Daniel Broken Hammer

[-red-] [To climb the mountain: 3 WP rolls, diff 8! I'm also taking this as an opportunity to write people out.]

[Face of Death] [WP]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 4, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[Face of Death] [WP
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[-red-] [dan! +1]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[Face of Death] [and 3]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 5, 9 (Failure at target 8)

[-red-] [dan +2!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 7, 10 (Failure at target 8)

[-red-] [dan +3!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 7 (Botch x 1 at target 8)

[Buried Hatchet] There's a lot he could say to that. Could, but: he learned when he was assumed to be seventeen years old or so that trying to tell someone who does. Not. Like. You. what you really meant, or that you don't like them either, or that you would have gladly hunted alongside them and taught their cubs everything you have ever learned about tracking and bringing down true prey...

...it really amounts to nothing, in the end. So he doesn't speak. He bows his head in acknowledgement, in respect -- because either way, she was a high rank Moon Seer in her last life, the life that still lingers as an imprint on her soul -- and then turns back to his packmates. He rubs his head against Echo's, against Joey and Daniel. He nips at Nate's scruff. He grunts at Blood Summons, and then he turns

and starts to climb.

[+1]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[Buried Hatchet] [+2]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 5, 7 (Botch x 1 at target 8)

[Buried Hatchet] [-1WP, reroll +2]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[-red-] [-1WP, try again! +3]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 7 (Botch x 2 at target 8)

[Buried Hatchet] [+3]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[-red-] -2WP, try again!!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 7, 8 (Failure at target 8)

[-red-] [fuck's sake. ignore last two rolls. rerolling at 4d10!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 9 (Failure at target 8)

[-red-] The path beneath their paws is quickly lost in ever-deeper snow. It angles steeply up into the mountains, up and up. The skies cloud over, then turn black. Light falters. Temperatures drop. Soon the pack finds themselves clinging to a rock face so sheer that even snow cannot find a foothold here -- though they must.

It's so cold that their digits are numb; their eyes watering. It's hard to breathe when the wind gusts, tearing at them like a living thing trying to cast them down, down, down.

Soon, they can't see the bottom anymore. It's all mist and freezing cold, a bare granite face before them that they cling to with every ounce of their strength. Toward the end, Joey nearly slips. She slides down a terrifying, jarring twenty yards or so before catching herself -- barely -- on the lip of a ledge. The rock face, ice-edged, slices her open. It closes soon enough, though, and she pushes on.

Hatchet and Broken Hammer are not so fortunate. When they fall -- as they do -- their claws can find no hold. They slide a long way. They dig in, bear down. Pain lances through them: injury that cuts at their spirit without seeming to touch their bodies.

They, too, press on.

They lose track of one another on the climb. The wind and the mist separate them, though they can still hear one another's claws, breathing, efforts. It takes will to climb. It takes will to simply keep going.


[Effects:

Joey takes 1L damage from slipping. This only heals when she reaches the summit.

Dan and Hatchet each take 1A damage from botch-slipping, and furthermore burn WP to keep going.

Current status:
Joey 2A, 1L 3WP
Hatchet 3A 4WP
Dan 6A 4WP]

[Buried Hatchet] He barks when Joey slips, when he hears her claws scrambling and catching on the rock. And maybe because he does: he falls. It isn't a slide, not a slip. He loses his hold and ice-cold rock slams into his very being, into his bones, into his soul. He roars, though not in pain. Bear keeps him from feeling the pain. It's a sound of pure frustration, held at bay only by his rather ferocious will.

Stubbornness.

By the time he regains his hold, starts climbing again: he doesn't know where Joey is. Or where Daniel is. Or where any of them are. He can hear them, but the wind takes away their positions and he knows only that they live, that they're around him, that he isn't alone. So he keeps climbing.

[Face of Death] She hears her alpha's bark, barely. It's the last sound she hears from her packmates for a while, and she hears it as her claws scrabble for purchase, her muscles strain, and she keeps herself from sailing over the edge. The obstinate little Rotagar clings, though. She drags herself back up again, and by the time she's up, she's lost track of the others.

