Webwork [ST'd by Harv: Fire Claws, Asha, Erek, Mila]

[Attrition] "There's a blockage somewhere on the Western edge of Cabrini's reflection..."

Every Garou that was part of the Sept was required to run some Gauntlet and Guardian duty at some point or another. Patrols were a regular commodity within the Caern proper and no single Garou was exempt from the duty, tedious and somewhat superfluous as it might have been with so many of the Guardians to do the job. Still, part of duty was commitment and part of that commitment was dedication.

It is also an untold fact that patrols are meant to bring together small collections of Garou to go out and handle situations at a moment's notice, without howling about it for minutes in all directions. Easy enough to go and handle a Wyrm blight or incursion with those on hand as well as get word out to the necessary packs when one of their members was patrolling the bawn at any given moment.

"We isolated it to a few of the standard areas normally inhabited by the Wyrm and it's Beast of War affiliates. Hounds, scrags nothing out of the ordinary but activity has been quiet as of late."

Webrunner was a busy creature. He'd spent years mapping much of Chicago's penumbral expanse and watching the Taint and levels of triatic influence throughout the City ebb and wax with regularity, enough that he could probably have told just about anyone, anything they needed to know about what the Umbra in Chicago was doing at any given moment. A whisper from a Pigeon spirit or a Cockroach could deliver news of a forming Blight in need of stamping out or an Elemental blaze that was going out of control.

So it could hardly be considered out of the ordinary when he sent out brief messages to those in the bawn at the moment, picking out individuals with deft skill via small Gafflings and bringing them to his side for Briefing. He was a lean fellow in a lot of layers, fiddling with some ITouch or other touch pad device, sitting on a chuck of metal debris from the shipyard.

"Lot of you need to go clear the blockage as best you can. Flow of traffic out that way isn't meant to be so congested and the Wyrmlings start bulking up in that area, it's going to be a shit storm in another month. Fix the issue and get back to me as soon as you can with what's going on so I can moniter any other possible incursions..."

And that was that. The Glasswalker didn't seem entirely caring of their mode of transport or direction. He simply needed it done and it meant no more boring guardian duty as a superfluous unit to the Caern's true Protectors. The area in question was barely a thirty minute walk on human legs.

[Fire Claws] A call to duty was something that all Garou must abide when they are asked by the Warders. It was an honor to ensure the safety of the caern, not to the wyrm was constantly knocking at the Sept's door and any chance to knock back was a welcome change. That and Fire Claws felt this was probably the best chance to test his little ward. A mission handed down to them on something umbral would make the little teenage girl learn in the heat of battle. The only proper way for any Get to learn is in the forge of war.

Fire Claws dragged Gwen along for the ride on this one, listening to what Webrunner had to say. Debating what was needed for this mission to work.

[Stormbreaker] Mila's dark hair was pulled back into a low poney tail. A pair of sunglasses were perched atop of head. Arms were crossed across her chest as she listened to the Guardian lay out the mission. It was up to them to determine a plan.

Oddly hued green flicked across the faces of those gathered. There was only one she'd recognized and that was from a meeting over a year ago. It seemed Chicago's Sept was changing and growing every day. It wasn't a bad development, but this might have been an easier task if it were with people who's skills she knew and trusted.

"Right then - we'll go take a look. The only question is, ya'll want to slip Umbral here, or get down there.. see what things look like realm side before we pop over to clean it up?"

[Kalaratri] In her human skin, Asha is a black-eyed, sharply formed girl, not yet eighteen years old, with a certain slightness that never crosses into delicacy - in only because of her physical confidence, because of the spark of rage underneath her skin. The way she moves, as sure of her body, of its rightness, its rectitude, its power as most people are of the shape of their hands, the unconscious space they take up in the world.

She wears fine things, though not particularly fashionable. Not in the Caern, and rarely elsewhere. When she gathers with the others, her hands are already blooded - gloved in blood, the strong smell of iron in the air around her from some half-finished sacrifice to an oak-bound storm-bound god. She wipes them steadily on her fitted black jeans, getting only a sport, maybe two, on the cuffs of her white oxford blouse.

Her hair is loose; it looks like someone curled it today because it masses around her face and shoulders like some movie star's deceptively casual mane.

"We go over here," she returns, a steady look at Stormbender, a glance toward Fire Claws and Gwen. There's a British lilt to her voice; something softer, too - some internal exotic dissonance. "Gauntlet's softer. We can run in lupus, peek if we need to peek from there."

[Gwen Sullivan] Gwen and Fire Claws spent plenty of time in the Caern and it's Bawn. It was a good place for a cub to learn-- safe and protected with a thin Gauntlet and no prying eyes or straining ears to document Shifting, Learning, or Punishing. It was here that they worked, out in the Woods that things were more relaxed. There they would hunt, there Gwen felt like she could speak a little more freely with her mentor, asking honest questions without fear of his ire at her ignorance or not catching on fast enough to a lesson.

Today was a Work Day. Gwen and Fire Claws had been here for some time, bundled up in winter clothes and fighting the chill, going over intricacies of the Law and how it applied to those that were not True Born Garou. The interruption, the summoning by Webrunner in passing, wasn't necessarily unwelcome but it wasn't openly rejoiced either. Fire Claws saw it as an opportunity for hands-on learning and jumped aboard, seizing Gwen by her arm and literally hauling her along with until he was confident that her feet matched his and she wouldn't try to dawdle or shirk duties.

Not that she would anyways. They gather as a group, and Gwen stays within a few feet of Fire Claws's side while listening, hands in her heavy black coat pockets, hat tugged over her head to keep her ears warm. She didn't entirely understand the idea of an obstruction of Umbral traffic, so she didn't really say much as far as suggesting plans. She was busy visualizing what this 'blockage' could be made of.

[Erek Skulason] *Call of duty, it is a concept he was growing accustomed to. The young Get of Fenris would be found prowling the bawn when the Gaffling had found him, and the order came through for assistance. Whether his brand of skill would be put any use or not, he accepted the call and showed, being an able body was just as good as any. It would be a learning experience for Erek*

Hmm...

*The pitch of his voice cracks slightly, forcing him to clear his throat several times before speaking. Shaggy blond hair swept across his brow, blue eyes taking in the scene around him as he pulled up to the meeting place, the young Get of Fenris glancing around with curious eyes. His viking's blood pounding heavily in his veins and his appearance as he wore the face of a Get that had died gloriously in battle, and became reborn as him*

[Stormbreaker] "I would agree." Stormbreaker responds.

"Does anyone know the area in which this blockage is particularly well? Someone who knows the ins and outs of the area, both umbral and not?" If she had to take a guess, Asha did not - the area seemed a little too dirty for the likes of the Fang, but no doubt she'd be useful in other ways.

The others, she did not know - perhaps they would offer some insight into the area.

[Fire Claws] He hated the bitter cold of winter in this city. Each day seemed worse than the last and there was no comfort in this monkey skin. No fur to protect from the heat, no den to call one's own, nothing but cement and concrete.

"I 'gree wit Silver Fang, easia to cross 'ere. Wolf form good for scoutin, runnin, 'untin."

He looks at Gwen once more to size up the monkey girl. Her spiritual capability was a little lacking and trying to cross would only cause some sort of problem if she did it in the middle of the Green.

"Area close to Jarl's territory. Dangerous."

[Erek Skulason] *Erek rolls his tongue inside his mouth, from left to right and back again, arching blond eyebrows as he listens to the other Garou. He doesn't have a thin to offer as this wasn't exactly his territory and he didn't know all her secrets just yet*

[Gwen Sullivan] Fire Claws was concerned about Gwen's ability to push through the Gauntlet. If she was thinking of that aspect of the Umbra-- the getting there-- she'd be worried too. Rather she's concerning herself with what she's going to find when they do arrive and how to cope with it then. Imagining situation after situation, working through probable solutions for them as she went.

This made her look almost senseless-- because her mind wasn't so much in the conversation as ahead of it. It made her all the more forgettable that she didn't open her mouth, but just stood quiet and thoughtful, hands in her pockets and expression blank. The most her face moved was so she could tongue idly at the back of the crystal stud in the cleft of her upper lip.

[Kalaratri] "No." Stormbreaker's assumption was correct. The blood (mostly) wiped from her hands now stiffens her jeans, but the black fabric hides the stain except for the stiffness. She crosses her arms then, turning to look at Fire Claw, Gwen, and Erek each in turn. She's calmer now. The moon's waning; her rage is softer inside her chest. It gives her room to think; to breathe inside her body.

When Fire Claws speaks up, Asha nods. Her mane of black hair is a soft contrast to the stiffness of her well-starched collar. The white shirt is menswear - an Oxford - all straight lines, and the intimation of her body underneath is boyish rather than feminine except in the details - the just of a fine-boned wrist, the long fingers, the well-made hands, the subtle softness of her torso.

"I'm k&+257;lar&+257;tri, daughter of Vision of the Fall, great-great-great granddaughter of Svatantrya and descendant of the Maharaja Bahadur, the Great Prince of Princes, House Blood Red Crest, cliath Ahroun, member of the Unbroken," she gives a brief, shark-bright smile. "That's the short version, because my herald isn't here."

She glances at Fire Claws. "If you know the territory, we'll follow you there. If it comes to a battle, though - " a quicksilver sort of grin, all bright, " - take my lead."

Asha waits for other replies, introductions, the like - then pushes across the gauntlet, a certain native eagerness around alive underneath her skin.

[Kalaratri] (**descendant of the Descendant of the Maharajadhiraja Bahadur.)

[Stormbreaker] Soo.. none of them really knew the area. Fire-Claw's assesment only included it was 'dangerous' and near 'the Jarl's territory.' That was.. super helpful. But, even if he kinda knew where they were going, they'd follow him.

The female Lord just nodded slightly, and waited for Asha's introduction to conclude prior to her speaking up agian.

"It sounds like we sort of have a plan then. Let's try to keep this whole thing on the DL though, right? Nice and calm.. like we're there for business and then let's get the H out and come back home.."

"Oh.. and for those of you who don't know, I'm Stormbreaker. Cliath, Galliard. Grandchild of Thunder and Alpha of Darksky."

[Fire Claws] He turned between several of the gathered, each seemingly coming from a long line of heroes. He and his ward were somewhat on the outs when it comes to such things. For him, wolves didn't travel from the old world to the new one that often, not to mention his line was almost purely wolf. As for Gwen, well... she was a lost pup. Not much to go on there.

He waiting a few more moment as the introductions were made. Finally turning to him, he spoke up. His words touched in a southern accent, a horrific butcher of the english language.

"I Fire-Claws, Forseti Cliath and this cub. My ward. Gwen."

His thumb pulled out of the depth of his heavy wool coat to point back at the teenage girl.

"Let go now. Before too late."

[Erek Skulason] *The young Get of Fenris takes a deep breath, cold air filling his lungs as he regards the others in return. Asha being the first to introduce herself, the essence of her breeding and rage confirming everything he hears verbally. He doesn't speak up after her, waits for the others to make the rounds of introductions as he will go last. Clearing his throat, and testing his voice to make sure it doesn't crack*

Erek Skúlason, Spinebreaker to his enemies, a cliath no moon born of the Get of Fenris, nephew to the Skvaldír - Skúli Eriksson "Gutsaw", adren skald, grandson of Thorsteinn~Skull-splitter, died an Athro Modi doing what he loved best, and Brigid "Sif’s~Virtue" Telleny, an elder whom I share moon with.

*His head bobs in a curt nod to each of them*

New to the area, point me in a direction and just let go of leash.

[Attrition] They greet one another with titles and names and an urgency to finish the Duty before them.

