ONS: Jana's Vengeance
4/9/2007
05:43 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.
Currently the moon is in the waning Half Moon phase (52% full).
It is currently 17:42 Pacific Time on Mon Apr 9 2007.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is partly sunny. The temperature is 49 degrees Fahrenheit (9 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the southwest at 13 mph, with gusts up to 18 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.03 and rising, and the relative humidity is 65 percent. The dewpoint is 38 degrees Fahrenheit (3 degrees Celsius.)
Umbra: Regan Street (100-400 Blocks)
The Umbra here is dark, the torturous air murky with suffering and poisons of the soul. The Weave is tarnished and scarred, sore-like cracks gape in the silvery paving. Block after block of crumbling shades of buildings border the cracked street; the lights moving within them are pale and unhealthy. The foetid atmosphere is heavy with the unvoiced cries of souls gripped in an agony of despair.
Somehow, fragments of life blossom in this urban purgatory. Two empty lots are brilliances of riotous green against the numbing grey webs, one aglow with random but brilliantly alive weeds, the other amazingly laden with sunbursts of flowers. High in one of the buildings opposite this flowered lot is a green splendor of flowering light and beyond it the man-high rectangle of a mirror. A building further westward can also be seen to have a large reflective glass through its windows. A spidery lattice of steps reaches up towards it.
An odd building, looking like a Chinese fortress, stands to the north.
Contents:
Helen (Cycle-Breaker), Cole (Howls-For-Glory), Jacob (Dance-Ender), Lefty (Ferret), Kenneth (Far-Cry), Blackriver, Dillen (Bloods-Bane), Reggie (Rags), Jihgfed (GM)
Obvious exits:
East
The Gauntlet here is thick and oily, and passage through it is like squeezing through sewer hole or a lubricated sphinctre, just as cramped and invasive and unpleasant. The Garou trudge through a dark and cluttered maze of spidered rooms and closets, where the arachnids' careening song thrums through the very walls, where the broken patterns of bubbling webs shape a tattered and Wyrm-riddled tapestry. Luna shines even inside, a bright cold glow that seeps through the latticed seiling and buzzes against the skin. The air smells of oil and ozone. They emerge onto a wide artery of umbral street, pulsing darkly against the night, living and decrepit. Smog elementals, transparent and fat as whales, float through the overhead air like blimps. Spiders crawl across the buildings' faces, but here the Weaver is being unravelled, and their legs number from two to twenty, their eyes bubble and hiss. A few houses over, a quadrapedal thing of stained gauze and needles shambles out the building's gaping mouthhole. A pothole in the middle of the black-blooded road seems to stretch down forever. The night is chaotic and strane, and even caked as it is in the pure moonlight above nothing can hide the obscenity of it.
Blackriver leads her pack in through the Gauntlet after a struggle, ears slicked back and fur standing on end. Cole comes through right behind her, and Helen and Dillen follow, the Get pausing to rack his claws over something stone-like. They all shift into war-forms once they'll inside, and Blackriver motions for everyone to stay close as she waits for Reggie and the others to get through.
Far-Cry comes out the other side into the Shadow and immediately does the same as many, only he shifts to his Hispo form. The pause for preparations are taken, activating the gift to Resist Pain.
Dance-Ender follows after with an eager, yet cautious and alert posture. His nostrils flare wide as he takes in the sights and smells of the area, and he looks to the leading Fang for the call.
Ferret is one of if not the last to come through. Though the Gnawer brings up the rear, her eyes are eager and she keeps a watchful eye on the entire pack's flank.
Reggie marches after Wildfire, his head swivelling as he regards the warping of the weaver on the place. He stares down into the pothole as he skirts its crumbling edges, and looks back dubiously at it after passing it by. He whispers into a clenched hand, then shakes out from the hand an oblong stone, gray granite with flecks of mica, and dangles the stone on a string of cedar bark, wrapped thrice about the body of the stone. He bends his head low over the stone, with eyes fixed on its movement.
Blackriver turns her colossal Hispo head to make sure everyone's through, ears pricked as she listens to her surroundings for approaching threats. Stay close. She rumbles. Rag-Torn-to-Rags-yuf will lead us to the wyrm-thing's den.
Bloods-Bane flexes his body, stretching his form and giving a growl. He looks to Cole and then grins a feral grin to his packmate.
