Twilight - In Character Room [Coll Two-Spears] The fine hairs on the back of Coll's neck are standing upright the instant he steps into the darkened auditorium. It's the space that surrounds him -- the fanciness of it all, the electronics, the plushness, the focus of all attention on the stage where the antics of piety were being displayed for all -- and it's the hush, and the order, and the structure, the too-glossy look of it all. It's the energy that shivers through the room, silent and charged. But no, most of all, it's the sister, standing up there, plain of face but astonishing of presence, holding the eye like a dire magnet.
"Holy Jesus," Coll murmurs, blasphemous, as the audience responds to this latest rouser of a verse with wholehearted applause. He stops at the next to last row, unwilling to go forward further, and slides into a chair right by the aisle. Are ye hearin' this, Rafe? I wan' tae ask 'er wha' exactly she thinks happened tae this Nicholas o' hers, but I'm afrai' she'll sic 'er congregation on us. The mind-laugh is short, nervous.
[Rafe Wallace] I can'ae read'er lips from here. What's she on about? Totem linked, the pair exchange words as they make their way toward a pair of chairs. Rafe easing into one next to Coll. His grey eyes scanning the room as they go, offering nods to any who meet his gaze. Playing the part of the unassuming high school kid. With his Ragabash rage, he can almost pull it off.
When ye've heard enough, lets slip t'ae th'other side and have a look around.
[Caleb Alden] Caleb had gotten his cappuchino, and made his way into the hall of worship behind Rafe and Coll. At Coll's murmured blasphemy, Caleb's eyebrow arched a trifle and murmured behind him just as quietly.
"Oui, boyo. S'more ova spectacle fer one's 'musin' than worship," but then the theurge had moved to stand by the entrance, sipping his drink and grunting softly as the hot liquid scalded his lips.
[Coll Two-Spears] She sounds li'e she's talkin abou' th'Apocalypse, tha's wha' she's on abou'. Only in Christian terms, an' all. An' she's sayin her Nicholas was slain by the forces o' the Devil, an' since 'twas Cliona an' her pack tha' slew him, sounds rather li'e she migh' knoow more abou' us than she oughtae. Coll didn't just leap to conclusions, he flew. Sometimes, though, he flies the right way. Any which way, it doon't soun' as thoo she woul' be glad tae have us o'er fer supper.
Coll starts as Caleb speaks behind him, turning in the padded auditorium chair to sling an arm over the back and look at the well-dressed young Cajun. In the dark, Coll's eyes are still green -- that's how bright the color is. In a moment he's taken the other in, from the rumpled creole-chic to the undeniable, subtle beat of pure breeding. The Ahroun nudges his packmate, who would not have heard Caleb speak.
Looks li'e one o' the royals is here tae save the day. Mayhaps we oughtae 'ave tha' peek from th'Umbra noow. A pause. I still thin' someone oughtae 'ave a talk tae the sisterwoman, face-tae-face. Mayhaps one o' th' kin, jus' in case she knows wha' Rage feels li'e.
[Rafe Wallace] Chris'ye sound like a fookin old maid lad. D'nae all Christian's talk'o the devils work and such. No need tae start callin her wyrm spawn just yet mate. When Coll's head jerks back to peer at Caleb, Rafe turns slowly to take a look too. Not in time to catch the fella's words, but in time enough to get a look at him.
Aye, let's go. Rising from his chair, Rafe fishes his wallet out and pulls out a pair of bills. "So ye want a latte. I'll get ye one while yer in the loo." No point in making a spectacle by heading off to the can together. Pulling some Brokeback shit in a church filled with holy rollers might not be the best decision.
[Twilight] The sermon continues: the apocalypse indeed, the signs, the necessity to gird oneself for the fight. "Too many believe that they will be saved from the tribulation by the rapture. I - " she pauses, hands gripping the side of her lectern. " - I say, but what if the rapture has already happened and no one was taken. God knows that each of us are sinners, unworthy of the grace of his regard - and god knows - god knows that even the best of us bear seeds of evil within us."
"What if we are in the end times? What if - the antichrist is already among us? We pray for the soul of my brother. Perhaps we should be praying for ourselves."
She returns to her seat, while the glee club begins to sing Onward Christian Soldiers.
[Caleb Alden] Caleb easily meets the eyes of both men, and in the dim lighting of the church proper his own light green eyes seem almost.. off-white. The two men rose, and he moved from his position near the entrance himself as if to head out of the auditorium as well until he stops in mid-movement as the preacher's words strike him. "End Times," he said quietly, and blinked. Being Theurge, it made his brows furrow somewhat. Apparently this one perchance knew a bit more than she let on. Grim, Caleb stood for a moment, glancing between the door and the preacher.
[Coll Two-Spears] Ach, ye're DAFT! Coll detonates mentally, frustrated, standing in a sudden motion that turns more than a few heads. Noow she's on abou' the antichris' bein' amongst us an' seed o' evil. If she was jus' some sidewal' preacher I wouldnae gi'e a flyin' rabbitfuck, but ha'e ye forgotten this is the SISTER O' ACIDMAN, who we all knoow tae be tainted?! An' she's callin' him a martyr fer the cause! I donnae see how ye c'n wri'e it off as coincidence! But what do I knoow? I'm jus' a dumb Ahroun. So keep ye head in the sand, 'tis bettair there! Just doon't come cryin' tae me when she harfs up acidic pea soup on ye an' her head spins round 'n round!
It's all punctuated with a hand thrown up as he starts for the door even as Rafe's making some sort of cover for them. He must really want that latte bad. There's a brief pause in front of Caleb, and then Coll jerks a thumb at the outside, inviting the Fang to follow along.
[Rafe Wallace] I d'nae say... fook it. Let's just look around. Rafe's gaze sweeps the congregation briefly as he slips out into the lobby. Here, he takes a quick look before heading to the smoothie/cappucino stand and purchasing a couple of drinks. It doesn't matter what they are, they're going to go in the trash in the bathroom anyway. He makes conversation with people, and smiles and all of that as he goes about covering their asses. He even stands back near the auditorium entrance before glancing at the clock on the wall and then huffing for show as he marches toward the bathroom. Ennis must be taking too long for his liking.
In the bathroom, he drops the pair of cups in the trash. Clear in here?
[Caleb Alden] At the Ahroun's gesture, Caleb merely nods and follows along keeping an eye over his shoulders. Not in town for more than twenty minutes and there seems to be something up around here. Scratching at more than a day's growth of stubble, the cajun takes another delicate sip of the scalding. He'd follow Coll into the bathroom, making a brisk walk as a show of needing to take one hell of a piss.
[Coll Two-Spears] It was like some sort of girl bathroom outing, all three of them heading there sooner or later. All they needed to do now was stand in a row in front of the mirror and titter while they fixed their makeup. Of the lot, Coll's maybe the only one to actually head for the urinals.
Gi'e me a sec. I'm takin' a piss. He finishes up, zips it up and goes to the gleaming tap, in front of the gleaming mirror and under the gleaming spot-lights, waving his hands futilely at the gleaming auto-on detector to make the water run. When he finally gets it going, he gives his hands a token swipe under the water and then ducks down to check under all the stalls. Looks all clear, c'mon in.
When Caleb joins them as well, Coll sticks his hand out at the Fang. "Coll MacCulloch o' the Fiann. I am called Two-Spears. Ye're investigatin' the sisterwoman too?"
[Rafe Wallace] Rafe stands in front of the mirror while Coll takes a leak. Raking fingers through his disarray of dirty blonde curls when he spots the Fang. Turning, he focuses on the newcomers mouth. His steely grey eyes narrowing slightly as he reads his lips. A furrow of his brow at the dialect. His gaze moves with the speed of necessity, and he catches Coll's introduction to the new fella before arching a brow, and waiting for the mans reply.
[Caleb Alden] His cajun accent not withstanding, they'd make a trio speaking in their own manner of brogue. His was a butchered French while theres? Well, one Fiann and one Child of Gaia with Fiann blood.
Caleb accepted Coll's hand as he looked to both of them in turn. "Caleb Delacourt Alden, Theurge of Gleaming Eye. I am called Darkensky." At the mention of his presumed investigation, Caleb considered this a moment as his lips pursed. "Wasn't, just got inta town t'night. But her words'r'warrenting an investigation in my view."
[Coll Two-Spears] "Ye havenae hear' the half o' it." Coll takes another surreptitious look around, even checking the corners for hidden cams before lowering his voice. "Com'on, we're takin a look a' the Otherside. I'll fill ye in o'er there."
Coll fixes a stare at his reflection in the mirror. The veins on his arms bulge as he squeezes his hands into fists, quivering with the strain of pushing across the thick gauntlet.
[Rafe Wallace] "Bloody fook, ye're both turned intae witch hunters." His shoulders roll in a slow shrug as he steps forward. "Her words are nae any different from any evangelists." Not that he heard them. It is his duty to be the voice of reason... or unreason. Whatever is called for at any particular moment. "Rafe Wallace. Called Ignus Fatuus' o the Children'o Gaia."
Introductions made, Rafe turns where he stands and regards himself in the mirror again. A hand lifts to rearrange a few locks of hair before he concentrates and begins the sidestep into the umbra.
[Twilight] They step through the gauntlet one by one, and find, perhaps surprisingly, that the church has a strong umbral presence. The bathroom in which they cross is a white box with faintly translucent walls, approximately the dimensions of the bathroom in the church proper. Some of the fixtures have made the translation from physical to penumbra – a water-spirit drip-slide-drips constantly from a ghostly faucet into a fixed basin on the floor/ground, while a pair of small pattern spiders click and whir, spinning at the webs half-bound, half-suspended inside the wall. What was a door is merely a break in the translucent wall.
[Caleb Alden] "Glad to meet you both," the Cajun replied as he then stepped sideways after a look into the mirror. Brushing a few strands of black hair tinged with silver from his face, he looked to them both and folded his arms.
"Now, what's the other half of the story I'd be better off knowing?" The theurge prompted.
[Coll Two-Spears] "An' ye're tae blinded by ye pretty-boy reflection tae see the truth," Coll replies on the other side. He's not at ALL surprised to find the church has a significant umbral presence. In fact, he takes it as more proof, jabbing a finger at the faucet. "Jus' look a' tha'! Tha' doon't happen by chance, ye knoow!"
