5/20/2005

10:26 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Full Moon phase (83% full).
Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining lightly. The temperature is 51 degrees Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the southwest at 6 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.13 and rising, and the relative humidity is 79 percent. The dewpoint is 45 degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius.)
It is currently 22:02 Pacific Time on Fri May 20 2005.

Red's Forward Command(#3015RFJs)
Spirit spiders, sheathed in glistening bands of steel, streak across this bleached grey swath of webbing. In a continuous blur of spindly legs and lurid, red eyes, the spiders streak by with a whine like the scream of torn aluminum. The webbing itself is corded and wound together into an almost smooth sheet of calcified reality. Branded into the skin of Gaia, this band of white-grey order tightens painfully around Her world. Beneath the stiff sheet, spirits cry out from their concrete prisons.
To the south lay the seeming behemoth stands of trees that is the bawn, towering over the south like rows of green skyscrapers. The division between the woods and the throughway is 15 foot swath of barren soil, looking streaked black from runoff from the highway. On the other side of highway is a similar band of absence, before it gives rise to the weak forest to the north.
Contents:
Michael
Snaekolfr
Brom
Dillen
Red
Obvious exits:
Out  

Roaming through the Umbra is the pack of Requiem, striding slightly behind the huge war form of Snaekolfr, the brillant white wolf with blood stained streaks etched into his fur. Forath-Ripper rumbles in his throat, using the mother's tongue to communicate. ~Fucking Corax. If she's sending us out to our death, I'm going to make sure she's haunted by Hrafn every single night.~ Ears lift upwards as his golden eyes reflect a dangerous type of Fenrir violence.

The hulking Fenris spirit licks his crimson-stained jaws, peeling back his lips to show long white teeth. ~This fight had best be worth my time.~ He says, his voice a permanent snarl as he stalks forward, the iron chains jangling to either side of his neck.

Dagger's-Edge growls lowly, tone indicating a certain innate air of anger that is tightly (for now) controlled. Ears forward and tail handled flat behind him, he travels on Forath's left. ~We're Not dying tonight,~ is all the Shadow Lord states.

Bloods-Bane follows along, bringing up the rear of the pack. His eyes suspiciously keep look over the back of the pack and what may follow them.

Kills-Wisely takes on the right behind his new pack alpha, a watchful presense abuut him. He glances over with heavy eyes to Dagger's-Edge and huffs before looking back ahead. ~We die every night we have to, does not mean that we shall stay down.~

~I'm sure Soul Judger didn't plan on dying either.~ Forath-Ripper growls in his throat as he flexes his claws as he lumbers. ~But this time its different. We're fighting as a pack and not as a group of scattered ants. Snakolfr, if you want, rush on in there and go at it, we'll just watch.~ He says with a smirk.

The metalic ring of the highway dominants the air, the weaver spirits shrieking down it in a frighteningly well coordinated display of traffic. The air surges as they rocket past on their unknown errands, utterly ignoring the Garou and the other spirits around I-90. Seemingly fearless of the traffic is a foul cloud indeed, a thick patch of haze stretched across a good portion of the shoulder. The bane's face boils to the surface every now and again, before sinking back into the inky blackness like a shark swimming just beneath the surface.

Dagger's-Edge flicks an ear in silence at the comments made by the others, rumbling out as he 'hears' the whine of the weaver spirits. Scenting the umbral air, the Shadow Lord concentrates on a gift to keep pain to a minimum.

Snaekolfr stares at the monstrous creations of the Weaver and Wyrm and snarls, the sound rumbling in his throat and making the earth at his paws vibrate. ~Die in Glory and give valor to your descendants.~ The chained white wolf hackles from ruff to rump, ember eyes blazing brilliantly with the surge of his anger. ~Kill.~ He growls, digging saber-like claws through the Umbral turf.

As the Wendigo seems a familiar face ahead of him, a growling builds within his throat. Curling already sharpened claws into the Earth, his whole body tenses for the rage bomb that the pack is about to unleash in full view of their patron. ~Kill,~ he agrees, something in the tone making the word more like a chant than simple command or agreement.

Shifting his gaze to Kills Wisely and Howls for Glory, Forath Ripper rumbles in his throat. ~So, what are we up against here before we rush in there like blind fools?~ He asks, eyes narrowed as he stares over the distance, nose twitching, sniffing the air.
Bloods-Bane growls loudly and stares over at the Bane spirit, ears flattening back against his skull. He waits silently, fur bristling on the back of his neck.