Howls-For-Glory follows along behind Blackriver in Crinos, scanning from side to side diligently. Anyone watching him would probably be able to notice that he's seemingly more uncomfortable than an arachnophobe at a Spiderman movie. Bane's baring of teeth is answered with one of his own, though he doesn't allow it to distract him from his vigil.
Cycle-Breaker, in the war form, growls an assent to Blackriver. She keeps her position close to her packmates as she goes, not wanting to wander off--certainly not away from them.
The bandage thing watches the Garou with bloody red gashes in place of eyes, and skirts around them nervously, afraid, its needles sticking out from it defensively like porcupine quills. Minutes tick by and the thing circles them, as Rags enacts his ritual. The smog hangs overhead, a thick orange blanket enshrouding the city, hiding the spirits within it. A wire, jet black and cutting-thin, holds electricity elementals close to it as they crackle and snap along its length, fast as the eye can see them. The bandaged spirit paces and a massive elemental, bloated and irradiated with the light of the moon hangs over them impassively, and eventually, unmistakeably, the stone at the end of the string rises, points, and then just as smooth and unheralded, it drops. It pointed briefly to the east, between black buildings which overhang the street like ancient trees.
Blackriver's ears flick towards where the stone pointed, and she assess the direction for danger before lumbering forward. ~Those stronger in spirit take the front and back.~ She tells the makeshift war party, keeping an eye on the bandaged spirit as she sets off. Her entire demeanor is on edge, and she looks ready to bolt at any second.
Dance-Ender steps up toward the front, eager and taut with readiness. He too stares down that gauze ridden entity, snarling fiercly and looking barely restrained. ~Which is our target?~
Bloods-Bane scans his eyes about, standing at Cole's side.
Far-Cry eyes the elementals in the skies, nose wrinkling at the hackles-curling stench associated. The Shadow Lord moves towards the front of the group.
Reggie gathers up the stone, cradling it in his mangled hand, as he stares off towards the east with battle-weary eyes. He whispers a word into his loosely clenched hand, before closing his other hand over it.
Howls-For-Glory's eyes narrow as the bandaged spirit catches his gaze. He bares his teeth briefly at it in half-hearted menace. At Blackriver's command, he voices his assent and remains close to the front. ~Remember what I told you, Viking.~ Dance-Ender's question causes his ears to perk up. ~Not these. We are after the Scrags. Living scalpels.~
~So we keep going...~ assumes Cycle-Breaker, watching Blackriver carefully. She takes some steps back, wanting to get herself firmly in the middle of the group.
Ferret remains near the rear but lopes along in sync with the pack. Her curious eyes scan the surroundings, taking in the bandaged spirit and the orange haze that could hide almost anything. Hackles rise along her neck and spine as she moves forward.
There's a sudden sharp scrape as of glass ground against glass when Dance-Ender growls at the misshapen spirit, and he barely has time to blink back at it before the syringes are flung. His attempts to evade them are stymied by surprise and unsure skin, but against the faint glow of his spirit-flesh they fall and clatter to the pulsating street, leaking clotted blood. Already it's turned its trailing tail, bandage unwinding itself as it goes, and it lurches off down a black alleyway. Another of the creatures, similar, with hopelessness in its bloody eyes, stares out at them from the same door, but the Garou are gone before it exits. They pass between buildings like towers, and the spiderweb before them forms an impromptu, accidental gate, the spirit thereon a twisted thing the size of a hispo Garou, its eight legs tipped with human arms, with a hundred human eyeballs glued to the prisms of its sockets.
Blackriver turns to blink at the spirit as it attacks Dance-Ender, muscles tensing as it runs and she suppresses a desire to chase it. Careful. No sound. She tells the group before going on, leading them through the webs, ears pricked forward and nose to the wind like she's hunting.
Bloods-Bane turns towards the spirit as it flails the syringes. ~That is not the one.~ He says, growling in a low voice. He shakes off the tension and continues to step by Cole's side.
When the syringes are expelled like some mutated porcupine attack, Dance-Ender lets out a sharp hiss only to find nothing actually penetrates him. It brings him another fierce scowl and he too has to rely on his willpower to keep from giving chase. Claws flex and scrape along as he moves, eyes watching the beasts that hover around them. ~Cowards.~
Ferret tenses at the attack. she lopes ahead to the front of the pack, asking the Gaian with a simple, silent look if he is alright. Satisfied, she continues on ahead with the others, but toward the front of the pack now.
