September 27, 2004.09.27.04. - i am last [rihana][chinatown]
(james)
all things considered - it's a rather pleasant midnight in Chicago
weather's comparably mild and the winds hardly inspire comment
sixty-four degrees outside and James can get by in a wifebeater and workshirt
black tails of the open shirt flap lazily against his hips
strolling down the sidewalk with a belly full of Mandarin Chicken
dully shined Corcoran's beating an even rhythm on the sidewalk
hands shoved into the pockets of summer-weight BDUs
dreadlocks tied back benath what may have once been a gray bandana
Camel long hanging precariously from the corner of his mouthby all rights and purposes - it appears as any other night
some quiet time on the boulevard just before the last shops usher out the late crowdexcept..... there's a full moon floating up above partial clouds
and the urban primitive is no mere city bohemian finding his way home for the night
beneath his skin lurks the volcanic predeliction for merciless predator
and luckily, so far nothing's tapped the Ahroun's ire so far tonight(rihana)
What is the value of oddities-
-in a world so filled with that which we cannot explain?
Who puts the price on signs--
--in a time when symbolism sings a swan song?
Where can the last of the unknown turn---
---when extinction looms 'round every bend?A dark alley up ahead, that is where the sound comes from.
A howl.
Not that of the Bone Gnawer's People, per say, but the plaintive call of your average street-mutt (so, perhaps it is something that particular tribe would call kin), muzzle raised in ancient homage to ancient ties, thick in this blood. Coild in their instinct. A anxious note at it's plaintive end like the acknowledgement of raw, old magic, the likes of which humans have long forgotten.Like a marker...
...of a time and a place and an event.
Of little consequence to anyone.
Of no consequence at all.The howl reaches its mournful end, a slow decresendo and a sharp bark to punctuate it as humans will throw in an exclamation point. Silence. Breath drawn.
And it begins anew, rousing a light in a second-floor apartment above a store and the dweller within to raise his own menacing complaint in sharp. brittle Cantonese.(james)
it's a peaceful night
there's the sound of distant traffic one district over
rattle of the Red Line as it zips through to the Loop's next stop
beneath that, the subelement buzz of a city's humming nightlife
skyway neon lights, far-off generators, a plane heading off to California
a dog barking in the alley over yonder, some lady barking back in Canto........ that's not the white-noise lull of absent cityness
whether it's the barking exclamation or stinging retort that gets the guttermutt's attention
the peanut gallery is left to decide
but it's enough to keep his attention on the walk ahead, and the approaching alley on his right
one arm drawing out of his pocket to pull the Camel free, ashes flicked to the asphalt(rihana)
At the irrate womans scolding from up above the mutts howl gain in it a rebellious quality, the basso of its growl mingling with the tenor tolling like the (witching) hour struck.This time it doesnt culminate with a bark, but with a series of whines, incessant and cajoling.
With the sort of tunnel-hearing that comes when a person tunes in on a particular noise amid the usual cacophny, the approaching ahroun can hear the sound reverbating in the delicacy of eardrum, perhaps tantilizing his own instincts.Up above the scowling woman mutters in frustration and slams her window shut.
The weak, watery yellow light of a flicking, busted lamppost is blackened as something swoops in front of it with the rustle of winds born on the ever present - if tonight muted - city winds.
Hooting.
No, no... surely a figment of the imagination. One does not find owls in a city afterall... right?Nearer still, The whining continues, accented with a growl here.. a short wuff there. And then another female voice. This one also speaking in a foreign language, though the voice is quiet. Quiet in that is strained. The strain of someone concentrating hard, the strain of someone holding pain at bay. THe voice attempts consolation, however, a universal intonation picked up on whether one knows a lanugage or not.
"Shhh... con calma, perrito. Cojalo con calma... todo... todo va a estar muy bien, ya veras, perrito..."