The collection of Garou plunge through the umbral landscape of the city, a comfortable distance kept between the various bodies and their 'suspect' relationships. Few of them were truly connected by anything other than the Sept boundaries and even then, it was a passing familiarity defined more by an errant Moot or a Caern duty nod to one another. None of those present were bound by the logic of totem or the system of Comraderie that Death and Constant War usually bred.
Each was still young. Still new. Perhaps that's why the distance between each as they ran through the Night cover and the Pattern work, was something telling. A territorial sign as much as a hallmark of their connection (or lack there of).

The City is beautiful and heart-breaking all at once: crystaline structures jut into the skyline, from their dominant place at the city Centre, while the glitter of frost and snow is a devastating accessory to the permanent gleam of patternwork that makes up the webbed material of the Umbral domain. Structures and buildings, barely decades old are made of some flimsy almost-cloth of cobweb loosely grained to appear as brick or mortar or concrete. Barely the shade of it (varying Grays) makes any comforting sense and does nothing but put the instincts on edge as the Wolf Mind that each carries screams at the 'Inaccuracy' of the City and it's Spirit life.
Nevermind that the world of the Physical is wrong with it's concrete and glass houses and hovels and havens and dens. The Spirit of a City was a sick thing, that could not even keep true to it's falsehoods.

Spirit life watches them pass by, nervous, fearful and secluding enough to keep out of general sight. Winged things on roof top ledges and scurrying things in alleyways and nooks, hurry from the wall of Rage that pushes down streets and around corners, in search of something.
They find it with ease. Not because they are good at what they do (though this much may well be correct) but because it is not hard to miss:

The Weaver.
Her bindings are everywhere, sometimes subtle and sometimes not. Within the spirit, she has no need of the Mortal mind or body or the function of logic and dogmatic bueracracy. She is perfection and the process of and it shows sometimes in maddening clarity and frightening power displays.
The impromptu pack 'rounds a corner onto a side street that borders the hovel of Carbini Green, a well known landscape formerly patrolled by the prestigous Eagles. Alas no more, perhaps this is one of the reasons the Weaver has grown so expansive in the area. The entire street is layered with webwork so thick as to obscure what passes for a sidewalk on either side. Strands of glittering resin transparency creep up the walls of the gray buildings and obscure their bland windows and doors. Long curving, reaching nets and blankets of the glittering material fall from second story rooftop ledges and awnings to join and spread over the middle of the street itself.
All the way down for yards and yards and yards, growing thicker the further in one pushes. The street itself is one of the few that connects to the bustling edges of Lakeview and on into the Downtown core from there.

Quite the blockage.

[Erek Skulason] *The city is unfamiliar territory for a boy that is used to the dark swell of bark and pine, the feel of grass or wet earth under his paws or feet. It was alien to his senses, causing a low growl to rumble from his vocal cords in response to it. His eyes wander around, trying to take everything in at once, muscles tensing in the lean musculature of his form at the slightest of shadow play that dance just beyond his peripheral vision. The young Get of Fenris is quiet during the journey to their final destination, bringing up the rear why he follows the more experienced patrons of Chicago's Garou*

[Stormbreaker] Mila's wolf form was that of a rather large, completely black wolf. The only thing that really stood out were her eyes. Her pace slowed as the blockage was revield before them.

She approached it with caution, and even sniffed it some. An infestation of this level.. she'd never before encountered. Mmm.. what she wouldn't give to have a GW along. Perhaps her own Theurge would be useful this area.. too bad he wasn't around today.

"Thoughts?" The wolf spoke. Frankly, she didn't expect much.. this crew was a little quiet, but it was worth the effort to ask.

[Fire Claws] It was a quick jump from the physical to the umbral at the caern, quicker for some. And in a quick shift he was once again in his birth form, the grey fur mixed at his face and part of his under belly with black and red splashes of color.

He would wait for the rest to cross and shift if they so wished to do so. He, however, was most comfortable in his birth form, hunting and training his ward as well. And once they were in the umbra and moving towards the Green, he moved deftly on sure paws. He waited every now and again for those not to sure of where they were going, or unsure of how well to run in the wolf form or what not.

His eyes focused on the level of Weaver here, nearly snarling at the amount of spider-bitch webbing. This was what the city was all about, levels and levels of weaver taint. But not this much, this was a mess of spider taint. Sniffing for any signs of weaver spirits around, or better yet spirits that were not weaver.

[Stormbreaker] {Intel + Enigmas}
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 10 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[Kalaratri] Asha is silent on the run. In stark contrast to her black-eyed, black-haired, bronzed-skinned human self, she is a shimmering vision of Luna's grace in lupus, under the waning moon, amidst the snows. Pale fur - nearly white - glistening beneath the shimmer of silver guard hairs. The few darker markings on her coat have the same silver gleam under any light - the silver shine of the waning moon, or the electric blue glow of the weaver's webs.

They run; she's a bright thing, pacing beside them, her tail high and alert, ears swiveling as they move. There's joy in her; eagerness under her skin, her rage and breeding a coruscating corona around her. That brightness - curdles as they dive deeper into the web-covered regions until they find, at last, the "blockage" they were sent to investigator. She wuffs out a deep, suspicious breath, all the fine hairs stark, clearly on edge.

There is the brief flare of - gnosis - from the Silver Fang, enough to bolster their spirits, solidify their collective will in the face of such taint.

Then she paces forward, snapping sharply at the webbed strands around her, the chokepoint of weaver taint, studying -

[Kalaratri] [ -1 Gnosis - Inspiration. FYI.]

[Fire Claws] [-1G Heightened Senses Active. FYI]

[Stormbreaker] Had she been in homid, the mass would have gotten a lip pursing and a slight head tilt as she tried to figure this out. Instead, the wolf did cock her head to the side slightly as she continued to examine it. Now where were the little buggers that made this?

Weaver stuff just wasn't her specality, neither were spirits.. so all of this was a bit out of her realm of experience.

[Gwen Sullivan] The soft, weak point in the Gauntlet was precisely where they'd stood. That's where they crossed. It was always easiest for Gwen there. It felt like Maelstrom had worn away at the curtain that separated the worlds, like it was gossamer rather than heavy drapes of chain mail. She'd pressed through, caught her breath on the Other Side, and shed her clothes hastily (she still needed dedicated clothing) and replaced nude flesh in the freezing air with a thick and healthy pelt of tawny and white.

She didn't look much like a Get of Fenris, yet she ran along the flank of one as though they'd been together for quite some time. Like it was where she belonged.

The run was nothing. It was finding the massive wall of webs clogging up the street that had Gwen on edge, tentative and unsure. She was stiff legged, her fur bristled at her shoulders and the back of her neck. Her muzzle, predominantly white, crinkled up at the sight, and her nostrils flared to pull in the smell of sterilized air. Her teeth were bared at no one entity, just the situation.

She rumbled her thoughts in her throat and chest, when requested by the black-furred female. Communicating as effectively as she could without English. "Nest?" The flavor of the voice was disdain, disgust, and honest hope that her musing was wrong. She really didn't want this thing to be like a real spider's web, she didn't want the thick center to explode in a shower of god-knows-what.

[Kalaratri] "Battlefield." The Silver Fang corrects, with a deep wuff and a sharp shake of her silver ruff. She had edged forward when they arrived, but now she backtracks, swinging a long, bright (-ice blue-) eyed look at the pair of Fenrir, the Shadow Lord, the cub. "No spiders. Danger here. Easy trap. We need high ground."

And, so saying she begins to back away from the tangle into which she had pushed, snapping at any filaments that cling to her bright fur, shaking herself free as she looks for a way up to the rooftops.

[Gwen Sullivan] [Perception + Alertness]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 5, 5, 6 (Failure at target 6)

[Erek Skulason] *The young Get of Fenris appears massive and grey, like the timber wolves found in the icy north. He flicks an ear, the blue of his eyes replaced by the rich honey-amber of his species. He blinks, chuffing at the webbing and flicking an ear as he listens to the Silver Fang, his tail sliding along his back legs in a small wave*

[Stormbreaker] Any input from the others was good. Thus, the Lord was going to follow the Fang's lead at the moment. She carefully backed herself away from the webbing and began to look skyward for a nice, clean place to climb to obtain the highground that was suggested.

[Attrition] ...The nearest location for accessibility to the rooftops would have to be one of the buildings behind them, where the street remains thinned of Weaver webwork. The distance from the unaffected buildings behind to those touched with weaver presence is negligible for a Crinos or Hispo leap and would barely give a Lupus form difficulty.

The surrounding Roof tops are open and expand on the cityscape and Cabrini Green's rather malevolent presence. Buildings here are squat and recede into the neighbourhood with a clustered, even quiet repulsion that seems to instinctively suggest 'Go away'. Yet the way before them, alongside that Weaver mess seems to provide no small amount of warning, even threat. Carbini's umbral expanse, displeasing as it might be, has come under attack by the Weaver's own designs.

Comply or fall.

From the Roof vantage, the Garou can recognize the stretch of the Weaver 'Bombing' down that single street for no less than three blocks. Almost as if it had been flooded, by a rapid presence of the Maker's minions.

[Fire Claws] ~WS~ "No spiders. Hive like. A mixture of energies. Spiritual energies. Inactive spirits, sleeping maybe. Very dangerous."

When Kalaratri mentions the danger that lays ahead of them, there was no pathway deeper in from this way. But to go to the rooftops would allow them to be trapped should whatever it is sneak around them. Something he didn't mind himself, but his ward was still green.

~WS~ "Follow."

Spoken to Gwen, nothing better than trial by fire as it were.

[Erek Skulason] *Erek tilts his head to the side, swiveling his ears back and then forward, tilting his head up to survey the skyline. He watches the outcropping of the buildings, trying to gauge for himself it'd be easy to climb. The Silver Fang mentions for them to go to higher ground, he blinks, and snorts softly, following the others as they go up*

[Kalaratri] They have to climb; she shifts to her crinos, then glabro forms, clawing her way up the side of a building, pulling down some ghostly memory of a fireescape, leaping from ledge to ledge. The point is, they climb. At the top of the building, their perspective changes. Asha hulks forward, cro-magnon now, and turns a skimming circle around the rooftop, surveying the obvious wreckage of the battlefield.

Then shift; four-pawed again, a direwolf now, nothing slight about here. There's just the gleam of breeding, the utter confidence of madness or purpose that ghosts around her like a halo.

"Sleeping." The beast growls in roughened high-tongue to Fire Claws, swinging her great head back to study him. "Slumber?" A huff, a concept half-remembered from some long-dead theurge. Or maybe just her father. "Unmaker and Maker fight. Stalemate, spirits fall to slumber?"

Her bright gaze flickers between the others, the no-moon and half-moon fenrir, the gibbous shadow lord, the cub without a Name beyond her human one.

She begins to pick her way over the rooftops, looking for breaks, weak points, inclusions in the web.

[Erek Skulason] Perception + alertness
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 8 (Success x 2 at target 5)

[Stormbreaker] The roof seemed like a logical staging point. A now Hispo (post Crinos after the climb) Stormbreaker assessed the situation from the new vantage point.

Maybe they needed a song about this? Yeah, that she could do. If there was something tangable to kill? Hell yeah, she'd tear that stuff up. But this? Good lord, she just had no clue as to what to do.

"Where's a good Theurge when you need one?" It was more a muttering to herself than to any of those gathered.

"How do we.. undo this without waking them? There has to be a way.."

[Gwen Sullivan] 'Follow,' the mentor commands. Up onto the rooftops. Gwen doesn't argue the strategy, it made fine sense to her. She followed, shaking thin flyaway strands from the mess they'd walked into out of her pelt and stepping a little awkwardly as she went. She wasn't the most graceful thing.. as Fire Claws knew, she was still young, still inexperienced, still 'green'.

She'd wait for the Foresti to move first, watch where his feet go and how he makes his way up, and mimics his moves. This is only after casting a glance over toward the other Fenrir, the Rotagar that went by Spinebreaker, and watching him for a second. The dark brown eyes were made all the darker by the white splash of fur across her face and up to her ears, gave a brief hello. A more personal, formal greeting could come later.

