1/27/2005

Logfile from GarouMUSH.

[Somewhere down at the wharfs and abandoned warehouses...]
Contents:
Lucas
Obvious exits:
Elevator

Lucas hasn't been seen since the night before after he locked himself in his room and went silent. Morning would find the door slightly ajar and things generally torn and rend asunder. It's not too difficult to trace his scent, except that is weaves and wanders throughout the whole lower end of the city. Up every alley and down every side street, but in the end, the path leads straight to an old, broken down warehouse in the dirtiest, most squalor ridden part of the industrial district.

Kenneth rubs his nose, a low muttered wish that he had a box of Kleenex with him to sneeze out the stink that comes from even sniffing in this part of the city - especially in lupus. Granted he didn't shift until he was Absolutely Lost, and then again he had to have been Absolutely Sure there wasn't anyone watching... now the Philodox indicates with a nod of his head to the abandoned, rusting warehouse. "Figure he's in there," he tells the Get and Jarred. What reason the halfmoon decided he had to bring the both of them, is lost to speculation.

Dillen had followed and given his own sniffs from time to time and an eye out for someone that may see the wolf at others. He quietly nods his head and follows as Kenneth indicates. "He come here often?"

One glance at the front of the sodden warehouse brings a grimace to Jarred's face. His shoes are spattered with the dirty water from a hundred alleys and byways. The annoyance of this day of tracking is evident upon his features as it ssems Kenneth has at last determined the ending point of the Ahroun's circuitous path.

"It's either here, or the End with its high priced equipment," Kenneth reasons, and starts towards the warehouse seemingly without any more stealth than he can summon. Making his way around, the philodox hunts out a door, red splotched with rust and only barely closed. The halfmoon sends the two with him a short 'ready?' glance, and jiggles the handle around a bit before opening the door up.

Dillen follows and looks all around the warehouse. Dillen nods his head and gives out a quiet, "Ready." A little confused as to why the cautious nature of this.

Jarred strides forward. Apparently he isn't enamoured of the idea of slinking around like guilty school chums spying on one of their own. He calls out. "Lucas! Are you in here?"

The warehouse windows are broken out with tattered bits of plastic over them and parts of the roof have collapsed. The entire building leans slightly, light the weight of age was just too much to bare. The entire place reeks of decrepidness and rot, and as the door grinds open with a rust-encrusted shriek, the choking smell of dust, mold, and a harsh metallic scent floods the air. Inside, everything is dark, great shadows of empty crates draped with chain cluttering most of the viewable space. The only sound is the wind whistling through the cracks in the walls.

Kenneth now does kind of wish he had a Kleenex. As the Shadow Lord elder walks right past him, he follows after in silence. The halfmoon though, seems all too on edge about the place. Call it a hunch.

Dillen blinks some and tries to get his eyes used to the dark. His breath is even and he falls in behind the elder as well, keeping together as the case may be. "Need better eyes." He whispers.

Jarred glances back at Dillen and then nods once. He turns back to the door and closes it behind the small party. Then let us see with the eyes of wolves." With that, he shifts to his dark, shaggy lupus form.

Kenneth waits until the other two have shifted first, eyes narrowed and staring into the black. Useless though, in this dark of night with not even a couple of grimy windows to shine moonlight through. Putting away another comment about the unbearable stink of the area, the halfmoon shifts up - but stops at the Crinos form. Tense already, the Rage simmering in his blood heats more in the warform.

If the smell was bad to a human nose, it's nose-numbing in lupus. The scent of hard rusted metal is everywhere and the weight of physical decay is as thick in the air as a lead weight. There's also the smell of humans, the down and unwashed masses that probably use this place as refuge. But, it does offer one key clue. The smell of blood. Not too terribly old since it has yet to fade. There's some on the left, and a smear on the right, and something more specific straight ahead. In general, the smell of blood seems to go straight back towards the rear of the building.

