Return to the Factory [Many - ST]

[Jackson Ball] Wrecking Ball

The air inside van number two was heavy, humid, almost pressurized. Was thick with musk, tension, Rage. Billowed against the kin driver, making his knuckles white on the steering wheel, his face a rictus mask. All of that due the two monsters in the back, veritably breathing down his neck.

It was gloomy back there. Could just make out shapes. Two of them. There's a glint of light on shaven scalp as one of them moved. Just once, as the eyes caught just the right amount of light, they glinted black-light, flickering once to the rear-view mirror.

Voice was a low-toned liquid rumble; gravel through the harsh static of the cell phone, "Yeah. Say when," Jackson signified their readiness.

The Garbage Man

The other monster made his presence known by the series of pops and cracks as he stretched out that long, too-muscular-to-be-considered-lanky frame. Starts in his knuckles - each individual crack - works his way to his neck, up his spine. Shakes his hands out, eddying that already sparking electric thrum that buffetted off the pair.

Breathes in, breathes out. Ready.

[Kaldrthvari] Will, alone now without his packmate, alone again, alone always, rides with Linnea & co. He sits in the back of the van, his lean muscles relaxed and his ice-strewn eyes calm as still water as he looks out the tiny window. Ochre streetlights slant across his delicate, carven face, imbuing it with a certain eldritch beauty.

The barbwire coils of his rage ricochet around him like chain lightning, singeing the air.

[Slays Before the Warcry] Breathe in, Breathe out, Breathe in, Breathe out, Breathe in

The entire trip over, Ben was calm. Collected. Drifting in and out of attentiveness to his packmates and fellow 'Pillagers' and back into the music blaring with audible thunder from the headphones encasing his ears. His head bobs steadily, smoothly, methodic and routine with the rhythm while fingers run an aerobic workout of relfexive knowing of his body;

The Black Ops special is donned for Umbral duty, incase. Six blades hid in various spaces (Two on either outside thigh, Gutter - Small of Back, Needle - Inner right forearm) while his rugsac, small and bundled for efficiency, hung at one shoulder. It held the few items he'd plucked from the challenge circle supply room before they'd left (I remember Nate); A pair of lock-pick tools, no where near high quality but they'd do, a single pair of handcuffs taped to muffle sound, a black cloth bag large enough for a head and pair of shoulders cinched with a drawstring and oddly enough, a roll of duct tape.

It's only as he feels the van beneath make the appropriate turns and slowly begin to recede to a creeping speed, that his attention comes out of the reverie and the earphones slip from his ears. The discman is set to one side of the bench with the earphones and then...well he hear's Ferdinand.

The Rotagar's eyes regard the Half-moon, jaw held in that crooked pause before a glance snaps towards Linnea, mouthing a 'What the Fuck?' in her direction.

[Vanguard of the Dawn] "Go on," Linnea murmurs to Ben as she lifts a hand to signal the other van, her mouth twisting into a scowl. "Get started, Ben. Get us inside." Inside the fence. Inside the building via the unobstrusive side door clearly visible on Fatin's photographs, a narrow frame with stone lintels covered in peeling yellow paint, set in the crumbling mortar and brick of the eastern wall.

"Not you," the girl says, leaning over to Ferdinand, her staying hand on his thigh. She fixes him with a firm glance, leans low so that she can meet her packmate's gaze, with her own pale eyes. "I need Ferdinand. He knows the plan. You can't do anything to help us. C'mon," briefly cajoling. She has no idea what else to do. "Let him go. Come back tomorrow."

[Vanguard of the Dawn] (Spending 1 gnosis for Inspiration. 1 automatic success on WP rolls for comrades made during the duration of the scene.)

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] He started to scratch at his right forearm, itching at the almost non-existent tattoo that would be his marking of the dedicated bow. It was apart of him, well Ferdinand more likely. However the emotion of being all giddy and joyous turned to annoyed as Linnea, alpha of Her Swift Sword, and superior of Ferdinand's station. That breeding seemed to come down on him, a bit stronger. Feeling the pull of leadership granted down to those under Lady Justice's watch. And that made him all the more uphappy. His normally commanding voice taking on the emotion of someone distressed by being asked to leave. Almost like someone who doesn't want to leave the party.

"What? Come'on I mean, Ferdy maybe a good boy, but shit. I am the better fighter. Damn, he would have nothing on me... I mean, hell I can kick anyone's ass, best to take me into the fight girl."

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] (Ack, sorry didnt see the snipet of Linnea' use.)

[Jackson Ball] The flash of white in the passenger side of the van was Linnea's slim, teenage hand. The signal. Those dark eyes squint - serpentine slits - and the hard line of his lips parts, grunting low, "Iss'on," before sliding the door open with a furious motion - a release of tension.

The Modi slides out, uncoiling and straightening like a wild thing caged too long, finally free. Wipes a black knit cap over his shaven head, and breath comes out in a white fog, twin streams from wide nostrils - dragon at rest. Denim jacket's buttoned to the neck, and rides up into his chin. Jerks it down, annoyed, with a rustle of fabric. Wears pants that look like Army Surplus Store material - plenty of pockets.

Hands ball into fists, and shove into his jacket, chin dipped like a boxer in the ring as he moves across the grounds, fast and steady. Slides a glance at the van, letting his pace match theirs.

Feels it start from his feet, ride through his joints, rumbling through organs and dancing livewire through nerves. Earthquake's Strength. Making him his Fist.

[Nicodemus Harris] Nico unfolds from the van in Jackson's wake. Gangster chic, Nico pulls a similar black knit cap low on his high brow, covering the glaring flourescent green dye of his hair that would otherwise stand out like a beacon in the night. Eternally heavy lidded eyes scan the area as his long limbs stretch and flex into motion. His strides seem slow and easy, but his pace is as fast as Jackson's. Heavy booted feet hitting pavement with a muffled thud.

Rather than walking with hunched shoulders meant to minimize his towering form, he stands straight and tall, a dark figure in the dark night. Facial piercings glinting in rays of light that happen upon him. Inhumanly long fingers stretch and curl in upon themselves in a repetative violent motion. He too breaths fleeting puffs of steam into the night as rage boils within him. Rage that is born of love. An everlasting, undying, unconditional love for Gaia.

Yes. Even niggers from the street are capable of such.

[Slays Before the Warcry] He grunts sharply, eyes peeling towards his Packmate a modicum of concern (For the Man or the Mission who know) whispering over those plain features, before he dons the thin head cap over his hair and plucks up the Bolt cutters.

He steps to the edge of the Van just before the Doors, eyes glancing out the rear window to peek up at Luna's wide grin. Half a world of Hope and Half a world of Despair in that feature. He wasn't much for gambling unless he knew the odds but...a glance back at Linnea and Ferdinand concreted something (Odds are always here) and he pops the door on the Van sharply, clicking his tongue with the rhythm of his thoughts, the spiritual thrum of the No-moon calling through his system, crackling over his fingertips like some bitter wind that hits the exposed eyes, makes them teary and perhaps makes him all the more blurred of vision and sight...

...Even as his booted feet hit the pavement. He casts a glance and a nod towards Jackson and Nico, plain features blank and creased with lines of concentration. Eyes re-focus on the fence. Nothing beyond, simply the fence. The first obstacle. Movements drift and pull him towards it, the Bolt cutters, smudged black with paint, already lifting towards the first link, hands firmly planted around the rubber grips of the tool's handles.

((Activating Blur of the Milky Eye))

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Still inside the van, Linnea hisses at her Philodox - or the creature who has taken over her Philodox for the evening.

"I chose my pack; you're not in it." Her molars grind together, an teeth snapping together audibly. The driver is antsy, he shoots a glance back at Linnea and Ferdinand, watchful, as Kaldrithvari squeezes past the pair of Silver Fangs at loggerheads. "I'm Alpha. He knows it, you know it. GET. OUT. Give him back to me." Her voice coils with frustration wrapped tightly with the silver filaments of finely coiled rage. Her pale gaze narrows perceptibly and her nostrils flare with emotion. "If you don't let go, I'm leaving you both behind."