For now, though, she climbed and followed, keeping pace with the rest.

[Fire Claws] (Perception+Engima, diff 5 for Heigtened Sense)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 6, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5)

[Gwen Sullivan] [Perception + Enigmas]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[Erek Skulason] perception + engimas
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 5, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Erek Skulason] *Again, the young Get of Fenris brings up the rear to the others, not straying behind, but slow enough to keep an tabs on their rears in case something decided to sneak up on them. He is well-acquainted with the arts of shadowing prey. His attention is diverted, however, when they have reached higher ground and there is stable footing under his large massive paws. His ears twitch, constantly rotation back and forth, until they finally erect upright, perked to whatever has snared his attention. He doesn't quite ... hear it. Nor feel the thing that begins to bother him. In the distance, something lies in the far ahead of them. Instinct and senses seem to suggest it is quite a ways off, but it is much like wandering onto another Wolf's Territory and suddenly being alerted to the same fact. Not exactly but it's the closet sensation he has to what he is sensing*

...something.. in distance... feel it. Like go into another's territory

[Fire Claws] His eyes search over the webbing as the assault from the Weaver seems to have taken over the Cabrini's Western edge. Whatever it was that has taken over this area was nothing to scuff at either. He wuffs to his ward first and foremost. Teaching her still.

~WS~ "Look. Scrags. Wyrmhounds. Within webwork. Creature must be very powerful to do this. Get wyrm altogether. Trap them."

He looks to the others who have begun taking up more aggressive forms, ready for a fight it seemed.

[Kalaratri] Asha pads toward the edge of the rooftop and looks as Fire Claws directs Gwen to look; her great head swings in a moving line, a low snarl building up in the back of her throat, a bright point of it. Weaver laying claim? she returns to Erek, a whine of question in her lupine throat. Then turns and follows the path Fire Claws has directed his ward to follow.

She huffs. Free Wyrm as we tear up webs. We run through [chaos], clear blockage. Weaver-wolf sees prey escaping, not wolves-assaulting.

The plan, such as it is, is the best she has.

[Gwen Sullivan] Gwen's senses were usually sharper than even those of a seasoned Garou, parallel to the most vied after scouts. Yet tonight, for some reason, they failed her time and time again. Her eyes weren't as sharp, her hearing muted, perhaps by her ears refusing to adjust to the Umbra after transitioning through the Gauntlet. Her nose wasn't as keen, as practiced. Everything smelled sterile, she didn't know what to hunt for.

Fire-Claws helped out, explained what he saw, and she squinted to recognize as well. Most of these monsters she hadn't seen up close before, most were manifestations of man rather than entirely spiritual entities. She's wrinkling her snout up some, sticking close to Fire Claws, who did a fine job of dwarfing her even though she was an incredibly average sized female specimen, not too scrawny or petite in any way.

Suggestions are thrown out, and Gwen offers one of her own, ears flicking forward while she studied the block, sniffed at the webs that strayed up to the roofs.

Fire. Don't want the Wyrm free.

[Stormbreaker] "Fire would be a good plan.. if we could make it. Otherwise, we could slowly clear the blockage and kill the wyrm spirits one by one?"

It wasn't a good plan, it was just what she could come up with.

[Erek Skulason] don't know what it is, something out there.

*Erek snorts to Kalartatri, unsure of what could be out there. He listens to Gwen's suggestion of just burning the shit down, twisting his head to look at the webbing that held the wyrm creatures captive, thinking*

[Attrition] The air seems to charge slightly. A vague electric clatter that seems to live underneath the nerves. Licking a battery or the static gathering under fingernails. Each of them can feel it now, what Erek picked up moments before. It seems to be localizing from the West, where the Downtown skyscrapers make their home, glass and steel giants here within the Reflection.

The Webwork below them is still, the spiritual 'bodies' within trapped and slumbering, quiet and unaware of what approaches. The Blockage stands within one of the umbral pathways, an arterial measure clotted by the Weaver's minions. The Wyrm has been drastically reduced by this singular strike and one has to consider just how bad a thing that is, despite Webrunner's predictions.

Still yet, is it better to allow the Weaver to win in this matter as well? Is this the measure of how the City should be run? Lesser evils in circumstance? Situational Compromise?

Whatever is coming, is growing closer. Not yet visible, but definitely a presence within the wolf senses now.

[Kalaratri] I have no fire. The Silver Fang asserts, with a great shake of her head. Then, a swinging look at Stormbreaker. If we break up little by little, we wake that-which-caught-them. The last has the feeling of a title. The big thing in the distance, whatever claimed this territory. She wuffs quietly again, a look toward Fire Claws and the cub, next.

We have two enemies. Weaver. Wyrm. They fight each other to this. We push them against each other. Free Wyrm in midst of Weaver's web. Break more; stand at the end of street. Harry Wyrm that escapes into Weaver's maw.

[i]Static like this kills Caern. Devours, like spider - insects, sacs. No Moon and Shadow Lord run up flanks, breaking webs. Retreat before Weaver-beast comes. Fenrir and cub with me at entrance; fight whatever Wyrm escapes, send rest back into webs.

[Fire Claws] He continued to watch the webbing as the wyrm seemed to walk around and look for an escape from the trap that was created for them. Whatever the Weaver had unleashed was probably still around, watching its prey. But why did it leave them alive? Why not just kill them outright?

~WS~ "Fire work, but wound spiritual essence. City here may get worse. If it can. Test Silver Fang idea. Rip up some weaver, unleash weaker wyrm. If Weaver still fight us, we must protect us. If hunt wyrm, we continue."

[Erek Skulason] aight.

*Erek chuffs out in agreement to Kalaratri's plan, stepping away to move to the Shadow Lord's side, giving her a look over and waits*

[Stormbreaker] "Alright. I'm willing to give anything a try at this point."

[Gwen Sullivan] She didn't disagree with the plan-- the point that they didn't have fire was a good one. She couldn't summon it, nor negotiate with what little embers that could be found like she knew Linus could. She'd watched him talk a single spirit of electricity into a several square block blackout, he'd stood with his back to flames while they licked dangerously close to his body but let him be, focused instead on the food to be found in the building it was burning down.

Pegging one enemy against the other wasn't a bad thought, but she had to wonder...

...Why tear down wall at all? Why not let Wyrm concentrate in one area, be free on other side? Would make finding, killing, keeping track of easier.

[Stormbreaker] {Per + Alert }
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Kalaratri] Dex + Enigmas
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 8) [WP]

[Gwen Sullivan] [Wits + Leadership]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 5, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 7)

[Erek Skulason] Dex + enigmas?
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 8) [WP]

[Fire Claws] (Dex+Enigma)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 8)

[Kalaratri] The Silver Fang sweeps a look at the cub, pins her with a bright-eyed glance, something like approval. Leave webs intact here - she returns, as cub says - a wall. Pull up deeper in.

Then, a sharp and sudden revelation. Webs here are trap! she all but barks. Tooth and claw stick; pull you in. Lift them with human hands.

Already, she's melting into her humanskin; slight again - neither small nor delicate, but finely formed. She stands at the precipitous edge of the rooftop, the umbra wind sends her hair fluttering around her, dark after the brightness. And she sinks to her haunches, then down to one knee, a glance back at the others as she reaches out to lift -

[Stormbreaker] She had to wonder; wouldn't the weaver come to clean this up in some sort of short notice? Especially if it was set by them.. you'd think they'd come back to check the traps and dispose of what it was caught. Well, that was at least her logic. If she set a mouse trap, she'd sure as hell come back to check it. Perhaps that was what the rumbling in the distance was?

The next step was clear enough to her: Eliminate what was left alive in the traps.

The Fang explained what could be caught by the traps.. and her words are heeded. The female Lord shifts, in no particular hurry back into her human skin as well. An arm raises in a bit of a strech - it was nice to be back in the form she was most comfortable with.

"Wait. The weaver set this trap to catch, and then kill the wyrm spirits. They've been caught.. I think the best course of action is now to kill them.. and then we can get rid of the webbing.."

[Erek Skulason] *The young Get of Fenris' body snaps out of its four-legged furry form at the sudden snap of the Silver Fang's revelation. His body doesn't drop into its human guise, but instead erects itself to that in-between state of human and crinos, making the boy appear more like a hairy, toothier version of himself that stood a good foot taller, and muscular than before. Despite the feral visage that twists over Erek's face, his glabro form seems to retain much of its humanity, making it possible for him to pass for human than some kind of half-monster*

It is a trap...

*His voice is guttural and deep, more growling with its pronunciation. His left ear twitches, the soft down of grey fur tufts cover his elbows and along his forearms in silken hairs, also racing down his chin and along the jawline. He grunts, squinting blue eyes that borderline that amber hue of his lupine form. The webwork was a trap for a reason. A trap for minions of the Wyrm who might fight and war with it as much as possible to be free, thus furthering miring themselves within the webs the harder they fought. Applying that same anger to the Webwork would inevitably cause the Garou the same problems in attempting to cut it apart with physical claws and teeth.

Add in the factor of the approaching enemy, steadily shaving off seconds and minutes of their time, and the Rotagar mind says...there isn't enough time to do this. Not with the thing approaching...unless...of course it was detoured, if only briefly*

We don't have time for this! Whatever comes, comes quickly. You better hurry the fuck up if you intend to do something.

[Fire Claws] He looks at the teeth and claws of large wyrmhounds stuck within the webbing. The brute force of the Wyrm surrounded and trapped within the web of the weaver. Kalaratri~yuf makes the same connection he makes as he watches the silky webs in the Umbra wind.

~WS~ "Leave this and Weaver stronger. Choke off Gaia. Weaken Caern, weaken our connection to spirits. We don't kill Wyrm. Ever watch old beaver dam. Unkept. If webbings rip away as wyrm gather up more, tidal wave of wyrm at caern doorstep."

He watches as the Silver Fang starts to lift away webbing. It was the only real thing they could work on at the time.

[Gwen Sullivan] They stay up at the rooftops, even though Gwen was under the impression that she, Kalaratri and Fire Claws should be down on the ground somewhere, waiting for the Wyrmlings to go for their only way out, picking them off as the stragglers made their way past the thrumming, electric something that was bearing closer and closer.

Gwen whuffed quietly, growled to show anxiousness. She paced along the roof's edge, looking down, still trying to make out the shapes that Fire Claws had assured here were there. As she does, she flicks her brushy tail back and forth and sniffs at the air.

Erek's snapping that they don't have enough time, and bodies shift to bring back human flesh and fingertips. Gwen stays, unsure, growling, looking down.

Will it be trapped in its own web? Should we wait?

[Attrition] ...And the electric sensation under the skin begins to gather more strength, setting nerves on edge and raising the hairs on the neck instinctively.

In the distance, the thrum of something. Repeated and heavy.

[Kalaratri] Without another word, Asha reaches down, grabs the webs, and lifts.

[Fire Claws] He starts to shift, not so easily as Kalaratri~yuf did. He was not born human, but he needed to shift to the monkey skin, or at least the near-monkey skin. Leave some sort of comfort of hair or fur a reminder of his wolf self.

He snarls as he slowly starts to shift, pushing to his Glabro form. Muscle and bone shifted around, fur shrinking and disappearing. Calling to his ward. Gutteral and butchered.

"Stay be'ind. If needed I call. Clean up wha' gets throug'."

[Erek Skulason] We still won't have time. We need a diversion to distract the thing that's coming.

*Erek looks at the others, already starting to step away from the Shadow Lord's side as Asha begins to reach down and grab at the webbing. He looks away, towards the outlining edge of rooftops where the webbing was attached*

I'm going to buy us some time.

