March 2007 Revel: Marvel Fomori
3/3/2007
03:10 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.
Currently the moon is in the waxing Full Moon phase (97% full).
It is currently 14:50 Pacific Time on Sat Mar 3 2007.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 53 degrees Fahrenheit (11 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from variable directions at 5 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.46 and falling, and the relative humidity is 77 percent. The dewpoint is 46 degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius.)
Center of the Caern
This is the central point of the 30-meter-wide clearing. The ground is a mixture of dark, rich, muddy soil mixed with clay, though there is an occasional patch of grass. At the center rests a large white boulder, immovable even by the strongest crinos. The boulder is shot through with streaks of quartz that produces scintillating colors when light strikes it just right. It is, for lack of a wholly adequate word, beautiful.
Around you, twenty yards in every direction, stretches the caern. To the southeast, a waterfall plummets over the edge of the chasm into a small pool in the caern; nearby, to the southwest, steam comes from cracks in the ground, perhaps some of the same water. Northwest, a rocky spar juts out of the ground at a low angle, showing a sloping but smooth top. The chasm walls narrow a bit to the northeast, causing some of the mist to swirl in that area.
Contents:
Lefty (Ferret), Blackriver (Katya), Masao (Leaves-None), Reggie (Rags), Khem (Brightside), Abraxas (Bitter-Harvest), Jacob (Dance-Ender)
Obvious exits:
Rock Slab Windy Spot WaterFall Steam Vents
After the moot winds down the Satire Rite, Rags stalks over to a rock face along the sides of the caern and rakes his claws along the rock, with an eerie pitch like fingernails along a blackboard, simultaneously sharpening his claws and ridding his claws of the rotten fruit and meat used during the Rite.
Not too far away from Rags--though as far as he can get away with--Bitter-Harvest also rakes his claws over the rock. His temper seems to have cooled some. Now he just seems vaguely troubled, and generally irritated.
Blackriver is pacing back and forth, tail twitching in irritation. She occasionally raises her head to glance at her packmate and flicks an ear, before resuming her walk.
Rags glances sideways at the Shadow Lord, surreptitiously measuring Abraxas' claws in their length and sharpness. He quickly transfers his glance to his own claws, regarding them with a slightly troubled air as he flexes them. He turns away from the rock and scans the caern, studying the preparations of those preparing to fight.
Leaves-None lifts her head from where she'd sat to watch the Moot, eventually raising herself up and shaking to settle her fur. A quick bit of stretching warms muscles for the coming fight while her ears remain perked alertly for signals.
Brightside comes back from the corner he has been hiding himself in since the conclusion of the punishment ritual. Stalking up to join the others he just gives a little crinos wave to any who look his direction.
Bitter-Harvest looks in Brightside's direction, but alas, there's nothing remotely pleasant about the look he gives the Strider. He scrapes his claws one more time across the rock for good measure, a bit harder than before.
Blackriver glances at Brightside, and her posture changes to suspicion and confusion as she fails to recognize him. She walks towards him, nose raised slightly to take in his scent. Who are you?
Leaves-None's head turns towards the Strider, body following until she can better see him and, in turn, recognize him. Giving a low, unconcerned, whuff, she takes stock of who all is here and waits.
Brightside looks to Blackriver with a moment of submission offered to the obviously well bred Silver Fang. ~Always-Looks-On-The-Bright-Side-Of-Life, Philodox of the Silent Striders. Warrior at the Hidden Walk's Great Hunt... their sucessful Great Hunt. Just call me Brightside. It's easier.~
Rags marches into the center of the caern, sweeping his gaze about the caern as he performs a headcount. ~We are Garou!~, he exclaims. ~We are the wolves of Gaia!~, he steals the Warder's words, belting them out in a volume that rings off the rock. ~We fight for Gaia! You heard what the Warder said! Tonight, we were at odds, but now we fight together, as one, and we will be victorious!~. He stares harshly around, looking at the effect of his words on the others. ~Howl! Howl for glory! Howl for blood! Howl for Gaia!~
Blackriver flicks her ears in acceptance of both the Strider's submission and introduction, adjusting her posture so she looks larger, although in lupus she's still much smaller than the crinos Philodox. I am Blackriver. She starts. Cliath halfmoon of the First Tribe. She looks like she has more, but Rag's speech interrupts her, and after a moment of hesitation she throws her head up in a howl. Lucky Brightside, he gets the short version of her intro.