There's no way she can stop and wait for them, no way to go faster to see if they've passed her. And there's only one way to go: Up. Onward and upward. Her only hope is that she finds them at the summit, or they find her.

So she continues on, Bear's gift keeping the pain at bay for now.

[-red-] Ultimately, some of them simply don't have the will to go on. Some of them slip and fall over and over and over, bad luck or faltering strength or injury or all of the above. Some of them eventually, finally, cannot summon up the strength to go on.

They close their eyes. They let go. They fall into shadows and mist...

...and wake up outside the Red Talon homeland in the dark stillness between worlds.

--

The rest of them press on.

Some interminable time later, Joey's handpaw, reaching for the next hold, finds ... loose soil. Flat earth. She pulls herself up and finds herself in a different place altogether. Buried Hatchet and Broken Hammer join her a moment later. All of them are injured. Broken Hammer is bent double in his Crinos shape, one handpaw on the ground,

which is lush with life.

The wind and the storm and the dark, foreboding skies are gone. Blue skies all around -- crisp and clear. It's cold, but the sun is bright.

And they're not atop a bare rock summit at all. There's earth here, and plant life: the wildflowers and wildgrass of early spring. A stream cuts across the summit. Trout stand still in the current, smooth and brilliant, the edges of their fins rippling. The packmates can see straight to the horizon in every direction, though the view falling away into the distance changes every time they look. A rainforest. A taiga. A savanna. A prairie.

Nate, Echo, and Blood Summons are nowhere to be seen.

In their place, a strange sight in this feral land: a man standing at the edge of the stream, his back turned to them. His hair falls past his shoulders, tangled and twisted, dreadlocks formed from nothing more than a lifetime without bathing. He's bare from head to foot, utterly unashamed, wearing nothing but remembered scars of another life.

Something about his posture indicate he's waiting for them. Has been for some time.

[Buried Hatchet] Heal him. I can't. And we don't know what's coming next.

There's no denying who the words are directed at. Hatchet is moving steadily back into hispo from his crinos-shape, more at ease in these lands on four legs than on two, than in warform. He is saying this as soon as he's on solid ground, even as his body begins to change.

And then he looks around. He breathes in deep, exhales slow. He closes his eyes against the constant shifting, opens them again. He can sense his packmates in the back of his mind -- the back of his spirit -- and he does not fear for them. His ribs expand and contract as he breathes, every single one deep and as satisfying as a meal.

His eyes focus on the trout for a little while. He blinks, and then he looks at the man. Who he was aware of, but did not look at. He remains in hispo, and takes a few steps forward, positioning himself subtly but definitely in front of the two Cliaths still with him. Hatchet cocks his head to the side, peering at him. After a little while of silence, he makes a questioning noise in his throat.

[Face of Death] It's unsettling, reaching the summit and not finding her brother, her sister, or the Fostern Godi who traveled with them. Joey's dark-eyed gaze sweeps the area, searching for them. She resists the urge to look back the way they came.

Buried Hatchet orders her to heal Daniel, and Joey reaches out to her brother, pressing her handpaw to his wounds. When she's done what she can, she follows Hatchet into Hispo, trailing a little ways behind him.

[-1G Mother's Touch, diff 5]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 4, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 5)

[-red-] [oh! i forgot! after gaining the summit, they all regain full WP.]

[-red-] [also, for duration of SL, +1 survival on top of their +1 primal urge.]

[-red-] When the packmates have made what meager preparations they can or will, Hatchet makes a sound in his throat. As though he had been waiting for exactly this, the stranger by the stream turns to face them.

The planes and angles of his face are strange: a sharp, slanting, feral countenance that looks almost mutant to human standards. It is, in reality, an expression of the utter purity of his line: Red Talons back and back and back through all his ancestry, all his past lives. His hair is a deep, rich red, and his eyes are a wolf's eyes, resonant yellow, very direct.