Still riled, he turns to Caleb. "Anyhoo. So. Our elder, Cliona Murran, an' her pack brough' down a fomor the othair day. They dumped 'is body in the River an' then it floated ashore, still bleedin' acid o' somethin'. So o' course people found 'im. Turned out he was a high school teacher o' somethin', an' the whole school raised a big hoolabaloo. This," he waves his hands at the church in general, "is jus' part o' it. Ye shoul' ha'e seen the memorials at the riverside. They ha' half the school standin' aroun', includin' the whole cheerleadin' squad, an'... they were odd." Coll skips over the details. Too embarrassing. "But the sisterwoman in there, she's the oddest o' the bunch, lordin' o'er it all like some lady o' the flies, preachin' her hellfire an' damnation. I doon't care what Rafe says, I 'ave a gut for this shite an' ma gut cannae stomach 'er."
Coll looks to Rafe. "Di' I forget anythin'?"
[Rafe Wallace] It isn't that Rafe is ignoring the Fang, but he's a bit preoccupied with the transition from one side of the gauntlet to the other. No time for reading lips when your reality is shifting. He emerges in the umbra with a muted groan, the sort that accompanies a fast drop after a drastic incline. Blinking, he takes not of his new surroundings before finally turning toward his companions.
"Best see if we can get close tae the preacher lady aye? See if she's got any umbral hangers on." He pauses, not having caught most of what Coll said. A glance at Caleb and he shrugs briefly. "Did'e mention fallin in love with a pimple faced braces wearin lass'o fifteen?"
[Coll Two-Spears] Coll flushes. "I tol' ye tae stop mentionin' the Cheerleader Incident. I was an unfortunate victim o' the Wyrm's wiles."
[Caleb Alden] Caleb's arms unfold as he takes another look around. Then back to Coll and Rafe. "Yeah, obviously there ain't nothing good happening here. More than meets the eye, to be sure." Of course, he was new in town so he'd follow the other two's lead for now.
There was one thing he and Coll shared - a disquiet about this place. The run-down outside and the luxurious inside. Brows furrowing once more, he refolded his arms and shook his head. "Mighten be that the sister back there's well, thralled by something if ya take my meanin'. Hidden power? Underling of something?" He shrugged.
A memorial for the death of a teacher was nothing new, it's been in the papers before of schools honoring their dead professors. "She said something about End Times that made me pause, though. I wouldn't be surprised to find a Hive in the bowels of this place, or some kind of den of a beastie."
[Twilight] As they step through the door, it’s clear that the bathroom is not the only part of the church with an umbral projection. The whole building has a presence, although the church itself is a more idealized, traditional structure, open-spaced except for a few closed rooms such as that from which they emerged. Instead of an auditorium, they stand in a building with marching rows of ghostly pews flanked by two aisles, leading to a traditional lectern, altar, and choirloft. Above them, set into the spun-walls, a stained glass window in the traditional round shape glows faintly.
There is a sense of faith, here, and an – not peace, perhaps, not even holiness – the Garou do not feel the white Christ here, living in the place in which these people worship him, but – in some ways – the act of that worship itself has built the church in which they find themselves. A number of small spirits – strange, perhaps, to their eyes, Ragabash and Ahroun, without a Theurge to guide them – can be found here. In the choir-loft, tall striations of light vibrate out a cool, fine sound; a many-colored glass spirit drowses in the stained glass window – which does not exist in the physical world – and small motes of light – some with eyes, some with sighs, some hands folded up in prayer drift through the faintly glowing room.
That is not all that is here.
Near the altar, two hot spots – or perhaps warm – smeared color, blurred vision, like oil smeared on translucent paper. The two hot spots resolves themselves more surely as they approach, narrow-eyed, studying. Two umbral hangers-on, moving independently – although one seems to be tightly caged, as if it were locked in a box, shut inside a prison.
And: more – for all the faith and hope and brightness here – the walls are beginning to turn. The rightmost corner, near the ceiling, is dark with something like mold, and the ceiling is – here and there – splotchy with algae-like dark growths.
And: more - hidden at first by the pews – which are larger, more substantial than pews would be in any real church – something rises from where it whispers into someone’s ear. It turns to look at the Garou, reaching up lazily as it does so, swiping one of the floating epiphlings from the air and crunching it between its fingers, stuffing it into a maw that unhinges hugely, with machinelike precision.
It rises, floats through/around the pew, without touching the ground proper, and seems to be constructed of bones and machine parts – femurs wrapped in scraps of flesh, joined to an oversized, animal pelvis by an oily black pistons that leak foul fluid with every step.
[Coll Two-Spears] (slip this before ST post--)
"Well," Coll gives his head a shake, as a dog might shake water from its fur. But Coll shakes his human form off his bones, his short hair thickening and lengthening, flaring down his back and across his body like wildfire. He hits the ground on all fours. Hispo, he stands long of limb and narrow of frame, built for sinewy speed. A pause to crouch on his haunches and scratch at his ear with a hindpaw. Then Highspeech, "Let's have a look."
[Rafe Wallace] "Ye've both seen The Devil's Advocate one too many times lads. There's nae always demons behind religious fanatics. What if this church is the real deal, and the preacher lady's brother was tainted just tae get to her? Aye, ye n'ere thought'o that did ye?" Not that Rafe really believes it. Anything is possible though. And it's his job to point that out. With a sniff, he heads for the bathroom door and pushes the translucent partition open slowly.
A glance back at Coll, and he nods as his body ripples, his hand against the door elongating, nails scratching umbral surface as he sprouts the russet fur of the Fianna and ducks through the doorway in his warform.
[Caleb Alden] Hair color reverses from inky black tinged with silver to snowey white tinged with light shadows of black on his muzzle, head, and running down the nape of his neck to his shoulder blades.
The Crinos form of Caleb slides gracefully beneath the door after Coll and Rafe allowing the Ahroun to lead the way. First, his eyes dart to the lights eminating and wafting with seeming minds of their own, and then his suspicious enchanting gaze lurches towards the darker striations amidst all this seeming purity.
Then to the altar and it's doings. There his gaze stays for a moment or two before settling on the lumbering figure that seemed half-creature, half-machine. An ear flickers as he settles on his haunches, claws clicking on the floor of the umbral church out of habit.
[Rafe Wallace] "Oi..." The expression is little more than a rough growl that escapes large canid lips as eyes that burn a strange silver in the umbra spot the lumbering formation that rises from between the pews. "Then again... "
With a grumble of sound, the large crinos Gaian crouches low where he stands, positioned to the right, and slightly behind his packmate.
[Coll Two-Spears] Two-Spears squeezes through behind Rafe. Even though this form is narrower, elongated, his shoulders fill the doorway completely. Coll's tall and lanky in homid, a basketball player's frame. In his myriad warforms, that size is doubled and tripled. He looms, he stalks, long and lean and mean. Five and a half feet at the withers, nine feet long, the Hispo form is huge, prehistoric, not of this world. Stepping into the church proper (where did the lobby go? where the auditorium? -- these thoughts float half-formed across the totemlink -- this is the church as it exists in the minds of the faithful), he cranes about, ears swiveling at every sound. For a moment he seems uncertain. There is faith in this place, a sense of belief, and he could not fault anyone that. The entire Garou Nation, it could be argued, was built on faith. The great heavy-jawed head lowers to sniff at the floor, rises to scent the air --
-- and then Two-Spears freezes, tensing, hackles rising, as he catches sight of the creature in the pews. A low growl rises almost unbidden in his chest. Otherwise, he is as a stone wolf, motionless.
"Look at that. Look at that. Whatever it is they believe, good or bad, it's turned dark. This whole place is turning dark. Do you need more proof than that?" The last explodes sharp and rough, a forceful bark of challenge to the beast/machine/thing that comes so languidly deadly toward them. Two-Spears, ready for war, paces forward to meet it.
[Twilight] The monstrous thing churns forward, the strange sound of its gear/legs sighing and hissing drowning the chorus from the illuminated choir loft, the vibrating emodied notes shining and shimmering and radiating as much as singing their sound. No - wait. The clank and roll does not overpower the chorus, it cows and silences the chorus. Each of the vibrating notes stills, and the delicate incarnations of prayer floating in the air shrink into themselves, struggling to rise higher, higher, out of its reach.
The oversized jaw snaps a metallic response to Coll Two Spears animal challenge. Oil flies from the hinges of its jaw, sprays over the pews like blood, as it lopes and whorls toward them with insectine delicacy and a subtle flash of its flanged maw, its hands, scalpels sewn viciously to yellowed bones erupting from its scraps of gray flesh.
The monster does not drive toward the Garou, however. It is plowing toward the front door.
[Caleb Alden] Caleb, on the other hand, was poised out of readiness. Coll was likely to barrel forward in blind Ahroun manners: bite first, talk later. Caleb was a thinker, and he did what was best to him.
Spirit Speech: "Halt!" the Silver Fang shouted. "Talk to me. What is this place?"
Gift: Persuasion.
[Caleb Alden]
[Coll Two-Spears] The growl transmutes into a sound of puzzlement, an inquiry voiced only in his throat. The russet-furred beast makes a primitive calculation of his own, an assimilation of threat factors and points to investigate -- decides in an eyeblink that the machine-beast far outweighs all else. There was taint on the wall, caged spirit-things, praying spirit-things, ephemeral choirs... fuck 'em. There was also a beast snapping at him, and challenge would be answered with force.
Puzzlement becomes surety, three sharp barks that indicates his hunter's intent. He spills into a fluid, loping run, his big paws thudding into the floor. Caleb guessed right: Two-Spears was going to bite fight, talk later. And even as the Theurge hails the creature, Two-Spears doesn't slow his forward plunge. If it didn't reply, he was still going to catch it. And bite first, talk later.
[Caleb Alden]
[Rafe Wallace] Rafe is caught in a moment of uncertainty. He could have sworn the bane creature wasn't heading their way.... Coll however diffuses any uncertainties as he charges the beast with a trio of barks. Guess we're fightin the thing'o bones and metal then aye? The totem link carries his sardonic tone loud and clear into the Ahrouns head as the Ragabash moves to flank the thing from the other side.