Ears almost jump to attention as Leaves-None swivels her attention towards Rags, listening to his loud exclamations with an excited swish of her tail. Her howl is thrown into the air with an eager lift of her muzzle.
Brightside is in the middle of rather enjoying listening to her introduction when the call for howling is given and his head throws back to join in, a dischordant sound just as wolves make to frighten away any who would think of bring them harm.
Bitter-Harvest bares his teeth and offers a howl of his own. It almost has more snarl than howl in it, and it might be debatable just what that anger is directed at, but it's effective, anyway.
Ferret mills among the group, edgy and anxious--rendering the otherwise usually outgoing ragabash much more sober and withdrawn right now.
Rags raises his voice in a discordant howl with the group. After an askance glance at the Fostern, he starts off boldly. ~We go to war!~. The group rushes enmasse out.
Fir Copse(#2862RJ)
This is a grove of evergreens, thick as thistles, the canopy so low it will prick a wolf's ears as it passes. The trees are young but stunted, and the brush is thick, with mad tangles of broken branches and a thick pine needle carpet. Here the greens of spring are already turning to the browns of summer; there's a sense of brittleness and death; despite their youth many of the trees are as cold and bare as bones. Here and there whole trees have been removed from the forest, cut at the root. The closer in you get the more there's the foetid smell of filth growing stronger and stronger, thicker and thicker: faeces and urine, vomit, sex, and blood, like all the sewers of the world have been dredged up and left to sit in the sun a few days. It isn't permeated, yet; it's shallow and hasn't seeped in to the trees and the earth. The fat full moon gleams through the needles of firs and shines off the dozens of bottles, cans, and shiny foil wrappers scattered throughout the undergrowth, thrown haphazardly. A single product predominates, a thin plastic bottle with a tacky old-fashioned label reading, `Newfie Screech`.
Obvious exits:
Meadow
The mass of Garou roars through and over the bawn, frightening many a groundhog and squirrel. Fortunately for their sakes, they are too small prey to interest the moon-mad werewolves, and Rags goes onwards, hunting for larger prey.
The Revelers make their long run on the bawn, their search for the Wyrm on their sacred grounds comes up relatively empty. West, South, East, and finally to the north they travel. It is in this direction, known to hold sparse human habitation past the I-90, that the Garou come close to the area where they had once found Black Spiral Dancers lobbing human corpse heads to litter their bawn. It is this area where keen lupus ears hear the buzzing howls of chainsaws and the fall of axes on their beloved forest. The closer they draw towards the source of the sounds, past thinning, barely regrowing trees amidst old sentinels, that they can spot firelight dancing within a minute's run away. Harsh cackling and coughing, as well as the sounds of human voices speaking, greet them.
Blackriver's hackles raise at the sound of chainsaws, and she lets out a low, barely audible growl, fur bristling with rage.
Brightside gives ragged breathing now, fighting between the desire to roar out and remain silent. ~Not again,~ is all he manages to belt out as his hackles tighten.
Ferret does not let her missing foot slow her down. Long lopes keep the Gnawer with the rest of the pack, though admittedly at the back of it. The sight of fire makes her snarl.
Leaves-None recognizes bits of the terrain here and there as the group moves, pacing along with the group with senses alert. Her ears cant towards the sounds of the machinery and a growl rises in her throat. Coming up by Ferret, hackles raised, she eyes the firelight and paws at the ground.
Bitter-Harvest makes no noise, though his narrowed eyes and flattened ears likely tell as much as any growl would. He glances at the others, gauging their reactions, and then peers off toward the sounds, tense and alert.
Rags turns at the sound of the chainsaws, and he veers towards the firelight. It's as though the laughter consists of direct insults at him personally--Rags snarls frantically and plunges forwards through the trees with little heed for caution.
Dance-Ender moves alongside of Ferret, his pace and gaze intent upon their hunt. The Gaian wolf moves with an eager confidence, and while his ears swivel to the sounds, he follows the lead of the more long standing members of the sept.