--

Reiter exits the van, footsteps quiet on the pavement, a moment's attention to the drama within before swinging it back to the mission. He studies the factory, gaze glancing over the windows for signs of life, then takes a careful survey of the streets, watching Ben's back.

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Leadership 1 + Totem 2 + Charisma 3 + Pure Breed 4

[Triat] [ Okay, after this final round of posting I'll have a system post. Continue. ]

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] The aged vision of what was not Ferdinand slowly seeped out of those deep brown eyes of that known to be that of his ancestor. And he quickly closed his eyes, felling the power of one known as Alpha push upon him, resounding within his very being.

"Fine, dammit, but ya'll be sorry. I mean dammit. I am much better than him... damn."

But the pressure applied upon him, the power of ancient breeding power everything would push that ancestor out of him. Leaving the Philodox to his own devises. And after a couple of deep breaths the voice seemed calm, but regal once again. The emotion measured in necessity and not much more. Ferdinand was himself again.

"Thank you Linnea, I was worried I might have cost us the mission. You truly are coming along as Alpha. Now let us be on with this business. Maybe Helios' brood guide our hands tonight. "

And it seemed that the pack could feel it, almost a uncanny feeling of unity. Knowing that they were there for each other. That they would work well together, together they shall not fail. But to Ferdinand he could feel out the presence of not only his position, but that of Linnea besides him and Ben moving into the hunt.

(1 Gnosis spent, activate Harrier's View)

[Jackson Ball] No matter how fast or efficient Ben might be at moving ahead and slicing a hole, there's still a moment of stasis. It's an agonizing moment in time, of idleness, of waiting, of standing before the precipice. Rage crackles black-electric; dragons's coils roiling, boiling - black as hate - with every neuron screaming to leap to tear/rend/destroy. Hands come out of pockets with all the menace of a gunslinger drawing his six-shooters. Thick calloused fingers balled into dangerous fists.

Nostrils flare scenting, dark eyes are molten iron ingots as they sweep the decicated factory. Breathes a wuff. Shifts his feet from one to the other, as Ben - with all his speed - moves seemingly in slow motion. Each deliberate snip ringing in his ears.

Takes the time to steel himself, hardening his thoughts, his nerve, his mind, his heart. He would feel no pain, would balk at no injury to slake his thirst of the Enemy's blood.

((1 WP Resist Pain ))

[Nicodemus Harris] Nicodemus casts a glance over his shoulder toward the vans. Watching with heavy lidded eyes as Linnea and her friends (most of whom are but vague faces from moots past) move to join them at the fence line. When he turns back, his bloodshot eyes narrow as he looks beyond the chain link at the factory. One scarred knuckled hand lifting to twist the thick steel hoop in his lower lip once before it falls to his side and becomes a fist once again.

Tension springs to life in the coils of his neck, as his jaw tightens and dispells all signs of slackness in his dark features. A tight rolling of his shoulders beneath his ratty cammo jacket, to pass the idle moments that follow. Inside his mouth, his doubly pierced tongue slides savagely across the roof of his mouth. Stainless steel balls raking against his pallet. Bruising it with each passing of his tongue, until the coppery taste of blood alights in his throat.

[Slays Before the Warcry] The Fence is short work. Short work and ease, the Rotagar's hands, precise and tense with alacrity, snapping through the aluminum lengths with sharp flicks and tugs. It isn't long before a moderate sized hole, one Ben could walk through standing tall, but no doubt Jackson and Nico will need to duck through, is folded to one side on the fence. Luna's gleaming smile seems to be smiling down on the party for the most part, Ben's form suddenly opaque and vague around the wide edges (And you thought picking him out of a crowd was bad enough before), leaving the Rotagar's voice the only solid point of reference.

...The Pulse of his Packmates is felt. Thrumming in the air currents, breathed in deep and exhaled with the slow and steady calm of meditative zen. He was even. Tempered. Controlled and sharp. Like a blade's edge.

"Stay Here a minute. Wait for the others and my signal to advance." The Hazy presence on the outside of the Fencing is smooth and swift, dancing through the opening made and into the lot beyond. Hands, gloved and loose, set the bolt cutters to the other side of the fence before he's moving forward, satchel at his shoulder and a hand resting comfortably at his right hip where Gutter hides beneath the folds of the turtleneck and cargo pants.

His hands are already fumbling for the Lock Pick tools in the satchel as he steps beyond and into enemy turf.

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Linnea flashes a quick and ghostly shadow of her usual grin. It wells up through the stiff lines of her set features and then disappears, almost as quickly. In that moment, though, it's a fierce, true smile, hardly girlish. She waves quietly to her brother, then climbs carefully out of the van, turns and waits for Ferdinand to join her, then pulls the door tightly closed with a rolling snick. The vans pulls off, then rounds the corner ahead, headlights sweeping across the abandoned guard hut, before they pull out of sight.

Linnea's wearing jeans, her usual dedicated t-shirt, and a dark black hoodie on which Ben insisted after an exasperated survey of the teenager's wardrode. Her long hair is french braided, as usually, then twisted into a tight knot hidden at the base of her neck, hidden by the cowl of the hooded sweatshirt. She sinks to her haunches, her hands dangling between her thighs, watching and waiting as Ben cuts through the fence. She frowns, her mouth tightening with concentration, pale eyes rising to study Ben's immediate surroundings. She cannot quite see him but she knows he's there.

The girl breaks off her survey long enough to shoot Jackson another quick glance, mouthing the word wait as Ben works to get them inside.

--

Meanwhile, Will keeps track of other approaches, the group's northern perimeter, watchful, seraphic.

(Both spending 1 WP for resist pain.)

[Triat] The Rotagar slinks into obscure oblivion and the bolt cutters are put to work the fence slowly gives way under his tender ministrations, link by link broken in its teeth. A portal through the obstacle begins to form, the first noticeable layer of protection around the factory peeled back by the Justice pack’s roving agent.

Linnea’s words ring true, the charismatic voice she was beginning to refine and exercize since being named alpha of her pack and Wyrmfoe casting the unwanted ancestor from Ferdinand’s mind. Finally, they are free to leave the van a pack, only moment after Will takes his own position.

The shadowy vanguard of the converging force finally finishes with the bolt cutters as the lines tighten up beside him. The other buildings surrounding the factory provide ample cover, even for the mountainous Garou that leave that second van ready to charge forward and see if there were any deserving of Gaia’s vengeance.

The streets, burnt-out and abandoned buildings, and empty parking lots surrounding the dead factory are quiet, the valleys between the empty and tightly cramped warehouses carrying a bone-biting wind despite the relatively mild weather. Their vans find spots between trucks and other vehicles like it, left to wait out the night until their drivers return for the next workday. This is what the Garou have been reduced to in these final days; they fight their wars in the shadows, far from the watchful eyes of humans with power only in their numbers. They must defend their Mother in hiding, staying their claws until opportunities like these arise, while in the day she is slowly defiled.

Still, it is a cleared battlefield, one that speaks to all of the warriors assembled in the whistling breeze. That breeze awaits the smell of blood, and the battleground yearns to be wet with the stuff.

It is the calm before the storm as the rogue braves no man’s land.

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] Ferdinand seems to follow the direction of his alpha, moving from the van without a second thought. Trying to keep the memory of his pictures in his mind while also focusing on the power of Harrier's gift within him. Holding his position at the thought of it.

His thought gathering upon the idea of what is to come. Watching those more intuned to the beast within move foward while Ferdinand stays back a bit, taking moreso the back. Watching there backs with the best intent. And upon coming to the shadows of the gateway, the non-existent tattoo seems to slightly come alive, whisper of what was once not there, now in hand. Hunter, strike true this night. The garou bow was now in hand. The quiver holding 8 arrows, 6 of which were specially designed for this mission. If possible it is best to take down the enemy in a silent distance than with claws.