Dillen shifts down as well. He gives his body a shake and peers into the darkness with better eyes and gives a deep sniff of the air. He wrinkles his nose at the smells and gives a chuff, moving slowly and with the group towards the back of the building. His steps are cautious, sniffing furiously for any other smells.

Storm-Singer too moves forward, pressing into the darkness as he allows the scents to guide his progress. His large ears prick forward, straining to pick up any sound that might indicate activity... or danger.

Edge doesn't immediately follow the elder, but turns his ears and nose this way and that. From his height, he looks and dares a sniff further. The halfmoon needs no more command to move forward once the scent of blood can be tracked further, and with a low thunderous growl, he starts after Jarred as well.

As the trio move further into the warehouse following the trail of blood, it begins to change. It's smeared on and around the boxes and floor in erratic patterns, and on a few of the boxes are four long lines that look disturbingly like the marks of fingers. And then, a little further on, the severed hand that caused them, ripped clean from the rest of the body. Closer inspection might display bits of long, black hair jammed under the fingernails.

Bloods-Bane moves close and sniffs at the hand, trying to see if there are any other smells besides the blood. He gives a chuff of air, unhappy at what his senses are assailed with. His ears twist, listening for any sound.

Storm-Singer gives a sharp bark, calling for Forge. ~Show yourself!~

Edge lowers his head as he spies the severed hand. And it might be a first that the philodox seems repulsed at the sight, before he draws himself up and starts pacing forward at a quickened step. Heeding not the rest of the blood smears, the half moon seeks out his tribe brother with growing fervor.

It's not long before the back of the warehouse is in reach, and it's there hell has seemed to touch down. The boxes are shattered into great planks and tiny splinters. There's blood everywhere, enough spilt that no person could survive the loss and it's definatly human. Here and there are actually spatters of Garou blood, but those are infrequent. There's movement in the darkness slightly to the left side of the building, and something large and distinctly lupine crouched over a twisted, battered shape into which it's muzzle is buried. The shape underneath gives a sharp jerk as a great strip of it is ripped off in the animal's jaws. It's here the scent of the Ahroun is strongest, coming off the hulking lupine shape.

Bloods-Bane comes close to the other shape, sniffing, trying to find Lucas and what the other shape is. He moves to Jarred's side, waiting for the higher rank to say what to do. But he does move up and into Crinos, eyes not leaving the form. ~Forge?~

Storm-Singer stops, stock still in his tracks and shifts back to homid. "What.... What in the FUCK are you doing?! You do NOT eat the flesh of humans. Are you completed and utterly WYRM-TAINTED?" His voice is filled with authority. "Take your human form. Right. NOW."

Edge peels back his lips in a grimace, stopping as he sees the ahroun doing just what he had suspected. Jarred's command sharply brings the halfmoon's alertness to peak, before his ears fold backwards and he growls out a heavy sigh. A sideways, wary eye is set upon Dillen before he turns back to the Elder. ~He just... Lost it.~

Wild blue eyes, glazed and utterly lost under the haze of Frenzy, stare at the three Garou, and the monster now identified as Thunder's Forge steps over the tattered, mangled remains of the homeless man who must have had no idea death was just on the other side of that warm, welcoming door. His lips peel back and voices a bone-rattling roar, spittle flying from his jaws.

Bloods-Bane gives a growl and looks to Forge. ~Forge. Snap out of it.~ he readies himself for battle should Jarred command or Lucas charges them, lowering his shoulders slightly and keeping his eyes towards Lucas.

Jarred's voice lowers. He speaks slowly and clearly. "Thunder's-Forge. I am your elder. I am ordering you to get control of yourself and stand down. If you do not do this, we will attack. We do not wish to hurt you, but we will if you force us."

Edge snarls back in the reply of the roar, as the halfmoon in Crinos thumps over. Icy is the gaze of the golden eyes, meeting the wildly burning blue. Though the Philodox speaks no words, his posture radiates with Rage meeting Rage. Without waiting for the ahroun's reaction to his tribe elder's command, the philodox leaps forward with claws and teeth bared, no quarter given.