*He is already off, moving along the webbing away from the group towards the electrical current, tapping the webbing wherever he goes to draw the thing's attention*

[Gwen Sullivan] Gwen didn't like the situation, it set her on edge. There was too much uncertainty, they were barreling in-- but what choice did they have? The thing that had her fur standing up and her teeth itching and head aching was coming closer and closer. It felt huge, intimidating, impossible to defeat with claws and teeth. This demanded strategy and intellect, experience and cooperation. Gwen was a cub. She lacked in too many areas to be of much use. Her nose and ears were failing her tonight, and while she'd deduced that the only safe way to handle the manipulation of this web was from above, she'd presumed that common knowledge. No one was eager to jump to the floor. It was safer up here, out of reach (hopefully), watching and determining next steps based on what came next.

Fire-Claws told her to hang back, and she did. The one without a proper Name, born of two-legs, walking on four for less than half a year, was the one to stay on four legs, with paws and teeth and claws. She paced several yards behind the backs of those unhinging the edges of the webs, careful to use the soft pads of human fingers and thumbs rather than running the risk of entanglement with lethal tooth and claw.

She rumbled, paced, whined quietly and seldomly, and waited to see what came next.

[Erek Skulason] Extended roll 1, dex + brawl
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 7)

[Erek Skulason] Extended roll 2, dex + brawl
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[Stormbreaker] Mila silently prayed that this was going to work. Did she think it was the best plan? Not really. But she was smart enough to realize that sometimes, she didn't have the right ideas and sometimes, it was best to step out of one's comfort zone and follow another.

Thus, deft human fingers lifted the web along with the others.

[Erek Skulason] extended roll 3, dex + brawl
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 7)

[Fire Claws] (Straight Strength)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 4, 8 (Failure at target 7)

[Stormbreaker] {Oooh Strength! Gooo Homid Mila!}
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 7)

[Kalaratri] (Heave-ho!)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 5, 7, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6) [WP]

[Kalaratri] YOU CAN DO THIS WEE FANG-GIRL.
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Fire Claws] (Strength again, wp ftw)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 6, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 7) [WP]

[Stormbreaker] {Try harder!}
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 7)

[Attrition] With no Totem bond to keep them within one another's mindsets and instinctual patterns, the Garou take time to co-ordinate. Almost enough time to call it quits but in the end, Silver Fang Breeding and accumulative certainty bend them to the webwork with reaching hands and snarling grunts. This needed to be done. It could be-

-The Rotagar is insistent. They don't have enough time. Not nearly enough. Without another word, he turns and goes rushing down the length of the rooftops, hands snapping out to shake and slap at the webwork. It doesn't manage to snag him on his run, but the sensitive flutter of the Pattern still works much like a Spider's own cobweb. Sensitive and alarming.

Whatever was rushing their position seems to halt briefly, an instinctual shiver dropping down the spines of all those present even as they surge and grunt with the effort of pulling at the web between buildings.

...And Erek suddenly skids to a halt a good three buildings down from the rest of the Collective. Not because it's done but because he is out of space to run forward:

It Clambers through the webwork like some surfacing whale; a monstrosity of hard metal plates, black and gleaming that stretch out over the broad and bulbous shape of a giant Tarantula. Long fibre optic cabling juts out like tines and glowing hackles across the plating itself, while the underbelly is nothing more than the bent and shapely curvature of copper and steel wiring fluttering with arcs of electricity.
The Eyes are a dozen blazing red lenses, over the chattering movement of whirling needles and slender circular saws, that dance on the tips of over a hundred long finger instrumental arms where the mandibles would normally be on a spider.
Those slender legs, tipped with razor fine claws, reach through the webwork and the Monstrous creation orients on Erek scaling through the webwork toward the building's edge, even as the Rotagar comes to a halt.

...And the others pull and with one last surge of strength, tear up the moorings of the webwork along the roof's edge. It sends a wave of lassitude through the lower reaches of the Trap, dumping bodies down into a tangled mass of wakefulness on the streets below. Wyrm spirits suddenly come to life, gnashing and snapping as the static trap is disturbed. Webs begin to constrict anew and the sharp bellows and howls of Scrags and Wyrmhounds erupt into the air between the buildings.

...Erek is spared the Monstrosity's attention as it swivels in place to regard the sudden 'flaw' in it's Trap. Smooth and precise, it begins to scale across the webwork and the side of the buildings, several plates on it's back shifting aside to reveal the flickering presence of a many cabled cannon emerging along it's back, the tip of which sparks and spits with a liquid blue flame before a rather broad nozzle.

[Kalaratri] "Come on! - " says Asha, with a low shout. The webs are upended and she's already in motion, running to take the distance between umbral buildings with a flying leap, rageshifting to hispo as she leaves the roof. The buildings are close here, easy to leap in warform, and so she does not - not waiting to see where the monstrous spider aims its cannon, not waiting to see how the freed wyrmlings might start to swarm it. She's moving, itching to attack but stirred on by other memories, fired by other hands.

This is how she runs: a streak of silver in the dull gray umbral twilight, hitting roof after roof until she has found a position behind the spider, distracted by the flaw in its trap, by the whole in its carefully calibrated webs. When she has reached a position well enough behind it, she shifts again, more carefully this time, and shifts to Glabro.

The others have followed, or they haven't. It doesn't matter. She's reaching to concentrate, pulling on memories as she moves.

[Erek Skulason] *Adrenaline runs the coarse of his veins, blood pounding wildly in his ears to a deafening roar that he barely register any sound except the loud drum of his heartbeat thudding a million miles a second inside his chest. It feels like it is ready to explode out of his ribcage. He is athletic to a default, perceptive enough with hand-to-eye coordination to make each target as he slaps the webbing, sending spams upon spams ricocheting through the web design. Much like it's insect counterpart, the Mechanical monstrosity falls for his diversion*

Ah, fuck!

*Hot air explodes from his mouth and nose in a hoarse grumble as he skids to a stop when he runs out of room to run further. He stands, legs braced to the width of his shoulders, head thrown back as shaggy tufts of blond hair slick along his forehead with sweat. He watches the Spider with a fierce awe flashing in his eyes, not backing down as Its attention is quickly diverted to the chaos sparked behind him. Asha becomes an elegant blur of grey mist in Erek's peripheral, shooting off like a bullet towards another crop of buildings. He twists his frame, pivoting on his boots to turn away from the Spider and the Wyrmlings, watching where the Silver Fang stops.

A raised eyebrow is garnered in her direction, but if the others are following, the young Get of Fenris moves quickly to reach her side*

[Stormbreaker] The full moon moved - Mila had been watching her out of the corner of her eye.. and as soon as she moved, so did the Galliard. She'd learned to trust -her- full moon with her life and well, tonight she was going to trust -this- full moon. Asha took off. Mila followed, snap shifting forms as needed to make the jump.. and then to prepare for removing more of the webbing.

To be honest.. the Lord had never seen the weaver like this before. Usually, it was just the monstrosities of the wyrm that she encountered.. but this, was something else all together. It did give her pause for a moment - once she was safely on the other building.

[Kalaratri] Asha: Str + Crafts - this time with the aid of insane ancestors!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 4, 4, 4, 6, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Fire Claws] With the approach of the creature he knows that this will be nothing worse than a blood bath. He instinctually calls upon his ability to resist pain as he sees the monster of the weaver. He fells the rage boil on under him, calling to battle. But as the webs come undone, he watches the Silver Fang run to get behind the distrusting spider creature, looking to uproot more webs.

Quickly his body rageshifts to his hispo form. And watches as the creature becomes distracted. He barks quick orders to his ward.
~HT~ "Follow her. Help."

He looks between the spider thing and the building across from him. Looking to Jump to the next building. Leaping across.
(-1WP Resist Pain Active)

[Stormbreaker] {This time..: A more helpful form!}
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 7)

[Erek Skulason] *Erek moves upward from glabro to crinos, using the heavier form for its strength to make the leaps across the buildings easier for him. His large frame a silvery brown blur across the buildings as he comes up onto Asha's side and using his claws and crinos strength to help tear at the webs*

(-1 rage for shift to Crinos, -1 willpower for resist pain)

[Erek Skulason] Extended roll, pure strength
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 7, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 7) [WP]

[Gwen Sullivan] The thing that they'd felt coming for a while now emerges, and Gwen's pacing comes to a stand still. She's rigid, stiff-legged and staring hard at what she sees, as though she can't entirely believe her own eyes. It's either stand and stare or bark and yap and run up and down the roof like a dog that sees a cat on the other side of the fence.

Things occur quickly. With an effort the group manages to tug the strands enough to shake loose some Wyrm creatures below. They bellow and howl and snarl and froth, and the Spider moves to correct this, to kill or wrap snares about these creatures once more. No sooner does its back turn that they are hurdling over rooftops, up the street, to try and surround it. Confused it. Busy it up. Make it bring down its own creation.

A barked order is thrown back toward her, and Gwen jerks her head, no longer watching the spider but looking after those that hurdle from rooftop to rooftop. She follows, she manages to keep up well enough. She scrabbles to a stop, claws changing to something more blunt, thick, and yellow as she pushes into Glabro-- something without real claws, that won't get caught in the webs. That's the last place she wanted to be.

She takes up space between Asha and Erek, utterly nude and atrocious to view in such a state while swollen with muscle, broad sturdy bones, and a fuzz of tawny fur lining most of the lines of her body.

But hey, who's she impressing right now?

[Strength + Crafts]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Fire Claws] (Opps forgot the -1 Rage for Hispo rage shift)

[Attrition] The Garou change positions. Like a game of cat and mouse, the Spider charges down the centre, already situating itself along the webwork which slides off it's metallic body like water, to take up a position over the Wyrm things sliding free and out of the Trap zone.

The Cannon along it's back rears, hiccups once and then with a mighty whoosh liquid fire erupts across the grounds below, incinerating both web and spirit in a broad conflagration that begins to eat through the Pattern web with ferocious intent. The Wyrm spirits shriek, scream and howl under the power of the fire delivery, the cannon sweeping broad arcs across the downed area.

Yet no sooner has it cleared the one section, then the combined effort of the gathered Garou bring down another. The tumbling web slaps down hard this time, vomiting forth several forms which lunge to their feet with instinctive wakefulness. Several Hounds are shaking themselves even as the Spider re-orients along the building face and drops into the middle of the street with a metallic Thunk

The Garou need only watch as the Wyrmlings they've freed, steadily pushing and pulling through the disintegrating webwork in this part of the Street section, turn their Rage toward their captor who in turn, orients upon the Wyrmlings themselves. Hounds and Scrags begin to pull themselves free...

...It looks as if the battle is about to erupt once again.

[Gwen Sullivan] Gwen's grin is a monstrous thing, canines elongated in a still relatively human looking mouth, making it appear too full of teeth. She's beaming fiercely at the line of Garou to her left-- only Erek to her right for how they were positioned.

Eyes, in this form, are a muggy bogged up color, brown and green and murky like a swamp. It's an ugly color, nothing about this form is complimentary. It was function, pure and simple. Muscles are taut and heavy rock-like lumps under her skin as she finishes dragging the webbing up.

"There's our fire!"

[Stormbreaker] "Dang straight there's our fire.."

Mila backed away from the edge of the building, trying to stay out of view from the spirits and the weaver creature as they battled it out down below. If any got by.. then they'd worry about clean up.. but for now, the two forces seemed to be doing the work for them..

[Fire Claws] Fire-Claws watches as the webbing goes up in flame across the street. Watches as the wyrm goes into war with the spider-bitch thing and only goes up in flame. He watches as the flames burn and churn along the web.

He calls up his gift, his first gift ever learned when the flame nearly engulfs everything around him. He watches from above and waits until the fire continues to consume the wyrm and the webbing around them.

(Sigurd's Stride active. -1 Gnosis)
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 9 at target 4)

[Kalaratri] The Silver Fang huffs in satisfaction as a cascade of new wyrmlings join the battle with the old. She keeps moving, here - working to lift more webbing and increase the wave, as if the whole of it might somehow do more damage. When it seems they've run out of webs here, she follows Fire Claw - hispo - a great, dangerous leap across the battleground below (or, well, maybe she ACTUALLY has some sense, dashes down the fireescape and up the other side.)