[Jackson Ball] Give a slight nod to Linnea's mouthed wait and snorts a wuff of air. Turns his glance to watch the progress of the Rotagar. And does jus that. Waits.

[Nicodemus Harris] Like the others... Nico waits as well.

[Slays Before the Warcry] The thrum of the music beforehand continues to drift in and out of his attention, his mind drawing a strange rhythm from the tones and pitch of the vocalist and his accompanied orchestra, precision steps measuring over each obstacle and piece of detritous in his path even as the short alleyway, wide-enough perhaps for a pair of Cars side by side, ends in a loading bay Gate three feet off the ground it's gate closed and no doubt locked down from the inside.

The goal however is the thick, rusted doorway that etches out the side of the Western wall, towards the end of the Alley, his steps creeping up to the portal while hands dance with the slender pair of tools plucked from his satchel. Preperation was the key and he'd come with the necessary tools (Though if you'd get off your ass and get to know your spirits this could all be avoided by Gaia's grace and Gifts).

He huddled up next to the door, ear set to inches from the crack seperating door and frame, as if to listen for anyone beyond it, while the eyes settle on the handle and lock mechanism, darting over it's complexity. It would be a few moments (Breathe in, Breathe out) before the Rotagar lifted his hands to the lock itself, waiting until any noise on the other side of the door became too routine to be a person or fell silent before testing out his Larceny skills (Fuck it's been too long, I've gotta get back into shape)

[Vanguard of the Dawn] The girl remains, quiet and watchful. Her rage warms her skin, spirals from her flesh, but the wind channeled by the narrow streets cuts easily through the weave of her sweatshirt, ruffles the edges of the hood. She reaches up, her fingers pulled back, largely concealed by the cuff of the jacket, and pushes the hood back far enough that it cannot obscure her field of vision, feels the low thrum of rage deep inside the pit of her stomach. Her hands flex, her posture changes minutely as she waits.

--

Will seems like a statue, some carven thing. All are tense and focused as the Rotagar does his work.

[Triat] The door swings open an inch as the lock finally gives with a click, though it takes a few minutes for the substandard picks to finally work on the thing. Or perhaps it's the nerves of the Rotagar as he stands out in the open, a yellowish light revealing him as he kneels beside the door in the loading bay.

Other than that click no other sounds come from inside the factory, the hum of tons of machinery that Benjamin had heard on his first visit not nonexistant. The sentries of the assembled Garou who search for signs of life around the factory still find none, except for the stray rat scurrying to its next hiding place.

[Slays Before the Warcry] ...And with the click comes a resultant whistle of two notes, one low then high, at the remainder of the group waiting by the Fence, his gloved hand on the handle already pulling it open a crack to peer within while awaiting the arrival of the rest and the plan for entry.

[Slays Before the Warcry] Figured that was best out there so folks don't have to waste another turn waiting for Ben to give the signal.
PMed to: Ferdinand Corozon Jr., Jackson Ball, Nicodemus Harris, Triat, Vanguard of the Dawn

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] Ferdinand's eyes seem to scan back and forth over the area, watching to those shadows for something that was possibly there. Thinking over which arrow to pull of first should it become necessary. This was supposedly wyrm territory, but that was also a risk of using the bane arrows too early. Maybe he should use the Falcon arrows, the silver tip may not be affecting his packmates, but what of that of Nico and Jackson. And then there is a soft voice of Ferdinand coming out.
'He is at the door, almost inside."
And the whistle coming off as well, maybe at the same time. But he would not explain to them how he knew. Well maybe to Linnea, but none else. These are gifts that are only for there tribe and even going out of house may be a sin against the house totems.

[Jackson Ball] Ferdinand breaks the silence, and the tension. Needle in a balloon. Dark eyes flash to mark him, heeding his words. There's a nod, chin dipping, "A'right," slurs it out, making one word of two with all the barefoot irreverence of the ghetto, "'es-go," and with one final glance to Linnea, the ranking Ahroun, he strides forward, shoulders rolling.

Takes care in his passage, but he's no dainty flower, more a bull picking his way over uncertain turf, moving to crouch behind the Rotagar. Chipped granite gaze slides past him, peering within.

[Nicodemus Harris] Nico squeezes himself through the hole in the fence, and rises back to his full height beyond it. Dark eyes slide with a lazy care over the factory grounds as he moves with the others. Some base instinct guiding him into a pack formation. Adopting the Fangs and Get as his own for the time being. The Gnawers are nothing, if not adaptive.

It is his street nature that has him turn as he nears the now open door. Treading backward to watch their backs. His easy lope the agile dance one might find on the basketball court. Bloodshot eyes narrow and deadly calm, sweeping the landscape.

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Linnea glances briefly at Ferdinand, then rises suddenly, surely, from her crouched position to her full height, and retraces the path Ben took through the hole in the fence (if there is enough room for Jackson and Nicodemus, the tall, skinny girl passes through it, slender as a leaf). "C'mon," a momentary flash of a glance to Earthquake as the skinny girl slips through the gapin mouth of the fence, Ferdinand and Will following the trio of Ahrouns, ceding the forward ground to them.

She wants to run, Linnea. She wants to pound down the pavement to Ben's side, breathless, her heartbeat thunders with the possibility of movement, with repressed energy, with the livewire tingling excitement of what is to come, but she forces herself to walk, to imagine herself as a bulwark against the ocean and all its power. Walk walk walk, walk when she wants to run, all the way to Ben's side.

(Gnosis spent for Master of Fire)

When she reaches her packmate, her fingers brush his shoulder lightly in a mild, unconscious gesture of appreciation. "Let's go." An unconscious echo of Jackson's slurred words, nothing that'll go down for posterity, but a keen and keyed awareness of the setting, the moment. She squeezes past Jackson, and stands against the door, parallel to the hinges, peeking with Ben as he peeks, then watching his back as the barely visible Rotagar takes point. Her fingers curl over the lip of the door, to keep it from swinging too fast or too far, should Ben have need to let go of the handle. "I got your back," her chin rises, a gesture and a glance at the other waiting Garou. "They do too. Let's find something to kill."

[Triat] On the other side of the door in pure darkness that waits to consume the exploring warriors. The light from the loading bay barely dents its dense form, illuminating only a half-yard of floor. It was more than just an impediment to their vision, though. It warns them of something: they would be facing evil on its home turf, now, if it still took up residence within the factory’s hallways and hid amidst its machinery.

With the huff of wind as the door’s seal is open the very faint smell of decaying flesh pricks the noses of those with especially attuned senses.

[Triat] [ There's no power at all in the factory. None of the lights work if tried, in case anyone thought of doing so, so you can just work that into future posts to save us some time. ]
PMed to: Ferdinand Corozon Jr., Jackson Ball, Kaldrthvari, Nicodemus Harris, Slays Before the Warcry, Vanguard of the Dawn

[Slays Before the Warcry] Ben's footsteps are timed with the fall of silence behind him as the last of the Garou glide into place. Linnea offered few words of command and thus he fell back on instinct instead:

The Darkness beyond was the first tip and his senses rippled through a half dozen thoughts all at once (Ambush-Fuck Me-Don't like this-Suck it up!-Fuck You!) even as he kept to his haunches and inched forward around the door, ensuring it remains closed enough that only his slim body can fit through for the moment, choosing not to expose the other Garou beyond the door's portal (Caution: Last Visit had Big Men with Guns. Doors are good cover), his footsteps creep across the concrete floor before him silent as he can be (and I can be pretty silent) while the eyes squint attempting to adjust to the area just ahead while both hands reach outwards for the walls that could be on opposite sides. Feeling for safety and terrain ahead.

When contact with one of the walls is made, he hugs it, clapping a hand softly against the flesh of the material surface to let those behind him know his position. The darkness swallows the Rotagar as he takes a few merciful steps forward, the stench of rot creeping through his nostrils, forcing him to narrow his eyes against some inner taste of bile, even as his Will burns through each vein and nerve, deadening them to the coming Pain that awaits them in the nebulous territory of the enemy.