"In my last life I was called Strong Alpha; Hunts in Scab; Understands Apes; Griffin's Rage Gaia's Peace." Most of the other Talons could barely speak the High Speech in various feral forms. This one's human mouth forms the sounds flawlessly. "I was an elder rank Red Talon of the warrior moon.

"In coming here, the strength of your body has been tested. The strength of your will has been tested.

"Will you allow me to test the strength of your spirit?"

[Buried Hatchet] From the Talons Hatchet has met in his lifetime -- more than many homidborn can claim, up there with some Striders -- he knows that Understands Apes may not be a name of honor among their kind. But he listens to the way Strong Alpha, Hunts in Scab speaks it. And in his mind, he calls him by the last name. The one that speaks of balance, of duality: the one that appeals most to his own moon.

"We came for knowledge," Hatchet says, after some time. He's manipulating his voice: he speaks the High Tongue, rather than the combination of body language and barks and mottled Garou-speech that makes up his communication in hispo. "Griffin told us we would be tested, to prove worthy of knowledge."

A beat.

"My pack submits to your test."

[-red-] No words; no nod, no indication whatsoever that this test has begun. There is simply a gathering in the air, a thickening of the spiritual might around this place.

The sunlight does not dim. The grass does not bend. The stream does not swell higher, and the wind does not blow harder. But their perception warps nonetheless, bowing beneath the sudden, burgeoning onslaught like a candle to the wind. The assault is not against their bodies or even their minds, but the very fabric of their spirits, and it grows and grows.

The elder Red Talon closes his eyes. He whispers:

"Stand strong."

[-red-] [okay, this is essentially a modified facedown. as a pack, someone (pick a representative!) will be rolling cumulative Gnosis, aka 9 dice, vs diff 8 (dude's rage). You need to accumulate 10 successes (his WP).

meanwhile, Hunts in Scabs is rolling his gnosis (6) x 3 = 18, -3 for pack bonus. So 15 dice vs diff 9 (highest rage, +3 for pack bonus). He needs to accumulate 10 successes (highest WP, +3 for pack bonus).]

[-red-] [Oh and -- you may burn Gnosis to keep going if he wins out. However, all packmates must burn Gnosis together (drawback of doing it as a pack!)]

[Buried Hatchet] [Pack Gnosis]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 8)

[-red-] [counter gnosis!]
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 9)

[-red-] As the Sentinels brace themselves, the unseen storm gathering behind Hunts in Scab grows to its full strength.

A silence -- like the world gathering a breath -- and then it comes down on them.

Batters them so utterly that it feels like an assault on body and mind both; tears into them, bears them down under its weight. First, a wave of sorrow, deep as an ocean: a dirge for all things lost and slipping away, the beating memory of everything they've seen. The elk, the mammoths, the wolves, the great predators of the world lost to time and the unstoppable encroachment of man and machine.

The loss of all things wyld and pure, the impossibility of bringing any of them back. The loss, even, of their memories -- as more and more of their spirits merely fade away into nothingness as the boundaries of this realm, and so many others like it, shrink in the face of the wyrm.

Loss. Loss and sorrow batter them, pelts them like rain.

[Face of Death] [Pack Gnosis!]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Failure at target 9)

[-red-] [pack gnosis!]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 5, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[-red-] Then --

Terror. Rage and terror. The cold, clammy fear of being hunted by humans, of being pursued by wyrmthings, being driven from the warmth and safety of the den, smoked out, chased, cornered, slaughtered. The fear, metallic and sour, of being hunted by the unstoppable force of history itself; being driven out by condo complexes and housing developments; dens and caerns and deep wilderness profaned, destroyed by nothing more or less than civilization's advancements, the inevitable movement of time.

Primal, unflagging terror claws through them, flaying their nerves raw, jolting their rage, weakening their limbs.

