Touch Deer Vs. Grey
2/21/2006
05:20 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.
Currently the moon is in the waning Half Moon phase (42% full).
It is currently 17:12 Pacific Time on Tue Feb 21 2006.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 47 degrees Fahrenheit (8 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the southwest at 14 mph, with gusts up to 22 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.25 and steady, and the relative humidity is 74 percent. The dewpoint is 39 degrees Fahrenheit (3 degrees Celsius.)
The Sept Compound(#2075RAM)
Sweeping branches of trees form a sort of natural roof overshadowing most of this clearing, no more than an open space of grasses and beaten earth in the heart of the forest. Some pains have been taken to keep wear and tear on the area to a minimum, so the firepit tends to shift from time to time. The firepit, several sawn logs polished from use, and a stack of firewood discreetly piled up at the base of an old spruce under a tarp, are the only signs of constant occupation. However, those of a naturalistic bent might think that some minimal landscaping or planning had been done, for nestled among the winter-browned grasses are a few hardy perennials that, come spring, will create a profusion of color in the clearing.
A faint trail leads off to the east, and a bit north.
Contents:
Grey
Cries-No-More
Obvious exits:
Forest
Touch Deer waits by the compound, seated in lupus, doing nothing at all, beyond waiting.
Grey enters the compound, his scarred face schooled into a bland, neutral expression that doesn't quite hide the tightness in his jaw.
Cries-No-More pushes to his feet, and flows directly into Crinos. Without a single word, he heads to the center of the clearing, bouncing occasionally on his paws, loosening up.
Runner, by perhaps sheer fortune, has followed scents of others towards the compound. The fostern Gnawer, though, hangs out in the shadows of the woods. Her eyes observe, but she does not interact, or interfere.
Grey stops a few steps from the clearing's edge, gaze fixing on the burnscarred Crinos. "To reiterate," he says, his voice clear and calm. "We fight to submission. To frenzy is to lose. No talens or fetishes used, and no Gifts but the spirit of the fray for you and the ability to ignore pain for me. Is that correct?"
Cries-No-More replies, ~That's correct. I see we have two to watch, and I hear the Warder nearby, heading this way, in case either of use needs his Gift to avoid death. I'm ready.~ As he speaks, he moves towards a spot before his opponent, about two Crinos' arms' lengths away. He's already dropping into a stance as he finishes speaking.
Grey nods once, then closes his eyes for a few seconds, long enough for a couple of deep breaths. Centering himself, perhaps, or simply invoking his Gift. Then he opens his eyes, flows smoothly upward into the war form, and takes a fighting stance himself. His very posture demonstrates his skill, and his manner is resolute.
Cries-No-More holds his arms before him, relaxed, stance sideways to expose less of himself to his opponent. He nods to the Gnawer lurking just inside the shadows. ~If you would, Runner, announce the start.~
Runner blinks, ears standing up in surprise as she's called upon. The newmoon hesitates for just a brief second, before lifting her hispo head and barking out sharply in signal.
Mingled scents draw the younger Gnawer slowly towards the compound, nose to the ground leading her onwards. Leaves-None pauses to focus on one scent in particular but is distracted by the bark. Lifting her head in that direction, she turns and deliberatly heads towards its source.
Cries-No-More explodes forward, pushing off with his hind leg while one claw snaps forward in a swipe. The strike is delivered from his center, designed for speed without sacrificing his own defense. And another follows...Rage lends his actions a maddening speed as he sends everything he has at his enemy. Those with sharp eyes, and fast minds, are able to see that his strikes follow a pattern that tries to take advantage of Grey's blind side. His motion and energy are forward, trying to take every advantage: his first-strike speed, his opponent's missing eye, and any opening which affords itself during the exchange.
Grey likewise explodes into action, and though the Wendigo acts first, the Glass Walker is by no means slow. With furious speed, he moves to dodge Cries-No-More's attacks -- and, having possessed a blind side for years now, he seems to have expected a strike toward that end. And, more, as he twists and spins away from Cries' claws, he strikes out with his own, first low, then high.