(Resist Pain Activated.))

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] Ferdinand will not stay too far behind his packmates, but his eyes continually watch where there could be some type of ambush, something that is going to come out of now where. His garou bow still tight in his right hand, wondering how they were to proceed. A small portion of his mind thought of the moonbridge light they traveled across to meet with Lady Justice. And then the faint thought of that gift his father knew. The glow of silver that lit up the night and made looking upon him all the harder.

But for now he was sure of it, the stench of flesh was horrible. Making his decision all the easier. Bane arrow it was. Knotched and ready, awaiting the acions within. His mind still following the path of his packmate mentally.

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Ben eases through the door; Linnea holds it cracked, watching the creeping strands of dim streetlight soaking into the darkness. She waits, poised, trusting the Rotagar's skill, the keenly tuned rage swallowing the pinpoints of nervous energy that spark and swirl in the pit of her stomach.

[Jackson Ball] When all were assembled with their burgeoning, collective energy; their Rage and murder-urge, he nods at Linnea's words, squeezing through the opening, starting into the interior. Finds out at once he has to go slow, nevermind what he wants. He could barely see.

But they ain't here to sneak. Ain't here to survey, or find things out. They were here to do precisely what Linnea said: Find things to kill. And this human skin? This soft form, this facade of breeder's clothing? Would not do.

Rips from it. Bursts from it, like a pressurized can of snakes. Fur boils from flesh, muscles thicken, harden, widen, strengthen. Those gregarious-gather teeth and fingernails turn to flashing ivory fangs, and wickedly curved obsidan claws. He's a grey battleship in the gloom - a nordic mountain at dusk. 9 and a half feet of nightmarish power, and stark lines of pure breeding - blood-thirsty berserker on snow.

Scents it, that desiciated smell, nostrils flare, attuning the surroundings to Garou senses.

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Ohh. Hee. Ignore my post. :grins: I'll repost in order in a minute.
PMed to: Ferdinand Corozon Jr., Jackson Ball, Kaldrthvari, Nicodemus Harris, Slays Before the Warcry, Triat

[Kaldrthvari] When it comes his turn, the Forseti crosses into the darkness within without hesitation. Of the group, he is perhaps the calmest; so relaxed that the others might wonder if he even knew what he was getting into. There is rage about him, an electric nimbus, but no tension. His hands are open at his sides, his posture confident, steady.

As the darkness takes him, Will Reiter becomes something more like himself. The shadows shroud his shift, but they can all sense it nonetheless. A change in the quality of the area around him. An increase in body heat and size. Where the bone-thin youth had stood, there is now a beast, long-limbed, starved to savagery, big paws braced wide, his grey pelt a thick cover through which the hard arches of his rib-bones still show. A soft fluttering in the darkness: he shakes out his fur with a loose toss of the head, rotative. Black claws tick softly on concrete. One step and another. A warm moist whuff as he raises his nose, takes in scents - trusting his ears and nose to do the job his eyes cannot.

(want me to roll percep/alert?)

[Nicodemus Harris] Satisfied with the emptiness of the landscape at their backs, Nico turns toward the door. With the others disappearing into darkness, Nico takes a moment to steel himself against the violence that is almost certain to come. (WP, resist pain)

Wide nostrils flare, and the hoops in each of his nostrils glint in the last of the nights light before he eases his bulk into the inky darkness beyond the door. His broad shoulders, tight and low as bloodshot eyes squint and adjust to darkness as well as can be expected in the form of his birth.

Within the darkness, Nico's body grates and groans in a shift. Not to his warform, but to his hulking, savage beast of hispos. Huge pierced snout snuffling in loud puffs at the concrete floor.

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Once safely inside, once (safely - hah!) wrapped in the cocoon of darkness, well and away from prying eyes, Linnea takes her warform. Her body splits and pops, the supple, slick sound as her bones split and lengthen, and spirit becomes flesh becomes spirit, one and the same. In the end, she, too, is four-paws to the floor, a silver-furred direwolf, pure breeding sharp in her scent, silvery-white in the air around her.

[Triat] [ Those in Hispo or Lupus give me a Perception + Alertness roll. Difficulty is 7 for Hispo and 6 for Lupus. ]

[Nicodemus Harris] Perc. 3 + Alert 2 =

[Kaldrthvari] (sorry, didn't mean to roll twice, joey. take the first one i PMed)

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Perception (2) + Alertness (1)

[Kaldrthvari] (who the hell designed the dice system? my PM roll wasn't a succ, and Vanguard's wasn't a botch.)

[Jackson Ball] ooc: Uh.. normally it doesn't glitch like this. But this is our first dierolling scene after the Jove upgrade

[Triat] [ Don't worry, I'll just look at the numbers. System post coming. ]

[Triat] The darkness that threatens to consume them does so as they walk willingly into its waiting maw. The more human of their warring forms, that of the Crinos Garou, are left just as blind as those who stay in that of the soft human. The lone Bone Gnawer is the only one who hears it, the only sound coming from deep within the bowels of the factory. It’s that of thick chain clinking and clanking across metal grating.

Benjamin, he who has traveled deepest, finds a new and disturbing obstacle in his path. The sound is familiar as it clatters across the floor and into the light as the massive Crinos and Hispo travel through the door- a stripped white-and-black femur lying on the concrete, bite marks breaking through its exterior to reveal some of the remaining marrow.

[Slays Before the Warcry] "...Fuck. 'Nea we need an Ahroun with a good nose upfront. Someone tough 'n hard as steel. Recommend everyone to as small a form as possible. Minimize bulk until we get more room."

The Bone is plucked from his path directly ahead, gripped by the long shank length and thumbed over for the all too recognizable bite marks that line it's length. Gnawed, chewed and devoured no doubt by the monstrosity awaiting them at the end of this run. He wasn't planning on dying tonight and Fenrir or not, he wasn't stupid. His senses were keen in Lupus but he had a feelin' others were better suited to the task...

...And with that thought, the bone is passed backwards to whoever might wish to take a sniff or touch of the piece as evidence of the Rotagar's worry, while his flesh and form suddenly sprout fur and fang, drifting into the lean and light foot Lupus form that sings of unnatural speed and agility.

...The snuffling maw reaches forward, even as he skitters off to one side, awaiting the presence of the new Point Man, or a shove from someone to indicate he was nominated.

[Slays Before the Warcry] ((Last post of mine out of Alphabetical order. Don't want to waste time by havin' folks wait on Ben's point man reactions.))
PMed to: Ferdinand Corozon Jr., Jackson Ball, Kaldrthvari, Nicodemus Harris, Triat, Vanguard of the Dawn

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] (Shift by primal)

[Vanguard of the Dawn] The Silver Fang shoulders forward, her toes clicking lightly on the concrete, to take a deep snoutful of scent from the bone, clearly prepared to take point. Her fur ruffles, a faint whine of question lifted to Nicodemus and Jackson, sharpened and flavored with a supple growl. Good nose?

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Same thing here, since Nico and Jackson are ahead of me in the posting order, I wanted her question to them out there. I'm not going by stats, since chica doesn't know them. If either decides they have a "good nose" they can have point. Otherwise, Linnea's taking it.
PMed to: Ferdinand Corozon Jr., Jackson Ball, Kaldrthvari, Nicodemus Harris, Slays Before the Warcry, Triat

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] Ferdinand listened to what was said and decided to follow in suit. The arrow once again replaced into the quiver and the bow absorbed by his transformation down to the Lupus form. However it seems that his wolf instincts do not pull his form into the wolf fur, so with his inner beast he channels it into that form. Shifting instanteously.

[Jackson Ball] Darkness. Soundless. And apparently scentless. The factory was even more a void than he previously suspected. The form of war, with its single-minded purpose of strength and destruction was too obtuse, too blunted in these environs,

For one moment Wrecking-Ball (because he wasn't 'Jackson' in this form) was a collosal master-of-hounds, standing tall above the wolves on the hunt surrounding him. Then he falls forward, bones shifting, breaking, reforming. Deadly claws become forepaws as wide as man's torso. Hits the ground as a dire wolf, a monster-truck of a hispo.