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 9)

[Buried Hatchet] Hatchet tosses his head under the onslaught. Thoughts of Ryan conflict with thoughts of bloody dismembered bodies littering a--

it's not a battlefield. It was. It shouldn't have been. There was a round rug on the floor and the light would come in the front windows and

he thinks of Charlie and he wasn't there when Charlie died he wasn't there he can't bring him back

and oh god, Joey

Joey I know how it feels

He thinks of the cubs and how they died. He thinks of all the things he's seen, and all the things he and no one on earth will ever see again, and his eyes roll back as his pack -- what's left of it now, who is left standing, and if they fall, if they fall it will be all his

sisters

He shakes his head hard against the sudden switch to terror, to primal, gutwrenching fear, the hulking shadows of Spirals in crinos, the last thing they saw, the last thing he'll see, the last thing for all of them, every single eye gleaming and burning with the Wyrm's own eager destruction to remake the world into fire

and blood

and nothing.

He chokes on air that was clear not so long ago. His legs shake, but he doesn't fall.

[Pack Gnosis]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 5, 5, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 9)

[Face of Death] [pack gnosis! (*flashes boobs to Kahseeno*)]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 8)

[-red-] -- and last, and worst,

an assault on their very faith. Their belief, their will to fight on. Whatever it is they draw strength from -- the idea that their race might survive, that Gaia can be saved, that all the damage can be undone; or perhaps merely the belief that even if everything must die for a new day to dawn, a dawn will come after the darkness,

or perhaps even something so simple, and bitter, and hopeful that even if all must end, and all hope must fail, and all light must die, then they will at least go down fighting, go down honorably, cast light on this blackened husk of a world with the blaze of their existence, and their passage, and their being:

Whatever it is that they cling to when all hope seems lost, when harano sets in and the inevitability of it all drags at them -- it's torn from their grasp. Cast to the winds. Doubt comes, insidious and colder than the wind that had torn at their will on the mountainside.

Their vision darkens. There's a muffled roaring in their ears. They taste sourness and bitterness; feel numb. Smell death. Everything around them warps and corrodes, and they have no sense of balance, no sense of space or time or themselves or anything at all except:

Doubt. Doubt: that anything they do can change the course of things. Doubt: that anything they do matters at all. Doubt: that their race will survive, that their war can even be won at this point. Doubt: that even a noble, honorable end will mean anything at all when they're nothing but blood

and meat

and dust.

--

And then, just like that, it's over.

--

The pressure lifts. Their senses right themselves. Whatever they believe, restored tenfold: the trust that even a twig can divert a flood. That even if they must all die to save Gaia, it can and will be done. That even if Gaia is beyond saving, then at least they can preserve the flame, pass it on, protect it as long as they possibly can,

because it's worth it.

It's worth it for the unity of pack. For the comfort of brothers and sisters and those-you-know gathered in the darkness of the den while the winter wind howls outside. It's worth it for the joy of running far, running fast; of hunting worthy prey; of feeling the strength in their bones and their bodies, the pulse in the earth itself beneath their feet, and the wyld breathing all around them.

These are the things we'll keep and protect, the homeland of the Talons whispers to them, as long as we possibly can.

--

When their vision clears, they find themselves where they were before, in the early spring sunshine, on the mountaintop. Hunts in Scab is there; Angry Spirit Sister; Missing Tooth. With them, towering over them the way Angry Spirit Sister towered over her cubs -- the avatar of Griffin, feathers and fur stirring faintly in the cool breeze.

[-red-] [oh and! regain all gnosis. gain +1 enigmas for remaining duration of SL (which is admittedly gonna be short *LOL*)]

[Face of Death] Joey is a strong warrior for Gaia. She has always convinced herself that she is as good as any man, as strong and as brave and as brutal. That's why, on the occasions when grief and sadness have gripped her so fiercely her resolve threatens to crack and splinter and explode apart, she cries in the dark. She cries in her car in Tekakwitha, or on the roof of The Brotherhood, or with her face buried in her pillow when no one else is around.