Long muscular crinos legs pumping to carry him over umbral pews.
[Coll Two-Spears] (Init is 9+1d10)
[Caleb Alden] ( 15 )
[Rafe Wallace]
[Caleb Alden]
[Caleb Alden] ( 11 then.. Jove at my original inits. Though Coll's was mine. )
[Twilight]
[Rafe Wallace] ((total is 10))
[Coll Two-Spears] Jus' shut ye trap an' help me! comes the reply, shouted into Rafe's head. Sometimes Rafe must wish he was deaf totemically too.
Two-Spear's Hispo form is faster than the Crinos behind him, though still perhaps not so liquid-quick as the foul beast running for the door. Weight to horsepower ratio, and all -- and the Hispo is a big thing, heavy. It's obvious in the way his paws hit the ground, THUDding every time. But his sheer size makes up for it somewhat. The length of one stride is enormous, eating up space, bowling right over the pews and aisles. When he's within leaping distance, he gathers himself and launches. He means to pounce like a cougar to land crushingly from above and behind, biting into whatever exposed neck he could sink his teeth into.
(3 rage. one to jump, 3 to bite.)
[Coll Two-Spears]
[Twilight] The beast-machine and the trio of Garou are almost equidistant from the closed double doors. In the heat of the moment - the monster, no longer even looking at the trio of garou - barrels through ,the double-doors, which give way with a splintering crack and dissolve, like the walls of jericho. The hispo leaps and catches it, and it snarls, distending its massive, strangely jointed jaw to snap at the creature tackling it.
[Twilight] Bite.
[Twilight] Damage
[Coll Two-Spears]
[Caleb Alden] Seeing that that damnable beast did not halt as was his command, that annoyed the crap out of Caleb more than a little. But always overconfident to a flaw (duh), Caleb ran with leaps and bounds to the creature that Two-Spears had pounced. Perchance he could immobilize the damn thing enough to get a word out of it, but more over this seemed to him more a scouting mission. The thing would probably not stop. It seemed more a corrupt thing of the Weaver and Wyrm. Some freak cyborg machination out of Hell.
A run and a leap much like the Ahroun's, but as Coll twisted to try and avoid the thing's maw as it was focused on the Fianna on his back Caleb saw his opening.
Caleb lept for the creature's head and to rank with the claws on his feet.
( Leap, Claw. 1 Rage. )
[Caleb Alden]
[Rafe Wallace] Coll doesn't have to say anything, because the Ragabash is already in motion. Unlike his packmate, he opts for finesse over brute strength. Likely because he doesn't really possess brute strength. Instead of leaping heroically into the banes back, Rafe lashes out with claws. One hit to the things foreleg, and another to the hind as he digs in with both hands, and tries to tear a leg from beneath the lumbering beast.
((1 rage; regular action claw attack to foreleg, rage action claw attack to hind leg))
[Rafe Wallace] dex 2 + crinos 1 + brawl 2 + raccoon addition 1= 6
[Coll Two-Spears] (bite - dex+(hispo 2)+brawl)
[Coll Two-Spears] (dam str+3(hispo)+2(bite))
[Caleb Alden]
[Rafe Wallace]
[Rafe Wallace] str 3 + crinos 4 + 2 for claw + 4 sux = 13
[Twilight] soak
[Twilight] next rage action!
[Coll Two-Spears]
[Coll Two-Spears]
[Twilight]
[Coll Two-Spears]
[Coll Two-Spears]
[Twilight]
[Twilight] They tumble through the doors, splintering whatever substance had made them, spilling down the grand staircase, in the shadow of the steeple that scrapes the glowering umbral sky, consumed in the battle. Caleb and Coll leap and bring the beast down, and Rafe sweeps in, claws a chunk of bone and sick, yellowing flesh from one of its pistoning legs. Coll bites and bites, received for his trouble only a mouthful of foul oil, slick and oleaginous, with a deep, bleak rotten undercurrent, until at last he breaks the flesh and tears a rent in the thing's body. Its head turns 180 degrees and the jaw distends, pistons pumping, embroiled in the fight.
[Caleb Alden]
[Caleb Alden] ( 11 Again )
[Coll Two-Spears] Blechh! The exclamation is less a word, really, than a mind-impression of disgust and distaste as the Hispo jerks back from the distending jaw, the spilling oil.
The change is instantaneous: one second a direwolf, the next a Crinos. Rage leaves a visible afterimage in this umbral air, ghostly and glowing like st. elmo's fire at the tips of his claws, his ears, his ruff. The spear that winds off his arm and solidifies in his hand is thick-shafted and heavy, the glyphs worn almost smooth with generations of use; the head is a broad, wicked thing of black steel, serrated on the lower edges to maximize damage upon withdrawal. He cradles it in his hands loose and easy, his touch so familiar that he might have been born with it in his hands.
A spear can be a difficult weapon to use, heavy and long, unwieldy. But in the right hands it becomes something more, a living thing, a striking viper of a weapon that slices straight for the chinks in the armor. The head of the spear shafts forward as straight as if it were on rails, striking out here, there, so fast that it seems to bend and blur. It feints, it pulls, it slithers sideways and circles, hypnotic -- and then, without warning, darts forward again.
(3 rage for actions again, splitting first:
1a. back off to spear range, 1 rage to shift instantly.
1b. de-tattooify the spear
2,3,4: strike with the spear.)
[Twilight] Freed of its first burden, the cranking, rolling bucket of skeletal bolts spins its maw again, another 45 degrees. The body - now quadripedal, in size and shape rather analagous to a hispo - bends and undulates in disturbing ways. It spits out an oily challenge, the sound vibrating through its fine motor nerves and shivering through the broken air as it lunges for Caleb, metal teeth flashing beneath their bloody coating - both old and new.
[Twilight] Attack
[Twilight] Damage
[Caleb Alden]
[Rafe Wallace] Rafe continues to claw at the beasts hindquarters. Striking out with claws to tear at whatever fleshy remains still cling to the bone and metal creature. Tearing trenches in the banes hard surfaces. Wearing it down from behind while the others thrash and bite at it's head and shoulders.
((rage 1; regular action claw, rage action claw))
claw: dex 2 + crinos 1 + brawl 3 + raccoon claw bonus 1= 7
[Rafe Wallace] Dmg: Str 3 + crinos 4 + claw 2 + 5 sux = 14
[Twilight]
[Coll Two-Spears]
[Coll Two-Spears] (dam: str+4(crinos)+2(spear)+succ)
[Twilight]
[Rafe Wallace] claw: dex 2 crinos 1 brawl 3 raccoon 1 = 7
[Rafe Wallace] dmg: str 3 crinos 4 claw 2 sux 3 = 12
[Twilight]
[Coll Two-Spears]
[Coll Two-Spears]
[Twilight]
[Twilight] The battle continues. The massive beast-thing turns and bites the Silver Fang viciously, laying him open, piercing the Crinos' flesh down to the massive white ribs, rending the abdomen to expose glistening loops and whorls of intestines. Great gouts of blood spray open, mingling with the beast's sputtering oil. Caleb falls, near insensate from the pain, incapable of moving. Rafe and Coll continue to rend the beast - and together the packmates bring it down, with a last great thrust from the Coll Two-Spears (second?) favorite weapon. The bane convulses, sparking and spraying oil, the flesh and springs, the inexplicable sprockets and pistons all go silent at once, unmoving.
[Twilight] Embroiled in the battle, they have not yet looked up. As the bane expires beneath their claws and crunches to brittle memories of dust in their maws, they have, at last, the chance to survey the exterior of the church. It is – again – an idealized American idea of a church – white clapboard, belltower, spire rising to the sky, the sleeping glass-spirit a stained-glass window in the center shining softly in the moonlight. The feelings of surely, faith, extend to what the Garou might guess are the greater boundaries of the church’s campus. The two other buildings have no penumbral reflection, however. Where they stand is simply a garden, a grove of glade children basking in the peaceful reflection of the church’s power.
The boundaries of the property are patrolled by a phalanx of ghostly things, warriors with various reflections, most variations on a knights templar theme – empty suits of armor, lances at the ready, crosses painted in red on their otherwise translucent frames.
…if they take a few steps down the wide stone staircase, which gleams like marble through which sunlight shines, and move closer to one of these warriors, they will find the thing wounded, the armor pierced, the substance bleeding slowly out.
Outside the boundaries of the church’s lands, the landscape – in the physical world, so bucolic – a field of freshly plowed earth, the greening trees, the marching rows of nice houses with nice children and nice flowers and nice green (chem)lawns – is bleak. Skeletal trees, clattering branches like manyjointed, bone fingers, scrap against the bleeding sky, which is sullen with some ugly haze that smells like blood and ash, hits the back of the throat with a caustic, chemical scent. Shadows drift amidst the trees – dark things, bleak and fell.
Here, in the umbra, one might almost have the sense that the woman preaching holy war was right. The church is under attack from all sides, one of the last respites in a land of darkness.
[Coll Two-Spears] ...CRUNCH. The thing is dead by then, its last nerve impulses shuddering through its quasimechanical limbs with a few errant twitches and tics, but all the same Coll drives the spear through its head. A foot of blackened steel puts an end to whatever remained of its last thoughts and Coll, never exactly a dignified warrior, spits on and kicks the corpse.
"[Bloody bugger]," he opines, the human words rough and unwieldly on a Crinos tongue. His muscles are quivering from exertion and rage. The whole of it was less than ten seconds, but rage stretches that time out, freeze-fractures it into a series of crystalline instants in which every sensation is magnified and redefined, heightened ten-fold. In the aftermath of it all, everything feels surreal, blurred, a little lessened. "Where do you suppose it was running off to? A tea party?" -- and then, for the first time, the Ahroun bothers to look around.
[Caleb Alden] Caleb, yes, was knocked the fuck out, as they say. His body ripped to shreds (or part of it) he lay breathing, shallowly. As if somewhere in his subconcious, his hand twitches and then he ceases all movement. A bit of his fur perchance still remained in the thing's maw, the remaining fur around him rapidly bloodstaining.