Shoves forward, a low growl answering in the speech of the wolves. Body language. No words. Moves to point, and doesn't pause. Sniffs the bone, wrinkling his nose, shouldering past Slays-before-the-Warcry into the gloom.

[Jackson Ball] Perception (3) + Primal-Urge (2) = 5, diff 7

[Kaldrthvari] Kaldrthvari's pricked ears swivel and turn to little effect. The darkness is complete, in his eyes as well as his mind. No signals are picked up, no hints. No matter. He remains as he is, balanced, braced, loose-jointed. Even in a pseudopack such as this, even bunched in a tight group, he seems a little aside from the rest. His mind is clear as crystal. It's a good night to die, the heroes always said in stories. He wonders if there's sense in that after all. I would be happy to die tonight, Will thinks to himself, reflective. Fighting in a group. Slaying wyrm. Not alone. It's a better alternative than many.

A contradiction from the Forseti, another chip added to the lot that Linnea, as Wyrmfoe, would have to weigh: "Packing tight is good for defense." The speech of their ancestors, garou-tongue, primal and raw. "But it is difficult to find the hidden enemy like this. Besides, if they can see in the dark, one area attack could incapacitate all of us."

[Nicodemus Harris] With a gruff and muted cough of sound that sends spittle across the floor, The Garbage Man paws his way forward without pomp or affair. An instinctual reaction to the Fenris words, and nothing more. His hackles raised, as huge forepaws tread past the offered femur, which he regards with burning amber eyes. In the pitch blackness that surrounds them, his body language is one that imbues the others with a sense of steady paranoia.

Like the slap of a beavers tail over water, his hackles and lowered tail alert his pack to danger ahead. Not that it is really needed... what with the gnawed bone (quaint) and the overwhelming scent of death that it must carry with it. A thick string of drool dangles from his jowls, and he shakes his huge head with a muffled flapping of heavy jowls. Saliva splatters the walls on either side of him as he snuffles loudly, and laps at his huge jaws.

Nico can find edible food burried beneath discarded diapers, and skunky beer bottles. Nico can smell food from miles away, and his ears are trained to drown out the street sounds, and focus on the prey. Wether that prey be human, or otherwise. For a moment, the pair of them... rumble crew, are shoulder to shoulder in the confined space. Massive wolfen form, to massive wolfen form. The muddy wire furred hispos of Nico's form pauses, and then steps back with a shuffling of clawed feet against concrete.

Jackson it seems... is on point.

[Vanguard of the Dawn] They are in a narrow room; the door to the hallway hangs creaking on its hinges. Wrecking Ball prowls through the open door into the hallway, his claws clicking against the concrete. Forward, forward into darkness, a narrow hallway, relentlessly forward (they will remember it, perhaps, from the map, a satellite puncture from the vast production floor into a warren of offices and closely guarded secrets.

The hallway offers little room for ranging their strength into a less inviting target, but Vanguard snaps the order up the line of Garou an order, the impression of assent to the Fenrir’s suggestion. Not words, precisely, but the feeling of them, her ability to communicate hampered by the darkness, the necessity of silence. Fan out when you can.

The scent of decay grows stronger as they explore the narrow warren of offices, these vast rangy things, creatures of nightmare and memory, strangely confined, wrong in this Weaver space, no matter how corrupted it has been by its occupants.

There is little of immediate interest in the offices and backhallways: the scent of sprayed urine, human and animal both, on the wall, feces smeared across an emptied filing cabinet, the sharp tang of human fear beneath it, and the unfurling scent of the thing whose scent clings to the bone Ben found, an aimless spiraling pattern that loops and whorls back upon itself, intensifies when they find a pile of calcified shit, recedes momentarily when other scents (paper, oil, remembered chemical perfumes) briefly overwhelm it.

The hallway ends abruptly; another door, this one half-open as well, rolling on creaking hinges. The impression of vast space, a looming overhead crane, massive tumbling vats and rising catwalks like a superstructure over improbably and delicately jointed accumulations of pipes and ducts and curlicued robotic arms, belts and tracks and hanging chains, ladders thrusting up to delicate suspension bridges high overhead, all illuminated, barely, by the sparse light falling from the huge overhead windows.

Two piles of shit, one old, one not-yet-hardened, left behind a jointed metal barrel full of some nameless but terribly sterile scent. Another scent trail joints the first, the low sound of snarls rise from somewhere in the disjointed maze of the factory floor, resolving into a high-pitched yelp of submission.

[Kaldrthvari] The hallway registers as danger to Kaldrthvari. The lean grey hispo gets through in the minimum time he can use and still emerge safely. On the other side, as the space opens up, he takes the left wing. Soft as silk, the intimations of a growl rise up through his throat as he sniffs at pipes and chains, conveyor-belts and long-dead machines. Distant sounds drift through the air. Caught -- the swivel of his ears, the raising of his longjawed head. Bony and graceful, the Forseti bends his neck to lick at a forepaw, nibble at a patch of clumped fur. Then, to Linnea, the current alpha-by-default of this operation: "Investigate?"

[Slays Before the Warcry] ((That would be Alphabetical Order...Kald's post will come after Jackson in the line up))

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] The smell of the urine and feces seems to be stronger and stronger along the passaway. It was horrific and almost coming to the point of overwhelming the senses of the lupus form of Council's the Divided. Taking into account the situation he can feel his hackles rising as the sounds of life, or the prospect of something else at least can be heard. Yuffs in agreement to his alpha's direction, following the point of those known to be in the forefront.

[Jackson Ball] The grey-furred dire wolf leads through the hallways with all the grace of a tank. They spill forth into the vast room, and his tail swishes expressive, calling for the fanning out that Vanguard-of-the-Dawn had spoken of.

The clicks of his claws are lost in the whirring factory noises, during his lope toward the disgusting spoor, ears perk to the yelping sounds. Chin rises, and the great wolf's maw utters a low warbling growl, tail standing upright, padding toward the noise, allowing time for the dual pack of wolves to converge.

[Nicodemus Harris] Nico's junk yard dog instincts have his hackles raised, and a growl purging itself from the depths of his barrel chest. Amber eyes peer into the vast space beyond this second door, and his glossy nose twitches at the scent of feces that hangs in the air. A wolf won't shit where it lives... and neither will a dog, unless it has no other choice.

The humane part of him, the part of him that inspired by nature. Inspired by a flower that grows up out of the cracks on city concrete. That part of him feels a momentary sense of pity for the creatures that have come to haunt this structure. That pity slowly degenerates into disgust as his nostrils flare at the acrid scent of urine and fecal matter. As he emerges into the larger room, his body lowers into a crouch of readiness. Toothy maw dripping anticipation into a poll on the floor.

[Slays Before the Warcry] The procession forward is steady and the lighting scents reach in to his gullet and churn the bile around for several moments, before he dispels it with a soft snort of air that crests the edges of Nico's flank fur. He's creeping forward in a zig-zag pattern as doors are butted aside and tossed to one corner while the hallways slowly recede into nothingness beneath the noses and searching senses of the Garou numbers.

It's only when they emerge into the stretch of floor, strafed with broken down machines and the stagnant stench of Oil and steadily building rust, that Ben slips out from the line-up, spreading through the shadows nearby with a liquid grace meshed so deeply with his instincts that his seeking eyes and snuffling nose carry almost all of his attention, feet already knowing where and when to step.

...The Drifting sound of chains somewhere, echoing off the walls is rivalled only by the sharp sound of multiple barks and snarls. His ears perk and then flatten over his skull, the nigh invisible Rotagar offering few words or descriptions to those gathered, instead measuring his pace even as he glides forward on the Wolf instincts, intent on sight of what lies beyond before reaction comes calling.