The group ventures closer, and the distant firelight reveals their forest's assailants. What sounded like humans clearly are not. A group of six beastly and ghastly looking fomori cut away at the forest around them. Litter is scattered all over the ground, ranging from camping gear to potato chip bags to beer cans. Two burly looking men, one chewing away with a cigar in his mouth and the other with sunglasses (at this time of night) a reddish tinged skin made more so by the fire wield the twin pair of chainsaws and work away in competition to see who can fell their tree the fastest. Witnessing this are the others: a waif of a woman wearing very little and covered in green sores, wielding her own large axe with some difficulty, a literal beast of a man with four arms not unlike a certain metis of the sept, but these all quite strong and muscular and wielding hatchets in each hand rapidly chopping at another tree, another man whose constantly watching the fire and flicking a lighter on and off, and a hairless man in a business suit who looks the most normal of all. Amongst them, one large dog suddenly pricks its ears and lets loose a rabid howl before charging straight for the Garou who approach. The wolf-like mutt bounds around the fire, jaws slavering and foaming to the edge of the firelight where it stops and barks up a storm in the Wyrmfoe's direction. So alerted, the others quickly stop what they're doing, save for the two wielding chainsaws, and those not already wielding weapons reach for them.
Brightside growls out and bites in the Wyrmfoe's direction, a motion of grabbing attention mixed with his rage. ~Death. Death. To the Halls with these Wyrm-Whores.~
~THERE!~, Rags howls. ~Slay them all! Pick your targets! Destroy them!~, he gives basic directions.
Blackriver needs no further command. Herself, she heads for the dog as the closest target, jaws open to rip it into shreds.
Bitter-Harvest's already narrow eyes narrow further as he gets a good look at the fomori. At Rag's command, his ears lift, but there's a half moment in which he focuses on the four armed brute before he charges.
Brightside moves over the ground with an unnatural speed born of Gaia's gifts. His target seems to be the woman with the axe, whom the Strider has claws out, fangs bared, and is ready to engage.
Claws flexing viciously into the earth below, Dance-Ender gives the Gnawer beside him a quick glance before he charges in. He takes stock of who is headed toward which target, and then he veers to take a yet unchosen one. His choice, perhaps stereotypical, is one of the chainsaw wielding brutes, in hopes of saving those huggable trees. Fangs, and claws are at the ready.
Rags takes a moment to watch the other Garou sort out the scene before them, then he charges just after the Child of Gaia, going for the other chainsaw wielder.
Leaves-None snarls and takes a few steps forward, eyes shifting between the gathereed targets quickly. Then, as Dance-Ender charges forward, she's moving perhaps a heartbeat later on a different path. The man in the business suit is her target, albeit a cautious one since normal is not always as it seems.
Ferret matches the Gaian move for move. When it comes to targetting, she takes the one with the lighter. Leaping high in the air, the Gnawer ragabash brandishes teeth and claws to try and knock the man to the ground.
The Garou quickly converge on their targets, who await their arrival with bristling eagerness. Blackriver's target, the Wyrmy mutt, beats a fast retreat towards the rest of the fomor group before wheeling away nimbly like a collie called to turn a herd. The dog swings its ass end around to a skidding halt just as the hispo'd Fang attacks, its deformed power manifesting as it opens its mouth wide. So wide, the Silver Fang charges right into those waiting jaws and buries her head within them. Noxious fumes assail her sense of smell, but more importantly the hound's distended maw starts to wiggle and creep over her neck and shoulders, swallowing her down like a python.
Bitter-Harvest charges forward to meet the four-armed Beast, spying the convulsions of the bottom two arms showing a clear lack of actual control in them. There isn't time for more than that, however, as suddenly the man opens his mouth to roar. It is a twisted version of a sonorous voice, both high and low pitched at once, grating the wrong way at the very souls of all the Garou who hear. The battlecry fills the air, halting not only the Shadow Lord ahroun dead in his tracks with fear, but distracting many of the others in their forward charge. The pause gives him a crystal clear view of the seven foot tall multi-armed man charging towards him with all four axes at the ready, and completely unable to stop him.
One of those is the Strider, Brightside, who reaches the sore-covered woman and attacks, only to rip away her skin like a husk. The skin wriggles and tears in his claws, but the ethereal arms reach up to plaster over the philodox's face, covering his head and slowly suffocating him. The skinless woman's inner organs are exposed, pulsating green with spore-like fungus in the light.
Dance-Ender's charge towards the cigar chewer, who suddenly bristles with spiked barbs emerging all over his body. The Coggie's subsequent strike is echoed in kind, claws tear into flesh but only after receiving a multitude of minute stabbings. The chainsaw is whirled around and slams into him, metalling chains biting in unmercifully and whirring noisily into his torso.