Thunder's-Forge rears up from the ground into a full, crinos stance, brandishing long, wickedly sharp claws. Patches of his fur have been ripped off and scabs of blood are on his skin, not healing even with his regenerative powers. Perhaps done by his own teeth and claws, like a dog gone crazed with fleas? The maddened Ahroun snarls as Edge leaps at him and swings a great, heavy forehand right for his tribal brother with all the force of his Rage.

Bloods-Bane lets out a growl and stays back, growling at the two that are fighting. ~Stop this.~ He growls out through gritted teeth. He looks to Jarred. ~I will get Kenneth?" A suggestion to maybe break it up, already moving towards the two that are fighting.

Jarred turns to Dillen. "Stay where you are. Take no action or believe me, you'll regret it." He turns to the fighting Shadow Lords, shifting to his own war form smoothly. ~I will demand it one last time. Cease, or suffer the consequences!~

Bloods-Bane stays still, twitching slightly as he watches, wanting to jump in but keeping himself back as told.

Edge is struck, chest gouged with five deep slashes from the ahroun's claws. Fresh blood spills out to the floor and broken furniture, adding to the mix of decay and rot. However, that doesn't stop the Philodox on the attack. Focused solely on putting down the full moon, Edge hears not his elder's command and instead barrels right into the ahroun like a defensive linebacker. Both clawed hands seek the ahroun's thick neck, grasping for it to simply choke him out of the crinos - or perhaps to death.
The collision of two full Crinos Garou is something akin to two speeding semi's meeting head on. The Cliath Lords go down in a shower of wood shards, snarling, and spitting like two feral cats. Thunder's Forge is on the bottom, but he doesn't seem to realize that. He probably doesn't even realize who he's fighting, he's just on automatic and there's no one behind at the wheel. Edge will soon find that trying to throttle a thrashing, snapping, and swiping werewolf isn't something that's terribly easy, and the halfmoon's claws rip out chunks of fur and skin just trying to get to the Ahroun's neck.

The fury on the face of the Fostern Galliard is frightening to behold. He watches both of his cliath defy him for but the space of a few heartbeats. Song-of-Fury unleashes a bone-vibrating roar and spreads his arms wide. Then, with all of his formidable strength, hebrings his huge talons together. From the epicenter of the impact, a shockwave emanates with the sound of a thousand thunderbolts packed into one terrible report.

Bloods-Bane ducks as the wave flies out from Jarred. He looks to the elder, unsure of what just happened. His eyes go back to the two that fight, his teeth clenched together and his fists balled up. He turns and slams one into a wall, trying to work off some of his rage.

Edge doesn't bother to avoid the ahroun's claws, his own tearing at him as he seeks to end the fight for once. However, Storm-Singer's Gift hits like a bolt of lightning from the galliard's stormclouds, throwing even the halfmoon off the ahroun with the wash of impact and leaving not just his body stunned, but his mind disoriented and ears ringing.

All around the building, there's the sounds of shattering glass, and even building away shudder under the tremor of the Fostern's fury. Snarling and foaming, Thunder's Forge lurches up to his feet, wobbling on two, then dropping down to four. He whirls and snaps at nothing, like the sound had driven him delirious. His body shakes as he lurches a few steps, upon which he immediatly regurgitates whatever of the man he's eaten. Well, he said it himself the night before - humans are all chemicals, he'd never be able to keep them down.

Jarred readies himself for whatever might be coming from the Ahroun, since it seems he was less affected by the gift than his unfortunate Philodox packmate. ~By Grandfather's balls, you WILL acknowledge an order from your elder, whelp. When you're finished puking up that filth, take your homid form, or I'll beat you unconscious and carry you back to Shadow's End naked as a newborn.~

Bloods-Bane paces back and forth behind Jarred, looking at the other two and keeping himself from jumping into the fight. Lucky that nobody challenged him. He keeps his eyes on Lucas, for the most part, just in case.