The first attack explodes out of the wire with the Wendigo's claws snapping out and catching at the philodox's chest. Cries-No-More rips to one side, but finds he only has a clawful of the Walker's inky fur. It's the second strike though, that utterly rips down Grey's chest, flaying the Walker's torso open with a spray of blood all the way down to the bone. He feels only the sting and burn, but it fuels his own incredible attacks as the pair dance this deadly dance.
The Wendigo's sharp eyes catch the turn of defense and offense just in time, and he has to move to avoid the brunt of the Walker's counterattack. Grey's claws slash a nasty cut into the Wendigo's left arm. It doesn't stop there. The Philodox attacks again, and again the Wendigo's quick reflexes save him from getting more than a shallow cut that draws blood from his scarred chest.
Not to be outdone, the Wendigo ahroun throws himself forward with a warrior's grace, attacking outright with the speed of Rage to fuel him. Grey backs off just in time to again, deny the Wendigo his further bloodshed .
Cries-No-More performs a quick maneuver, trying to trap Grey's arm while twisting the Walker's body away from his, destroying his center while opening his left side. His Claws fly to Grey's throat. But there's a deafening scream accompanying all of this, the pain of his wounds impossible to ignore, even for the Wendigo that has born the pain of the silver rivers in Erebus. Hardly mortal, the wounds are caused by expert strikes, and the pain shows in the slightly weakened movements of the Wendigo. Squinting, tears welling up, he spends what Rage he has left, determined to take Grey's throat apart before Grey's own Rage overpowers him.
Grey's Rage blows as cold as an arctic wind and as viciously as a sandstorm. Though bleeding badly, the grizzled Glass Walker utters not even a snarl as, again, he twists himself away from his opponents' claws and grasp, spinning in a lethally efficient dance of the dodge-and-strike, the defensive maneuvers shifting smoothly to the offensive as he lashes out with a clawed foot and then aims a handful of talons at the Wendigo's face.
Now that they've torn into each other with surprising speed and gusto, clearly one of them begins to flag. It is the fostern, Cries-No-More, whose actions seem less than up to par as he grapples for the Walker's arm. But years of training and experience have the philodox knowledgeable in ways of breaking out of such attempts to immobilize him, and he successfully avoids capture for more than a second. The Wendigo's rage-fueled attempt to grab the halfmoon's throat is avoided with a spin around, and instead the ahroun takes a hard, fluid kick right into his own center, his own solar plexus. The blow knocks him back and down off his feet, giving Grey the chance to strike at him again and slash a crossing set of wounds down the fullmoon's exposed belly. It cuts deep into the already scarred muscle, leaving streaks of red. In just that brief moment of pain, Cries-No-More can feel the heat of anger still stir within him.
Cries-No-More struggles against a haze of pain and shock to gather his feet beneath him, arms moving weakly to find a place before himself, guarding against attack. With effort, he finds a final spark of Rage left inside him, and uses it to try and lunge at Grey, jaws aiming for the Walker's throat.
Again, Grey anticipates the attack, and again he calls upon the fire inside him, the fire fueled by Wolverine's blessing. He jerks backward, away from the Wendigo's lunge, and with a spinning kick lashes out at his opponent.
Once more, faster than the eye can see, a third whirling of strikes and dodges commences. The Wendigo, though hazed in mind, channels his Rage to a minute focus and lunges for the Walker's throat again. The Walker in turn dances back, but the ahroun's teeth clamp just around his neck and hang. It isn't nearly firm enough to grip, though, as only through sheer will can the ahroun clasp onto him. Grey's Rage tightens into a furious kick, once again into the Wendigo's midsection. It comes hard and fast, and though Cries-No-More's hands push against the incoming limb, it contacts squarely like a knee to the gut. It's so hard, the sound of ribs cracking can be heard by all sharp lupine ears. It's enough to break the Wendigo's hold on the ex-ahroun, leaving them both staggering back from each other. For the both of them, so much Rage channeling has finally made cracks in their inner control, and both can feel and see the frenzy incoming like a runaway train.