The Wyrmfoe comes charging like a bull on the reddish shaded man, who promptly leaves the chainsaw whirling in the tree he's cutting, throws off his shades and drawing out a handgun that barks out repeated shots. Bullets fly into the Uktena ahroun's face, though none do immediate damage nor stop him from burying his claws into the reddish man's chest. It's here the ahroun finds a hidden attack, as acid burns away his flesh, eating towards his bones.
The two Gnawers run towards their targets simulatneously, but Sao is stopped by the Wyrm's Roar emanating from the four-armed fomor as well. She trips, landing at the feet of the businessman who simply looks down upon her with a cruel smile and withdraws two knives from his belt. They glint with deadly meaning - silver. He says nothing, raising the knives up, ready to bury themselves into her skull.
Ferret's high leap brings her down upon the lighter, but on her downward arc the man's back bursts open with multiple tentacles slavered in a foul smelling liquid. They wrap around the crinos' limbs, slick with a sharp, chemical smell.
Blackriver lets out a roar. A roar that's somewhat muffled considering that her head's stuck in a dog. She begins to fight back vigorously, clawing blindly at the dog. Her head swerves and she tries to bite at it from the inside too, anything to make that thing dead as fast as possible.
Rags pushes his weight into his arms, digging his claws into the reddish man's chest until he can find bone, then pulls down and away, attempting to open up the innards of the man to the open air, although his arms turn shaky as his flesh burns.
Bitter-Harvest remains immobile for what seems like an eternity, but as the four armed monster gets within swinging range he suddenly explodes into motion with a furious snarl, moving in close in an attempt to make the axes all but useless, while in the same motion he rips upward with both sets of claws, aiming for the undersides of the stronger set of arms, right where arm meets torso.
Quills and metal teeth at once bring a rush of rage to the Galliard Gaian. He moves when the chainsaw is in a backswing, hopefully able to dodge another attack from it, and sends both front paws clawing at his target, aiming first for the arms and hands so that he might tear the weaver weapon free and leave the other defenseless to pick it up again.
Ferret chokes and gags at the acrid smell that assaults her nose. For a moment she can do nothing but gather her will to breath. Nostrils flare, and she snarls at the thing with which she grapples. Teeth snap forward, trying to by pass the tentacles and go for the things throat in an attempt to rip it clean out.
A sharp whine squeezes out of Leaves-None's throat, cutting off her stone for a moment as she falls. It takes effort to channel Rage into overcoming the sudden fear from the roar and see the knives aimed for her. Then the snarl returns as she gets her feet under her and launches herself upwards with jaws spread. Her target is the man's otherwise unguarded crotch.
Brightside, through a force of will and rage combined manages to hold his breath for now and first goes to shove a clawed hand right into the guts of the 'woman', gripping and claws ripping. The other clawed crinos grip goes to close on her head, claws digging into the back. The Strider then goes to lift her up into the air, and throw her with rage driven force towards the still standing bulk of one among the very trees they sought to destroy.
Like a python in the middle of its meal, the fomori wolf is completely unable to defend itself save to bite down further. The mad clawing of Blackriver grinds her flesh against the sharp teeth of the dog's own fangs, its poisonous foam and bile billowing up from the guts of the dog, covering the Fang like green shaving cream, seeping into her blood and maddening her even more. She can feel her claws rip away, tearing a hole just big enough in the skin of the canine's torso. Still, the jaws creep over her.
From above the group, a harsh cry calls. Flapping through the air, a bat winged looking creature lets go of a youth who nimbly drops to the ground on all fours amidst the battle. A quick look around, and then he shoots out a sticky looking tongue to plaster onto Dance-Ender's left leg, pulling it out from under him, bringing him down a notch, face-to-face with the burlesque, barbed fomor. Simultaneously, the Gaian's claws find their purchase in the cigar chewing man, whose own hands swipe at the crinos' exposed face to pierce sensitive features. Though Dance-Ender connects to send sprays of acidic ichor onto himself and the ground around him, eviscerating the man, he is quickly rendered blind and unable to smell.