And so on. When there are no more webs to lift, she returns to some feral form - hispo or lupus - and paces back and forth watching the battle from the roof, ready to charge snarling at any scrab or wyrmhound escaping up onto the roofs, ready to jump down to take down anything that escapes the weaver-spiders cannons, to run howling back into the Green.

[Erek Skulason] *The young Get of Fenris straightens up, erecting to the full height of his war form as he watches two opposing forces clash together in a violent fray of combat. His ears swivel back and forth atop his head, the upper line of his muzzle trembling with a low growling sound of pleasure. He can still feel his heart pounding in his chest, the thick bulging muscles under his fur shivering with adrenaline. The youth in him can't help but throw his arm into the air like a football player after making a successful touchdown, and throwing his head back to howl out.. Tail and hips swinging in a little victory dance*

[Fire Claws] Fire Claws waits, patiently. His eyes following the blaze and the battle that ensues. He does not let his rage get the better of him, he does not jump into the middle of the frenzy. He waits and watches. The wyrm and weaver will wound each other, kill each other. And he will watch.

When Kalaratri~yuf comes up. He nods as she watches as well. Telling her that she should report back to Webrunner if she so chooses. He is immune to the flames below in several ways. It will burn others but not him.

[Erek Skulason] dex+athletics to keep on dancing! Just for Gwen!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 5, 5, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Gwen Sullivan] Soon as the flames start to destroy the web and more Wyrm creatures continue to shake loose from the slack, Gwen sees the opportunity to flee the Glabro form and find safety under a pelt once more. Adrenaline and Rage ran high, it kept her from realizing exactly how goddamn cold it was. By the time she was pushing back into her Lupus body, though, her shoulders, back, sides.... all of it was trembling constantly, shaking and shivering. Bare flesh, even that of a Glabro, didn't stand against below freezing temperatures very well.

It would take a while back under the winter coat of tawny fur for her to warm back up. She'd look across the street toward Fire Claws, and from him to Erek. Snap her jaws, rumble disapproval at his dance... But he was Cliath, she was Cub. Much as she wanted to toss him down into the fray and pretend it was an accident, she just withstood the victory dance and watched, growling quietly and pacing frequently.

Monster [Linus]

[Linus] Dawn.

It's early. Dawn, that is. A brilliant and glorious blaze that shimmers in the distance. Some star circling the planet's circumferential border and coming up into their sight with all the power and blinding quality of a true Nova. A True sun. It gleams and dares you to stare. Dares you to watch. Dares you to welcome it.

They are standing outside of Chicago. Somewhere outside of the normal reflection of what Gwen might consider the 'City'. An entity in and of itself, it is not difficult to see the path back. The concrete had begun to vanish into patches of hard dirt a half mile back. The hard dirt had grown more prevalent and from there, the ground had sprouted patches of green grass that would have been impossible in any other place during this season.

Here, the air is vaguely warm, tinted with cinnamon and the metallic rot of rust. Here, they are below a hillside that is gentle in slope and so broad as to vanish into the North and South directions for miles with no discernible end in sight. Just a small sloping green hill, undisturbed by dips or elevation and beyond that a brilliance so powerful and growing brighter as to obliterate all sense of what it was shining down upon.

They are out here because the dark eyed Godi has said they were. When he found the Cub, wherever that was, however that was, it was with a slightly gaunt expression, a terribly haunted eye and the circles of exhaustion that spoke of the duty she had to look forward to. When he found her it was with a

"Come"

And then a turn on his heel to head toward the city limits. Where he walked, he trailed the oddest of things: From beneath his black half-coat, the tails of chains, like blue iron, dragged and trickled and clinked with the strangest of hollow sounds. They bumped his heels and danced in his wake, dragging thin and dusty furrows behind him and leaving flakes of something that ghosted into nothing mere seconds afterward.

He is holding his spear in a white-knuckle grip. He is staring ahead with something like Grimness. When they reach the hill, he is climbing up, using the spear as a propping device and grunting toward the edge of the hillside while squinting into the distance.

"...You're weak, you know that?" The first words out of his mouth. "Weak of spirit. S'why you can be here. S'why you can suffer this city like you do. It ain't your fault mind you, just part of being so New. You're weak in the twinge that's Gaia under your heart. When you cross the Barrier-" A hand strides out without him looking, to flick at the air, which responds with something like coiling strands of Patterned Order, resisting the crossing that never came.

"-You're weak."

[Gwen Sullivan] Linus would have to traumatize some poor human kid to reach her. He showed up at the door somewhere in the wee hours of the morning, when no one can decide whether to call it 'tonight' or 'this morning'. He'd know this is where Gwen was, in his own way. She never questioned how people found her, just accepted it. A young human male, younger than Linus, would answer the door, all pale skin and dark sunken eyes. He was more than happy to rouse Gwen from his couch and shove her out the door to go away with Linus. He liked her, they were friends, but her Rage was wearing him thin. It was hard to breathe around her.

Gwen didn't question where they were going any more than the guy whose house she was staying at questioned who was taking her away. She was dressed in a heavy brown sweater and a pair of loose jeans held up at her hips with a black belt, and multiple layers under both of these to insulate body heat. Her jeans were tucked into her winter boots, a knit cap kept her head and ears warm, and her hands were in the 'roo pocket of the topmost sweater to keep the feeling in her fingers.

They come to a stop, Gwen lost time because she'd fallen into the comfort of silence, eyes on the chains, half-resting even as she marched diligently after the Godi. This silence lasts until the sun starts to crest over the horizon, bruising the sky at first, then staining it pink, then blazing orange as it climbed into view. Gwen's got her head down, shoulders hunched forward to work her way up the slope of the hill when that silence finally breaks.

If Linus is expecting a retort, it does not come. There's a flash of Rage that she cannot help, the moon that they'd walked under was halved, still visible to the West. This was her moon, she understood now to tread lightly under it. She was learning to control it, though. That's how she didn't snap at the accusation of being weak. Rather she huffed out her answer, words carried on a breath that was visibly white before it faded into the brisk morning air.

"Then I need to know how to make myself strong."

[Linus] "...Simple."

And that word is a herald. A stark thing, contrasting the sudden up heavel of motion:

The Godi drops the half-jacket, sliding off shoulders, spear left to stand on it's own for the few seconds it would stay upright before toppling, with the shucking of the garment, before snapped back out of the air before it has a chance to tilt more than a few inches. Beneath, he is a thin creature in a thin shirt much too thin to do anything but cover the slim form below. His neck is a ridged line of vertebrae, muscles forcing his head forward and to one side. A few steps take him up that hill, to peer into the glare of that brilliance ever growing.

Then he screams. It isn't defiance. It isn't a challenge. It isn't anything one might associate with the Monster within. It breaks and shifts and changes without any of the planned propriety of the wolf Howl. It is purely human. Purely a thing of venting frustration and urgency that bleeds out of his throat like an unnatural sound. Like something that only comes along once in a while. The relative you can't get rid of. The period that leaks down a woman's leg. The ferocious build up of little stresses seeking to make a male out of a Man. A Human sound this, without the restraint that would mean being normal again.

Being City.

He screams and takes a few more steps up the hill, cutting himself off with a clap of teeth that rattles his jaw and leaves it hanging. That glare makes a silhouette of him, black and barely noticeable. Those chains, jut out from beneath his overly large shirt, tangling in thighs and over calves and around ankles. Stretching where they catch, as if brittle and rubber combined. Flakes drop away and he screams again. Another human sound. Another restless release. The butt of the spear thuds dully into the hillside and he screams a third time, choking off with a cough at the end that doubles him over and forces him into a crouch.

"...The City doesn't own you. It never should. You can be angry about it as much as you like, get all your Rage out of your system and make it feeeeeellll like you're venting-" A hand rises to clutch at his own throat, hard enough to leave behind indents, turning to look back at her. The light makes it difficult to see anything of his face but his eyes. Wide and stark like the sounds he's making.

"-but that's a stopgap. It makes the monster feel better so it can keep feeling Hate. It makes you a Monster enjoying itself and that's all. You want to know how to feel strong?" And he stands again, clearing his throat. Hacking hard and spitting off to one side, before turning back into that light grown terrible. That light that now has a sound attached to it.

The Rush of water Or...or the Roar of something similar.

"...You Suffer."

And he begins to walk up the rest of the hill, one hand shielding his eyes in that glare.

[Gwen Sullivan] Gwen's preoccupied with keeping curled up against the cold, hunched forward and climbing the grassy hillside, keeping herself from putting her hands in the grass to help herself crawl up. The grass was frosted, brittle and cold, but once you put your foot down it went slick, made progress more difficult than it would be on a dirt mound or were the month August rather than January. He states it's simple, and she keeps on walking.

Then he screams.

She goes rigid, tense, and her first reaction is to sweep her eyes up to the Godi in front of her. She doesn't investigate his state of health first, but rather the air surrounding him, then spans her attention out further and further. She's trying to figure out what's attacking him while he screams over and over again. Her hands are out of her pockets, shoulders and arms tightly wrapped with muscle waiting for action, fingers curled waiting to be claws.

But nothing attacks. Linus doesn't fall to his belly, writhe in pain, or spurt blood at all. His screams die out, replaced by words from a throat rubbed hoarse, and turns to half-snarl his advice to her. He rakes his fingers down his own throat, and she makes a face and leans back some, recoils a touch. She's conflicted. She doesn't know if she should be going to his side and shaking the demons from him or edging away from the overdose of crazy he's exposing her to.

His eyes are wide, stark, mad. Hers are wide, uncertain, uncomfortable. Her teeth are clenched together tight enough that her jaw hurts, and she only realizes it when she decides that she needs to press forward, to follow the wire-thin Godi using the spear like a walking stick and continue climbing the hill. She starts using her hands in the grass so she has something to dig her fingernails into.

"The City... It..." She's at a loss for words. The screams still rang in her ears, her belly still ached with need for action that was left unused. "I guess I haven't suffered enough yet. I don't know what to be mad at the City for, Linus."

[Linus] "...Compare."

It's the only word he answers her with because they're at the top of the hill:

The brilliance peels off as they hit the Hillside. Or perhaps it simply rises as whatever causes it becomes less focal and more encompassing. That whatever is made evident the further up the Hill they go and richer that sound becomes.

A Wall of Heat rushes up to greet them, like a hard slap to the face. The Godi turns slightly, squinting his eyes shut against the sensation before turning sallow features back to the landscape below which reveals itself as their eyes adjust to the light and behold the Crash.

It used to be a piece of something far into the night sky. Where planets hang with avatars and incarnas and the voice of Heavens and Voids chime with Lunas and Celestines. It was a shooting star, impossibly massive and come down within this pocket of somewhere else that existed just beyond Chicago's borders. Not because that map said so, but because the Godi had brought her here. Because he knew the path to this Event Horizon.

It had come down with a meteoric thrum, crashing to the ground with a deafening quake that they had probably missed by minutes and sending out a rushing halo that expanded in all directions across a grassy plain stretched out like Summer before them. Green in all directions steadily being obliterated as a wall of liquid, moving, oceanic orange rushed slowly out from the impact point miles and miles distant...

...from an Aetherial glimpse miles and miles and ages yet distant than the impact...

...toward them on that hill that seemed less a hill and more a separation from the mirror world of Chicago city. A Place of winds and elements. Of concrete and spiders. Of Webs and Apathy and Hate and Ugly, you could cut up with your claws and teeth. A place you could effect and could effect you.

Here, they are the motes. The dust. The peasants. The quiet ants, watching the obliteration of a world. The crash of a Comet that disturbs nothing of the Borders of the City behind them close enough to sprint to. Close enough to reach if they ran and pushed and killed their Rage to reach the safety and comfort of that familiar concrete.