But when that rush of sadness and loss hits her, Joey either can't or won't hold back. She's felt this sense of pain before, this intense sense of loss that threatens to crush her soul. She felt it on the umbral reflection of a street somewhere, saw it in a swirl of grey mist. She felt it, standing to the side of a Crinos-sized grave, within which lay the body of her best friend. Tears fill up her dark eyes now as they did then, and they spill out to soak the patches of white at her cheeks, unheeded.

Then comes the anger, and the fear. Fear that the spirit of the world they fight for could be destroyed, profaned, torn asunder. Anger that it could happen so easily.

Last comes the doubt. For years now, Joey has believed the only thing she can do for the Nation is die for it, and that that will be enough. That will make up for her inability to bring cubs into the world, to follow in her footsteps and fight on in her wake. But what if it's not? What if she fights with everything she has and it's all for nothing? She rallies her spirit, takes strength in the presence of her brothers, and she fights off the doubt.

Griffin appears again, along with their Talon guides and challengers. The fur of Joey's face is still wet with her shed tears when she steps near Buried Hatchet. She doesn't speak up, doesn't address the spirits that have guided them while they stayed within the Red Talons homeland. She waits for Buried Hatchet to address them.

[Buried Hatchet] He does believe. He believes in making cubs for the next generation. Hatchet is not one of those who believes that those born in the last few years will not change soon enough to be of any use in the war, so why bother. Hatchet believes: find mates. Make cubs. This is how we go on. This is how every people, ever, has always gone on. The process itself is precious, even if the goal is unattainable. Or seems so.

He believes that they can survive, that Gaia is strong, that despite everything they are making a difference. He does doubt sometimes, and this trial finds those holes and digs fingers into them, hurts him, pulls at his spirit like flesh. He believes the ones who die, die with purpose. And even if not?

They die remembered. And that's something, too. That's part of their life, their existence, the survival of not only their kind and their kin but the world. The wolves the Red Talons are a part of. The humans they hate. All life. All part of Gaia. No one, talking to Hatchet about these things, could be all that surprised that one of his first teachers was a Child.

Who taught him to let go of the anger that Echo still carries at what both Fosterns have lost. Who taught him how to mend with words, though he doesn't always. Who taught him to have hope. Even after Brendan and Nikolai slaughtered one another, even after he could not look at Lena's face another moment without getting torn apart by pain and bitterness. Even after the time alone, even after the death and scattering of Weasel's Gang, even after the losses the Sentinels have suffered, leaving him the only remaining original packmate:

Tener un poco de fe, Oscar.

His spirit and his fury and his backbone are all as well and whole as they were when they entered this land. He stands strong, despite the wounds on his body and in his soul. Hatchet's eyes are not wet, perhaps miraculously. Perhaps because even now he is still... just a little too detached. Or maybe because at the end of it all, hope is a remarkable salve for sorrow and a great comfort in the face of terror.

Hatchet breathes deep, and for the first time since they entered the Canadian wilds to approach the Sept of Summer Snow, he flows upward and into his breed form. The body his spirit came to when birth joined them. The body that changed when the Wolf came. The body that bears most visibly the scars of all his deaths, all his reclamations of life. The body that, right now, is tangled of hair and long of beard and bare as Hunts in Scab's. He has a tan, but even so: compared to the three before him he is pale and small and soft. Compared to any human being in Chicago, he is as hard-bitten and ravaged as they come.

But these are humans. And they're not in Chicago. They're not even on Earth.

He does not speak in English. He chooses, again, the High Tongue. And it may be the first time Joey and Daniel have heard him speak it in homid; it may surprise them that he plays this language on his voice the way he plays songs on a guitar: with rather impressive skill. His words to the Talons are humble. Unbroken, unbowed, but: it is an expression of deep gratitude.

"You have honored us with your tests."

[-red-] The Red Talons stand silent now: the female grudgingly receptive to their gratitude at best; the homid-formed male remote and neutral, the wolf-formed one lolling his tongue at them, his eyes bright in the sunlight.

Griffin's unblinking raptor eyes fix on Hatchet as he speaks. At the end of it, the great totem dips its head briefly in acknowledgement. When he speaks, his voice fills the sky, pierces their hearts.