(james)
whines, growls, hooting, whuffings
it's the symphony of the street
the city's lesser beings offering their song to the moon high above
it would be primally beautiful... if it weren't for the underlying dischordance of painthe angry woman's slammed window of finality is ignored
(Banaman)
James' sense perked towards the language he doesn't understand
tonality all too easy a translation to the ears of a street musicianthe tall, lanky Ahroun stands silently at the alley's mouth
modicrum of skid row respect in announcing himself subtly before the addition of mangled words
but if presence (Rage) doesn't work right off the bat
smoke's pulled free and scissored between two fingers
lips pursing to aim a short whistle towards whomever's in the alley
curiosity cants his head, but the raggedyman yet remains at the sidewalk until invited within(rihana)
It is the dog that first picks up on the prescence of the ahroun. Ears pricked and tail leveling. Shoulders shifting, shifting its weight as its ears levelo outward as well a position of alertness, not neccesarily of action. Again the low wuff and an audible sniffing... sniffing...
Growling.
Fluid, the shift from alert wariness to that of keenly coiled warning. The shiftng of its paws...
...the shuffle of fabric that denotes the motion of someone other than the dog.
A pause.
Not silence... there is no silence here and th dog keeps up its low growl. Typicaly a mutt would run when catching a whiff of a Garou - flight provoked in the face of a greater Predator. For the dog to stay suggest a few possibilities... one of which is that the animals feels the need to protect something here and remain, its sense of territory calling on fight instinct over that of (perhaps more sensible) flight.
Then the voice again... a figure made out as usual city cloud/smog cover allows natural moonlight to filter through revealing a small crouching human figure. Some fabric fluttering about its face like some sort of veil and more below to denote a skirt. She speaks then,
"Dejame--" The words hoarse with the low contraint of that same pained impression. The words broken midway as the small figures shoulders tighten. Spasm. The veiled, blue-silver washed head ducks down and a sharp breath is drawn.. then her hands move, figers touching deftly around her as the other seems to be holding a small boowl of some dark substance (smell of soot and sage an overtone to the rank pungence of the alley) into which the other fingers quickly dip before dartng out again like the motions of a passionate sidewalk artist.The mutt moves closer towards the alley opening, the whites of its teeth exposed in a sharp snarl.
(james)
rolling growl gets his attention to drop downwards
carefully watching the loyal little dog doing its best to stand off the Garou
he can't help it, a fond smile ghosts lopsided over his face
but the expression is breif
attention strolling back into the embrace of walled darkness
to the figure huddled insideDejame
a line appears between his brows
that is not among the slanguages he's heard over the years
first clue that communication may be harder than first expectedso the big, bad Ahroun sinks to a crouch infront of the bristling dog
smoke's propped back between his lips so hands can dig in his pockets
weight swiveling to turn a muscular shoulder towards the little mutt
speaking to the animal in body language rather than depending on the predator/prey diatribe
one fortune cookie pulled free and plastic pried open
it's held on his fingertips towards the protective canine
dark eyes lifting back to the woman within once again".... 'lo?"
(rihana)
The dog tenses further when the ahroun moves, upping its low growl in a general warning that it fully intends to perform a primative trychotomy on Jukebox should he move around anymore...
...then the cookie is withdrawn and offered and the mutts eyes flickers that way. Sniffing. A brief moment of suspicious calculation, cut short when the crouched woman further behind releases another taut, pained breath. The moving arm - the drawing arm, the left arm - quivers visibly and the dog gives another growl that melts into a whine and then the sharp, acrid ordour of urine. It lowers itself further and growls again though this time both at the Ahroun and in what seems to be the direction of the girl....the girl (a woman, but small enough to be confused for a child) is murmering now, giving no visible sign of paying further attention to the Ahroun. Cold sweat marks her deep-olive complextion, the smell of it yet another scent to mix with the rest...
...like the smell of fresh blood.