Howls-For-Glory growls deep in his throat. ~Do not get caught in its grasp. It burns like fire or acid!~ The Galliard's hackles rise. ~It isn't always hurt by attacks. It can disappear and reappear at random.~

Anger rolls off the spirit like a red tinted miasma. Snaekolfr wrinkles his muzzle, a growl bubbling in his throat with a continuous promise of violence. The Fenris stalks straight for the Bane, homed in on it like nothing more than a piece of meat to a starving wolf. As he moves, the spirit opens his massive jaws and lets loose a howl of challenge as loud as the roar of a white-capped river. ~Come, Forath! We are your death!~

No sooner does Dillen growl loudly than does the thing suddenly seem to come alive; the storm eddies and currents in the cloud quicken, and the thing pulls itself together the face appearing on the surface and staying there. Though the gaping, fat maw lacks actual eyes, the hollow sockets of the 'face' impression are definitely facing the direction of the Fenris pack. The Goading of the pack's totem, however, sets it into Motion. The spirit thunders forward towards the group with a dull rumble, Snaekolfr quickly finding himself on the recieving end of the spirit's attention as he lifts into the air like someone suddenly pulled on all his puppet strings at once.

While Snaekolfr goes up, Forath-Ripper and Bloods-Bane rushes in together soon as the bane grows close. The Skald is a might faster than the Forsetti and lunges in forward with his razor claws, looking to sneak in a fast attack while the spirit is occupied. The Forsetti attacks from slightly to the right, lunging in with his own stone honed claws, moving with a smooth blur of experience and rage.

Dagger's-Edge bares his teeth as the bane suddenly coalesces and attacks Requiem's totem. Howling as if meeting the challenge, the Shadow Lord rushes forward to attack while the bane is occupied with Snaekolfr. Kills-Wisely does not fondly remember the loss of his hair to such a beast, this is where he draws the rage of his actions. First a shrill whistling sound comes oddly from the Wendigo's throat and a powerful chill breeze that seems to only really 'touch' the spirit's form comes from behind the Wendigo towards the Smog spirit. This done, forces of rage and will collide in his powerful single swipe of a clawed paw, the others seeking to maintain purchase in the ground. Howls-For-Glory lets out a growl when he sees the totem lifted into the air. He's only a moment behind Dagger's-Edge, rushing at the bane to try and rake his claws through its amorphous mass.

The Fenris spirit hovers in the air, and while he could do so normally of his own choosing, it seems Snaekolfr is unable to move at all. He snarls and foams, blazing with anger and frustration. For now, he is immobile.

First to the gate gets the Elemental's attention, however, and as Dillen lashes out ineffectually at the ethereal spirit, it washes over him like a wave of gaseous silly-putty. Burning silly putty. It goes right for the head like last time, the smell of burning flesh entering the nostrils of anyone stopping to smell the roses. As the gaggle of people descend upon it after Dillen, they find that their claws simply can't hurt the spirit's being, with only Brom and Michael's claws actually causing the thing to recoil in pain.

And poor old Snaekolfr is still in the air, unable to do anything other than flail about uselessly.

Gagging loudly, Bloods-Bane roars out in frustration as he throws out a quick strike once again, looking to throw his weight out of the body of the Bane. Forath-Ripper continues to hurry his claws into the creature, looking to strike once more as his claws found purchase the first time. He blurs in motion, looking to strike one after the other, sharp eyes chasing the movements.

As long as damage is done, Kills-Wisely sees yet no reason to change his method of attack. He digs in with rear legs tight to the earth and rears up. Almost with a slower more forceful attack as if pushing his claws through rather than swiping, Kills slashs around the same spot as he did before, focusing as best he can despite the rage that wants him to break out into the madness of frenzy. Howls-For-Glory eagerly taps into the wellspring of primal anger with him, remembering the last encounter with this creature. Eyes narrowing to thin slits, he becomes a whirling dervish of claws, a deadly precision in each movement. Jaws snapping together with nothing doing, Dagger's-Edge snarls angrily and shifts to the Crinos. Claws curling, the philodox scans the spirit quickly and strikes out again for a more cohesive-looking section, maybe the ugly mug that seems to surface on it.

The Fenris spirit struggles fiercely with a frenzy born of it's own master's imprisonment, watching his pack and the Fianna attack the Bane.

The Fenris spirit struggles fiercely with a frenzy born of it's own master's imprisonment, watching his pack and the Fianna attack the Bane. ~Kills-Wisely! The air traps me!~ He howls out as he flails, snapping uselessly at nothing.

As Dillen sets into the mass, his pained lashings manage to encounter something, some resistance or some physical impediment that causes the spirit much pain. Like a boiler turning on first thing in the morning, it's mouth yawn in a low rumbling yell as the tear into it. Brom likewise strikes the spirit not once, but twice, the Fenris even going as far as to do it with almost a degree of ascetic beauty. Cole's concerted attacks, however, are far from this. The Galliard starts by hitting the spirit but failing to hurt it, before he ups' and trips over himself in among the tight group of bodies. He nearly stumbles into Kills-Wisely before he falls through the spirit and flat on his face. Michael and Kenneth feel success in their actions, but none so much as Brom encountered. So it comes as no surprise when the spirit rolls off from around Dillen to the other Get like someone tossed a barrel of crude oil at him. The Get's flesh burns and peels, cackling back and flaking away from the bone as both Get and Spirit scream in unison. The onslaught, though brief, must seem like a small eternity for the Philodox, as the horrible burns causes him fall slack to the ground, small and meek, having had most of the skin burnt off his bones all over his body. The Fenris Totem jars suddenly, before the Elemental re-estabishes it's hold over Snaekolfr.

