September 25, 2004
.09.25.04. - sacrificing silver [angie] *ac conclusion

[forum]

it lay in the silt of Lake Michigan

under the watchful eyes of Garou guard, a battle waged on the affluent home's private dock
Gaia's nightmare Warrior facing off the Wyrm's gleefully twisted minion
each fighting to uphold a god's grace until this next breath became their last
dropped from fallen enemy's hand, it sunk with steadfast purpose
diving ever downwards as if struggling to once more return to the waiting hands of abyssmal darkness
fractured light glittered on it's malicious form until far too distant the water's rolling waves
snuggling into blackened shadows of shifting sands.... so easily forgotten
until destiny called it's might to battle once again

Jukebox couldn't allow that to happen

with the threat of Edison and Piel resting in the shambles of that depraved house
no longer do the fomor roam Chicago's streets in search of more victims
unfortunate participants of their twisted rituals now also put to rest
the Nursery Rhyme Murder file will soon fall prey to CPD's unsolved storage
nevertheless, the nastily effective weapon of Maxwell's choice couldn't lay unclaimed

what would happen should a far deadlier apparition of the Wyrm's legion find it?
what would happen should a FullMoon dismiss such a rare and valuable spoil of War?

so once more, the stage sets itself for tonight's tragic theater
the actors of this morbid play approaching their positions before moonrise curtain's call
audience anticipatory hush spreads along the - fortunately - latenight neighborhood desertion
Angie provides her ever-watchful guard, lingering by the treeline cover
James steps onto the rickety dock's tightrope above the lake's dark waters

however, tonight's special performance does include a bonus alternate ending: one guttermutt's striking interpretation of drowned. rat.

the GlassWalker Ahroun must be quite amused
fall's unquestionable arrival wreaks havoc on the shoreline air
what would once encourage a quick dip in summer's balmy night
now induces sheer misery beneath the weight of water-logged dreads
Angie's politely covered - we hope - mirth gets little more than a dark-eyed glare
Eagle's FullBlood quite aware of what an entertaining sight his shivering must be
dragging the heavy weapon ashore and to their chosen point of rendevous
teeth chattering far louder than any carefully placed footstep

at least he had the forethought to bring a towel and change of clothes

even submerged in the lake's icy waters, James' skin burned as he roped the silver hammer for it's ascent, he could feel it prickling famished nails along his spine where.... just so short a while ago.... it tried to make itself at home between several vertebrae... there was a good distance of several feet between his fist and binding knot, but he just couldn't help that hitchy feeling it was slinking up the anchor line to catch up to him before he breached surface.... and drag. him. back. down..

the distance increased to a handful of yards between spoiled hammer and the Fostern Eagle
a few trees were nice enough to step in as barricading screen protecting his quickchange from imagined intent
but the dry, warm clothes and healthy distance did little to stave the creepycrawl awareness of the weapon off his flesh
it was just laying there - inanimate and still, not much a hammer really can do on its own, is there
save lapping up errant glints of platinum beams falling from the Luna so high above
passing clouds making it's unearthly glow fade to shadow as if the rope about the handle truly did strangle its life away
nothing more than a dimming memory of the antique railroad spike drivers the tool so closely resembled

......but even humans know silver is a werewolve's greatest weakness

morbid curiosity sparks even in the most rational of minds
...... how much would it take to prove oneself in lasting touch
...... how long can a Warrior last before the lunar metal stripped precious spirit away
or would the lingering impressions formed with each connection of savagely spiked tip with living being instead of wooden rails do far worse damage first....