Because that's what it is. Familiar. A solid place Gwen knows, perhaps only in passing but...better than this. Better than an end to a small world that neighboured their own and ended with the fall of a Lost Godling and it's death clap of Fire.

The Godi watched with narrowed eyes, spear left to hang ineffectually in one hand, looking down upon that wave of brilliant orange steadily eating up mile after mile toward them. He doesn't say another word. Doesn't look at her. Nor does he look back the way they came. He just breathes heavily from the screaming he did before, licks his lips for the heat that is drying them out. Squints slightly as the chill of Chicago is blasted away by the small Armageddon rushing to greet them.

[Gwen Sullivan] "Good Christ."

Gwen's groaning against the heat that hits her like a wall, and immediately tugs the sleeves of the sweater she was wearing, and the sleeves of something she'd insulated herself with under that as well, then drags the brown hoodie and the gray long-sleeved shirt off her back together as one. She's working to turn them right-side out once more and then tying them about her waist by the arms. Her hands work while her eyes stay on the landscape out in front of them.

She saw something like this in a movie once, except the mayhem had been inside a city to prove a cinematic point-- how little man, with all its defenses and skyscrapers and military motions, could do to defend itself as it was gobbled up by rivers of molten rock that gushed forth from the ground. This was similar, but so much more.

The Cub stood beside Linus, in her white camisole tucked into the waist of those too-large jeans, and slowly tugs the knit hat off her head and combs her mousy brown hair back from her brow, sweeping it down her neck. He's wetting his lips, not acknowledging her, just watching this world die. She doesn't completely understand that this isn't going to effect the city, but she's wondering if she should care whether it does or doesn't. According to Linus, that place deserves whatever it gets. That's what she's understanding from his attitude, at least.

Silence wraps them in a world separate from what they were seeing. It's broken by an almost-whispered question of ignorance and eager innocence both.

"We don't fight this," she clarifies. How do you? "Do we stand and die to know what it tastes like?"

[Linus] "You wanna die against that?"

[Gwen Sullivan] She shakes her head slowly and clasps her hands together in front of her, fingers interlacing, thumb chipping away what was left of the red nail polish on the other. She sniffs some, turns her head slightly against the heat, but doesn't look away. Her mouth is directed more in Linus's direction now, it's easier to hear her soft rasp of a voice.

"No. I don't really wanna die one way or another just yet, but I'd started to see it happening with my guts falling out and my teeth in something's throat."

She clears her throat a bit, chips polish from the other thumb. "Do we just watch the world die, then?"

[Linus] "...And that's why you're still a Monster in the city and not a Garou in this War..."

He braves the Heat, grimacing into the fire. It isn't bravery. There's something on the Godi's face. On the Cliath's face. The inevitable crash of the ending world before them is not something he's looking to scream at. He's done his screaming and it wasn't for this. Seemed almost separate from the entire incident, like it was nothing to do with Gwen. Something for him. Now...he's alert. Focused. Watching the fire and the end within and behind it.

"...You see how this finishes?"

He points at the ever expanding halo of flame which has gone from Distant to Next door in a few brief breaths. The Heat is officially somewhere in the Summertime at this point.

"...Something new will come with it. Something different and that will happen regardless of us being here. This is pure. This is primal. This is hard and ugly and vicious and breathtaking and Fucking Beautiful..."

He grimaces now. His teeth are bare and his hand is up to block out some of the pushing light and heat from his eyes, giving him a few more precious moments of staring into that oncoming wave.

"...But it'll happen, with or without us."

and he finally turns. Not toward her. He hasn't looked at her since screaming and she can finally see something of his face. Something of what's there when he looks back at the City.

Fear.

"....And So will that." And he nods at the City, eyes darting back and forth. Gaze like a weapon seeking a target too big for the scope or the blade's edge or the claw swipe. Too big, too many, too much.

The Heat rises behind him. Before her. From Summer to a Heat Wave and he hasn't moved an inch.

[Gwen Sullivan] "So then tell me what the fuck to do."

Gwen's switched the anxious fidget from her hands and fingernails to her teeth. She's nipping at her lips, the inside of her cheek, squinting against the heat now. It wasn't enough to make tears come to her eyes, but it was like sitting too close to the bonfire now. She's listening to what he says, fighting to understand what he's getting at. It's difficult, when she glances back to his face to see him staring back at the city, looking genuinely afraid. Like he believes there's something amid the skyscrapers, slinking through the alleys and waiting for him to come back home to it.

That look has her swallowing back the Rage in her throat and moving her hand to scrub at her breastplate, frowning hard and looking back to the flames. She takes one small step back, toward the city, but it's not something of retreat. It looks more like she's analyzing, getting better footing than it does like she's trying to edge away from the liquid fire lapping its way toward their hill.

"Bone Writer." She uses the name his mother gave him more than she does the one his People gave him, but she chooses the latter for this. Her tone's a bit firmer than it should be with the one giving the lesson than it ought to be. Fire Claws would have his teeth at her throat for it in an instant, she was certain. "We don't fight it. We don't die for it. We watch it, we do nothing. This world... it's another, it has to be. Otherwise we'd be back with the Pack, moving them, mobilizing. We're here to watch a world die... for what? To brace for the Red Star? Or to know what helplessness feels like?"

Because this was the furthest thing from a morale booster she's seen.

[Gwen Sullivan] [Soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 3, 8 (Success x 1 at target 5)

[Linus] "...Because you can bite Spiders..."

His whispering. Lost in the edges. The ugly pieces and parts of the City that turn and warp and seem to sway like they are going to fall on the streets below at any moment (though that might just be the heat distortion behind them). He's whispering and watching the city, that fear not abating but shifting into a frown.

"...You can chew the wyrm and spit it out...make things suffer like you do...you can eat the stuff the Wyrm throws at you and grin about it quietly...watch it slink away and know you're doing the right thing and never once suspect there's something bigger...something more ignoring you in favour of...eating part of the world under your feet..."

He flicks a hand out, which casts a shadow near as long as his body for the light behind them both now. There is steam rising from where the damp of sweat (from the trek out here) and ice (from the exposure) are beginning to evapourate.

"...We're here so you can see the difference between what is Beautiful and Horrible and Gaian..."

And he casts a look over his shoulder that immediately turns away with a grimace and a hushed little 'fuck'.

"...And what isn't..." Another flick of a dismissive hand. This time at the City. Huge, Sleeping, Unafraid of what they were standing near. Unafraid and uneffected.

"...And because you wanted to get rid of your Weakness...and I told you what to do to get started...Suffer..."

And he turns back toward the Fire, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, Spear sliding up and seeming to vanish with the same mind warping physics of it's retrieval, back into a spot along his breast, where a dark ink spot appears and vanishes against the glare of the Nova now creeping across the landscape only a few miles distant.

She can feel skin begin to blister along forearms and knuckles and fingertips.

"...Time for you to Run Cub. Maybe you'll make it..."

[Gwen Sullivan] She's scowling at him, expression hard and impatient both. The heat grows more unbearable by the second, she's closing the eye closest to the flood of fire, watching Linus rather than the city. More concerned with his face, what hints it could give, than the swaying dance that the steam evaporating off the hillside and the breast and back of her camisole had the cityscape doing.

He told her to suffer to vanquish weakness, and she growled quietly. Being Enigmatic was a crescent-moon trait, she got that, but it didn't mean she liked it. She bared her teeth at the heat, causing her lips to crack and her skin to blister and peel along her arms and hands. There's a quiet hiss of pain, and she's taking another step back, two more, but pausing to stare at Linus as well as she could through squinting, watering eyes. One hand's held up in front of them to block the heatwave, to watch him better.

She's making sure he runs too.
Stupid kid.

[Linus] "...This isn't a choice, little Girl." He says after a moment, eyes flicking toward her with something like calm disbelief. A hand rises to cover his eyes from the fire's side and stare at her.

"I can stand with Fire and not get burned. You can't."

Images of him mingling hands with the Inferno on the street not too long ago. When he told her about Taint and the Elements.

"Not yet. You don't want to die here, remember? Gaia's Horrible just like she's Beautiful. That's what you gotta remember. That's why she isn't a damsel. That's why I'm a Garou and not a Monster. That's why I hate the city and why I'll never love it. Never trust it. Never appreciate it for what it is and never-...Fuck!" He takes a step back from the flames, grimacing deeper "-...And Never treat it as anything but where the Wyrm Breeds. Where the Wyrm Dwells. Where everything is fucked up and lying to you, your senses and sensibility."

He growls. Already bulking up, joints and system dislocating in an effort to reach the Death Machine. He growls, a baking silhouette of gunmetal fur and Lean power.

"...You Hate the city because it isn't a Nova killing you Beautifully. It's a Monster, making you one too..."

And an arm and a hand cast out, almost casually, knuckles like stone seeking her shoulder and Torso. To send her tumbling down the hillside. Her head start...

[Gwen Sullivan] Her face changes, though it's subtle and difficult to notice through the grimace against the heat. Realization, recalling the way that the flames had consumed the building but let him be, even though she felt as though they were a little grudging to do so. She understood trusting yourself, that was a lesson he'd taught her following the lesson of Fire. He must trust himself with the entire damn world if he thought this would behave like the flames of a contained structure fire.

She's baring her teeth, cracked dry lips curled back from them, mouth going dry from the intense heat, blisters working their way along the backs of her hands and up her forearms. The heat was impossible, even Linus was stepping away from it. But he had a point to drive home. He had to explain to her that this, horrible and breathtaking as it was, was Gaia. It wasn't the City. The City was worse.

..Yet he wanted her to run back to it, while he stayed. He shifted, she snarled, and the sound was pathetic and mangled off a human tongue. Yet, despite this, she doesn't lash out or duck away when he reaches out and slaps the back of his hand into her chest, sending her sprawling backwards and sliding on her back down the hill.

Point made. By the time she reaches the bottom of the hill she's already taken on the sleek shape of a young wolf, with the lanky, slightly disproportionate legs and angles of adolescence still showing in her. Tawny and white with backsplashes of gray, she wriggles out of the clothes that would not change with her and sprints away from the flames.

He said not to trust, but this, she figured, was a show of just that. Trusting that he'd manage, that he'd make his way home.

[Gwen Sullivan] [Roll 1]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 6, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]

[Gwen Sullivan] [Roll 2]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Gwen Sullivan] [Roll 3]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 4, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) [WP]

[Gwen Sullivan] [Roll 4]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Gwen Sullivan] [Roll 5]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 4, 5 (Failure at target 6) [WP]

[Gwen Sullivan] [Soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[Linus] (Woohah!)
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 4)

[Linus] ...The Cub runs.

The Godi stands, watching and something of a word touches the Fire.

"...Duty..."

Gwen is across the ground, racing over green grass, curling inward against the heat beneath each lunging movement. Snarls of heat pass her flanks and she can see. Hear. Feel it rising along her flanks. The singe and burn are momentary, even as the ground goes from green grass, to hard dirt to patches of concrete where the City sleeps and moans.

She can see the distant skyscrapers and they are a vision:

The lower jaw of a Monster's mouth. Jagged teeth and crooked incisors, like the grin of a Spiral. Like the smile of a Fomor. Like a Bane's gaping hunger. Like a Spider's scissoring, apathetic, duty. The lower jaw, hung open on a Monster, with the night sky, clouded and overcast, dark and yawning.

A Gullet for her memory. Burned with the sensation of an Inferno behind her.

She's running and pushing her lungs and strength to the limit. She's trying to fight the inevitable. The impossible. She's going to lose.

But she's Trying.

The Fire comes. The Heat washes and the pain is a lot more brief and clean than she would have expected.

* * * *

Eyes peel open, strings of melted flesh connecting over the lids. Blurred images leap into her vision and the cool sensation of stonework under her is there. Soothing against the thousand and one aches of flesh crisp and cracking. Of Body contorted and broken.

A voice overhead. Gruff. Hoarse. Ugly like smoke.