[Rafe Wallace] When the beast falls, Rafe stands back to take in the scene. Coll slightly wounded, and Caleb out cold. Silvery eyes peer back at the church, before the Crinos Ragabash moves to Caleb. Claws with hunks of greasy fleshy mess on them gouge earth as he lifts the homid theurge in his arms. Time t'leave mate. Get this fella out'o here. Totem linked, Rafe looks at his packmate and then at the fallen beast.
No tellin what else might show up. Still confused as to wether the bane was a minion of the preacher lady.... or another coincidence, Rafe shoulders his burden and shakes his head. Looked like it was runnin away when we come in... With a sniff to scent the air, Rafe stands in numb silence for a long moment. We goin back inside Coll? Or we goin out there.... He nods his crinos maw toward the darker boundaries beyond the church grounds where unknown shadows lurk.
[Coll Two-Spears] Can ye nae heal 'im? Wha' sort o' Coggie do ye be? Some men had afterglow postcoitus; Coll had it postfracas. The Ahroun was exultant, breathing deeply of the crisp night air, stretching out his huge arms to stretch them. The wound he had taken, a bite to the shoulder, bleeds freely. His hot blood steams in the night. He seems to neither feel nor care -- or if he does, it was only part of the joy. Go on wit'out me, cross o'er. I wan' tae ask those knights somethin', if they'll answer. We have tae at leas' make this trip worth somethin' more than a new head fer the Wyrmpole.
[Rafe Wallace] Yer daft if ye think I'm leavin ye here alone mate. Do what ye need, and we'll go t'gether. Rafe shifts the Fangs weight in his arms, his nose lifted into the night air away from the fallen Fangs stinking guts that drip and ooze into his fur. Hurry up mate, this fella's startin tae stink.
[Twilight] There's a silence after the battle. The low hum of the monster's mechanical parts, the roar of rage in their ears fades, silence. Coll will hear the choir inside the church hesitate, and then resume its particolored song - but out here, where the wind whips through the unleafed trees, the song of a whipoorwill rises somewhere in the distance, echoes over the treetops, rising to skim the foetid night sky.
[Coll Two-Spears] I willnae be but a moment, Coll promises, and begins to strides toward the nearest templar.
The call of a whippoorwill saps some of his mood. It makes his fur stand on end, too familiar from too many fights in too many wyrmpits with too many dancers, mad-eyed and fervent. His head sinks lower into his hunching shoulders, and his weight instinctively drops until his furred knuckles nearly trail the ground and his gait his nearly quadripedal.
He reflects that it's a pity the Theurge was the one knocked out, but there was no helping that. After a pause, he shifts back to breedform. There was something about the concept of a knight: they were always just a little bigger than you. In Crinos, they had seemed to loom ten, eleven feet tall. In Homid, they were perhaps seven, no more. Coll notes the seeping wounds, the dents in the armor, and after an awkward pause, clears his throat.
"Hullo there," he hails them with a little wave, and immediately feels stupid. He casts Rafe an uncertain glance, then returns his attention to the shiny faceless helm. "Er -- was wonderin' if ye woul' answer a few questions."
[Rafe Wallace] Rafe stands back, engulfed in silence as he watches Coll's back, literally. The Fang seeping intestinal fluids along his chest, making his fur hot and itchy. One leg twitches in passing, like that of a dog wanting to scratch at an unreachable flea. It is moments like these, when Rafe misses his hearing the most.
Each passing soundless moment sets him on edge all the more. Silver hued eyes dart from one movement to another in lightning fast blinks.
[Twilight] Strangely enough, a pair of the knights are making their way toward the steps of the church. As Coll lifts his head and narrows his eyes, studying the grounds to search of a likely prospect, he sees them, closer than he might have thought and headed in his direction. The pair of them ignore him, drifting past, on what seems to be a direct line for the remains of the bane they killed. They ignore his presence, at least, until he speaks, and then they turn as one, in unison, one with a polearm, the other - though unmounted - carrying a lance, both weapons held peacefully above their heads.
Neither has a face beneath its maille coif. There is a blank space, like light, within. The pair hesitate, hang suspended, and half-turn as if to continue their business, when they stop again. There is no mouth to form words. Nevertheless, there is a sense of words, that makes itself felt, from the night carrying the lance. yes.
[Coll Two-Spears] Coll licks his lips. Facing such creatures, embodiments of holy order and honor -- it made even the purest feel a little less worthy, and Coll, on his best days, was not pure.
He gestures at the church. "Ye protect tha', aye? We were jus' inside. There was a growin' darkness inside, an' tha' thing," he points at the remains that the templars had been approaching when he called out to them, "was whisperin' intae the ears o' some o' the -- the believers. Wha' is happenin'?"
[Rafe Wallace] That single distant word in a strangers voice that sounds within his causes him to jerk where he stands. If Caleb were awake, he'd probably be in more pain due to the sudden movement. Luckily, he isn't. Rafe's eyes find the Knights in the darkness again, and he watches from where he stands. He doesn't hear his packmates words, but only 4% of communication is verbal. Perceptive eyes watch as his packmate gestures toward the church. Watch as he points at the remains of the bane on the ground.
His head cocked curiously to one side, he waits to hear that unfamiliar tone in his mind again. Waits to hear the knight speak.
[Twilight] Lance: Once we were many.
Halberd: Once we were more.
Sorrow, deep as Caleb’s wounds. Once we were a ring –
– of light against the darkness.
Once there was no hole in our phalanx. No breach in our armor.
Once is no more.
The lancer has a useless arm, broken across its breastplace, held close. The halberd-wielder lacks three-quarters of a leg, merely a stump of light beneath a shatter grieve. The pair drift closer to the remains of the bane; the lancer takes its lance and further shatters the foulness.
The demons break our lines.
The devils are clever, and attach themselves to even the ears of believers.
The hearts of the faithful cannot stand –
– they can. Faith. Faith.
[Coll Two-Spears] "Aye, but where do the devils come from?" In a court of law, there is no leading of the witness allowed. But Coll isn't in a court of law, and Coll's worldview is easily set. "There is a woman insi'e, one o' the preachers o' somethin'. She is ... powerful. Strong o' personality, do ye ken? Does she ha' anythin' tae do wit' it?"
[Rafe Wallace] Aye... there ye go lad. All very coherent and helpful. Let's get the fook out'o here now. Rafe grow impatient as he glances out toward the woods, and the dark shadows that loom there. His gaze darts back to the fallen bane, and then settles on the knights again. We'll come back later Coll. Talk tae the preacher lady next time, aye? Maybe she's more'o a source'o information than a source'o taint aye? Either way lad, we'll come back.
They could stand around talking riddles with broken knights till the sun comes up. He watches his packmate move in speech to the knights again, and breaths a sigh from glistening black crinos nostrils. The smell of blood and fresh meat causing a string of drool to dangle from his maw. Dripping saliva into the open wounds of the Fang. Wonder if that will mess with his pure breeding....
[Coll Two-Spears] An' wha' if the knights arenae here when we come back wit' the cavalry? Ye knoow how the sept is. Ask 'em tae do anythin' an' they'll argue fer half a moon's turn firs'. Lookit these poor wee buggers, they're fallin' tae pieces. If another o' those hellhounds comes, there migh' nae be anythin' left tae question. Three more minutes an' I'll leave wit' ye, alrigh'?
[Rafe Wallace] He breaths another sigh and nods slowly, silently where he stands.
[Caleb Alden] Whether or not Rafe's saliva mingingly with his innerds would mess with his pedigree, such were not Caleb's thoughts. His subconcious was running rampant even though his physical body was motionless. Eyes behind their lids flickered frantically, as if seeking a way out. Occasionally a muscle in his thigh would twitch and then cease as if the Fang were battling his own inner demons.
True, rare was the night that his dreams were peaceful.
[Twilight] We stand –
– until we fall.
Until we fail.
Unison, a baritone chorus. Then darkness takes the land.
They hide themselves in flesh.
They burrow deep.
Even the best of them –
– even the least of them.
We cannot keep them all out.
The light is failing.
The day is ending.
They come from the woods. They come from without. Spies for the minions of hell.
Hell is at our door.
Nightly, it comes closer.
Too much for our number.
Too overwhelming for their prayers.
Once the pair begin, they are difficult to stop. Their minds work on a single track: the battle to which they are called, the battle they lose now, night by night, as the corruption creeps closer.
Dog-faced, mottle skinned demons.
She – a thoughtful sigh, a sense of rightness, righteousness.
Sterner, gruff and scornful. carries a devil inside her.
Caged inside her. She fights it. She holds it within.
The demons break all cages, and it will break her, too.
She was holy.
– now she is – now –
Now the war for the world happens in her heart. She is strong enough to win.
She will lose. So says the word. The world fails. The last days – the final trials – we all lose.
[Rafe Wallace] ((g'night, do a forums post or something after this damon, I'm going to bed. *grins*))
[Coll Two-Spears] And there you had it. Coll turns to flash a brief, exultant grin at Rafe. He wasn't the brightest bulb in the shed. Wasn't ever the best in school, and wasn't ever the quickest to figure something out. So when something finally falls together -- it was a good feeling, even if the news was dire.
"Thank ye fer answerin'," he says to the knights then, and steps back to go. A pause; then he turns back, hesitant. "Listen," he adds, "we're warriors fer the ligh' too. We fly a differen' banner, but I think -- maybe -- 'tis all the same in th'end. I'll bring ye word back tae m'elders, an' we'll come an' help ye figh' the batt'le. We c'n win this yet."
It was something he said with such certainty -- a certainty that, perhaps, didn't really exist, but was necessary nonetheless. It's all the same in the end, he had said, and it was the truth. Night after night, the spirit knights fought and lost, and fought nonetheless. Day after day, the garou fought and lost, and fought nonetheless. When you're fighting a losing war that you can't afford to lose, you develop certain coping techniques. Some get bitter, some grow fatalistic. Some live only for that final blaze of glory. And some, like Coll, clung to impossible hopes.
Nothing more to say, nothing more to ask. Coll shifts from one foot to the other, awkward, and then raises his hand in farewell. "Thank ye," he says again, and then hurries to follow Rafe and the unconscious Caleb away.