Cries-No-More struggles to keep his head up, to not lose sight of the enemy. Blood pools under him as he trembles, resisting the frenzy welling up in him. Not moving from his spot where he fell, he does all he can to remain still, and in a defensive posture. And the screams keep coming. The pain must be unreal as his body begins to snap bones back into place, little by little.
Grey stands back, breath heaving from his gaping, drooling muzzle, his good eye gleaming and feral behind the tangled, grey-touched mane. He trembles with fury, with the force of the beast straining to break its chains, but with a ragged snarl chokes it back. ~To submission,~ the pure-blooded Glass Walker reminds his foe, even as he shifts his stance in preparation for another round of combat. ~I suggest you yield. You cannot stop me. You cannot beat me. You cannot /break/ me.~ The last is given with another snarl, defiant.
Cries-No-More's spits briefly, trembling defiantly...then with a fresh spout of blood from all over his form, he collapses, throat canted up in Grey's direction, a submissive tone to the clenched screams that still accompany his body's healing.
Grey, teeth bared, stalks forward to stand over his fallen enemy, the very picture of triumphant nobility. His body language screams dominance as he reaches down to grasp the Wendigo's throat and accept his submission.
Runner finally ventures forth when the throat is taken. Clearly not about to make any snarky comments on the situation, her ears slant to either side as she questions, ~Healers needed?~
Leaves-None, having drifted up not too far from Runner, watched through the fight with nervous eyes and tense posture. She remains back within the trees and out of immediate sight, tongue swiping quickly across her muzzle as the fight ends.
Cries-No-More can only cough, tail tucking tightly, reflexively, beneath his blood-soaked legs. Everything about him reaks of submission, but anger broils beneath the whines and plaintive, choking growls.
Grey releases Cries' throat and straightens up. Turning toward the Bone Gnawers, he stands tall, as if he were not bleeding copiously down the front of his torso. ~I'll accept healing, but I don't think I'm going to die anytime soon.~ His tone suggests indifference.
Runner weighs her options for reply, taking a couple steps forward to assess the condition of the Wendigo as well. ~No sense in having two warriors hurt when there are greater enemies waiting to feel their claws,~ she observes with a slow rumble. Turning her head back towards Leaves-None for just that brief moment, the ragabash lifts her head to howl out.
Runner howls long and loud.
From The Sept Compound, Runner can be heard to howl, ~Healers, you are needed! Come to the Sept Compound!~
Cries-No-More's only change is a raise in the tone of his growls, on being released. Pain has forced him into a tightly held fetal posture, but amid his painful utterances, the Wendigo can be heard to mutter, ~Leave me alone.~
Leaves-None edges a little forward until she is just in view, less sure of the situation as it stands than Runner is. Silent observer is all she is going to be playing tonight.
Grey glances down at Cries, snorts, and turns his back on the fallen Wendigo. Stalking a few steps away, he settles himself into a low crouch and closes his eyes. His muzzle wrinkles back from his fangs as he releases his Gift and pain floods his senses, but a low, thin snerl is all the sound he makes.
Cries-No-More is a bloodly mess of wounds on the ground, a submissive stance still held from the end of the Challenge. He appears stuck in place, immobile as internal wounds knit themselves together to the point where he can actually move.
Runner looks back to the Wendigo with everything forced neutral in her gaze. The fostern ragabash paces, careful not to disturb too much of the blood pooled upon the ground. The look she gives her tribemate companion also is less neutral, but by most respects 'professional' in her assessment of the other's reaction to all of this. Finding a spot away from the two fighters, she sits. And waits.