Far-Cry falls back briefly at the attack, moving out of the way. Once the creature retreats, he continues to follow in sheer silence, reserving his breath as best he can.
Howls-For-Glory watches as the syringes fall aside, snarling. ~Don't pick fights,~ he orders, snapping at Dance-Ender. Then, at Blackriver's direction, he falls silent. He watches the spider-like guardian at the gate as they pass towards it.
As she goes along with the group, Cycle-Breaker is alert and twitchy, ears moving this way and that, eyes darting as she watches everything, waiting for something else to come along.
The web's strands are thick as a finger, and as the Garou come closer they can see clear enough to notice patterns and images on them, to see the giant street-spanning web is made of bills, rolled tight, a nasty greenish yellow in the smog. The spider stares down, its hundred human eyes bunched up in venomous fury, its fingers grasping at the web. It waits, with the spiteful patience of a hungry hunter, watching the Garou pass beneath. The streets here are boxy, with no alleys, though the buildings' corroded facades provide a thousand little mouseholes through which spirits pass like random chaotic commuters. In the distance, through the yellow fog, a quadrupedal monster walks towards them, coalescing in the city rot. Its forelegs strike sharp against the pavement, like a hammer against an anvil.
Blackriver stops mid-stride, nostrils flaring and ears going up in surprise. She's silent a moment, eyes briefly going unfocused. ~This is not it.~ She tells the group. ~We will avoid it if we can, fight it if we must.~ With those words, she looks around for a place to duck into, even as she backs up to form a furry barrier across the alley.
Bloods-Bane steps up beside of Blackriver. He's clearly tense with all that is going on. He helps with forming the barrier across the alley, looking to the spider and what comes behind it.
Dance-Ender lets out a snort and a look of innocence at Howls assessment. He steps along with Ferret then, growing more anxious. He growls low under his breath, ~Then where is -it-?~
~We will find it,~ snaps the ragabash Fury in irritation.
Howls-For-Glory shores up the defenses, falling in line beside Bloods-Bane. The Fianna flexes his claws, anxious and overeager to find his quarry before the tension snaps him. ~There don't look to be any exits but back or forward.~
Far-Cry tilts his ears back at the sound of the distant monster. A thin growl passes through him as he eyes the hundred eyed spider back with his own shortlived stare before moving on with the rest of the group.
With claws, care, and agility, the Garou scrape and slip through the monstrous spider's paper web. Its frustration is palpable in the quiver of its rolled bills, evident in the fury of its eyes, but the group is too big, and it forebears any assault. The creature in the distance, hidden by thick yellow-brown smog, is just an outline and a sound: a sharp, heavy, metallic drop of weight and ferocity. It stops suddenly, to a clamour of high-pitched pings, a scraping of knives. There's a faint flurry of movement in the moonlit darkness, and the sounds stop. A few seconds later there's a sundering collapse, as the massive things falls to earth, and gears snap and springs pop, and then it's just the constant chittering of spiders and animated filth.
Blackriver gives the spider a moment of attention as the last of the Garou pass under it, although she's mostly focused on the thing ahead. As it falls, she goes completely rigid, waiting several long minutes before doing anything.
Howls-For-Glory joins his alpha in going still. He simply stares forward, his eyes fixed on the fallen heap of the creature. While he lifts his lip to bare glistening white teeth, not a sound escapes from the Fianna.
Bloods-Bane follows along with the others. He's tense, way tense. He's wanting a fight and it's taking too long to get to it.
At the noise, at all the movement, the falling, Cycle-Breaker stops dead in her tracks, a low rumbling growl coming from her. She flexes her hands, long claws just dying to get into something.
Dance-Ender tenses, pulling himself to a stop and looking to the alpha of the assault. He watches her with full attention, reading every sign and posture and gesture, waiting for her commands. Ferret comes up just beside him, growling out a soft muttering snarl at the events unfolding.
Far-Cry stops as well, but his ears flip forward and his head lifts. The Shadow Lord inches forward, growl rumbling louder. ~What are we waiting for?~ he snorts in impatience. ~It has fallen. Move on or attack and kill it for good.~
As the Garou wait, the sounds ahead of them change. While the chaos of it lessens the violence does it. Scraping through the air, against the Garou's bones, comes the sound of sharp objects against each other, like knives sharpening knives. The sound is continuous, methodical, and painful, unblunted by the pollution and distance. Above the smog rolls, billowing from the luminous bodies of its spirits.