[Twilight] The knights do not nod, or otherwise acknowledge Coll's promise or farewell. They stand together, and then - as the Garou circle the church building to find a likely place to cross - begin to cleanse the blight from the bane the Garou destroyed. The pair work in tandem, light shining from their bodies, and slowly, slowly, the oily mess (minus whatever trophies the Garou have claimed for the Wyrmpole) is scrubbed from the steps of the church.
"Holy Jesus," Coll murmurs, blasphemous, as the audience responds to this latest rouser of a verse with wholehearted applause. He stops at the next to last row, unwilling to go forward further, and slides into a chair right by the aisle. Are ye hearin' this, Rafe? I wan' tae ask 'er wha' exactly she thinks happened tae this Nicholas o' hers, but I'm afrai' she'll sic 'er congregation on us. The mind-laugh is short, nervous.
[Rafe Wallace] I can'ae read'er lips from here. What's she on about? Totem linked, the pair exchange words as they make their way toward a pair of chairs. Rafe easing into one next to Coll. His grey eyes scanning the room as they go, offering nods to any who meet his gaze. Playing the part of the unassuming high school kid. With his Ragabash rage, he can almost pull it off.
When ye've heard enough, lets slip t'ae th'other side and have a look around.
[Caleb Alden] Caleb had gotten his cappuchino, and made his way into the hall of worship behind Rafe and Coll. At Coll's murmured blasphemy, Caleb's eyebrow arched a trifle and murmured behind him just as quietly.
"Oui, boyo. S'more ova spectacle fer one's 'musin' than worship," but then the theurge had moved to stand by the entrance, sipping his drink and grunting softly as the hot liquid scalded his lips.
[Coll Two-Spears] She sounds li'e she's talkin abou' th'Apocalypse, tha's wha' she's on abou'. Only in Christian terms, an' all. An' she's sayin her Nicholas was slain by the forces o' the Devil, an' since 'twas Cliona an' her pack tha' slew him, sounds rather li'e she migh' knoow more abou' us than she oughtae. Coll didn't just leap to conclusions, he flew. Sometimes, though, he flies the right way. Any which way, it doon't soun' as thoo she woul' be glad tae have us o'er fer supper.
Coll starts as Caleb speaks behind him, turning in the padded auditorium chair to sling an arm over the back and look at the well-dressed young Cajun. In the dark, Coll's eyes are still green -- that's how bright the color is. In a moment he's taken the other in, from the rumpled creole-chic to the undeniable, subtle beat of pure breeding. The Ahroun nudges his packmate, who would not have heard Caleb speak.
Looks li'e one o' the royals is here tae save the day. Mayhaps we oughtae 'ave tha' peek from th'Umbra noow. A pause. I still thin' someone oughtae 'ave a talk tae the sisterwoman, face-tae-face. Mayhaps one o' th' kin, jus' in case she knows wha' Rage feels li'e.
[Rafe Wallace] Chris'ye sound like a fookin old maid lad. D'nae all Christian's talk'o the devils work and such. No need tae start callin her wyrm spawn just yet mate. When Coll's head jerks back to peer at Caleb, Rafe turns slowly to take a look too. Not in time to catch the fella's words, but in time enough to get a look at him.
Aye, let's go. Rising from his chair, Rafe fishes his wallet out and pulls out a pair of bills. "So ye want a latte. I'll get ye one while yer in the loo." No point in making a spectacle by heading off to the can together. Pulling some Brokeback shit in a church filled with holy rollers might not be the best decision.
[Twilight] The sermon continues: the apocalypse indeed, the signs, the necessity to gird oneself for the fight. "Too many believe that they will be saved from the tribulation by the rapture. I - " she pauses, hands gripping the side of her lectern. " - I say, but what if the rapture has already happened and no one was taken. God knows that each of us are sinners, unworthy of the grace of his regard - and god knows - god knows that even the best of us bear seeds of evil within us."
"What if we are in the end times? What if - the antichrist is already among us? We pray for the soul of my brother. Perhaps we should be praying for ourselves."
She returns to her seat, while the glee club begins to sing Onward Christian Soldiers.
[Caleb Alden] Caleb easily meets the eyes of both men, and in the dim lighting of the church proper his own light green eyes seem almost.. off-white. The two men rose, and he moved from his position near the entrance himself as if to head out of the auditorium as well until he stops in mid-movement as the preacher's words strike him. "End Times," he said quietly, and blinked. Being Theurge, it made his brows furrow somewhat. Apparently this one perchance knew a bit more than she let on. Grim, Caleb stood for a moment, glancing between the door and the preacher.
[Coll Two-Spears] Ach, ye're DAFT! Coll detonates mentally, frustrated, standing in a sudden motion that turns more than a few heads. Noow she's on abou' the antichris' bein' amongst us an' seed o' evil. If she was jus' some sidewal' preacher I wouldnae gi'e a flyin' rabbitfuck, but ha'e ye forgotten this is the SISTER O' ACIDMAN, who we all knoow tae be tainted?! An' she's callin' him a martyr fer the cause! I donnae see how ye c'n wri'e it off as coincidence! But what do I knoow? I'm jus' a dumb Ahroun. So keep ye head in the sand, 'tis bettair there! Just doon't come cryin' tae me when she harfs up acidic pea soup on ye an' her head spins round 'n round!
It's all punctuated with a hand thrown up as he starts for the door even as Rafe's making some sort of cover for them. He must really want that latte bad. There's a brief pause in front of Caleb, and then Coll jerks a thumb at the outside, inviting the Fang to follow along.
[Rafe Wallace] I d'nae say... fook it. Let's just look around. Rafe's gaze sweeps the congregation briefly as he slips out into the lobby. Here, he takes a quick look before heading to the smoothie/cappucino stand and purchasing a couple of drinks. It doesn't matter what they are, they're going to go in the trash in the bathroom anyway. He makes conversation with people, and smiles and all of that as he goes about covering their asses. He even stands back near the auditorium entrance before glancing at the clock on the wall and then huffing for show as he marches toward the bathroom. Ennis must be taking too long for his liking.
In the bathroom, he drops the pair of cups in the trash. Clear in here?
[Caleb Alden] At the Ahroun's gesture, Caleb merely nods and follows along keeping an eye over his shoulders. Not in town for more than twenty minutes and there seems to be something up around here. Scratching at more than a day's growth of stubble, the cajun takes another delicate sip of the scalding. He'd follow Coll into the bathroom, making a brisk walk as a show of needing to take one hell of a piss.
[Coll Two-Spears] It was like some sort of girl bathroom outing, all three of them heading there sooner or later. All they needed to do now was stand in a row in front of the mirror and titter while they fixed their makeup. Of the lot, Coll's maybe the only one to actually head for the urinals.
Gi'e me a sec. I'm takin' a piss. He finishes up, zips it up and goes to the gleaming tap, in front of the gleaming mirror and under the gleaming spot-lights, waving his hands futilely at the gleaming auto-on detector to make the water run. When he finally gets it going, he gives his hands a token swipe under the water and then ducks down to check under all the stalls. Looks all clear, c'mon in.
When Caleb joins them as well, Coll sticks his hand out at the Fang. "Coll MacCulloch o' the Fiann. I am called Two-Spears. Ye're investigatin' the sisterwoman too?"
[Rafe Wallace] Rafe stands in front of the mirror while Coll takes a leak. Raking fingers through his disarray of dirty blonde curls when he spots the Fang. Turning, he focuses on the newcomers mouth. His steely grey eyes narrowing slightly as he reads his lips. A furrow of his brow at the dialect. His gaze moves with the speed of necessity, and he catches Coll's introduction to the new fella before arching a brow, and waiting for the mans reply.
[Caleb Alden] His cajun accent not withstanding, they'd make a trio speaking in their own manner of brogue. His was a butchered French while theres? Well, one Fiann and one Child of Gaia with Fiann blood.
Caleb accepted Coll's hand as he looked to both of them in turn. "Caleb Delacourt Alden, Theurge of Gleaming Eye. I am called Darkensky." At the mention of his presumed investigation, Caleb considered this a moment as his lips pursed. "Wasn't, just got inta town t'night. But her words'r'warrenting an investigation in my view."
[Coll Two-Spears] "Ye havenae hear' the half o' it." Coll takes another surreptitious look around, even checking the corners for hidden cams before lowering his voice. "Com'on, we're takin a look a' the Otherside. I'll fill ye in o'er there."
Coll fixes a stare at his reflection in the mirror. The veins on his arms bulge as he squeezes his hands into fists, quivering with the strain of pushing across the thick gauntlet.
[Rafe Wallace] "Bloody fook, ye're both turned intae witch hunters." His shoulders roll in a slow shrug as he steps forward. "Her words are nae any different from any evangelists." Not that he heard them. It is his duty to be the voice of reason... or unreason. Whatever is called for at any particular moment. "Rafe Wallace. Called Ignus Fatuus' o the Children'o Gaia."
Introductions made, Rafe turns where he stands and regards himself in the mirror again. A hand lifts to rearrange a few locks of hair before he concentrates and begins the sidestep into the umbra.
[Twilight] They step through the gauntlet one by one, and find, perhaps surprisingly, that the church has a strong umbral presence. The bathroom in which they cross is a white box with faintly translucent walls, approximately the dimensions of the bathroom in the church proper. Some of the fixtures have made the translation from physical to penumbra – a water-spirit drip-slide-drips constantly from a ghostly faucet into a fixed basin on the floor/ground, while a pair of small pattern spiders click and whir, spinning at the webs half-bound, half-suspended inside the wall. What was a door is merely a break in the translucent wall.
[Caleb Alden] "Glad to meet you both," the Cajun replied as he then stepped sideways after a look into the mirror. Brushing a few strands of black hair tinged with silver from his face, he looked to them both and folded his arms.
"Now, what's the other half of the story I'd be better off knowing?" The theurge prompted.
[Coll Two-Spears] "An' ye're tae blinded by ye pretty-boy reflection tae see the truth," Coll replies on the other side. He's not at ALL surprised to find the church has a significant umbral presence. In fact, he takes it as more proof, jabbing a finger at the faucet. "Jus' look a' tha'! Tha' doon't happen by chance, ye knoow!"