"...Your a Monster, kid. City's your chain. Start hating it, so you can get off the leash."

There's a soft murmur. Like sing-song words in another language. A soothing sensation at her flank, spreading slowly over the pain of flesh and broken. Something of white hooves and a glow like summer time over green grass.

Then she's falling again.

Sleeping.

Test Me [Fire Claws, Owen]

[Gwen Sullivan] Sometimes self-containment was the wisest thing a person could do. This was what Gwen practiced now. She was young, inexperienced (though ignorance had rubbed off at this point, she couldn't carry that excuse any longer), and the full moon above made her head pound and her heart burn. She felt prickly, anxious, her teeth itched and her fingers wanted to flex persistently. She decided it was better, smarter, for her to keep away from people for now, until she could control it better. At the Caern the people she found could not just defend themselves, but subdue her if need be. They understood the Rage, she didn't risk tearing the Veil if she lost her temper with them and did something reckless, stupid, self-exposing.

Gwen was burning time, listless and idle. She'd paced the land that the Caern rested upon to keep her body moving, keep herself warm. She'd put boot marks in the snow and followed them back along the shoreline more than one time now. The Warden and his pack let her be, did their duty and skeptically murmured amongst themselves about the pup without chore, placed bets on how long she'd be allowed to wander like this.

At current, Gwen was standing a few feet out on the ice of the lake shore, easing her way out, testing her weight on the thick sheet with the toe of her heavy boot. She was dressed inappropriately for the winter... for much of anything, really. In a haphazard adventure with the Shadow Lord Simon, she'd sacrificed the pair of jeans she'd been keeping with her. She'd had the presence of mind to tuck some spare scraps of clothing into the lining pockets of her heavy black canvas coat. These were what she wore now. The jacket cut off just past her hip, the shirt she wore under peeked out as a thin strip of yellow, and her pants were black sweats tight enough to be considered leggings.

Unwashed hair was piled up and tucked out of view under her red beanie, a matching scarf was at her throat. Her hands were in her pockets, but the gloves that covered them were red too. She kept moving, she kept warm, but the fronts of her thighs tingled and prickled cold when the wind struck them. Jeans were sturdier, she'd have to find a new pair soon.

[Fire Claws] Full moon, the beautiful face of Luna shinning brightly and wonderfully, if only the clouds and snowy mist didn't block out the glorious face from view. Luna is hidden away and that makes the fidgets and pacing and nervous ticks all strange to those who don't know. But those imbued with Rage can feel it no matter what, they can feel the call to war, the blood boiling. The hunt ready to start.

While Gwen was flexing her fingers and toeing at the frozen lake, eyes stare straight at her. Narrowing as he watches the young pup work out her own way of handling the fire burning in her gut. If she was not careful she may melt right through the ice and sink in the freeze of the waters.

"PUP! COME 'ERE!"

A harsh gnarly voice calls out as he waits for her. Wearing the monkey skin was irksome in the winter time, only way to cover was clothes. And he didn't have that many clothes of his own. Just the worn jeans, the heavy wool coat.

[Owen DeTerizzi] [how are we doing tonight? wp!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 6, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Gwen Sullivan] Gwen doesn't flinch or startle to hear the yelling. She doesn't behave like a child being scolded, or someone caught misbehaving or doing something that they knew was wrong. She just turned her head to look over her shoulder toward the rough sounding voice with the curious backwoods accent to it, the sounds of a person taught English by the worst imaginable accents possible.

Her eyes were sharp, alert, and they skimmed the shore up and down for half a second before settling on Fire Claws's unfamiliarly human face, but recognizable and identifiable none the less. The order wasn't obeyed immediately when it reached her ears, she didn't leap off the ice like it had suddenly collapsed below her feet. It was once she found the face, recognized it (perhaps five seconds later at most) that she stepped back off the ice, onto the equally frozen shore, and walked to approach him.

Her hands were kept in her coat pockets, her eyes on his face but cutting down from his eyes when she grew nearer, settling just below or gliding above to his eyebrows and forehead instead. She greeted him with a smile that was faint and quiet, existing along the lines of her jaw and eyes more than in the broadening and curling of lips.

"-Rhya," she greeted. He was one of the few she greeted like this upfront. Other Cliath didn't command the same respect he did.

[Owen DeTerizzi] *Where did one take a wolf to run? Not Grant Park, that much was certain. Owen was buttoned up in a crisp black peacoat and woven cashmere scarf, frost caught in the wind mussed mane of hair about his shoulders. It was a full moon, and even the theurge felt it's pull. Nights like this were usually spent in the city's reflection. Some city's reflection anyway. Tonight, the glasswalker had been reminded of pressing personal business with a sharp flare of Gaia's anger upon returning home to chewed up furniture. The bitch needed a place to stretch her legs, and he'd best find one soon, or all of his possessions would be in pieces within the week.

Booted feet crunch in the snow as Owen approaches from behind an abandoned hangar, a hand held up in silent hello as he grows nearer.*

[Fire Claws] His eye does not waver from the strange little cub that was playing on the ice flow, watching as she choose to wander around the ice until she finally recognizes the call of her mentor. He watches as she does not immediately come to him, as he demanded. She seems lost.

He watches with stark brown eyes as she moves up to him. He does not say anything at first. Just standing there, watching and waiting. Until the scent of another comes into his range. He turns quickly as the new comer comes around the hanger. Addressing his cub once more.

"Let' see if ya can be propa' like."

He turns to move towards the new face. Sniffing at the air as he moves. Watching carefully.

[Gwen Sullivan] Her eyebrows flit upward some, not in reaction to her mentor's hard gaze or his refusal to return the smile that her features had greeted him with. Rather, it was his wondering aloud, challenging her to be 'proper'. Her mouth sets straight and firm, and her eyes lag for half a second at the Lupus's jaw before following the turn of his head to see the Glass Walker that approached.

Her body turns next, opening up to the newcomer, facing him straight on. Her posture was not aggressive, not defensive, despite the steady thrum of Rage behind her chestplate. This was neutral land, the Warders made certain that the wrong sort wouldn't get in, and if they couldn't hold up not only would they let everyone else know it? But they would certainly all be doomed, Gwen believed.

Fire Claws sniffed, Gwen surveyed with flat eyes to match the flat line of her mouth. Her hands kept to her pockets, cool green-gray eyes flashed over Owen's face, but she said nothing. If she was going to be proper, she wouldn't speak before Fire Claws. It had been a while, they had to re-establish trust in the strength of dominance and rank to make up for time lost.

[Owen DeTerizzi] *Things were business casual in his last sept, but judging by the carefully neutral posture of the garou in front of him, that was not the case here. A slim fingered hand weaves through long hair, melted snowflakes brushed off on his chest once he's satisfied that he looks presentable. A rich tenor announcing him as he slows to a stop just inside striking distance and nods.*

Evening. You two know if wolves are allowed on the bawn here?

[Fire Claws] He approaches with keen interest. Like most of his birth, he was a predator no matter what. Territorial and demanding. A new face was very rarely a welcome sight. It meant new stomach that needed feeding, new claws to take the glory that was due your own. Even if the Caern was neutral land to all garou, it still made him stand on edge, waiting to see if he would need to defend himself against the new potential threat.

When Owen speaks, he watches and listens. His gnarled, southern dialect meets the tenor. His voice a butcher to the human tongue, only recently coming to learn the length of much of the language. However his head tilts to the side as he speaks.

"I Fire~Claws, Forseti Cliath and member of this Sept. This ma' ward. Pup of this Sept. Who are you?"

[Gwen Sullivan] Ma' ward, Pup of the Sept.

She With No Deed Name.

Gwen jerked her chin up just a bit, a greeting that was far less formal than her silence at her mentor's side. It was the more common, more human way of acknowledging someone out on the streets. Her appearance suggested this was where she came from, not the woods like the Lupus whose elbow she kept within two feet of right now. A small crystal stud glimmered occasionally when moonlight and lamplight hit it right, bedded at the cleft of her upper lip in what piercing artists would call a 'medusa'. Her hair was tucked under her hat, out of sight, but her eyebrows were brown and the wisps at the back of her neck between hat and scarf suggested the same tones.

Fire Claws's posture was defensive, territorial, purely animal. Gwen's was posed to be much less of that, hands in pockets and leaned back just enough to appear relaxed and casual. The fact that energy ran currents under her skin and that her muscles occasionally shivered, sometimes with cold and sometimes with suppressed momentum and the need and want for it, spoke against the stance she took anyways.

The young had a difficult time with their Rage, even the New Moons did under Luna's full face in their first handful of months.

[Owen DeTerizzi] *The choppy language gets furrowed brows, as does the body posture of the Forseti in front of him. He was a Get, Owen supposed it was altogether possible he was brain damaged from some terrible Battlescar. Tension rides lean shoulders as the handsome eco-shaman looks the pair up and down with greater care, their uneasy effect on him plain on his features. A battle prepared for was a battle half won. His question went unanswered, still, introductions were being made, so there was progress of a sort. His hands find his pockets.*

My name is Owen DiTerizzi. Riddle Me This, by the galliards of the nation. Claith Theurge of Cockroach and soon to be- with luck - a member of this Sept.

[Fire Claws] He watches keenly as the new urrah speaks and makes his introduction. When he says something about becoming a member of this sept his posture once again changes slightly. He was purely defensive before, to somewhat defensive now. This was still another wolf after all and a possible threat to what little hunting grounds were around, but he was looking to share in the kill.

"'Dis Sept is one a' Sacra'fice. Gotta giv' sumtin up to the totem. Sumtin importin."

He turns and looks back at his cub once more as she seems to be respectful to the glass walker. He waiting a few more moments as the rage-racked little cub was on edge as the two spoke. But finally speaking once more.

"Pup wha' do ya kno' bout rites?"

[Gwen Sullivan] Gwen had taken to nipping at the flesh inside her cheek while Owen gave his introduction, studying his stature, his shoulders, and the half-uncertain, uneasy expression on his face and how his weight was balanced on his feet. She didn't consider herself to be terribly intimidating, she presumed his response was soley to her Mentor's presence, had nothing to do with her own. She didn't register the stony way she could hold her face in the mirror. It was coming along, and more potent now when backed by Rage.

Fire Claws spoke of sacrifice, and Gwen's mind was slipping to something else when he addressed her. She turned her head quickly to look at him, danced her eyes up his face, down it again, then let them settle on his visage as a whole as she shook her head. "I know of them, I hear of them and have seen one or two done." Or so she thought, anyways. She was pretty sure she saw rites, they just weren't announced before they were performed. "I don't know how to do them, though." Obviously.

She glanced to Owen, met his eye for a second, then back to Fire Claws. Her question is off-topic from rites, but one that she found important anyways. "I haven't given anything to Maelstrom."

[Owen DeTerizzi] *Owen pauses long enough to let Fire-Claws jump in, should he want to. When the Get seems either uninterested, or taking a moment in finding his words, the tall glasswalker clears his throat and rumbles quietly to the cub.*

I expect thats something you'll do once you're declared a cliath. Do you have a name you can give? It seems strange speaking to you as "pup".

[Fire Claws] Flatly he addresses Gwen, as if it was not even a worthwhile question. He doesn't even think of it as a real question, because the answer was simple.

"Whe' a tribal totem finds ya worthe' then ya can be recogniz'd to Maelstrom."

[Gwen Sullivan] "Mmm."

It's a noteless hum of understanding to answer Fire Claws's response to her question. Her head bobbed with a nod, accepting the answer. She was a candidate for Fenris's eye, but she was firm on not calling herself a Get until she had been approved by the Totem Himself. Some might see her this way already, scoff and place claim on her as a part of their tribe prematurely. She knew better. She knew she was a cub, and while she had aspirations she didn't have a Tribe until a Tribe had her.