Bright, sickly green balefire blasts from above towards Bitter-Harvest and Rags as they battle their opponents, the first hitting the Shadow Lord square in his back as he comes out of his stun. The mutation warps dangerously, jerking his spine out of his back and twisting agonizingly into a horrendous, hunchbacked shape just after he tears off the arms of the axe-wielding beast. The other two axes however, slam into the Shadow Lord's shoulder and he also gets headbutted hard, knocking him back onto his pained back.
The second gout of balefire misses the Wyrmfoe, hitting instead the tree beside where Rags and the red skin fight. Pupils dilate and the Uktena looks unto the eyes of the Wyrm granted to this fomor, and a maddening urge to kill everything and everyone rises within him as well. It results in his tearing apart of all that's left of the fomor's innards, dropping acidic organs onto the ground and his feet. Any contact burns and eats his flesh. When the Wyrmfoe pulls out his claws, they are nearly completely digested.
The Gnawers and Khem fare better. The Strider's rapid wit sends his claws into the woman, her fungal touch creeping up his limbs as he reaches blindly, finds contact and hurls her bodily into a tree. Interestingly, the slam sends spores launching into the air, wafted by the winds to fall where they may and linger. Those still breathing must hold their breath as he does, or risk infection.
Masao's attack comes as a definite surprise. Her jaws bite deep into the mind bender's genitals, eliciting a painful, painful cry. Anger drives his next action, in which both his silver knives are stabbed deep into the ragabash just before he too falls backwards onto the ground beside her.
Ferret lunges forward for the pyro's throat, but before she latches on, fomor gouts another foul smelling bile right onto her face. The lighter clicks on, and with but a touch of flame, the area with the two of them is set on fire - including both the fostern and the fomor together.
Blackriver lets out another roar of rage, and begins shaking all over. She jerks from side to side, spending a moment attempting to calm herself, and then slowly tries to ease her way out of the dying dog.
Dance-Ender is pulled out from under himself, lands heavily and is suddenly rendered half senseless. Claws flail madly now and the sick snarl he lets up is clue to the building rage and nearing frenzy as he fights. Behind him, a sticky tongue holds his leg, and his free hind leg starts pumping and kicking like a cat attacking a ball of yarn, in hopes of freeing himself.
Leaves-None clenches hard on her jawful as she connects, snarling in triumph however brief it may be. She doesn't let go as the blades sink into her, a yelp in the back of her throat from the searing pain. If anything, the spasms of pain tighten her grip briefly before she drops to the ground.
Bitter-Harvest makes an agonized choking noise as he hits the ground writhing. See, there's pain, and then there's...balefire. Glagh. He fixes his gaze on the four armed brute (now minus two), and curls his claws. SPOOT. Fighting fire with fire? It's his favorite trick after all.
Ferret's snarls take on a maddened, frantic tone, and the Gnawer leaps off the fire-engulfed fomor. She has no specific direction, only the immediate thought to get away from the fire. Already engulfed herself, however, she is nothing less than a living torch, and she runs in circles until she falls to the ground to try and roll and put herself out.
Brightside leaves that hunk of husked off flesh on his face for now, perhaps as a barrier to the spores. Instead of worring about taking it off he turns and launches himself at full supernatural speed of thought into the side of the disarmed (hyuck) axewielder, claws first gripping onto arms and jaws seeking to chew out throat.
Rags shakes with rage as he stands among the acidic organs of the chainsaw wielder. With effort, he struggles to focus on his task, and lifts a hand--to see the missing claws. The chainsaw in the tree momentarily tempts him, but one attempt at flexing his hands quickly dissuades him, and he turns his attention onto the creature who's tonguing the Gaian, charging forward in a dive, snapping his jaws on the boy.
Gradually, Blackriver manages to extract herself from the quite dead dog carcass she's half swallowed in. Like a python swallowing a large crocodile. It wasn't pretty. The philodox escapes her foam, fanged prison, where not a moment too soon balefire engulfs the carcass, mutating it into a radioactive green flaming corpse. A screech of rage emits from the one flying in the sky.
Dance-Ender's struggles are to no avail, as the tongue pulls hard back. On the other hand, he is the heavier of the two, and his kicks stretch and pull the frog-tongued fomor to a tightened stretch, giving Rags the opportunity to fall, literally, on him. Jaws of the Wyrmfoe close on tongue and part of the fomor's face, chewing down and through the sticky appendage. The help frees Dance-Ender, and Rags bites down onto a flailing fomor.