Still riled, he turns to Caleb. "Anyhoo. So. Our elder, Cliona Murran, an' her pack brough' down a fomor the othair day. They dumped 'is body in the River an' then it floated ashore, still bleedin' acid o' somethin'. So o' course people found 'im. Turned out he was a high school teacher o' somethin', an' the whole school raised a big hoolabaloo. This," he waves his hands at the church in general, "is jus' part o' it. Ye shoul' ha'e seen the memorials at the riverside. They ha' half the school standin' aroun', includin' the whole cheerleadin' squad, an'... they were odd." Coll skips over the details. Too embarrassing. "But the sisterwoman in there, she's the oddest o' the bunch, lordin' o'er it all like some lady o' the flies, preachin' her hellfire an' damnation. I doon't care what Rafe says, I 'ave a gut for this shite an' ma gut cannae stomach 'er."
Coll looks to Rafe. "Di' I forget anythin'?"
[Rafe Wallace] It isn't that Rafe is ignoring the Fang, but he's a bit preoccupied with the transition from one side of the gauntlet to the other. No time for reading lips when your reality is shifting. He emerges in the umbra with a muted groan, the sort that accompanies a fast drop after a drastic incline. Blinking, he takes not of his new surroundings before finally turning toward his companions.
"Best see if we can get close tae the preacher lady aye? See if she's got any umbral hangers on." He pauses, not having caught most of what Coll said. A glance at Caleb and he shrugs briefly. "Did'e mention fallin in love with a pimple faced braces wearin lass'o fifteen?"
[Coll Two-Spears] Coll flushes. "I tol' ye tae stop mentionin' the Cheerleader Incident. I was an unfortunate victim o' the Wyrm's wiles."
[Caleb Alden] Caleb's arms unfold as he takes another look around. Then back to Coll and Rafe. "Yeah, obviously there ain't nothing good happening here. More than meets the eye, to be sure." Of course, he was new in town so he'd follow the other two's lead for now.
There was one thing he and Coll shared - a disquiet about this place. The run-down outside and the luxurious inside. Brows furrowing once more, he refolded his arms and shook his head. "Mighten be that the sister back there's well, thralled by something if ya take my meanin'. Hidden power? Underling of something?" He shrugged.
A memorial for the death of a teacher was nothing new, it's been in the papers before of schools honoring their dead professors. "She said something about End Times that made me pause, though. I wouldn't be surprised to find a Hive in the bowels of this place, or some kind of den of a beastie."
[Twilight] As they step through the door, it’s clear that the bathroom is not the only part of the church with an umbral projection. The whole building has a presence, although the church itself is a more idealized, traditional structure, open-spaced except for a few closed rooms such as that from which they emerged. Instead of an auditorium, they stand in a building with marching rows of ghostly pews flanked by two aisles, leading to a traditional lectern, altar, and choirloft. Above them, set into the spun-walls, a stained glass window in the traditional round shape glows faintly.
There is a sense of faith, here, and an – not peace, perhaps, not even holiness – the Garou do not feel the white Christ here, living in the place in which these people worship him, but – in some ways – the act of that worship itself has built the church in which they find themselves. A number of small spirits – strange, perhaps, to their eyes, Ragabash and Ahroun, without a Theurge to guide them – can be found here. In the choir-loft, tall striations of light vibrate out a cool, fine sound; a many-colored glass spirit drowses in the stained glass window – which does not exist in the physical world – and small motes of light – some with eyes, some with sighs, some hands folded up in prayer drift through the faintly glowing room.
That is not all that is here.
Near the altar, two hot spots – or perhaps warm – smeared color, blurred vision, like oil smeared on translucent paper. The two hot spots resolves themselves more surely as they approach, narrow-eyed, studying. Two umbral hangers-on, moving independently – although one seems to be tightly caged, as if it were locked in a box, shut inside a prison.
And: more – for all the faith and hope and brightness here – the walls are beginning to turn. The rightmost corner, near the ceiling, is dark with something like mold, and the ceiling is – here and there – splotchy with algae-like dark growths.
And: more - hidden at first by the pews – which are larger, more substantial than pews would be in any real church – something rises from where it whispers into someone’s ear. It turns to look at the Garou, reaching up lazily as it does so, swiping one of the floating epiphlings from the air and crunching it between its fingers, stuffing it into a maw that unhinges hugely, with machinelike precision.
It rises, floats through/around the pew, without touching the ground proper, and seems to be constructed of bones and machine parts – femurs wrapped in scraps of flesh, joined to an oversized, animal pelvis by an oily black pistons that leak foul fluid with every step.
[Coll Two-Spears] (slip this before ST post--)
"Well," Coll gives his head a shake, as a dog might shake water from its fur. But Coll shakes his human form off his bones, his short hair thickening and lengthening, flaring down his back and across his body like wildfire. He hits the ground on all fours. Hispo, he stands long of limb and narrow of frame, built for sinewy speed. A pause to crouch on his haunches and scratch at his ear with a hindpaw. Then Highspeech, "Let's have a look."
[Rafe Wallace] "Ye've both seen The Devil's Advocate one too many times lads. There's nae always demons behind religious fanatics. What if this church is the real deal, and the preacher lady's brother was tainted just tae get to her? Aye, ye n'ere thought'o that did ye?" Not that Rafe really believes it. Anything is possible though. And it's his job to point that out. With a sniff, he heads for the bathroom door and pushes the translucent partition open slowly.
A glance back at Coll, and he nods as his body ripples, his hand against the door elongating, nails scratching umbral surface as he sprouts the russet fur of the Fianna and ducks through the doorway in his warform.
[Caleb Alden] Hair color reverses from inky black tinged with silver to snowey white tinged with light shadows of black on his muzzle, head, and running down the nape of his neck to his shoulder blades.
The Crinos form of Caleb slides gracefully beneath the door after Coll and Rafe allowing the Ahroun to lead the way. First, his eyes dart to the lights eminating and wafting with seeming minds of their own, and then his suspicious enchanting gaze lurches towards the darker striations amidst all this seeming purity.
Then to the altar and it's doings. There his gaze stays for a moment or two before settling on the lumbering figure that seemed half-creature, half-machine. An ear flickers as he settles on his haunches, claws clicking on the floor of the umbral church out of habit.
[Rafe Wallace] "Oi..." The expression is little more than a rough growl that escapes large canid lips as eyes that burn a strange silver in the umbra spot the lumbering formation that rises from between the pews. "Then again... "
With a grumble of sound, the large crinos Gaian crouches low where he stands, positioned to the right, and slightly behind his packmate.
[Coll Two-Spears] Two-Spears squeezes through behind Rafe. Even though this form is narrower, elongated, his shoulders fill the doorway completely. Coll's tall and lanky in homid, a basketball player's frame. In his myriad warforms, that size is doubled and tripled. He looms, he stalks, long and lean and mean. Five and a half feet at the withers, nine feet long, the Hispo form is huge, prehistoric, not of this world. Stepping into the church proper (where did the lobby go? where the auditorium? -- these thoughts float half-formed across the totemlink -- this is the church as it exists in the minds of the faithful), he cranes about, ears swiveling at every sound. For a moment he seems uncertain. There is faith in this place, a sense of belief, and he could not fault anyone that. The entire Garou Nation, it could be argued, was built on faith. The great heavy-jawed head lowers to sniff at the floor, rises to scent the air --
-- and then Two-Spears freezes, tensing, hackles rising, as he catches sight of the creature in the pews. A low growl rises almost unbidden in his chest. Otherwise, he is as a stone wolf, motionless.
"Look at that. Look at that. Whatever it is they believe, good or bad, it's turned dark. This whole place is turning dark. Do you need more proof than that?" The last explodes sharp and rough, a forceful bark of challenge to the beast/machine/thing that comes so languidly deadly toward them. Two-Spears, ready for war, paces forward to meet it.
[Twilight] The monstrous thing churns forward, the strange sound of its gear/legs sighing and hissing drowning the chorus from the illuminated choir loft, the vibrating emodied notes shining and shimmering and radiating as much as singing their sound. No - wait. The clank and roll does not overpower the chorus, it cows and silences the chorus. Each of the vibrating notes stills, and the delicate incarnations of prayer floating in the air shrink into themselves, struggling to rise higher, higher, out of its reach.
The oversized jaw snaps a metallic response to Coll Two Spears animal challenge. Oil flies from the hinges of its jaw, sprays over the pews like blood, as it lopes and whorls toward them with insectine delicacy and a subtle flash of its flanged maw, its hands, scalpels sewn viciously to yellowed bones erupting from its scraps of gray flesh.
The monster does not drive toward the Garou, however. It is plowing toward the front door.
[Caleb Alden] Caleb, on the other hand, was poised out of readiness. Coll was likely to barrel forward in blind Ahroun manners: bite first, talk later. Caleb was a thinker, and he did what was best to him.
Spirit Speech: "Halt!" the Silver Fang shouted. "Talk to me. What is this place?"
Gift: Persuasion.
[Caleb Alden]
[Coll Two-Spears] The growl transmutes into a sound of puzzlement, an inquiry voiced only in his throat. The russet-furred beast makes a primitive calculation of his own, an assimilation of threat factors and points to investigate -- decides in an eyeblink that the machine-beast far outweighs all else. There was taint on the wall, caged spirit-things, praying spirit-things, ephemeral choirs... fuck 'em. There was also a beast snapping at him, and challenge would be answered with force.
Puzzlement becomes surety, three sharp barks that indicates his hunter's intent. He spills into a fluid, loping run, his big paws thudding into the floor. Caleb guessed right: Two-Spears was going to bite fight, talk later. And even as the Theurge hails the creature, Two-Spears doesn't slow his forward plunge. If it didn't reply, he was still going to catch it. And bite first, talk later.
[Caleb Alden]
[Rafe Wallace] Rafe is caught in a moment of uncertainty. He could have sworn the bane creature wasn't heading their way.... Coll however diffuses any uncertainties as he charges the beast with a trio of barks. Guess we're fightin the thing'o bones and metal then aye? The totem link carries his sardonic tone loud and clear into the Ahrouns head as the Ragabash moves to flank the thing from the other side.
Long muscular crinos legs pumping to carry him over umbral pews.