Not a copious amount of it, but the sudden brisk force of its metallic smell/taste. The light coloured fabric on her back is beginning to deepen in some spots just below the shoulder-blades. Splotches, like a liquid soaking into the cloth from the flesh below. It could be sweat... but the areas are too precise and singular to give much credence to that assumption. Surely it cannot be blood... she's crouching... drawing... who bleeds at such moments?Her form jerks again...
shoulders clenching and small of back accented momentarily as her work is broken and she murmers low, rapid words with a cadence and tenure similar to that of middle-eastern religions... though the language still seems to be predominantly Spanish....the mutt barks again, shifting nervously. Whimpers.
The situation is all in all... eerie.
Not so much prevocative of danger but more of mystism old as the flow of lava at the earths core.
Spooky.
Though we shall assume that the Ahroun does not spook easily.Okay, yes... she's drawing Solomon's Sheild around herself.. or, better known as a pentagram/pentacle. There are other markings within and arount, but I'm sure he's seen a Star of David or two somewhere along the line, if only on the front of a Kosher deli.
Grraack (10:54:22 PM): Yeh, he'll recognize the star.... though he won't get much more out of the Sheild that it's a pentagram and a hex ward, esp with all the additional markings
ShyGravel (10:56:01 PM): (nods) That's fine.(james)
the mutt is.... generally ignored
fortune cookie's offered as pretty much a pacifier
cause it'll be hit by teeth before his fingers
right now James' mind is racingsoot. sage. urine. blood.
bloodthe Ahroun may not spook easily
(he's visited Wonderland, after all)
but the metallic scent puts apex predator on edgefear. sadness. grief.
manners be damned, the cookie's dropped and one raggedyman's striding towards crouched female
just back from a much-needed, highly beneficial, near month-long "quiet time"
he should know better than to enter a situation that's already adding up to "bad"
but the Hood in him simply cannot turn awaythe Fostern cops a squat just before the veiled figure
all six foot one dropping down to a height approaching eye level
hers are on the symbol taking shape on the ground
(Star of David... Pentagram..... hex ward.... this ain't good, Jamey-boy)
careful not to step on the design
(you should know well enough to leave her to her business, Gnawer)
reaching out to gently touch what he hopes is a slope of shoulder"'ey.... h'lo?" head drops to catch potentially raised eye "Y'allrigh'?"
(rihana)
The ahroun ignores the dog. But the dog is not ignoring the Ahroun... when Jukebox throws street-ettiquette to the wind and moves forward the dog spikes up again, wary and distrusting. He doesn't attack however, perhaps simply out of good sense on the mutts part. Furhter aided by the fact that the small woman blinks, pupils focusing in to register what is happening around her and she makes a shoft shhhhushing sound in the direction of the animal. Enough to make the dog keep its protest to the audio realm.Above the small veil that hides away half of her face, the womans eyes slip to the approaching man. Beast. Demon. Good samaritan. Seeing him. Seeing through him. Eyes a good deal lighter than one might espect given her dark complextion, though the actual colour is indiscernable in this light or lack thereof. They are clear in this moment, however. Calm.
Large and sorrowfilled.His hand descends on her shoulder and he can feel moisture there as the weight presses fabric against flesh. Warm moisture. Living moisture. Blood seeping into clothing. She winces and draws a slow, controlling breath...
...pain...
True.
Acute.
Physical.
Not unbearable, but clearly not negligable either.Then she nods faintly, eyes closing then opening in acknoweledgement of his words. His query. His presence.
(a stranger. rage humming off him in waves. why isn't she scared?)Then, "I am last. Final." Her English is heavily accented with the lyrical swell and sensual sweep of her native Iberian Spanish with its oddly Middle-Eastern cadence. Her head tilts to the side, like the motion of a small bird...
...her form tightens once more, taut as a readied bow....
A plaintive sound, a hushed sound of mourning...
...and then she slumps forwards. Onto the Ahroun should he deign to support her. Onto the ground should he feel inclined to let her drop.