Brightside converges on the beastly, former axe-wielder with a speed unmatched from his opponent. Just before the Strider reaches the fomor, flames manifest from Bitter-Harvest's gift and engulf the beast, setting his clothes aflame and startling the monser. The Strider's claws slice into unprotected flesh, sending a pained roar out of the fomor who turns and blindly swipes his own claws hands at the Strider, catching him in the shoulder superficially. Then Brightside's jaws lock onto the beast's throat, cutting off his cries, but singes himself quite thoroughly in the process. The winged fomor in the sky sees this however, and banks to come around focusing on the Strider and the downed Shadow Lord.
With Masao down and Ferret on fire, the Gnawers are on their own. Ferret's frantic rolling takes longer than she'd hoped to even remotely put out the fire. Instead, she's covering the ground with the burning napalm-like chemical, setting the place aflame.
Ferret seems unaware she's actually helping to spread the fire rather than put it out. All she knows is she wants it off her, and off her NOW. She continues to roll, claws digging into the dirt to try and 'bury' herself.
~BALEFIRE,~ Bitter-Harvest warns in a loud but strangled voice as he spies the swooping fomor. It hurts like hell to move, but he moves anyway, or at least tries to, not at all up for taking another hit of that stuff. The Shadow Lord tries to roll onto his stomach, where he can use arms and legs to propel him froglike out of the way of any blasts. His focus is entirely on the flying fomori.
Rags' mass and inertia obey the laws of physics, even if little else does, as he lands on the frog-tongued fomor. His claws are gone, and his fingers good now only for drawing finger paintings with his blood, but he pins down the fomor with what's left of his arms as he bites through the fomor's face, tearing it away.
Blackriver's gums pull back from her lips in disgust at the dead dog, and she gives herself a shake, sending foaming oooze flying everywhere. The winged fomori's cry gets her attention, and she turns to take a running leap to bring it down, jumping far farther than the laws of physics dictate she should.
When Dance-Ender feels his leg freed of the hold, he turns upright and gets off his belly. Still missing both sight and smell, the hispo swivels his ears frantically to take in his surroundings. Relying on the others around him, he moves toward the nearest Garou, Rags, and lets the other be his eyes and nose. ~Give my claws something to fight!~ he growls out, keeping himself near the Uktena.
Brightside uses a quick flicking motion to tear out the throat of the fomori he is tangling with, dropping him to the ground, turning his head towards the approaching Balefire Fomor and sticking his tongue out to give a 'raspberry'. Now the Strider runs with great speed, towards pulling the skin from off his nostrils at least, at the same time. He is running right at the silver knife wielding man, looking over his shoulder a couple of times waiting for the moment to make the leap out of the way of incoming balefire.
The frog-tongued fomor flails his last as Rags' massive jaws crunch his head like stale cheetos. In moments, the flailing stops and the body's brains ooze with a putrid stench. The Wyrmfoe can feel his tongue tingling with a lesser, diluted taste of acid and blood mixing in his jaws, eating away taste buds and the crowns of his fangs slowly. Dance-Ender is left to fend for himself, though he luckily still has his sense of hearing and is able to focus in on the locations of the two battles still on-going.
Ferret continues to roll and roll, covering herself with dirt until finally there's enough to put herself out. The fostern is a mess of burnt flesh, smoking fur, and dirt-mixed napalm covering her, rendering her nigh unrecognizable.
A bitter screech emits from the fomor in the sky, about to loose another gout of balefire that barely clips Bitter-Harvest's fur, curling it instantly with the tainted heat. The majority strikes the ground where he had lain, causing the dirt and grass to bubble with a mud-like quality. Then, a boulder about half the size of the one in the caern's heart drops, clipping one of the fomor's wings and diverting it further down into range of Blackriver's jaws. Thick fangs of the Fang catch the lowered wing, pulling the creature down to the ground with a surprised gargling howl, rolling with Blackriver to a halt. Up close, the balefire fomor is barely human, covered in reptilian scales and eyes almost aglow with the heat of what burns within. Fangs bare, and its maw opens and starts to glow green again.
Brightside speeds his way towards Sao's location, and as he looks back to avoid a balefire attack not coming, a couple of bullets whizz by his head with their sharp report. Baldy's aim is off, the man dying from severe bloodloss, but not so much that he doesn't coldly regard the Strider who closes in on him.