[Coll Two-Spears] (Init is 9+1d10)
[Caleb Alden] ( 15 )
[Rafe Wallace]
[Caleb Alden]
[Caleb Alden] ( 11 then.. Jove at my original inits. Though Coll's was mine. )
[Twilight]
[Rafe Wallace] ((total is 10))
[Coll Two-Spears] Jus' shut ye trap an' help me! comes the reply, shouted into Rafe's head. Sometimes Rafe must wish he was deaf totemically too.
Two-Spear's Hispo form is faster than the Crinos behind him, though still perhaps not so liquid-quick as the foul beast running for the door. Weight to horsepower ratio, and all -- and the Hispo is a big thing, heavy. It's obvious in the way his paws hit the ground, THUDding every time. But his sheer size makes up for it somewhat. The length of one stride is enormous, eating up space, bowling right over the pews and aisles. When he's within leaping distance, he gathers himself and launches. He means to pounce like a cougar to land crushingly from above and behind, biting into whatever exposed neck he could sink his teeth into.
(3 rage. one to jump, 3 to bite.)
[Coll Two-Spears]
[Twilight] The beast-machine and the trio of Garou are almost equidistant from the closed double doors. In the heat of the moment - the monster, no longer even looking at the trio of garou - barrels through ,the double-doors, which give way with a splintering crack and dissolve, like the walls of jericho. The hispo leaps and catches it, and it snarls, distending its massive, strangely jointed jaw to snap at the creature tackling it.
[Twilight] Bite.
[Twilight] Damage
[Coll Two-Spears]
[Caleb Alden] Seeing that that damnable beast did not halt as was his command, that annoyed the crap out of Caleb more than a little. But always overconfident to a flaw (duh), Caleb ran with leaps and bounds to the creature that Two-Spears had pounced. Perchance he could immobilize the damn thing enough to get a word out of it, but more over this seemed to him more a scouting mission. The thing would probably not stop. It seemed more a corrupt thing of the Weaver and Wyrm. Some freak cyborg machination out of Hell.
A run and a leap much like the Ahroun's, but as Coll twisted to try and avoid the thing's maw as it was focused on the Fianna on his back Caleb saw his opening.
Caleb lept for the creature's head and to rank with the claws on his feet.
( Leap, Claw. 1 Rage. )
[Caleb Alden]
[Rafe Wallace] Coll doesn't have to say anything, because the Ragabash is already in motion. Unlike his packmate, he opts for finesse over brute strength. Likely because he doesn't really possess brute strength. Instead of leaping heroically into the banes back, Rafe lashes out with claws. One hit to the things foreleg, and another to the hind as he digs in with both hands, and tries to tear a leg from beneath the lumbering beast.
((1 rage; regular action claw attack to foreleg, rage action claw attack to hind leg))
[Rafe Wallace] dex 2 + crinos 1 + brawl 2 + raccoon addition 1= 6
[Coll Two-Spears] (bite - dex+(hispo 2)+brawl)
[Coll Two-Spears] (dam str+3(hispo)+2(bite))
[Caleb Alden]
[Rafe Wallace]
[Rafe Wallace] str 3 + crinos 4 + 2 for claw + 4 sux = 13
[Twilight] soak
[Twilight] next rage action!
[Coll Two-Spears]
[Coll Two-Spears]
[Twilight]
[Coll Two-Spears]
[Coll Two-Spears]
[Twilight]
[Twilight] They tumble through the doors, splintering whatever substance had made them, spilling down the grand staircase, in the shadow of the steeple that scrapes the glowering umbral sky, consumed in the battle. Caleb and Coll leap and bring the beast down, and Rafe sweeps in, claws a chunk of bone and sick, yellowing flesh from one of its pistoning legs. Coll bites and bites, received for his trouble only a mouthful of foul oil, slick and oleaginous, with a deep, bleak rotten undercurrent, until at last he breaks the flesh and tears a rent in the thing's body. Its head turns 180 degrees and the jaw distends, pistons pumping, embroiled in the fight.
[Caleb Alden]
[Caleb Alden] ( 11 Again )
[Coll Two-Spears] Blechh! The exclamation is less a word, really, than a mind-impression of disgust and distaste as the Hispo jerks back from the distending jaw, the spilling oil.
The change is instantaneous: one second a direwolf, the next a Crinos. Rage leaves a visible afterimage in this umbral air, ghostly and glowing like st. elmo's fire at the tips of his claws, his ears, his ruff. The spear that winds off his arm and solidifies in his hand is thick-shafted and heavy, the glyphs worn almost smooth with generations of use; the head is a broad, wicked thing of black steel, serrated on the lower edges to maximize damage upon withdrawal. He cradles it in his hands loose and easy, his touch so familiar that he might have been born with it in his hands.
A spear can be a difficult weapon to use, heavy and long, unwieldy. But in the right hands it becomes something more, a living thing, a striking viper of a weapon that slices straight for the chinks in the armor. The head of the spear shafts forward as straight as if it were on rails, striking out here, there, so fast that it seems to bend and blur. It feints, it pulls, it slithers sideways and circles, hypnotic -- and then, without warning, darts forward again.
(3 rage for actions again, splitting first:
1a. back off to spear range, 1 rage to shift instantly.
1b. de-tattooify the spear
2,3,4: strike with the spear.)
[Twilight] Freed of its first burden, the cranking, rolling bucket of skeletal bolts spins its maw again, another 45 degrees. The body - now quadripedal, in size and shape rather analagous to a hispo - bends and undulates in disturbing ways. It spits out an oily challenge, the sound vibrating through its fine motor nerves and shivering through the broken air as it lunges for Caleb, metal teeth flashing beneath their bloody coating - both old and new.
[Twilight] Attack
[Twilight] Damage
[Caleb Alden]
[Rafe Wallace] Rafe continues to claw at the beasts hindquarters. Striking out with claws to tear at whatever fleshy remains still cling to the bone and metal creature. Tearing trenches in the banes hard surfaces. Wearing it down from behind while the others thrash and bite at it's head and shoulders.
((rage 1; regular action claw, rage action claw))
claw: dex 2 + crinos 1 + brawl 3 + raccoon claw bonus 1= 7
[Rafe Wallace] Dmg: Str 3 + crinos 4 + claw 2 + 5 sux = 14
[Twilight]
[Coll Two-Spears]
[Coll Two-Spears] (dam: str+4(crinos)+2(spear)+succ)
[Twilight]
[Rafe Wallace] claw: dex 2 crinos 1 brawl 3 raccoon 1 = 7
[Rafe Wallace] dmg: str 3 crinos 4 claw 2 sux 3 = 12
[Twilight]
[Coll Two-Spears]
[Coll Two-Spears]
[Twilight]
[Twilight] The battle continues. The massive beast-thing turns and bites the Silver Fang viciously, laying him open, piercing the Crinos' flesh down to the massive white ribs, rending the abdomen to expose glistening loops and whorls of intestines. Great gouts of blood spray open, mingling with the beast's sputtering oil. Caleb falls, near insensate from the pain, incapable of moving. Rafe and Coll continue to rend the beast - and together the packmates bring it down, with a last great thrust from the Coll Two-Spears (second?) favorite weapon. The bane convulses, sparking and spraying oil, the flesh and springs, the inexplicable sprockets and pistons all go silent at once, unmoving.
[Twilight] Embroiled in the battle, they have not yet looked up. As the bane expires beneath their claws and crunches to brittle memories of dust in their maws, they have, at last, the chance to survey the exterior of the church. It is – again – an idealized American idea of a church – white clapboard, belltower, spire rising to the sky, the sleeping glass-spirit a stained-glass window in the center shining softly in the moonlight. The feelings of surely, faith, extend to what the Garou might guess are the greater boundaries of the church’s campus. The two other buildings have no penumbral reflection, however. Where they stand is simply a garden, a grove of glade children basking in the peaceful reflection of the church’s power.
The boundaries of the property are patrolled by a phalanx of ghostly things, warriors with various reflections, most variations on a knights templar theme – empty suits of armor, lances at the ready, crosses painted in red on their otherwise translucent frames.
…if they take a few steps down the wide stone staircase, which gleams like marble through which sunlight shines, and move closer to one of these warriors, they will find the thing wounded, the armor pierced, the substance bleeding slowly out.
Outside the boundaries of the church’s lands, the landscape – in the physical world, so bucolic – a field of freshly plowed earth, the greening trees, the marching rows of nice houses with nice children and nice flowers and nice green (chem)lawns – is bleak. Skeletal trees, clattering branches like manyjointed, bone fingers, scrap against the bleeding sky, which is sullen with some ugly haze that smells like blood and ash, hits the back of the throat with a caustic, chemical scent. Shadows drift amidst the trees – dark things, bleak and fell.
Here, in the umbra, one might almost have the sense that the woman preaching holy war was right. The church is under attack from all sides, one of the last respites in a land of darkness.
[Coll Two-Spears] ...CRUNCH. The thing is dead by then, its last nerve impulses shuddering through its quasimechanical limbs with a few errant twitches and tics, but all the same Coll drives the spear through its head. A foot of blackened steel puts an end to whatever remained of its last thoughts and Coll, never exactly a dignified warrior, spits on and kicks the corpse.
"[Bloody bugger]," he opines, the human words rough and unwieldly on a Crinos tongue. His muscles are quivering from exertion and rage. The whole of it was less than ten seconds, but rage stretches that time out, freeze-fractures it into a series of crystalline instants in which every sensation is magnified and redefined, heightened ten-fold. In the aftermath of it all, everything feels surreal, blurred, a little lessened. "Where do you suppose it was running off to? A tea party?" -- and then, for the first time, the Ahroun bothers to look around.
[Caleb Alden] Caleb, yes, was knocked the fuck out, as they say. His body ripped to shreds (or part of it) he lay breathing, shallowly. As if somewhere in his subconcious, his hand twitches and then he ceases all movement. A bit of his fur perchance still remained in the thing's maw, the remaining fur around him rapidly bloodstaining.
[Rafe Wallace] When the beast falls, Rafe stands back to take in the scene. Coll slightly wounded, and Caleb out cold. Silvery eyes peer back at the church, before the Crinos Ragabash moves to Caleb. Claws with hunks of greasy fleshy mess on them gouge earth as he lifts the homid theurge in his arms. Time t'leave mate. Get this fella out'o here. Totem linked, Rafe looks at his packmate and then at the fallen beast.