~Caution.~ Blackriver snaps at the Lord, ears flicking in annoyance before she turns back to the scene. She waits a moment longer before crouching and stalking forward, quickly and silently, motioning for her packmates to fan out behind her.
Howls-For-Glory's ears shoot straight up at the sound of knives sharpening. His body language changes from merely tense to being on the verge of spilling over with barely containted violence. ~Scrags.~ Now a growl trickles from his throat. ~Those are their arms, scratching across each other!~ His voice is harsh, even considering his form. He waits a moment, allowing Blackriver and Bloods-Bane to get ahead of him.
Bloods-Bane bares his teeth at the scrags and his eyes scan them for any weakness. ~Today, they fall.~ Dillen growls out as he glares to their adversaries.
Dance-Ender shifts his weight from paw to paw, huffing loudly as he watches the other Garou. ~How do we strike. Enough waiting.~ His tail swishes fiercly as he looks up and around, trying to actually see this foe.
Ferret comes up to nudge the Gaian, trying to urge him to keep some patience and wit about him. She too looks up and then back to the Fangish leader. Waiting the command.
Far-Cry scrapes a still impatient paw against the grimy ground, seeking purchase and waiting for the call to hunt.
As the Garou creep closer, the scene before them gets clearer, inch by inch. They see the thing they'd heard, before, a massive creature of sinew and old steel, half elephant, half automobile, toppled against the ground, collapsed under the weight of its own riveted limbs. Its tusks, two bright yellow cranes, loll out from either side of its vulcanized head. Above it, around it, the Gaians' quarry goes about their dour task gleefully. Their skin is white and bloated, like old dead flesh that's just been dredged up from the lake, and under the bright full moon it's translucent and quivering. Though bipedal they're hunched beneath the weight of arms that end with massive knives, scythes tipped in blood and motor oil, which they plunge over and over again into the steel monster beneath them, not dulling a hair, spilling oil and a bright yellow liquid that smells of bubble gum. Their eyes are empty, blood red fleshy lumps like overkneaded hamburger, dry and unseeing, and the teeth of their mouths are inset, curling in on themselves. The four scrags dice the creature into liquid and metal and unrecognizable flesh, with controlled abandon and a passionate, almost reverent gleam in their flesh-soaked eyes.
Blackriver blinks once, amber eyes glowing in the moonlight, an involuntary shudder passing through her as she sees the scrags. She tips her head to the side to peer at the spirit under attack. ~Surround it in a half circle. Then attack. Half to one, half to another. Kill it, then move on to the rest.~ She moves to follow her own orders, going around the right.
As soon as Blackriver's instructions are out, Cycle-Breaker obediently plays follow the leader, her eyes continually set on the scrags.
Bloods-Bane falls in behind Blackriver and awaits the one thing he's been wanting to hear all night. Fight!
Howls-For-Glory's eyes narrow as the scene comes into clearer focus. Padding forward, he looks to Blackriver. ~Second pack fights with me,~ he announces. ~Wildfire follows Blackriver. All others with me.~ He starts to move, slowly but surely, circling towards the left.
Ferret's gaze narrows when the scrags are spotted. The Gnawer bares yellow teeth, and for all her reticence before the fight, now that she can see the enemy there is murder in those yellow eyes. She lopes out in the half circle formation, taking her place among the others in setting the trap. Claws flex as she prepares to leap into battle.
Far-Cry gazes at the fallen behemoth for a short time, taking it all in. Then as the scrags come into view, and orders are howled out, he falls in at Howls-For-Glory's left side and clacking his large teeth together.
~It. There are four Its.~ Still Dance-Ender moves with Howls and the others as he is told, his muscles moving with tension and growing frustration. His eyes focus on the scrags, wondering and calculating.
The Garou split along the middle, almost wordless, habit and instinct driving them into tight quiet lines, inaudible below the crackle of spiders and electricity and the cacophony of metal against metal, hardly visible in the filthy yellow fog which smells of sulphur and bile. Each inch they gain is careful and precious. Their approach goes smoothly, until one of them lifts its blood-splattering eyes from the flesh-metal carcass beneath it, staring Blackriver right in the eye, and watching her, impassive, for just a half second.