Fainted.(james)
quite right, the Ahroun ignores the dog
if it were to get a look, it would probably be one much like this:
bite me you'll regret my biting back
but his concern is focused on the woman
and those light eyes he knows are seeing right through himhe doesn't flinch
he doesn't try to hide
James allows the woman to see whatever it is she finds
fiercely proud and brutally open beneath the rays of his heavy birth moonwith moisture beneath his fingertips supported by her audible wince
his tentative reach recoils instantly to circumvent causing further harm
instinctive reach to offer his help curtailed before making contact again
a respect for her stoicism - yet an ache forms in the Garou's deep umber eyes
he may be Gaia's Warrior, born into his destiny that culls the taint from Her lands
equipped at first breath with the most important weapons of all
a living nightmare so horrible the mortals he indirectly protects cannot even fathom his existance
yet, above all, every Bone Gnawer knows that no creature should suffer needlessly"Le' me h....."
fortunately, the Fostern had tilted his head towards the words accented heavier than his own
she struggles so desperately to connect with him
(she did not turn from your Beast, Jamey-boy)
he could not be so cruel as to force the efforts to say it again
leaning closely to catch whatever words spilled past lips pressed together to hold back the pain
so when his words ceased as her body crumbled towards the filthy asphalt
he was already there to catch her.....juuuuust peachy.
in the few moments James uses to digest the current status of his situation
he's able to discern this faint isn't her last breath... yet
and since she fell into his veritably waiting arms and out of the protective hex
mellow Eagle that he is - he'll just go with the flow
dark eyes glancing towards the vigilant mutt as shoulders roll in slow shrug
(guess it's up to you and me, kid)
movement serving to remove the unbuttoned workshirt so it can be wrapped around limp form
rock back to his heels and the Ahroun's standing with the petite 5'1 package in strong armswhatever the last and final may literally or metaphorically mean
(last moments? final breaths? last of her kind? final part of some bloodletting punishment?)
the Hood cannot simply leave her on the street in a filthy alley
(.... the hell you just get yourself into, Jamey-boy?)
boots pick a direction and head nods with a low sound for the dog to follow if it chooses
calculating the shortest possible route to his destinationif she survives long enough - he will offer the chance to heal
if she refuses - he will offer an end without suffering
if she passes on while still held safe in his arms - he will, at least, assure a decent burial
and if he is wrong, having misplaced his compassion at the mercy of malicious deception, then at least there will be no others to fall beside him at the hands of fatal mistakePosted by james at 12:13 AM.09.27.04. - september moot [summary][forum]
(opening howl)
(decker)
The Modi stands with his pack. His howl is a discordant, rough thing, full of the barren spaces of northern fjords, southern salt-shores. Even after the howl is finished, he stands with the Eagles, white shoulder-ruff ruffled by the perpetual lake wind to show the dull, downy undercoat, greyfurred arms folded across his greyfurred chest. The stark blaze of white down the center is bisected by a thin blade-scar stretching from side to side: his one and only scar, a lesson well learnt.The Galliard stands with his pack and family. Cousins and aunts: blood of the falcon. And being Silver Fang, his howl is pure and proud, with notes of arrogance and bloodborne nobility that only wolves would hear.
To humans, they would all just be howling.
(james)
beneath the face of September's Full Harvest Moon - four Full Blood's stand as Eagle's chosenSilence.
Caidanieve.
Drums on Skulls.