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Vanguard of the Dawn snaps her approval to the Forseti, wordless and without form. She fans out to the right flank, placing her footsteps with care and delicacy in order to avoid stepping in the muck, but pauses at the animal waste (it is surely that) long enough to catch a scent that they might follow as a map through the unfamiliar industrial wasteland.

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] Even among the dark measures of the roomss, Ferdinand steps in positions to keep to his alpha's side while making sure not to pad into any of the waste left behind by these, creatures. His mind running across what could possiblt be around. His gift still active to ensure that Ben and Linnea are within the distance of a quick snap should something go horribly wrong. He was unsure of what was ahead, but banes did not produce this type of waste, they only hung around in it.

[Slays Before the Warcry] The steady wind of the Machinery begins to lessen as the Wolves proceed forward all clicking claws and low growls. Were some God to watch their passing, it might seem beautiful. A prowling hunt through an extended family, drifting in and out of one another's paths, packmates to packmates, instinct to instinct. The larger given birth, the smaller given perimeter visuals. Warriors born and bred and trained...

...Trained for what lies beyond:

The Machines finally cease to be an obstacle, light spilling in from the large windows that hang high above, Luna's half-grin and the presence of harsh orange industrial lighting from the outer building's hall walls, glaring down on the floor of the Warehouse, spread across a decent fifty foot radius. The Prints of old machines having been moved recently, leaving clean spots to mark the territory line.

The floor is lined with scrapes and shit stains, urine pools and even the occasional streak of dried blood. The bones are plentiful, chipped, broken, cracked and gnawed clean, while the mess of torn bodies is everywhere, pulling the stench to the forefront.

At the floor's centre, they huddle and hunch, like a collection of Rabid animals, a mockery of the instinctual beauty that comes upon them. The outer ring is comprised of the War Hounds, thick scaled and fur patched bodies that carry most of the weight in the forelimbs and chest, expanding like thunderous billows around the fetid air, long incisors gleaming beneath the harsh industrial light, while Luna's gaze caresses their hides and forces them to glow a dull, achingly disgusting greenish black both sickening and resilient to view. Their eyes are a muddy yellow and black pupil, throbbing with pus that runs down in week old trails over the short but deadly large maws. Claws click on the concrete below, squelching in the occasional pile of shit as they move and circle around the larger Monstrosities, keeping a safe distance even as low growls and snapping teeth rake out at the Two....

...The Pair are chained to a pair of rusted, blood splattered and urine soaked pillars that no doubt dig deep into the concrete below. Their forms are thick and bulky in all the wrong ways, huddle over so low that one would find it near impossbile for them to stand on two legs. Thick arms claw and scrape furrows in the concrete with almost instinctive ease, while the thick green and black pelts of their coats are interrupted only by the sharp designs of green and purple whorls and splotches that spiral across limb torso and scalp of their Crinos frames.

Red Eyes, pure and bloodlust bloated, narrow and widen with each passing moment even as their long maws, lips seemingly non-existent and teeth ever-exposed to the air around them, snuffle and snort sharply at the air around them, taking in the sudden and new scents that fill the air...

...Gaian Scents. Fresh Scents. Dinner. Chains begin to grow taut and strain sharply as the Monsters suddenly bristle with hackle and bulbous muscle, froth and foam already lighting on the edges of their teeth.

...And then, only a single sound to Rape the Air.

Cli-Clink!

...As the Weak links in the Chains, Snap.

[Slays Before the Warcry] ((Initiative time folks. Dex + Wits + a Die. Don't forget Form Modifiers.))

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] (Following Linnea, pack initiative)

[Kaldrthvari] (nice post, man. 9+1d10 below)

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Pack Initiative: Dex 4 + Hispo 2 + Wits 3 = 9 + 1d10

[Nicodemus Harris] 8+1d10

[Slays Before the Warcry] 10 + Die

[Slays Before the Warcry] ((Whoops ignore that, Pack init. *smacks forehead*))

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Dogs: 6 + Die

[Jackson Ball] Pack initiative: 8+1d10

[Slays Before the Warcry] BSD: 5 + Die

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Wolves: 6 + Die

[Slays Before the Warcry] Kald = 18
Her Swift Sword = 18
EQ = 17
Dogs = 10
BSD = 12

This is now the Posting Order Folks. Decide who in your Pack goes First for each 'round.

[Slays Before the Warcry] Pardon BSD before the Dogs

[Slays Before the Warcry] The Chains snap and the Obviously mutated and deranged Crinos leap forward from their places, bulldozing past the Dogs with vicious speed, tearing across the concrete towards the Gaian Garou. Their claws dig furrows in the concrete beneath as they move, their snapping Jaws raking out at the air ahead of them, froth flung from fang and maw as the pair split up enough to orient on their targets:

With Earthequake's Chosen bunched so close together, the Crinos on the Left takes a bead towards them, followed at it's heels by three of the Thick skinned and monstrous Dog's a half dozen steps behind It, while the remaining two Dog's and the Monster at their forefront lunge towards Her Swift Sword, slaveringly mad and seemingly incapable of any thought beyond Rend, Kill and Destroy.

[Slays Before the Warcry] ((Alright. The Combat will work as such. When "New Combat Round" is displayed, Put up your Char's Action in an IC post and A small OOC explanation of what they are doing as well as Rage Spenditures under it please. We'll Work out Dice rolls in the Posting Order and such.))

[Slays Before the Warcry] ((Any OOC arguements, disagreements etc. should be directed through AIM (Preferable) or PM))

[Slays Before the Warcry] Ben's movements, illuminated by the hazy illumination of the surrounding air are almost instantaneous the moment those chains snap. He is out front, not even bothering to glance back and see if his Pack is aligned, the instinctual spirit Bond flushing a level of certainty both keen and precise through his limbs and system. Smooth and liquid and blurred into a hazy array of fur, fangs and steps, all at once the Lupus drives hard into Hispo lunging forward at an increased pace, planning on crossing the path of the First BSD, seemingly suicidal to a fault.

((Dodge BSD's Attack. 2 Rage Spent, 1 to Hispo and 1 for an extra Action.))

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Spirals first. Vanguard of the Dawn has time to snarl out as the fanned out group of Gaians first catches sight of the paired packs. The words are charged with supernatural hate, silver, scintillating. The order doesn't matter in the least, though, as the chains snap and the berserkers surge through the knot of slavering dogs.

Then Linnea shoots out in Ben's wake, following his weaving pattern with instinctual certainty. Ben draws the Spiral's attention and claws; Linnea leaps, snarling, snapping jaw wide to open its flank.

(2 rage; 3 bite attacks on BSD)

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] Rage renewed in his veins as the transformation from Lupus form into that of the Massive War form is quick and without thought. The Garou Bow called forth from his massive tattoo in this form and the Silver tip of falcon's arrow is pulled forth. Awaiting the trained actions of his packmates to come forth. Knowing each one's action in this manner was all that was needed. Harrier's View guiding the pack with the aid of his gift.


(2 Rage: 1 Rage for insta-shift to Crinos, 1 rage for extra action. And the first action used to knotch the Falcon Arrow with the Silver Tip. And after that, the arrow will be loosed upon the BSD charging.)

[Kaldrthvari] Schiink.

That, my friends, is the sound of all hell breaking loose. As the two snap their chains and come boiling toward the small cohort of Garou, Kaldrthvari's blood surges. WAR. Hell, yeah. He might pretend he's holier than thou, calm and steady and cold as ice. But his rage is there all around them, more than enough to match even the fierce Ahrouns. It's just leashed and bottled, held back -- waiting. Controlled. Chained, like the two wyrmbeasts were.

Unchained, now.

With a coughing roar of a snarl -- human words just aren't enough to explain the noise that comes out the bony, bone-hard, bone-tough Hispo's throat -- Fenris' Cold Arrow surges forward. He acts in perfect synchrony with the Vanguard's pack, almost as though he weren't just tagging along, keeps the formation locked tight as a jet fighter, gives Linnea Vanguard-of-the-Dawn that bare flicker of an instant to take hold of the situation, assess it and command, before he --

-- ripples forward in Linnea's wake, fast and deadly, a grey bullet of a direwolf that twists his head just so as he passes. The sound of his jaws closing is crisp and dreadful in the enclosed spaces of this abandoned factory. Twice. Thrice. SNAP, SNAP, SNAP, SNAP -- four times. Then onwards to take on the next.

