred tail. She lopes across the grass to her packmates and rubs her head here and there, nuzzling under throats and giving them gentle head-butting. Without words she gives them her appreciation and praise for how very, very well she thinks they did. Rafael is likely less receptive to this, given how ready he is to fight a bit more, kill a bit more. Maybe even a lot more. But she does it all the same. Sometimes words only complicate matters, place structures around things that do not need them.
Let's continue the hunt here after we cleanse the area. Maybe we'll find hints as to the whereabouts of this pack I sensed.
FirebrandBattle becomes Firebrand.
It's no surprise to see the child of Stag there at the end of it all; spitfire overturned and smoking ruin and amidst it all; all that blood and bone and waste; the strength of the red wolf; standing there with her fur still bristling.
There's blood on the red wolf's maw; on her claws; smeared and matted into her coat.
When all is said and done she emits a low, satisfied whuff. Turns and regards the tomb as her Alpha appears and commands their attention. There may be a pack of Black Spiral Dancers. They are likely quite displeased. There's a scraaaape of fine claws across the ground, a toss of a head.
We'll find them out, -rhya. Tear their heads from their bodies.
This, apparently, the Ahroun's notion of a stirring, post-battle victory. But, for now - they had to cleanse this blight. The younger of the warriors insisting on doing her part with a tense, firm little frown. Her hands bloodied and smeared.
Ritual, yes. But an inherent, private respect too. Deep to the bones reverence.
Her only explanation when pressed: cuz it means somethin'.
perditionthey
1) rite of cleansing
thekailing 12:53 am
2) avery calls her van-fulls of kinfolk for cleanup and disposal duty
thekailing 12:53 am
3) they hunt around the area a bit more and find the coat of arms which she sends with her kinfolk people for research
thekailing 12:54 am
4) but don't find more things to kill, at which point avery goes home to her fianna and rafael goes home to his and morgan goes to avery's palatial house in polo club and drinks whiskey and thinks "I gotta get me a silver fang kin boyfriend that'll show em"
FINITO!!!!!!!!!!!
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