Truth in Frenzy.were it not for the brand beneath the fur on each chest
they could not appear more different if they tried
three born beneath the very same moon in the sky
fourth the lone balance of black moon's tricks to Ahroun's inherant war
stormy grey Modi bearing chords of the far North's chilled steel
mottled serpent-wolf Walker's song as affluently sleek as it is viciously fatal
ragged Bone Gnawer's song a battle cry from the lowest reaches of the gutter
joined in shaded harmony by the young Rotagar's full-throated voiceJames stands with his pack, and his pack stands as equals before the rest
unbroken by rank, moon, tribe, or membership in the Elder's Council
Eagle's Chosen forming an impenetrable shield even at this time of Sept's peaceful unity
proud. defiant. fiercely loyal - they are Gaia's weapon in this scabworld war... and it shows
raggedyman's warform anthem a rugged sound echoing into the nightits tone jagged as the black/brown pattern of his jackal-blooded pelt
wildly free as perpetual dreads still hanging mantle across broad shoulders
dangerous as the primal fires that burn latent volcano in the depths of Rage-filled heartto humans, they would all just be howling
to Garou, it is nothing short of inspiring((*bows and scrapes for stealing Damon's line*))
[in play]
Posted by james at 12:00 AMSeptember 26, 2004.09.26.04. - some eagles fly alone [pack][forum]
(decker)
It's a few days before the Modi officially breaks the news, though surely they've all felt Erik's sudden and complete absence in the pack bond. The Rotagar has been gone before, but never quite like this. This is complete; indisputable; total.Final as death.
For a couple days, the Modi's nowhere to be found either, though the basic pack bond remains. Where he is is unknown; how he is, what he's doing. The only information leaking through is his continued existence.
Then, Sunday night, he's back. Tacoma's in the loading bay, and Modi's slouched on the couch in plain view.
"Tha Blood Eagle's gone," he ruminates, staring (glowering?) at the dead grey screen of the TV. "Says this ain't his war here. Says he's jus' holdin' us back." And they were dragging him down; but Decker leaves that out. "Don't git it none, neither. Thought y'all oughta know."
Thinks.
"This don't change nothin'. Moot comes 'n we all stand proud. Don't need ta answer no questions we don't wanna. Ain't they business anyhow, right."
(james)
final as deathJames has felt absences before
Alpha's routinely in absentia
Beta left them for over a year
other pack members have come and gone with little to no warning
others have been lost in the valiant grips of battlebut this? it's final. fatal
strings of totemic connection drawn so thin that there's no other choice but to.... snap
threads disappearing so quickly even the most vigilant cannot grab the frayed ends
it's enough to spike a distant chill in the BeeGee's oh so steadfast heart
icy crystals spidering ever growing hold at the factory's desertion
he expected it to be empty.... but to this extent?if it weren't for the remaining vibrations humming across Eagle's feathers... he'd be one worried guttermutt
Modi's off in the Tacoma doing Gaia knows what
Rotagar's doing what teenagers do in his newly acquired manspace
GlassWalker's not around cause she's still trying to fit back in
that leaves James pretty much returning after his own little sabbatical to a..... deserted factory.... 'til Sunday night
"H'h." eloquent as the Gnawer could be over the totem phone, he's decidedly more concise through verbal response "Make' sense."
a nod expresses his gratitude at the informative gesture
(how freakin' generous)
a shrug explains his lack of total surprise at the discovery
(they've all expected it for some time, haven't they...)
a frown suggests whatever deeper thoughts may exist simply.... fade away
(not the first time Blood Eagle's left them to their own conclusions)
a question summarizes all that remains to be said"We call'n' you Alpha?"
he's always looked to Decker for leadership, for the most part
at least when it comes down to their purpose in this War
so that in itself hasn't, and likely won't, change
now it's a matter of pack heirachy to the rest of the Septthe raggedyman grasps a firm understanding of discretion, after all, but it isn't his ultimate decision
(kemp)
Listening to the little bit of info given with a cocking of his head."Yeah ok, Eagles stick together, no matter what. But like he said."
Cocking his head in James direction.
"This mean we calling you Alpha now?"
He didn't come into the pack until apparently these absences by Erik were a common thing, so Decker had always pretty much been Alpha in his head most of the time.
Then the mention of the upcoming moot sunk in. Awfuck, ass numbing time again. Might not say it outloud, but the thought was always there.
[in play]
Posted by james at 12:00 AMSeptember 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 againJukebox 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 unclaimedwhat 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 watershowever, 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 footstepat 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 transportluxuries 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 themonly 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 themif 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 ignoredman'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 anthemthe 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 offeringa 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 12:00 AM