Edge only barely manages to get back onto his feet with bloodied teeth bared at the darkness. The halfmoon looses a chest rattled incoherent snarl of immense displeasure. It's his sharp nose that scents out the vomited, partly-digested contents of the the ahroun's stomach and he looks in that direction. However, as his balance has yet to fully return, the halfmoon does not attack the ahroun's back just yet.

Well, not might be a prime time to do that beating, while he's still tottering around like a drunkard. The Ahroun snarls and stumbles, shambling towards the shapes of angry, mocking red that clouds his vision. They're laughing at him, mocking, jeering, pointing and howling out curses. His scent is overpowered with anger and the most intense reaches of hatred, merged with the acrid smell of sickness, not all too unlike the rot that eats the warehouse out from the inside.

Song-of-Fury steps forward then, with a loud growl and hammers down upon the Ahroun's head with closed fists the size of cantalopes, pummeling him in order to keep the disorientation at its zenith. He doesn't let up, either.

Bloods-Bane punches what is left of a wall again. His gaze levels on the two of his packmates. A light growl comes from his lips.

Edge shakes his head with a quick side-to-side jerk, finally 'hearing' the tolling of his ears fade, only to be replaced by the sound of fist pummeling fur and flesh. The halfmoon blinks, lips pulled back in more defense than in threat of violence.

Delerious, yes, but against a hard-headed Ahroun known to be able to take some brutal beatings, it initially only serves to piss him off even more. Jaws snap wildly at the assaulting fists, the collision cracking teeth and gouging knuckles. Forge eventually is forced down to the ground, upon which he flips onto his back and like a giant, raging child begins to flail wildly under the beatings.

Song-of-Fury continues, unflagged by the thrashing beneath him. The hammer strokes fall one by one. The older Galliard, unfazed by disorientation, easily avoids the glancing blows of the Ahroun as he attempts to beat the other into submission.

Bloods-Bane gives a growl and glares at the two that fight. He opens his mouth to speak and then shuts up, looking to Kenneth and shaking his head.

Edge at this point, does nothing but crouch where he had fallen, watching the beating take place without so much as an ounce of sympathy for either Lord. Short, panting huffs follow with the occassional snort and lick of his lips, but in the end he lifts no further claw to help either tribe mate. Bloods-Bane's look is not returned; the philodox seems to have only come to acknowledge the two black crinos battling it out.

Thunder's-Forge isn't even fully healed yet from the Revel, and sooner or later, the beatings do add up. Bloodied and battered, the Ahroun sends one last slash at the Fostern before he goes slack on the ground with the faintest growl, jaws parted to pant rapid and hard. He doesn't even move, that close to utter physical collapse.
Only then does the Fostern cease his attach, moving back to regard the spent Ahroun before him.

Edge tilts his chin up once the fight stops, and leans ever so slightly forward. His nostrils flare, taking in all the acrid and metallic scent of ichor. And only then, does he looks down upon himself and realize the wounds he has received. His ears flatten again, definitely not liking that.

Bloods-Bane takes a deep breath and steps forward, to Lucas. ~Jarred-rhya. We should probably get out of here before the cops come. If you would wish to get them both back to Shadow's end. I will take care of all of this." He pulls a lighter out of his pocket and heads for what smells like gas in one corner of the warehouse.

Song-of-Fury nods to Bloods-Bane, shifting back to his homid form as he turns his dark eyes on the philodox. "I will deal with you later, Edge. Forge was clearly frenzied. What was your excuse to defy me and throw your auspice to the winds?" He moves to check on the Ahroun's condition.

Thunder's-Forge is still in Crinos, so he's not out, but he's far too worn from frenzy and beatings to react with much more than a growl when anyone gets too close. It's bound not to last too long, though.

Edge doesn't rise from his stoop. But rather, he looks to the fostern galliard with a slightly lowered upper lip. ~I told Forge that if he went around killing and eating humans, I would kill him myself.~ The fact is stated like hard Truth. ~His roar I took as challenge, and under Fenris' ban, we do not back down from challenges.~ The halfmoon gives one glance to Bloods-Bane, before checking his gaze back to Jarred.