No tellin what else might show up. Still confused as to wether the bane was a minion of the preacher lady.... or another coincidence, Rafe shoulders his burden and shakes his head. Looked like it was runnin away when we come in... With a sniff to scent the air, Rafe stands in numb silence for a long moment. We goin back inside Coll? Or we goin out there.... He nods his crinos maw toward the darker boundaries beyond the church grounds where unknown shadows lurk.
[Coll Two-Spears] Can ye nae heal 'im? Wha' sort o' Coggie do ye be? Some men had afterglow postcoitus; Coll had it postfracas. The Ahroun was exultant, breathing deeply of the crisp night air, stretching out his huge arms to stretch them. The wound he had taken, a bite to the shoulder, bleeds freely. His hot blood steams in the night. He seems to neither feel nor care -- or if he does, it was only part of the joy. Go on wit'out me, cross o'er. I wan' tae ask those knights somethin', if they'll answer. We have tae at leas' make this trip worth somethin' more than a new head fer the Wyrmpole.
[Rafe Wallace] Yer daft if ye think I'm leavin ye here alone mate. Do what ye need, and we'll go t'gether. Rafe shifts the Fangs weight in his arms, his nose lifted into the night air away from the fallen Fangs stinking guts that drip and ooze into his fur. Hurry up mate, this fella's startin tae stink.
[Twilight] There's a silence after the battle. The low hum of the monster's mechanical parts, the roar of rage in their ears fades, silence. Coll will hear the choir inside the church hesitate, and then resume its particolored song - but out here, where the wind whips through the unleafed trees, the song of a whipoorwill rises somewhere in the distance, echoes over the treetops, rising to skim the foetid night sky.
[Coll Two-Spears] I willnae be but a moment, Coll promises, and begins to strides toward the nearest templar.
The call of a whippoorwill saps some of his mood. It makes his fur stand on end, too familiar from too many fights in too many wyrmpits with too many dancers, mad-eyed and fervent. His head sinks lower into his hunching shoulders, and his weight instinctively drops until his furred knuckles nearly trail the ground and his gait his nearly quadripedal.
He reflects that it's a pity the Theurge was the one knocked out, but there was no helping that. After a pause, he shifts back to breedform. There was something about the concept of a knight: they were always just a little bigger than you. In Crinos, they had seemed to loom ten, eleven feet tall. In Homid, they were perhaps seven, no more. Coll notes the seeping wounds, the dents in the armor, and after an awkward pause, clears his throat.
"Hullo there," he hails them with a little wave, and immediately feels stupid. He casts Rafe an uncertain glance, then returns his attention to the shiny faceless helm. "Er -- was wonderin' if ye woul' answer a few questions."
[Rafe Wallace] Rafe stands back, engulfed in silence as he watches Coll's back, literally. The Fang seeping intestinal fluids along his chest, making his fur hot and itchy. One leg twitches in passing, like that of a dog wanting to scratch at an unreachable flea. It is moments like these, when Rafe misses his hearing the most.
Each passing soundless moment sets him on edge all the more. Silver hued eyes dart from one movement to another in lightning fast blinks.
[Twilight] Strangely enough, a pair of the knights are making their way toward the steps of the church. As Coll lifts his head and narrows his eyes, studying the grounds to search of a likely prospect, he sees them, closer than he might have thought and headed in his direction. The pair of them ignore him, drifting past, on what seems to be a direct line for the remains of the bane they killed. They ignore his presence, at least, until he speaks, and then they turn as one, in unison, one with a polearm, the other - though unmounted - carrying a lance, both weapons held peacefully above their heads.
Neither has a face beneath its maille coif. There is a blank space, like light, within. The pair hesitate, hang suspended, and half-turn as if to continue their business, when they stop again. There is no mouth to form words. Nevertheless, there is a sense of words, that makes itself felt, from the night carrying the lance. yes.
[Coll Two-Spears] Coll licks his lips. Facing such creatures, embodiments of holy order and honor -- it made even the purest feel a little less worthy, and Coll, on his best days, was not pure.
He gestures at the church. "Ye protect tha', aye? We were jus' inside. There was a growin' darkness inside, an' tha' thing," he points at the remains that the templars had been approaching when he called out to them, "was whisperin' intae the ears o' some o' the -- the believers. Wha' is happenin'?"
[Rafe Wallace] That single distant word in a strangers voice that sounds within his causes him to jerk where he stands. If Caleb were awake, he'd probably be in more pain due to the sudden movement. Luckily, he isn't. Rafe's eyes find the Knights in the darkness again, and he watches from where he stands. He doesn't hear his packmates words, but only 4% of communication is verbal. Perceptive eyes watch as his packmate gestures toward the church. Watch as he points at the remains of the bane on the ground.
His head cocked curiously to one side, he waits to hear that unfamiliar tone in his mind again. Waits to hear the knight speak.
[Twilight] Lance: Once we were many.
Halberd: Once we were more.
Sorrow, deep as Caleb’s wounds. Once we were a ring –
– of light against the darkness.
Once there was no hole in our phalanx. No breach in our armor.
Once is no more.
The lancer has a useless arm, broken across its breastplace, held close. The halberd-wielder lacks three-quarters of a leg, merely a stump of light beneath a shatter grieve. The pair drift closer to the remains of the bane; the lancer takes its lance and further shatters the foulness.
The demons break our lines.
The devils are clever, and attach themselves to even the ears of believers.
The hearts of the faithful cannot stand –
– they can. Faith. Faith.
[Coll Two-Spears] "Aye, but where do the devils come from?" In a court of law, there is no leading of the witness allowed. But Coll isn't in a court of law, and Coll's worldview is easily set. "There is a woman insi'e, one o' the preachers o' somethin'. She is ... powerful. Strong o' personality, do ye ken? Does she ha' anythin' tae do wit' it?"
[Rafe Wallace] Aye... there ye go lad. All very coherent and helpful. Let's get the fook out'o here now. Rafe grow impatient as he glances out toward the woods, and the dark shadows that loom there. His gaze darts back to the fallen bane, and then settles on the knights again. We'll come back later Coll. Talk tae the preacher lady next time, aye? Maybe she's more'o a source'o information than a source'o taint aye? Either way lad, we'll come back.
They could stand around talking riddles with broken knights till the sun comes up. He watches his packmate move in speech to the knights again, and breaths a sigh from glistening black crinos nostrils. The smell of blood and fresh meat causing a string of drool to dangle from his maw. Dripping saliva into the open wounds of the Fang. Wonder if that will mess with his pure breeding....
[Coll Two-Spears] An' wha' if the knights arenae here when we come back wit' the cavalry? Ye knoow how the sept is. Ask 'em tae do anythin' an' they'll argue fer half a moon's turn firs'. Lookit these poor wee buggers, they're fallin' tae pieces. If another o' those hellhounds comes, there migh' nae be anythin' left tae question. Three more minutes an' I'll leave wit' ye, alrigh'?
[Rafe Wallace] He breaths another sigh and nods slowly, silently where he stands.
[Caleb Alden] Whether or not Rafe's saliva mingingly with his innerds would mess with his pedigree, such were not Caleb's thoughts. His subconcious was running rampant even though his physical body was motionless. Eyes behind their lids flickered frantically, as if seeking a way out. Occasionally a muscle in his thigh would twitch and then cease as if the Fang were battling his own inner demons.
True, rare was the night that his dreams were peaceful.
[Twilight] We stand –
– until we fall.
Until we fail.
Unison, a baritone chorus. Then darkness takes the land.
They hide themselves in flesh.
They burrow deep.
Even the best of them –
– even the least of them.
We cannot keep them all out.
The light is failing.
The day is ending.
They come from the woods. They come from without. Spies for the minions of hell.
Hell is at our door.
Nightly, it comes closer.
Too much for our number.
Too overwhelming for their prayers.
Once the pair begin, they are difficult to stop. Their minds work on a single track: the battle to which they are called, the battle they lose now, night by night, as the corruption creeps closer.
Dog-faced, mottle skinned demons.
She – a thoughtful sigh, a sense of rightness, righteousness.
Sterner, gruff and scornful. carries a devil inside her.
Caged inside her. She fights it. She holds it within.
The demons break all cages, and it will break her, too.
She was holy.
– now she is – now –
Now the war for the world happens in her heart. She is strong enough to win.
She will lose. So says the word. The world fails. The last days – the final trials – we all lose.
[Rafe Wallace] ((g'night, do a forums post or something after this damon, I'm going to bed. *grins*))
[Coll Two-Spears] And there you had it. Coll turns to flash a brief, exultant grin at Rafe. He wasn't the brightest bulb in the shed. Wasn't ever the best in school, and wasn't ever the quickest to figure something out. So when something finally falls together -- it was a good feeling, even if the news was dire.
"Thank ye fer answerin'," he says to the knights then, and steps back to go. A pause; then he turns back, hesitant. "Listen," he adds, "we're warriors fer the ligh' too. We fly a differen' banner, but I think -- maybe -- 'tis all the same in th'end. I'll bring ye word back tae m'elders, an' we'll come an' help ye figh' the batt'le. We c'n win this yet."
It was something he said with such certainty -- a certainty that, perhaps, didn't really exist, but was necessary nonetheless. It's all the same in the end, he had said, and it was the truth. Night after night, the spirit knights fought and lost, and fought nonetheless. Day after day, the garou fought and lost, and fought nonetheless. When you're fighting a losing war that you can't afford to lose, you develop certain coping techniques. Some get bitter, some grow fatalistic. Some live only for that final blaze of glory. And some, like Coll, clung to impossible hopes.
Nothing more to say, nothing more to ask. Coll shifts from one foot to the other, awkward, and then raises his hand in farewell. "Thank ye," he says again, and then hurries to follow Rafe and the unconscious Caleb away.
[Twilight] The knights do not nod, or otherwise acknowledge Coll's promise or farewell. They stand together, and then - as the Garou circle the church building to find a likely place to cross - begin to cleanse the blight from the bane the Garou destroyed. The pair work in tandem, light shining from their bodies, and slowly, slowly, the oily mess (minus whatever trophies the Garou have claimed for the Wyrmpole) is scrubbed from the steps of the church.