(3 rage, 4 bites. He'll use as many as he needs to take down the BSD, and use the rest on the other one.)

[Jackson Ball] The fallen Gaian drew every ounce of attention from those seething orbs. In this form his dark eyes turned a haunting grey, burning like a thousand stars with Gaia's indignation, her vengence. The growl warbles into something loftier in pitch, a deep, resonant howl. Got no eloquence, no proper modulation of timbre. Got all of the Modi's Rage, that tugboat baying sound of blackened hatred.

Flicks his tail, angling toward the attacking Crinos, signalling with body language who their target would be. Goes across that totem bond as instinctual as breathing. That tank speeds up. Fast. Impossible fast. Becomes a blur, the mind too lazy to track. Fueled by angst, frustration and fury.

Slams into the creature, claws seeking to embed themsevles, to pull free and slicken his hide with his own blood, as well as that of his enemies. Just as fast that wolf maw blurs in closing with the force of a steel trap, hitting as hard as his deednamesake.

((Spending 2 Rage for multiple actions, spending 1 Rage for Spur Claw. (3 total) The first Non-rage action, is being split into two, per house rules, not counting toward total actions taken in a round, and striking at the same initiative.
First split-action: Spur Claw. Dex 3 + Hispo 2 + Brawl 5 - 2 = 8
Second split-action: Bite. Dex 3 + Hispo 2 + Brawl 5 - 3 = 7

The Rage actions are Bites, and will happen when Rage attacks do, but I would like to be given the option to default to a defensive action before attacks are resolved from opponents. ))

[Nicodemus Harris] In the wake of Jackson's attack on the charging Dancer, Nico's own attack comes in low and focused. It is not the attack of a protection dog, meant to slow something down. It is the malicious attack of a man who fights dirty. Hispos jaws open and ready to clamp down on the tenderest of flesh known to man.

Even as Nico's hispos form leaps forward, his scent becomes overpowering. It is not the scent of an animal. It is the scent of man. Strong and vivid, it hangs on the air. A daunting scent that fills the nostrils of the once wyld dogs that come in on the BSD's flanks.

((Smell of man is a free action gift, enacted in response to the charging 'dogs'. Spending 1 rage for an extra attack.

1st is on the BSD. A bite.
2nd is an intercepting attack on the first of any of the dogs that continue to charge.))

[Slays Before the Warcry] Ben's Dodge roll.

[Slays Before the Warcry] 1

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Linnea's Bite Dex (4) Hispo (2) Brawl (3) HV (1) = 10

[Slays Before the Warcry] BSD's Attack.

[Slays Before the Warcry] BSD's Soak.

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Linnea's Damage: Str (3) + Hispo (3) + 2 (Hispo Bite) + 5 sux = 13

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] (The sux for Linnea's bite is 4, the 1's arent reducing the sux)
PMed to: Slays Before the Warcry, Vanguard of the Dawn

[Kaldrthvari] (my turn to roll, yeah?)

[Slays Before the Warcry] Yep.

[Kaldrthvari] First Bite on same BSD that linnea attacked for 5dam after soak --

[Slays Before the Warcry] The Die Roller isn't takin' the 1's away from attack rolls for the result folks. Adjust as necessary.

[Kaldrthvari] (5 succ on attack, actually -- jove isn't subtracting 1's. keep an eye out, folks.

damage w/ a 4 dice bonus.)

[Slays Before the Warcry] BSD's Soak

[Kaldrthvari] (forgot to hail kahseeno *grump* 0 damage, rounded up to the one auto-damage on a successful attack. roll soak?)

[Slays Before the Warcry] Rage Back Roll for BSD

[Jackson Ball] First split-action: Spur Claw. Dex 3 + Hispo 2 + Brawl 5 - 2 = 8

[Jackson Ball] Damage: Str (4 specialty) + Hispo (3) Claw (1) + Totem (3) + (0) sux = 11

[Vanguard of the Dawn] BSD soak

[Jackson Ball] Second split-action: Bite. Dex 3 + Hispo 2 + Brawl 5 - 3 = 7

[Jackson Ball] Damage: Bite: Str (4 specialty) + Hispo (3) + Bite (1) + HispoExtraBite (1) + Totem (3) + (4) xtrasux = 16

[Kaldrthvari] (...belated: i read the BSD soak roll instead of my own damage roll. ignore my 0 damage exclamation. *looney tunes here*)

[Vanguard of the Dawn] BSD Soak

[Vanguard of the Dawn] (Note: Spur Claws Jackson 6 damage - 3 soak successes = 3 damage
Bite attack: Jackson 9 damage - 3 soak successes = 6 damage)

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Rage back for BSD

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Nico and Ferdinand: y'all have barely standing BSDs to kill off before we even get to rage actions.

[Nicodemus Harris] Bite on BSD: Dex 3 + Hispo 2 + Brawl 4 = 9

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] (well Ferdy doesn't go until teh rage rolls)

[Nicodemus Harris] Dmg Bite: Str 4 (spec) + Hispo 3 + Bite 1 + Hispo bite 1 + totem 3 + 4 sux = 16

[Nicodemus Harris] ((my bad... minus 1 succ on that dmg))

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] (Activate Falcon Arrow Talen)

[Vanguard of the Dawn] BSD soak

[Vanguard of the Dawn] (Nico Damage - 8-3 suxx = really dead BSD. :) )

[Slays Before the Warcry] Rage Actions Folks.

[Slays Before the Warcry] Ben's Bite Attack on First Dog.

[Slays Before the Warcry] ((Ignore that roll folks. Dog's have to go.))

[Slays Before the Warcry] Dog 1 on Ben.

[Slays Before the Warcry] Damage

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Dog 2 on Jackson

[Slays Before the Warcry] Ben's Soak

[Slays Before the Warcry] Dog 3 on Will.

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Damage on Jackson

[Slays Before the Warcry] Damage to Will.

[Jackson Ball] Soak: Stamina (4 Specialty) + Hispo (3) = 7

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Dog 4 on Nico (Smell of Man sends 1 of the 3 heading for EQ running toward another Garou, btw, so it does work on one of them.)

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Damage to Nico

[Vanguard of the Dawn] That's 1 sux. Need soak from Nico.

[Nicodemus Harris] soak: Stam 3 + Hispo 3 = 6

[Slays Before the Warcry] Dog 4 on Linnea.

[Kaldrthvari] (sorry folks, i had to get food, heh. did someone roll my soak for me?)

[Slays Before the Warcry] Dunno yer stats. Make the Roll mate.

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Linnea soak: Sta 3 + Hispo 3

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] (Lucy Jackson used the spur claws on the bSD not the dog)
PMed to: Vanguard of the Dawn

[Slays Before the Warcry] Now. We do Rage Actions.

[Slays Before the Warcry] Ben's Bite on His Dog.

[Slays Before the Warcry] Damage Roll

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Ben's Dog Soak

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Linnea bite on dog

[Slays Before the Warcry] Dog Soak

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Linnea damage on dog

[Kaldrthvari] (Will's first rage action, +1diff bite on the dog, since the BSD appears dead for the time being --)

[Kaldrthvari] (dam +3)

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Will's dog soak

[Slays Before the Warcry] Dog's Soak

[Jackson Ball] First Rage action: Biting a doggie.