While Forath-Ripper gets in his blows and then, hits the ground, smoking like a burnt turkey when forgotten during Thanksgiving, Bloods-Bane pours on the rage and looks to distract the Bane from his downed pack mate, dancing and throwing furious fists into the mass of Bane. He howls and roars. ~Die Skripi!~ He mocks his fallen Alpha, aiming to shift the tide and direction away, presenting a more delicious target.

Finally, as Edge's claws feel some resistance, the Lord philodox becomes heartened only to see his pack alpha fall. ~Kills! Get the Fenris down if you can!~ the Shadow Lord calls out. Rage harnessing, the halfmoon lunges forth and slahes out in another storm of action, arms carving arcs, seeking out the spirit's face while never standing in one spot long enough for any period of focus. Howls-For-Glory is on his feet in an instant, and the anger smouldering beneath the surface quite suddenly stops smouldering and ignites. A howl escapes him as he tries to rip at the thing, claws flashing in Luna's light. Another slash follows the first in a flurry of movement. Kills-Wisely, a focus to him strange and disturbing as he somehow remains almost silent in his actions, obviously hears his totem's call. He bunches up his rear legs, and springs up to the totem beast above him. His rear legs bicycle through whatever he can during the jump, but the focus is to get a good grip on his totem with claws and jaw, and drag Snae down to the ground.

As before, all Snaekolfr can do is hang helplessly in the air, which only serves to infuriate the spirit to a screaming, roaring rage.

Snaekolfr's rage soon finds himself plummeting around twenty five feet, and fast, as what is holding him up suddenly stops. If one was keen on these things, and wasn't busy trying to kill the Bane, one would notice it happens the exact minute the spirit suddenly plum disappears from the world as they know it. Claws flash, attacks are launched, but the thing goes from being there to simply not in the blink of an eye.

Kills-Wisely quickly runs over to Brom, growling out in questioning fashion as he noses the pack's alpha. Alive?

Howls-For-Glory remembers when this has happened before, and so he actively searches the area around the pack, wary for a possible reappearance of the beast. ~It's done this before...right before it attacked!~

Despite the size of the totem, the Fenris wolf lands on his paws as easily as a cat but with the fury of a kicked badger. His pride is, most obviously, wounded. Snaekolfr stalks forward, beginning to circle around and around his pack plus one, snarling and slavering red-tinged saliva that dissolves before it hits the ground. The spirit is wary, ready, more than eager to join the fight he had been thus far denied.

Forath-Ripper continues to smoke and lay on the ground in a burnt cheeseburger like manner. Freddy Krueger has an Uncle.

Dagger's-Edge only manages to rein himself in when the spirit disappears, snarling in frustration and annoyance. Turning momentarily to glance at his fallen pack alpha and Kills moving to check, the Shadow Lord looks towards Howls for a moment at the galliard's warning. Growling out, the philodox looks around warily before moving towards the rest of his pack. ~Stay close together and be in grabbing range. Don't want anyone to get tossed up by that fucked-up twister.~

Bloods-Bane hacks horribly as he shakes his head, snorting and flaring his nostrils. ~Is Forath-Ripper alive?~ He asks with a growl, while circling, keeping his eyes peeled.

The spirit reappears, though not as Kenneth and Cole had feared. The thing, shoved out into an oblong shape, re-appers on the median between the east and west bound lanes of the blistering spirit-traffic.

Dagger's-Edge tenses up as the spirit reappears over its original spot. The Shadow Lord looks from his packmates to the lone Birdseye, to totem then back. He snarls and shakes his head before turning to his pack. ~If he's alive, let's go and come back with something to kick this bane's ass.~

Howls-For-Glory nods at Dagger's Edge's words. "Yes. We will bring back more warriors, to slay this thing once and for all.~

Snaekolfr glares murder at the Smog Bane, but even Fenris knows when the battle is going stale ~We will return.~ The wolf snarls and bristles as he turns to skulk off back the way them came, oozing a prickly Rage from his stung pride.

As Dagger's edge tenses Kills looks off to what his packmate sees. The tainted wind spirit gets the Wendigo's foulest growl of hate and loathing that he can manage. ~You shall not get to my spirit, demon wind. We return with the will, claws, and lore to rip you apart.~

Dagger's-Edge snarls again low and dangerous before stooping to help his packmates carry the unconscious alpha back to safety. His ears pin back and the Shadow Lord departs with the others.