Blackriver tenses when one spies her, lips pulling back in a snarl. She doesn't lunge towards the one that spotted her, but rather the one that's closest to her, hopefully with it's back to her. Her jaws open, and a clawed paw comes down to swipe at the scrags shoulder.
Howls-For-Glory follows only a breath behind his Alpha. As it becomes evident that one has seen them, the Fianna Elder lunges for the closest scrag to his group. His jaw gapes wide in a rictus-grin of hatred, but it's his claws that lash once. Twice he lashes at the spirit, driven on by rage.
Ferret reacts along with the rest of the pack, that invisible and instinctual sixth-wolf-sense triggering her charge in time with the others. In crinos, she lopes forward on two legs rather than four, and when the distance is closed she launches herself toward the milky, fish-belly white skin of the scrag. Looking to latch onto the thing with her claws, she attacks with the array of fangs in her maw--attempting to tear and rip flesh with ragged, violent throws of her head.
Bloods-Bane goes for the same one as Blackriver, moving to try and slam one of the blades into the ground and break it or drive it into the ground to make it unusable.
Just after Blackriver begins to attack one of the scrags, Cycle-Breaker moves in to assist her pack alpha, snarling and lashing out with claws and teeth.
Far-Cry goes straight for the same target as Howls and Ferret, pack tactics coming into play as he lunges, jaws looking to seize one of the knife-wielding limbs.
Dance-Ender rushes in alongside of Ferret, moving to work on the same scrag as she does. Keeping it distracted for eachother can only help to mitigate the brutal damage these things look capable of. It is those very weapons that Ender seems focused on, aiming to try to sever those blade like appendages from its form.
The scrags start moving at about the same time the Garou do, drawing their claws out of the metal with a ear-wrenching scrape, turning their bloody eyes towards the only Garou their one observant member has made out: the Silver Fang leading the charge. They lope towards her with a speed their ugly gait belies. Only one of them stops as new targets loom out of the yellow smog, and it only stops when Howls-for-Glory's claws catch it from behind. The four Garou on the left flank surround the lone scrag, clawing, raking, snapping their jaws. Far-Cry in particular draws a deep channel across the spirit's middle, leaking Gnosis and vinegar across the metal construct. But there is such fury and froth there that claws go awry, the Garou nicking at each other, threatening to draw each others' blood as well as the scrag's due to inexperience and close quarters and overwhelming fury. The three other members of Wildfire however co-ordinate together like clockwork, like siblings and packmates. Blackriver is the first to the fray and the most deadly, rending great chunks of translucent flesh away from the things, drooling it out. As Cycle-Breaker claws at that same target Bloods-Bane struggles to incapacitate one of its death-edged arms, shearing it into the bloody metal carcass on which they all stand and keeping purchase on that arm, though it slices smoothly, painlessly into his palms as he does so. The three scrags however stand against the Garou just as co-ordinated, just as focused, though more mindlessly, more gleefully. Just as a scythe skims by Blackriver's ear another slips right along her ribcage, rattling her footing, as the third scrag, the one into which she'd just sunk her jaws, does the same to her, bashing her straight on the forehead with its caved in teeth.
Howls-For-Glory feels all his anger boil up at once, bursting through his veneer of self control. Letting out a howl of mixed hatred and madness, he continues to try to drive his claws into the back of the targeted scrag. Seizing the momentary advantage of the thing's sudden stop, the frenzying Fianna tries to tear the scrag's head from it's body by clamping down with his jaws and ripping away. Slaver flies.
Bloods-Bane keeps hold of that arm and kicks at the blade with all his might to break it or if not break, drive the blade into the scrags own body and slice it. ~They will fall, Brother. They will fall!~ Bane announces.
Blackriver lets out a cry of Rage as she's hurt, blood seeping out and dyeing her silvery white fur dark crimson. She fights back now without a plan, full of anger and instinct born of self preservation, ripping and biting at the alien creatures around her with righteous fury.
There is a pause, not much of one, when Cycle-Breaker realizes what sort of damage is being done to Blackriver. Fueled by her rage, she moves faster with claws and teeth, using whatever means available to her--clawing, ripping unceasingly--to kill the damn thing.