Jarred inclines his head slightly, regarding the Ahroun, but then looks back to Edge. "Ask me, Edge, whether I give a shit what promises you made to your totem. You defied a direct order from me. For all your lawyerly speech, you are as ignorant of the ways of the Garou as you are impulsive and rash. As you well know, a challenge is not considered lawful if it is issue while in frenzy. You used this opportunity to satisfy your own petty anger."

Bloods-Bane shifts to homid and then picks up a rag and soaks it in gas, then lighting it and dropping it in the middle of the dark warehouse. Using the light, he begins to pour the gas all around, being sure to dump a good amount on the body of the man. "He is still alpha of this pack. Must respect that." His jaw clenches. "It was no challenge, it was nothing but a roar of one not in control." His eyes look to Kenneth.

Edge growls heavily under the verbal lashing of his elder, and in just that rash, underhanded way the philodox rises to his full height. ~Then like I give a DAMN about the fucking Ways!~ the halfmoon snarls back at the galliard, certainly riding on the fat moon's influence. ~Your commands to him weren't Getting Through to his thick head! You said it yourself, if he didn't comply, we would attack. He didn't comply, and I attacked first.~ He might be losing the argument. He's probably breaking all sorts of Litany laws he should remember. But all told, the philodox is just Too Angry, Too Bitter at why he must be the one targeted when Lucas had been chowing down on human flesh.

Jarred snaps back. "You gave no one a chance to respond to my command, Edge. You took matters into your own hands. And as a philodox you had BETTER, by the love of all that is Wyld, LEARN to LOVE the fucking WAYS." He strides up to the crinos half-moon, looking up at the arrogant face. With a snarl, a balled human-sized fist, blurs at the exposed muzzle, rapping it with a surprising sharpness. "And he next time you show me such disrespect, blood will be shed. Yours. Now take your fucking human shape and let's get this pathetic piece of shit back to Shadow's End."

Edge, in mid-snarl, is cut off with the snap of the fist. Though it doesn't do much damage persay the strike is like a slap of the palm against his cheek, and it does cut off the halfmoon's almost-rant about where Jarred could shove his Wyld and his Ways. The philodox takes a step back, staring hard at the galliard as if in debate of whether he should just end it all right here. The halfmoon does not yet shift.

Finally, Forge's Rage caves in under it's own strain and stress and gives, his body unable to keep up. The Crinos Ahroun goes still and reverts to his natural form. Well, he's at least not fighting anymore, for now, but it's grown painfully obvious someone has gotten himself a nasty case of the icks.

Jarred smiles icily. "Edge..." His voice sounds deathly calm. "Shift to homid. If you do not, then I'll shift to crinos and we'll fight. And you will leave this warehouse in a body bag. I will not have my authority flauted. If you will not submit to an elder of your tribe, then you do not deserve to live." He says it so matter-of-factly. One wonders if he actually has it in him.

Edge's breath comes hard and fast. Every muscle and instinct screams for him to submit and live, while his even louder ego and pride call for blood. The philodox shudders under the conflict, and not until after a seemingly long, nearly rebellious silence, does the halfmoon finally make his shift down out of the warform to that of his birth. Golden eyes cloud into black, and the now youth swallows hard with a hateful glare at his elder.

Jarred meets the youth's gaze for a time, though not in a challenging way. He simply nods once, then turns to Dillen. "Please help Kenneth with Lucas. We must go."

Dillen looks at Edge with a frown. He nods to Jarred pouring the last of the gas in a puddle that he can find. "Jarred-Rhya. If you don't mind, may I come by to check on them?" He pulls the lighter back out from his pocket and tests it, getting ready to light the place ablaze. As soon as they are gone, Dillen tosses the last bit of a flaming rang into the gas, setting the place ablaze and running out into the night.

Kenneth finally breaks his stare from the elder, goes to his pack/tribemate, hoisting him up with definite effort coming from the injured halfmoon. No consideration left for the ahroun's comfort, or even much of the Veil, he starts to drag the ahroun out by himself without further questions, rants or angry words.