It takes a moment for Blackriver to realize what the fomor is doing. She blinks groggily, and then reaches a clawed paw out to try to pin the fomor's head down, balefire mouth to the ground. Or at least, in some direction pointing away from her.
Brightside snorts heavily, putting himself between the gun wielding baldy and Masao, whom he grabs both silver knifes, and pulls them out of the poor Garou's chest. Head bowed while he tries to ignore any bullets that might strike him in the back. The thin Strider crinos then, in a move right out of the circus he was raised in, bends over backwards to bury the knifes into the Fomor. Brightside then pushes himself up into a handstand...knifestand?... and then flips over on to his feet, standing by the Fomori's head in the completion of the sommersault. Rage gone and spent from him, he melts back down to the homid form, a little singed from the earlier fire.
Barely able to stand the taste of the acid, Rags spits out out what he can. He staggers away from the frog-tongued fomor, unable to use his hands as support without great pain, and moves alongside Dance-Ender, leaning into him to push him along to where the balefire fomor is fighting with two other Garou. ~There~, he informs the Gaian, and nearly chokes from the effort of saying the word with that much acid having burnt away his tongue and teeth.
Bitter-Harvest scrambles at the ground, snarling. Now that the immediate threat of being consumed in balefire appears--not quite so immediate, he starts forward on all fours as quickly as he can, teeth gnashing as he aims for the now-downed flying fomori, wary of that glowing mouth.
Ferret takes stock of what's going on. Rising from the dirt, smoke curls off her like a billowing cloak, and yellow eyes pear out of a burned and furless muzzle. She spits out a snarl as she spies Rags and Dance-Ender going after the balefire fomor. Lumbering forward, despite her distaste for more fire, she moves to attack along with them.
Dance-Ender moves easily, trusting the direction given him by the Wyrmfoe. Where one Garou is the eyes and nose, the other is the claws. The Gaian moves on the ready for attack, but is cautious to use his claws without seeing where they will land. He leaves this up to Rags, only striking when the Wyrmfoe has given him the call to do so.
Thrashing beneath Blackriver's weight and screeching up a high-pitched, ear-piercing storm, the balefire fomor's initial intention to attack her is prevented as she pushes its face groundwards. The other Garou converging, it isn't long before they are all within claw or fang's reach.
The rest of the magazine fires at Brightside, done at point blank range, and yet the focus of the philodox holds as he performs his murderous gymnastics. Knives sink themselves into the torso of the fomor, and one of them right into his throat. For a brief moment, Brightside and the fomor's eyes meet, the latter's expression incredulous before fading to a dull, lifeless glint. The knive in the torso breaks off, but Brightside's training helps him steady himself.
Blackriver strengthens her grip on the fomor's head, moving her other paw to join the first and push it deeper into the ground. Then she jerks her head forward to take a bite out of the formor's body. Otherwise, she lets the rest of the Garou help themselves to some killing.
Ferret converge with the rest of the sept garou, fighting for room to tear at the balefire beast. She uses her one good claw and her teeth to rip and tear at his flesh.
Bitter-Harvest comes in with a vengeance, biting and clawing in a fury, the pain of his severely twisted spine momentarily pushed into an afterthought. He wants as much of this thing as he can get.
Khem stands there, in homid. Bleeding, but accomplished. After a moment as a thought occurs to him and his face screws up in worry, he limps over to check on Masao.
Rags continues marching besides the Gaian until they get within claw and tooth's reach--although Rags doesn't have much of either left. ~Kill~, Rags manages the word with much pain, blood foaming and falling from his burned mouth. As the fomor is already well-attended to by Garou, Rags takes a moment to look about for sign of more fomors.
Dance-Ender is given the clear, and the Gaian reaches his claws into the fomor, tearing and shredding like a rabid cat on a nip-filled scratching post. Face bloodied, and quills still piercing into arms and hands, the Galliard vents his pain by assaulting the very beasts that caused it.
Muffled cries issue from the fomor as it continues to thrash, but held down as it is there's no method of fighting back, save that its blood is boiling hot and burns just as much. Every jaw that closes down on the mutant's flesh sizzles the moment skin is broken, and greenish ichor spurts out to eat away fur and flesh. Every claw that rends flesh is met with a heated chemical blood, the feeling of even touching it clearly unsettling with such strong taint oozing from its plasmic nature. Even so, the fury of the Garou is unmatched and soon the monster is rent to slowly dissolving pieces here and there.