Ferret's deep throated howl comes to a premature en end, twisting into ferocious snarl. The Gnawer's eyes grow wild and frenzied for a moment, and she literally come to a halt as she fights the desire to lose control completely. In those moment turned to several seconds, she can do nothing except concentrate, body shaking with the effort.
Far-Cry snarls with an added intention to finish the job, twisting about and away once his strike is made and going for the flanks of the scrag this time, to bring it down with the others.
Dance-Ender steps back from his first assault, shaking his head in frustration. He looks up to see where the next nearest target is, not wanting to be so close-quartered. Ferret gets a brief look as well, then he turns to take after one of the other three.
The battle is fierce and awkward, stretched out across the back of a fallen titan in the orange chemical fog of the tainted city Umbra. Just off it, Howls-for-Glory battles one of the scrag, his equal in mindless rage and unfeeling destruction. He slashes at it, rends great silvery chunks of spirit flesh, and it with one jackhammer motion oscillates its razor-tipped arm straight through his ribs and lung, halfway out the other side, though he in his fury and madness doesn't even seem to feel it, and his second claw comes down, straight across the spirit's face. Far-Cry scrambles up on to the beast, clung to its hair and with a protruding valve for leverage, set up with a clean shot, though his attempt at taking it is stymied by Howls-for-Glory's mindless fury, as the Philodox only barely manages to avoid the two Garou toppling into each other. As Ferret struggles with her Rage, Dance-Ender wisely removes himself from the frenzied melee and hurls himself onto the back of one of the other three, just as Blackriver sinks a wild bite across its middle. Most of her vitriol though is spent on her first target, and she scratches and chews at it, even as she herself is buffeted by scythes and teeth, ripping little holes all along her side, snapping her collarbone. Cycle-Breaker takes massive chunks from its side and back, rips out the lower half of its jaw so that it gushes essence and a thin vinegary blood, the spirit growing more and more transparent, sagging slightly, like a spent balloon, while Bloods-Bane jams its knife-like arm against their battlefield's hard metal and, pushing, bends the entire arm at an obscene angle. The scrag's bloody eyes are weeping now, spilling out across the floor, and its retribution against the Galliard is off-hand and glancing.
The wounds only make Howls-for-Glory scream his defiance and rage at the creature. The enraged Fianna Elder brings one hand slashing across the scrag's body, trying to work on the holes he's already opened in his foe.
Ferret finally eventually seems to get control of herself, eyes refocusing and maw snarling her rage at being so far behind and out of the fray. Her eyes lock on the scrag that Dance-Ender now faces and a blur of speed fueled by rage, she attacks its back while the Gaian has it distracted.
Bloods-Bane glares at Blackriver. ~You must back away. You cannot feel your pain.~ Then he launches himself towards the scrag that is intent on Cole. His goal, to impale that scrag on the bent arm of the other. ~Cole. Break out of it! Come on you, Sheep Fucker!~
Blackriver's eyes ooze anger, the Fang more red than white at this point, a mass of raw and bleeding flesh with claw and teeth. She looks ready, more than ready, to go at the scrags with all the strength left in her, but her packmate's words shake her out of it. She takes the more rational path, pulling away for a moment to assess her wounds and the tide of the fight with glowering eyes.
When Blackriver steps away from the fight, Cycle-Breaker continues on her path of death and destruction. Inflicting it, anyways, still going crazy with the claws and teeth.
Dance-Ender has a moments advantage on the one he launched himself to, and so with a rush of rage, he unleashes a quick flurry of attacks at the beast intending to tear flesh asunder. Claws rake as he fuels his strength with adrenaline and the hunger for the hunt, reaching in deep enough to suggest he were trying to rip its spine right out its back- provided these things even have them.
Far-Cry backs up once again as his attack is blocked off by his very own pseudo-packleader. The Shadow Lord snaps his jaws together again, snarling. One glance sent to the others, and he gauges the situation. Lefty gets a glance as she leaves the second pack's side. A growl after, the Shadow Lord too, finds an open target in the fourth scrag and leaves Cole to do what Fianna do best - fight with passion overruling their judgment - and Dillen to pull him out of it. Not to say Far-Cry doesn't launch himself full force at his intended spirit either. The halfmoon jumps forth with Rage born speed, attacking viciously with open jaws.