Dex (3) + Hispo (2) + Brawl (5) = 10, diff 5

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Jackson's dog soak

[Jackson Ball] Damage on poor, mistreated doggie:

Str (4 specialty) + Hispo (3) + Bite (1) + HispoBite (1) + Totem (3) + (6) xtrsux = 18

[Nicodemus Harris] Rage action bite on dog: Dex 3 + Hispo 2 + Brawl 4 = 9

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] First rage action (fire on unwounded hound attacking the Swift Sword pack. +1 diff)

[Slays Before the Warcry] Nico's Dog Soak accidentally PM'd to him blagh.
Dice Rolled: [ 3 d10 ] 3, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] Re-roll

[Nicodemus Harris] bite dmg on dog: Str 4 (spec) + Hispo 3 + bite 1 + hispobite 1 + totem 3 + 6 sux = 18

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] Nevermind cannot use Gnosis and Rage in same turn. Ignore roll.

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Ferdinand's dog soak (pick which dog - none are undamaged, one on each of your packmates)

[Slays Before the Warcry] ((Alright. Linnea's Second Rage Action on the Remaining Dog left alive that was attacking Linnea. Then Kald's. Doubt we'll have to have more then that heh.))

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Naw. We've got Dog actions. :)

[Slays Before the Warcry] ....Damn it.

[Jackson Ball] ooc: haHAH!

[Slays Before the Warcry] Dog's Bite Attack on Linnea -2 for Wounds.

[Slays Before the Warcry] Damage Roll.

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Linnea soak

[Slays Before the Warcry] ((Now Rage actions please.))

[Vanguard of the Dawn] (Two more DOGS!)

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Ben's Dog @ -2

[Nicodemus Harris] ((are we going to be done after this combat? I really have to get going. it's late.))
PMed to: Slays Before the Warcry, Vanguard of the Dawn

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Okay, Ben's dog is dead. This dog is attacking Will

[Slays Before the Warcry] ((Yea'. We'll post the results of the Combat in the Forums and any affert effects can be done there.))
PMed to: Nicodemus Harris, Vanguard of the Dawn

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Damage 4

[Vanguard of the Dawn] No need for soak. It bit its own tongue. Alright: rage actions, let us kill these things.

And yeah, we are almost done. Heh. Sorry!

[Vanguard of the Dawn] (FYI: Two dogs left. One attacking Linnea (the dog is wounded) one attacking Will.)

[Nicodemus Harris] ((alright folks I'm gonna take off now, seeing as there won't be much dog left to chew on once the swift sword finish their turn. thanks for the scene, was fun. see y'all.))
PMed to: Ferdinand Corozon Jr., Jackson Ball, Kaldrthvari, Slays Before the Warcry, Vanguard of the Dawn

[Slays Before the Warcry] Linnea and Will's respective Rage Action's please. Jackson and Nico will be spending their Rage Actions gettin' across the battlefield to help Her Swift sword then we move into the next round of combat after all remaining Rage Actions are taken.

[Kaldrthvari] (night!)
PMed to: Ferdinand Corozon Jr., Jackson Ball, Nicodemus Harris, Slays Before the Warcry, Vanguard of the Dawn

[Kaldrthvari] (where is my LUCK?! damage roll.)

[Vanguard of the Dawn] We do have a discovery to make, and WILL NOT post the results of the discovery in the forums, so we'll drop her a PM. FYI.
PMed to: Ferdinand Corozon Jr., Jackson Ball, Kaldrthvari, Nicodemus Harris, Slays Before the Warcry

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Linnea attacks fucking demon dog.

[Slays Before the Warcry] Will's Dog's soak.

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Linnea damage

[Slays Before the Warcry] Dead just doesn't know it yet Dog's Soak for Linnea.

[Slays Before the Warcry] 1 Dog Remaining. Will has 2 more Rage Actions?

[Kaldrthvari] (no, 1. should i roll it?)

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Please!

[Slays Before the Warcry] yep.

[Slays Before the Warcry] Dog's Soak.

[Kaldrthvari] (poor pup)

[Vanguard of the Dawn] BSD rages back end of the round. Everyone piles on. Do we need to roll? I don't think so. :)

[Slays Before the Warcry] Toast. Alright. New Combat Round. Ferdy? First Action mate as the BSD rips back to it's feet with a blood frothed and curdling Roar.

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] Falcon arrow

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] Rip through teh BSD with a falcon arrow,

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] damage Roll unsoakable damage

[Slays Before the Warcry] No Soak for the BSD due to Silver Headed Arrow = Toast before the Howl is out of it's throat.

[Slays Before the Warcry] And now we're done folks. The Combat IC result will be posted in the Forums. You can then pst responses and reactions on what happens and goes on and we'll complete the scene there.

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Heh. Wait. Lemme tell y'all about the discovery in a quick IC post. Okay?
PMed to: Ferdinand Corozon Jr., Jackson Ball, Kaldrthvari, Slays Before the Warcry

[Kaldrthvari] (wasn't there a discovery to make...?)

[Kaldrthvari] (sure thang.)

[Jackson Ball] ooc: Should we get a big followup on the combat? I mean, as it stands, it's only dice after the first declared action..

[Slays Before the Warcry] Word, go for it.

[Slays Before the Warcry] Scrap the Forums stuff. We'll do it now if folks are willing?

[Jackson Ball] ooc: I'm in. *glances at eleusis* She has an early bedtime though.

[Kaldrthvari] (i'm sleeping shortly too. i have an early day tomorrow.)

[Vanguard of the Dawn] Gimme 15, folks. I'll get both up.

[Kaldrthvari] (can you just put in a blurb on will? i'm not posting again. he'll just go back to being his normal quiet self after his violent outburst, despite being all drenched and bloody. he might seem slightly disappointed, even.)
PMed to: Vanguard of the Dawn

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] The thwang of the bow was the last thing heard as the last of the emenies were taken down. The battle lasted for no more than a few seconds, but in that tome it seemed like an eternity. Those 2 Fallen garou and those 5 war hounds were nothing to the combined efforts of the two packs and the Lone wolf Forseti. There was nothing more than the oozing gore and rank iccor of those minions of the wrym that have fallen to the defenders of Gaia.

And as they stood among the horrific vision, Council's the divded looked upward. Looked to the face of Luna waxing in his birth right. This was his moon, the face of Luna that had given him his duty. And he could feel the Rage within him once again fill his blood with fire. Powering him once again.

Thank you once again Hunter.

[Vanguard of the Dawn] The combat is finished in less than the space of four heartbeats. It's a moment of savagery, and no more. Her Swift Sword streaks toward one of the Spirals, with Will in tight formation; Earthquake takes down the second with barely a thought, savaging the thing before it can rage back to life. Both Spirals are put down before any of the Garou have yet tapped into their rage.

The possessed dogs circle and lunge in, each squaring off against one of the five on the front lines; One by one they, too, fall. First Slays-Before-the-War-Cry and Kaldrthvari savage one, opening its flank, laying bare the spinal column. The thing falls, a snapping snarl of outrage fading to a bone deep wine as darkness closes. Then Wrecking-Ball fells his with a single, savage bite, snapping its neck in one fell motion. The Garbage Man follows suit, massive jaws snapping closed and tearing away flesh, chipping bone, to expose the creature's bloody brain matter. Linnea wounds her own opponent, but does not drop it yet.

Earthquake turns to cross the distance and join the rest, finishing off their opponents. Then their streak ends: Linnea's flank is laid open by her opponent, exposing viscera and muscle within. She is unaffected, and puts her fomor down at last, as Kaldrthvari twice attacks the remaining dog, tearing out its throat.

One of the Spirals arises from where it fell, senses returning, but the Garou on the front lines barely have time to recognize its presence, as Ferdinand puts it down with a single, well-placed arrow.

--

That is the combat; four heartbeats, perhaps less. They come to themselves and fan out again, ferreting out the remaining scents in the building, but find no other enemies. The damage Linnea sustained is already healing, the wounds regenerating, closing.

There are bodies, however, beyond where the fomor and chained berserkers were left to den, banded with the light from the high windows lining the walls of the factory.

Two bodies of particular interest to the assembled, in a state of slow-sweet-decay, but still recognizeable to the Garou of the Sept of Echoes. Both are chained.

The first is the Spiral that Ben captured many months ago, a "traitor" glyph etched into her flesh, branded with silver.

The second is the former Shadow Lord Elder, Grecco.