The battlefield is burning, bloody, and boiling with taint that hangs in the air and on the ground. Just looking around, all the corpses are in various stages of decay as the lifeless bodies are burned by their own tainted powers. The fire in the middle of the camp - the normal one - continues to crackle and dance without regard for the situation. The tickling feeling in the back of throats results from the various Wyrmy guts down them, and the spores in the air.
Rags notices the downed Gnawer, and starts off across the battlefield, his path twisting around all the spots set on fire by Ferret, to find out if Leaves-None has left this life.
Masao, sprawled on the ground in birthform, looks decidedly worse for wear; only remotely better with the silver yanked out of her. Unconscious and bleeding, the Gnawer is still here, but barely so.
Ferret goes to her knees coughing and joking on the foul, burning flesh. Inside and out now, the Gnawer is smoking and crisped. It takes several moments before she stops wheezing enough to look up again. Only then does she notice that her rolling caused little fires all around them. Muttering and cursing to herself, she stumbles to her feet to try and put them out. She kicks dirt to cover and smother them, one by one.
Khem, already hovering over Masao, speaks to the Wyrmfoe with an affirming, "She lives. They had silver."
Blackriver's first instinct is to lick her teeth and gums. That, of course, just makes her tongue burn, and she resorts to thrashing her head back and forth in pain. She calms after a moment, and looks around the battlefield, slowly moving to help Ferreth put out the fires, and sparring Masao a concerned glance.
Bitter-Harvest continues venting his rage on the fomori carcass even after it's clearly very dead and in several pieces, in spite of the burning blood and ichor. When he's done though...well. He's quite done. The metis rolls onto his side and twitches, trying to mentally will his spine to unknot itself.
With his guide having vanished, Dance-Ender uses his ears as confirmation the battle is over. He drops to his rear haunches, taking the weight off of his quilled forelegs and paws. Sightless, and with clawed face, he can do little to start removing the barbed spears from his flesh so he simply remains still and waits, catching his breath and willing his body to heal faster.
Rags squints at Masao, and nods at Khem in affirmation of Khem's observation. He looks back over to where he left the Gaian, and calls out, ~Dance-Ender! Do you heal?~
Dance-Ender lets out a regretful snort, shaking his large lupine head. ~No..~
Blackriver looks up from her work, and wordlessly offers to run and get a healer.
Bitter-Harvest seems perfectly content to lie where he is and twitch for the moment. Ow. Ow ow ow ow ow.
Ferret eventually collapses to the ground, as well. she's obviously hurting, but not beyond help or hope. She simply needs to rest for a while. As she continues to wheeze, she looks around, taking in each of them. When her eyes fall on Masao's unmoving frame, and the others fussing over her, her ears flatten.
"A Rite of Cleansing must be performed here," Khem adds with a low cough, noting the spores slowly covering the ground, though fortunately the bodies have mostly destroyed themselves. "Cleansers and healers. But first, Wyrmfoe... is this victory?"
~Go~ is Rags' literally bloody word, as foamy blood continues dribbling from his mouth. The dying down fires catch his attention, and he starts to leave Khem and Masao to check a nearby fire, when he catches Khem's question, and turns back. ~They are dead!~, he roars out.
Blackriver zips down into lupus and takes off towards the bawn as fast as her legs can carry her. Thank God (or Gaia) for Resist Pain.
After roaring out that affirmation of victory, Rags performs a double-take at Abraxas, then takes a longer look with head tilted, trying to figure out just how the spine discs fit together. A nice puzzle to figure out.
This is something probably better left unasked. Needless to say, Bitter-Harvest doesn't join in on any post-fight howls of victory. He's twitching, gritting his teeth, and that's it.
Blackriver comes back a while latter with a healer, who busily gets to work fixing people up to the best of their ability. The Fang circles around making sure everyone is relatively okay, helping Jacob pull out those quills and making sure the area's all set up to be cleansed.
After he can pull himself away from staring at Abraxas' twisted back, Rags extracts the silver knives with some difficulty, and kicks the gun away from Baldy. The chainsaws, he leaves in the trees for the Cleansing process. He checks that Masao's taken off to the infirmary in the farmhouse, and walks the area again for more surprises before leaving the area to be Cleansed later.
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