Grey is missing several tufts of his proud, dark pelt and is shifting his head side to side, grimacing at the pain in his neck, but mostly he's bleeding from the significant gashes in his chest area.
Cries-No-More continues to heal, and hold himself mostly still, although his posture gradually, finally, moves from submissive to merely crumpled.
Leaves-None lowers her head a bit before she slowly lowers herself to a sitting position. Ears remain sharply alert and, while not outright staring at either one, she watches Walker and Wendigo closely.
Walks-Middle comes onto the scene at full speed, skidding to a halt as she draws near. What happened? What is needed? Who needs healed?
Runner turns her ears in the direction of the swiftly arriving Guardian, and trots up to meet her not far from the edge of the compound. ~Cries-No-More and Grey fulfilled their challenge,~ she notes plainly. She adds, with a look in the direction of the two, ~Grey would not mind healing. The Wendigo wishes to be left alone.~
Grey squints open his eyes and slowly swivels his head around to look toward Walks-Middle. His gaze is flat and distant.
Walks-Middle looks from Runner to the two wounded Garou, tilting her head as her gaze passes over Cries-No-More. I will help, she answers simply and steps over to where Grey is, examining his wounds.
Runner utters a low acknowledgement, and in the meantime swipes a hind paw over the grass to wipe off some blood on her pawpads. She trots back to Masao, bumping the younger newmoon's shoulder reassuringly and gently.
Grey lets out his breath in a heavy huff that parts the little Gaian's fur, but otherwise holds still for the examination. His claws are still wet with blood; he reeks of it.
Leaves-None gives a low rumble at the contact and relaxes a little, ears dropping down to a less 'wired' cant. Ducking her head for a moment, she paws at her nose a little and looks back up.
Cries-No-More reaches the point where his wounds no longer prevent movement, speech, and clear thought. But pain is etched in his face. No sign of his own Gift for ignoring pain in the Wendigo as he stands, eyes only on Grey. ~Thank you for what you taught me, Grey of the Walkers. I'll see you again soon.~ And he moves off, ignoring everyone else, heading east with blood marking his passage, even after he shifts with a painful grunt to lupus and lopes off.
Walks-Middle turns her head to glance curiously at Cries-No-More as he leaves, then returns her attention to the Walker. She lightly touches the wound on his chest, closing her eyes as she concentrates on the use of her healing gift, willing its success.
Runner watches the Wendigo fostern depart, ears folding back briefly as she appears to think something that doesn't make it to her outward expression. Then, it's back to a more relaxed watchfulness as she looks on over the healing.
Grey glances over toward Cries as he is addressed, but doesn't respond. He continues to breathe steadily and heavily as the gashes in his chest stop bleeding and scab over. When the healing is done, he turns his eye back down to Walks and rumbles something that sounds like thanks before shifting forms downward toward the dire wolf.
Leaves-None has much the same expression as the Fostern Ragabash, albeit with a faintly wistful tinge that can't be held back. She drops her head down onto her paws for the moment and lets out a small sigh.
Walks-Middle backs away from the Walker once the healing has finished, chuffing that he is welcome. She is happy to help.
Runner rumbles quietly, more noting to the other Gnawer than to the others. It's something to the effect of, 'Let's blow this popsicle stand.'
Grey gives the two Bone Gnawers a cold look but says nothing to them. In no hurry to leave, he slowly stretches out on the ground, partially on his side to favor the scabbed, tender area on his chest. His eyes squint half-closed; he reclines like a lion after taking over a pride.
Leaves-None pushes to her feet gradually, lest it seem like she's too eager to leave. With a shake of head and ruff, she whuffs agreeably to Runner and moves to head off into the forest. The Walker's look rolls off of her shoulder as her head turns away from him.
Walks-Middle takes another look around, and then seems to decide her work here is done. With a chuff of farewell to the Bone Gnawers, she turns to head back to the woods.
Back | Next | 2006 Logs | Main