"From Missing Tooth Good Eyes you have learned our joy and love of the Wyld; our sorrow for its loss. From Angry Spirit Sister, our rage and our desperation, our protection of what is ours by blood and birth. And from Hunts in Scab, our doubt. Our fear. Our strength. Our hope.

"This is my Tribe, children of Stag and of Fenris. These are my children; what they are in sum and in total.

"The ones you killed in your Scab were my children as well." No anger, now. Just fact stated levelly, unflinchingly. "They strayed from the true path, falling to their sorrow and their rage, their fear and doubt and desperation. But they were still my children. When you slew them, you took what joy and strength and hope they still bore. You snuffed out what light was still within them.

"So it is given to you now. Yours to bear, along with what knowledge you may have gleaned here. Yours to take back with you, and to hold in your hearts."

[Buried Hatchet] The Fianna's answer is simple, and speaks for the pack entire. If they disagree, if they cannot bear it, he will understand if they pull away from him as a result. But he doesn't think that will happen. He inclines his head to Griffin, and says only:

"Gladly, great one."

[Face of Death] Joey remains stoic and serene only until Hatchet answers for all of them. She nods her head once in agreement. Then her jaw opens and her tongue lolls in a wolf smile.

[-red-] "Go, then. Return to your world."

The three ancestor-spirits of the Talons fall in beside them as they turn away. Down the mountainside first, led by Hunts in Scab, who picks out a path far easier than any they might've thought to take. At the snowline Hunts in Scab stops, shifting effortlessly into his breed form, sitting on his haunches, tilting his head back to loose an echoing, unfettered howl as they descend.

Past Sister's cave, then, where her cubs tumble out and run alongside them, bounding and leaping, until they reach the plain. At the rock Sister and her cubs sit. A chorus of howls follow them, the cubs' high and wavering, the mother's raw and ferocious, a roar across the sky.

Just Missing Tooth, then, running ahead of them as he did when they came. Past the beasts of the past, gone now from the earth. Past the slain and the slaughtered, back to the forest and the trees. At the edge of the meadow Missing Tooth slows, falls behind, lifts his shaggy head.

That last howl follows them all the way back to the cave: haunting, unforgettable, utterly and unchangeably wild.

--

They find their missing packmates and their guest when they emerge from beneath the waterfall. In the sudden absence of the lost and the slain of Griffin's realm, the Umbra seems quiet and empty.

[If you didn't make it all the way, you wake up in the Umbra in the exact same condition you went in.

If you did make it all the way, you emerge with all tempers recharged to full and all wounds healed. Furthermore, you can pick one of the traits -- primal urge, survival or enigmas -- and keep the +1 for the next month, after which you'll have to spend XP to actually buy it.]

[Buried Hatchet] [Primal Urge, I choose you!]

[Face of Death] [ditto on the PU!]

[End Transmission] The Fostern No Moon's back aches, or would, if she could feel the way her body buckles against the strain of the enormous boulder blocking their pathway up the mountain. Eventually, however, it gives under the join effort of several Crinos formed Garou and the Ragabash lets out a brief huff of thankfulness. Then, when the heavy lifting is ended, she reverts back down into her sprier wolf form and follows after the Fostern Philodox to greet Missing Tooth's sister.

Not that she forget to thank their first guide, that being said. He gets a whuff of thanks, even if he's already heading off.

[Buried Hatchet] Ultimately, when they all work for it, none of them can tell who pushes harder, who pushes longer, who is stronger. They're all so very close to equal, and they're all heaving together, and they're all working at once, and when Hatchet starts to roar and snarl with the effort, maybe his pack joins him. Maybe they just grit their teeth and shove

but one way or another, the boulder is pushed, and pushed, and then rolls away. Hatchet all but yips. In crinos, which is an odd enough sound and sight. He drops gradually back into lupus, shaking out his fur, dancing a bit in place though his paws are burning from the long, long running. He gathers the others together, all but herding them with bumps of his shoulders and semi-affectionate nips of his teeth, and then pulling forward to lead the way up to the cave.