James does not allow such thoughts to reach completion within his mind
such things are nothing more than occupants of time passed while the indecisive mind contemplates
abstract advertisements showcasing the pros and cons of each possible course of action
useless in light of the dreadlocked Hood's decision made long before he and Angie even returned to the lakeshore
sanction reinforced in the concentration required to wrap the weapon in wet clothing and towel
(..... which, truly, is the one needing such protective layer from the other, Jamey-boy)
conservative contact offers little in the way of potential injury or duress
however, one such association of his flesh with the deadly silver is more than enough for this raggedyman's lifetime
legislature of responsibility likely all that secured his willing proximity beneath tonight's watchful moon
dufflebag's canvas a coarse, secondary precaution against the risk of damage (.... to... whom?) in transport

luxuries of private neighborhoods give way to the jagged hazards of shipyard's dismal ruin
as if the very road to the Caern were suddenly revealed as social commentary in and of itself
chance tour of the scabworld's private, silent thoughts on the affairs of Garou and Man
if the two Ahroun are aware or even concerned for the prophetic significance of such conclusions
it does not show as their silence leaves the car and accompanies their steps towards the Caern
crossing to the Umbra without the backward glance of regret for the things left behind them

only two things - however brief - were capable of swaying James' pace, gaze, or path
the effort directed with each salutory nod acknowledging the Guardians and Warder in passing
the interruption that disrobes the hammer and assures it makes it to the other world with them

if others stare and hiss disdainful whispers for what he carries - it is ignored
if others join the mini-procession and follow them to the Caern's heart - it is ignored

man's mask sheds as the Gnawer Elder-man steps up shallow hill and into his warform
dreadlocks remnant in shaggy black/brown pelt flicker in the breezes roaming caldera's edge
dark eyes gaze down to the bloody fringes of Maelstrom's endless, bottomless vortex
momentarily spellbound, perhaps, at the peaceful completeness of Gaia's unity found at the side of eternally whirling pool
(.... do you remember what it's like to be whole, Jamey-boy?)
seconds tick past uncounted as both Fullmoons stand in thoughtful, reflective silence before the mighty Totem
James lifts his gaze to the Spirit Realm sky as if to offer wordless prayer directly to the Mother's universal presence herself
then serenity fractures as howl blasts the deafening roar of Warrior's heartwrenching anthem

the sound is raw.... naked as it tears past his vocal chords
born beneath the heaviest moon, he does not have the Galliard's innate skills to compensate battlescar flaw
relying, instead, on the sheer power harbored within the volcanic depths of a Fullblood's Rage
tone and pitch project the words he will never again be able to clearly form with unmistakable intent
his song bears a painful honor recalling the sacrifices made by all for the Caern's very birth
the relentless devotion to make them again, without hesitation, at the dawn of every battle should that be what's required
loyalty's pride building into a revelation of glorious victory that brings them here tonight
regardless of whether or not it will be the last time, it matters only that they stand before Maelstrom now
bearing the symbol of their enemy's strength as sacrificial offering

a single note lingers strong and pure before the howl finally ends on expelled breath
fist raises - knuckles white beneath his fur - and holds the weapon at chest-height horizontally above twisting waters
a splitsecond snapshot serving to acknowledge this deed as a result of both Garou's concerted efforts
and then Maxwell's silver hammer is cast into Maelstrom's roiling surface without another thought
(.... this is our gift, a symbol of our faith, proof of our devotion, evidence of our worth)
the Fostern Gnawer watching in resumed silence as the fatal metal melts beneath current's violent pull
(..... anything given to Maelstrom is gone forever)
standing until the reactive, auroral, surface glow flickers and disperses back into the fathomless depths
endless storm seeming to settle after deeming the sacrifice acceptable
only then does the Eagle's guttermutt dismiss himself from the water's edge

((OOC Note: This was supposed to take place shortly after the Fomor battle itself and conclusion of the Cure SL, but offline insanity has just prevented my typing it up until now. So, uh, just [i]pretend[/i] it happened back when it was supposed to. Yeah! And should the question come up, heh, this is ST/admin approved and adheres to admin wishes to keep the silver weapon out of PC hands per site/SL weapon approval rules while allowing PCs to act in ways remaining true to each character.))

Posted by james at September 25, 2004 12:00 AM