Owen leaned in some, rumbled a question and confirmation all in one breath, and she turned to look at him again. One corner of her mouth curled, and only slightly, to show a smile for him. She still kept her hands in her pockets, though, she was resolute about that. It was like she was convinced that they were safest there, they ran no risk of lashing out and striking anyone if they were glued near her hips inside her coat pockets.

"Gwen. Or Sully. Whatever suits your tongue best."

[Owen DeTerizzi] Sully reminds me of the X-files. I'll stick with Gwen, if it suits you.

*A curl of his lips wry, posture relaxing as FireClaws does so as well. It was clear the theurge was in no way baiting for a challenge tonight. Shoulders slumping easy as he peers around the desolate sept landscape, a flash of ambition flaring in green eyes. There was work to be done here amidst the concrete and decay.*

FireClaws, Can you tell me, are wolf forms and kin allowed on the bawn here? Or is the High Ban in effect?

[Fire Claws] He watches as the two start to converse about what to call her now, even if she was still only a little pup. Then again names were still somewhat foreign to him, wolves did not use names. They all smelt differently, they all had different body language. Names were for the monkeys who were unable to smell the unique tells of their fellows.

"Kin no.. wolf form.. whe' able ya. Be car'ful."

He thinks over a few things for a second and then seems to remember something.

"Rite are importin to our kind, forseti and godi mostly. We are closest to the spirit, godi more so... but its importin to keep up rites... importin to wha' we are."

[Gwen Sullivan] Gwen grinned, this time it was more full an expression, when Owen made his comment about the X-files. She countered with an off-handed reply of her own in a voice that rasped in a way that would be sultry and attention-grabbing were she born perhaps a century ago. Today, though, it made people think of throat cancer. "I'm leaned more toward Monsters Inc. myself, but I understand what you're saying."

Fire Claws is addressing her once more, speaking on the importance of Rites. She hears him out, listens attentively. It helped to make her a good Cub, and one day a good Philodox. When someone spoke, she paid them mind. There could always be something important to be snagged from those words. Even moreso with Fire Claws, it was a show of respect, and what he said did matter. It was his job to make sure it did.

"I've heard of the punishment rites... And one that preserves your clothes." She plucked at the skin-tight black fabric hugging her right thigh in place of pants and pressed her mouth into a slant of disapproval. "I had to change quickly the other night. I managed to get my jacket and shirt and boots off first, but I lost my jeans because of it."

[Owen DeTerizzi] Well.. that isn't terribly helpful.

*A grimace at the inconvenience, but the Sept's grounds were drawing his eyes again, distracting him from company as he wanders closer to the water's edge. Surreal and not quite present as he peers across the gloss of ice at greying docks and broken piers.*

Need someone to dedicate those to you so you're not in that spot again. I haven't memorized.. that.. particular..

[are we slipping sideways yet?]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 4, 4, 6, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[Fire Claws] (Rage check)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 6, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 4 at target 4)

[Fire Claws] He nearly snaps at her when she answer with such.. disrespect to the rite. As if they were nothing more than tools to make her life easier, to be called upon without remorse. And when Owen remarks that is isn't so helpful that she losses a little bit of monkey fur here or there. He can feel it coming over him, and he nearly turns on her. Snarling.

Only by forcing his higher mind to focus on calming himself, does he not try and rip her head off. Pausing as he looks away, not to met the reason why he wants to go all ragey and end the pup's short life.

[Fire Claws] (WP spent)

[Gwen Sullivan] Fire Claws is snarling, bearing down on her with his teeth showing, his shoulders rolled forward with the strength of his arms as Rage surges through them, throws them forward, screams in his ears for him to tear her down, and then Owen when he's finished. Gwen is taut like a wire and reacting instantly to the flash fire heat of Rage that washes over her. She slides her weight back, a foot drags over frozen earth along with it. Her teeth are showing as well, a sign of time spent with the Lupus, that this animal reaction is thoughtless and instant on her face.

She doesn't cuss reflexively, yelp or cower. She doesn't snarl back. But those teeth do show, the bridge of her nose does wrinkle, and her body is curled with tension, making it difficult to stay loose enough for smart combat. Rage rose like waves of heat off a desert highway at noon, rippling from her back and shoulders and into the air. He lunged, the Monster in her rose to the occasion and begged him to swipe, to give her the leave to spend herself against him.

Instead, though, she grinds through teeth that won't unclench: "Sorry, -Rhya." And keeps her eyes ratcheted onto him. Cautious. Alert. Aware. Eager and waiting.

[Owen DeTerizzi] *Here-in lies the problem with being more man than wolf, and more spirit than man. One doesn't notice the subtle signals of the wild-animal coming to the fore. One's instincts are dulled by the ever analyzing monkey mind. One's monkey-mind is hijacked by the spirit within, ever questing for its brethren. Green eyes glaze over as the barrier between worlds slips for the space of several heartbeats, and in those heartbeats, an altercation nearly breaks out behind him. A snarl teasing him to the material, physically and mentally.

The expression of sudden shock on his features would be priceless, were there not more pressing matters at hand. The theurge nervously clears his throat, rumbling cautiously.*

Woah now. Did I miss something? Lets all take a deep breath and count backwards from ten here.

[Fire Claws] "Dat's da problem wit ya monke's. Don't undastand the spirits... t'inkin everytin is ta make ya life easy'ah. Dit's more dan dat. Reverence. 'Onor. Respect. Punishment rites are makin' those learn ta respect the rules they broke. Rites of accord 'onor us, 'onor spirits, 'onor our society. Seasonal rites 'onor the natural world 'round us."

He turns on Gwen once more, watching her as she seem to try and be contrite for her ignorance. The beast rode high within him, waiting for her to disrespect him or his beliefs. Waiting to give him a reason to snap once more.

"Dat's why I 'ad to go back ta Storm 'ammer. No one 'ere knows the rite of winter winds. Among otha reasons."

[Gwen Sullivan] This was the trouble with the Full Moon. Gwen did okay when she wasn't provoked, when the Rage had no reason to boil to the surface. She did a decent job of masking it, of smiling through it and keeping herself civil and... hell, she could even touch things and people without violence in her fingers.

It was when that Rage was given a spark to ignite that things went downhill very quickly. It manifested as a roaring blaze, a wildfire chewing up scrub brush on the California mountainside. It would be difficult to extinguish. She wasn't delirious with it, wasn't unreasonable, but she couldn't relax. Her hands were out of her pockets now, flexed into claw-shapes at her sides, and her muscles were wound tight, her joints stiff and her heart hammering. She felt warm under her jacket, the cold of the winter night was forgotten.

Owen's suggesting that they calm down was acknowledged with a brief flicker of her eyes toward him, but they returned to Fire Claws soon enough. She might not have understood Owen's words as much as simply heard his voice. Her jaw was tight still, teeth clamped together. It was an effort to keep her lips together over her teeth.

A tremor of pent up energy begging for release made its way up her spine. She ran her tongue along the backs of her teeth and spoke curtly, gruffly. "You didn't say you were leaving." Dangerous ground. She should be settling, calming, asking questions that would guide him to tell her more about the Rites, show her one so she could understand how they worked completely. Were the moon anything but full (or waning away and pausing for one night to be halved perfectly) she would have chosen that route. Rage flooded her, though, and made her rash and honest.

[Owen DeTerizzi] *Two steps back. Then another. And another. Rage was sparking and spitting and the tension was drawing his own hackles up. Teasing his neglected wolf from slumber and urging it to jump into the fray. Instead Owen moves pointedly away. Feet crunching in gravel as he moves off without a word. This was a little too Feral for his liking. If he wanted to deal with wild animals, he'd go home.*

[Fire Claws] He stepped up to Gwen when she started to yelp back at him. Like the little pup she was, he stood right at her. If he was any closer to her, he would have been her. The rage coiling off him was almost like standing next to a blast furnace. Snarling at the little girl, making sure she remembered her place in this situation.

"CUB. DON'T TEST ME."

He looked down at her, his rage boiling over, where only his will was keep him from going crazy and seeking her blood. If she didn't back down, she would find out the power a true garou could unleash.

"I DO WAT I NEED TO."

[Fire Claws] (WP spent)

[Gwen Sullivan] Fire Claws steps up against her, his chest and belly both flush to hers. He had a handful of inches on her, he tipped his head down to keep his face aimed at her own. This near her forehead was level with his mouth, but her chin tipped up so she could seethe right back at him. She should be afraid, should be worried. Should know that he's grasping the razor's edge of control and it was slicing his palms and making them bleed.

Her nostrils flare, she leans forward, presses her chest back to him, rises to the challenge as he roars into her face. Her right arm twitches, fingernails itch to be claws, nearly are for a moment...

...but then she steps back. Doesn't so much step as rip herself away from him and pace a broad half-circle toward the lake, heavy boots stomping the iced over dirt as she went. She slashed her hands fruitlessly at the air, then yanked down the zipper of her jacket and slung her shoulders back so it fell off and onto the ground, leaving her in a long-sleeved tee that was bright yellow with a large, crooked smiley face in black ink on the front. She was too warm to be comfortable, standing out in this cold without a coat, with sweat on her back, it would be asking for pneumonia were she human, hypothermia if she stayed like this for too long.

She stopped, perhaps eight feet away, and looked back at Fire Claws. Her expression was nothing pleasant, it was young and upset and full of piss, vinegar, and hurt. But her voice, miraculously, is even and quiet when she speaks. Even if her shoulders shiver as she does so. "I don't doubt what you did or why. I understand why you left. I know it was for the best."

Her tone lowers further. "But you-..." And she rethinks. His face convinced her to do so. Teeth clamped together once more, eyes fasten to the toes of her boots, and she smolders, trembles, and tries to cool.

[WP spent]

[Fire Claws] Intense dark eyes of the predator stare at her, watching her as she nearly challenges his place among them. He was her better, her alpha in these matters. She was omega by default, even more so than any bone gnawer at this moment. She may want to prove herself, but now was not the time. She was nothing to him. He proved that push comes to shove, he would put her down. He was stronger, faster, experienced. She was green and fresh faced to the war. Not a Get... yet.

When she walks away, the beast snarls and gripes at the conflict lost. The rage simmering away as she paces towards the icy lake edge.

"Des' rite are wat make the world go. Ignorin' dem ignores the celestines, the spirits. Everything. Den wha? We give away wat we have to da weaver and da wyrm. Dees rite to da seasons are importin. As well as our duty ta breed. Dare are no wolf kin in dis scab. Storm 'Ammer has some, without mates. Strong females kin. Great 'onor offered when I was there. Easy for you monkey girl. Many kin to breed with when time comes."

She begins to say something again, he can see she wants to say something, something to raise his hackles. To encourage the beast once more.

[Gwen Sullivan] Many arguments crop up in her mind like dandelions in a summertime front yard. Arguments about how she wasn't trying to disrespect the spirits, how Linus had taught her nothing but respect for them. Arguments about how a rite surely couldn't change the seasons. Arguments about kin-- for some reason Rage had these pounding the most furiously in her skull.

There are no kin here!, she wanted to protest. None for me, more for you. There are countless beautiful, leggy, lush-lipped girls running around that smell like earth and promising blood, but no men. None. It infuriated her, that he thought it could be so easy, in the way that proves her a teenager still. She couldn't make sense of why it bothered her so badly and didn't want to try to defend herself for it either. She just ground her teeth and tried to push thoughts of Kin out of her head.

Rather, she's quiet, choking on the want to growl. She stopped her protest short, swallowed it back, flattened it from her mind. There's silence between them, a heavy one, and it opens back up only when she speaks quietly again, voice almost hard to catch over the whisper of wind.

"Can we hunt, -Rhya?" She needed to run, to go burn Rage, to put her muscles to work and wear herself out. She'd go crazy tonight without.

[Fire Claws] He watched her with quizzical gaze when she started to go on about hunting now. But after the intense situation from the last couple of moments where he was going to rip and kill her. He watched the rage started to spew in her blood.

"Yes, we hunt now."