The half-metal beast on which they fight is slick now with not only its own blood but with that of the Garou, and the filmy spirit-stuff of the scrags. Translucent and demonic, they fight in eerie silence except for the snicker and slip of their blades, while the Garou war with spit and howls. Bloods-Bane slips and struggles across the surface of the dead beast, keeping his footing only by luck and extreme adroitness, colliding with his target just as Howls-for-Glory lays his first swipe across its face. Bloods-Bane furious path impales him directly on the thing's arm, sliding up off the bone of the his pelvis and doing nothing to stop the Get's momentum, bringing him directly up on the scrag with claws and teeth and valour, keeping the bane's knife from Howls-for-Glory the Fenris way, by lodging it directly in his own middle. Ferret and Dance-Ender slice and slash at the scrag they've chosen, though it ignores them, the spirit instead focusing on Cycle-Breaker, inserting both its scythe-arms just below the armpit, driving up and out severing most of the muscle on her left side, nearly cutting the collarbone clear in two, letting the blood gush out as if from a tap. It hits her unnoticed from beside as she continues to beat unrelentingly on the first bane she'd picked, which her pack had harassed from the beginning. It in turn falls back, beleagured looking, the anger not dying from its bloody eyes but turning instead into a look of confused frustration, a look it levels on Blackriver, and turns into one of unrelenting fury. There is one scrag left, but before it can turn its attention too on the Ragabash, Far-Cry is on it, claws finally flashing in a bloody explosion of anger, sending spirit film into the air in a soft slow-moving strands, even as it lands a glancing slice across the Philodox' chin.
Howls-For-Glory growls as his target is blocked from his sight, his eyes lighting up with anger in his frenzy. Desperate to continue the fight, but able to discern his packmate, the Galliard lunches. With the scrag distracted by the Get in his face, Howls makes his move. He tears into the thing's back, where he struck before, like a howling dervish.
Bloods-Bane uses it to his advantage and makes sure that when this close to the enemy, do it like a good Get... Slash the shit out of it. His teeth try to sink into spirit flesh and his claws try to rend the spirit into bane confetti.
As Blackriver licks her wounds, her eyes drift to the scrag. She stares at it a moment, eyes widening, before letting out a roar, crunching up into crinos and turning into a furry of flesh and claws. She rips at the scrag on the ground with glee, turning it into little chunks of essence as best she can.
Far-Cry is all over the fourth scrag, snapping and clawing. He tries to latch on and take the spirit down with what he has in him still, trying to pull it away from the others. Boiling up into his Crinos form finally, he aims his claws for those bloodred eyes, and his teeth for an available purchase around the scrag's neck, using his weight as leverage on the uneven battleground.
Oh, crap. Cycle-Breaker roars in the utter pain of everything, stepping away for a moment to reorient herself. Not feeling her arm, the Black Fury pauses to consider what she should do. In the end she does not go back into the battle, stepping away as far as she can to remove herself from the action to make sure that she won't get herself killed since she's just about there anyway.
Ferret takes it as a personal offense that the spirit ignores her efforts to rip it to shreds. Therefore, the ragabash redoubles her attack. Clawss and teeth sink into the fetid flesh of the thing, attempting to de-gut and disembowel the thing. On the opposite side of Dance Ender, she pulls one way while he pulls the other.
With a vicious roar, Dance-Ender flashes his claws out and sinks them in deeply, curling around any sinew or density it can find. He looks up and across the beast where Ferret rests. He grips the opposite side of the beast that Ferret does, and as she gives him the faintest glance, he catches her intention and yanks back trying to seperate his half, from Ferret's half.
Fury and death sweep the battlefield slick and foggy. Overcome, Howls-for-Glory scrapes and claws and slashes his way into and then through the scrag, meeting Bloods-Bane halfway through, only just barely checking himself before attacking his packmate, so deep and unreasoning is his anger. The scrag falls to the ground like an empty skin, its knives making a sharp and hollow sound against the body of the elephantine beast below. Blackriver's rage also pushes her on, further, harder, feeling her pain now but not caring. Before the scrag can concentrate to use its charm again her jaws have seized its good arm, and with a quick almost gentle rip they pull it from its socket, trailing spirit stuff like molasses as it drops. With no weapons, now, the spirit just stands there, stunned, its murderous glee finally gone from it, replaced by a bloody-eyed despair so great that there's nothing left for it but to stop existing. Just nearby Dance-Ender and Ferret attack the scrag from opposite sides, the Ragabash' frustration growing as she can't seem to land a damaging hit, though her blows provide enough distraction for Dance-Ender to eviscerate it from behind, bear-hugging it from behind and just digging his claws as deep as he can until finally he simply rips from inside out, splashing scrag filth like a filmy urine-scented water bomb. The blow it strikes in return is awkward and surreptitious, sliding into his thigh, hobbling but not incapacitating. Far-Cry, not far distant, bursts into Crinos and slashes out with both massive claws, only to find the scrag slipping away, dashing nimbly aside, and simply staring at him with those small flesh-sockets it calls eyes, just staring at him in the chemical fog.
Blackriver lets out a cry of triumph as the scrag under her claws ceases to exist. Her ears pivot and turn as she seeks out her next target, reason still completely gone from her eyes. Her gaze lands on the one staring at Far-Cry, and she throws herself at it's back, jaws agape and claws at the ready.
Bloods-Bane comes to the ground and looks at the blade that is still lodged in his chest. He reaches, grabs it, pulls it out and then wields it as he goes after the fourth. ~DIE!~ The blade comes through the air and straight for the fourth.
Dance-Ender lets out a pleased grin at the effect of the attack, eyes bright with pleased glee as he looks to Ferret. The blade that pierces through his thigh sends him weak in the leg, with a hiss given more of frustration than the pain he does not yet feel from it. He drops down to ease the awkward posture and swipes once more at the bladed arm to keep it from further attack.
Howls-For-Glory lets out a snarl when he finds his prey dissipating from beneath him. Staring at his packmate for a moment, there's a flash of something like savage joy before the bloodlust reasserts itself. The Fianna heads for the most apparently vulnerable target. The staring Scrag becomes the subject of his ire. Claws slash down at the end of his dash, aimed to tear into the still spirit.
A frustration builds at rapid pace in Far-Cry until red hazes his vision in the yellow fog. The escape of the scrag doesn't go unnoticed. No, it's tracked and he launches himself towards it again, this time howling like hell's fury unleashed as the Beast within breaks free. His fight, his kill... Wildfire will not get the chance.
Ferret nearly gets doused by the spirit life-blood Dance-Ender spilled from the scrag. The Gnawer returns his look with a toothy array and then looks around for where she can try and get some for herself.
Now the tide of battle has risen high and overwhelming in Gaia's favour, and the Garou swell over the remaining two scrags with, at turns, cutting efficiency and mindless rage. Dance-Ender and Ferret slowly whittle away at the most wounded, dodging its scythe by hairs and slicing through its fragile skin until its nothing but tatters and blades. Wildfire, however, doesn't have such an easy time of it, combating Kenneth for the right to the last kill. The Philodox' eyes are blazing and senseless and he attacks it with such vitriol that he doesn't even notice the pointed end coming out the other end of his paw as his claws slash through the air, not until he's driven it down to the hilt and ruined it, the sinews bulging out around the edges. He doesn't care, though, and as three frenzied and one sword-wielding Garou scream in on it, the scrag splatters against the ground, leaving only liquid and death and chemical fog.
Blackriver slowly calms down out of frenzy, and reverts to barking orders at the ragtag group once it's clear no one's dead. Drain gnosis, go back through the umbra, and lick our wounds.
Bloods-Bane ends up standing and looking around at the fight scene. He growls and then holds the knife up in the air, an act of victory for the Galliard.
Howls-For-Glory lifts his muzzle when the last of the scrags has met its match. Still coursing with rage, the Galliard's voice lifts into the Umbral sky. If Luna were listening from her perch above, she'd hear the paean of victory. When the frenzy leaves him, Howls-for-Glory immediately moves to drain the spiritual juice of one of the victims.
Far-Cry keeps at it until the there's really nothing left, and even after the others have finished their frenzy. Scraping at the last of the metallic battleground, the haze clears eventually. In the midst of the howls, he belts out a ringing cry to accompany Howls'. That echoes off, leaving just the dull feeling of pain in his limbs. The Shadow Lord hunts down a piece of that spirit juice himself, should he find some.
Bloods-Bane lifts his head and joins Cole in his howl.
Ferret and Dance Ender lift their voices in unison with the others. Draining the scrag they downed of its spiritual energy, the two fall in with the rest of the pack to cross back over.
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