[Word on the Street] Nate lends his smaller form to the boulder, but is mostly ineffectual. He strains against the weight of the giant rock. It is only when his pack sister joins with her strength that he feels the weight being lifted. THe sensation of the boulder shifting and then rolling free.

The Bone Gnawer is the last to thank their guide as he allows the others to do so. He then steps forward as he proceeds to follow his pack up into the awaiting cave.
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 9)

[-red-] If there was mingled joy and sorrow both in their first guide, or challenger, or whatever one might call Missing Tooth Good Eye, the aura around the cave is far darker. Long before they're close enough to look inside, they can smell the coarse, harsh scent of anger, the musk of adrenaline and rage.

As they draw near, they smell other things as well: youngness, helplessness. Cubs.

When they gain the lip of the cave, a rough, resounding roar of a bark rips out at them: "Weak, Weaver-loving two-leg wolves! Do not expect warm welcome here!"

They see her, then: a huge, bristling Hispo, one of the largest they've ever seen. All four paws planted. Hackles up all the way down her spine. Eyes glaring out at them like lamps of hell, sheening green in the dimness. Her fur is mostly dappled and dark, but a crest of red runs along the top of her head and down her back.

Huddled around her feet are cubs: tiny, soft balls of dark fur and dark eyes.

[Buried Hatchet] The smell in the cave gets Hatchet's back up. His fur bristles, his teeth baring as he smells the cubs, the fury, the musk of their vulnerability and their mother. He stands, paws broadly planted, facing Sister in much the same posture and position as she takes. He's smaller, though, in this form. He does not shift. He remains smaller than her, sniffs at the air, barks:

"Yours?"

The cubs. The ones who peer back at them from between her legs, from around her ankles.

Of course they're hers.

"Hungry?"

[End Transmission] The scent in the air. The rough, roar of a threat. The mingled scents in the air. All of it combines to have the Glass Walker all but skulking as she joins her Alpha and the others, mingling at the entrance of the cave. End Transmission lets out a low, unhappy huff of air.

She sits down on her haunches, and observes things with her dark [weaver born] eyes.

[-red-] The female only bristles and bares her teeth when asked about her cubs. Of course they're hers. When Hatchet asks if they're hungry, she snaps her teeth at him furiously, spittle flying from her jaws.

"NO! Of course not hungry! How can be hungry? They are DEAD! We are all. Dead!"

The cubs cringe at their mother's wrath, eyes squeezing shut, ears pinning back.

[Word on the Street] Nate follows at the rear of his pack , watching behind them before his eyes turn into the cave. Eyes narrowing slightly as he picks up the scent on the air. Paws placed on the ground slowly as he inches his way forward now.

He moves up besides Echo and lets his eyes take in the scene of the wolf with her pups. An inquistive and curious look in his eyes as he watched the scene go on before them. A sight he has probably never before witnessed. Then his head snaps upwards as the Hispo female comments that they are dead, that they are all dead. His eyes flicking from the cubs to the mother and back again.

[Buried Hatchet] Well, fuck me.

That's what his packmates hear in their heads. Blood Summons does not, thank god; he might think twice about following a male like this any further, if he knew that for at least a few moments, Buried Hatchet is at an utter fucking loss as to how to respond to Sister.

He's silent for a moment, eyes flicking down at the wincing cubs, rage swirling around his frame as he contemplates how to proceed despite the thick, troubling scents in the air. Missing Tooth's test was easier to discern; it took no words. He does not know how they are being tested now. He does not know what Sister wants... if she wants anything but their deaths.

"But they cubs," he argues. "They need know how to hunt. Eat meat, grow strong. Stay warm. Spirit-cubs, too. Have to know."

[End Transmission] "How did you and your Cubs die?"

It's the first time Echo has spoken aloud during this trip, her question might well make it the last time, too, but her question is one of pure curiosity; perhaps mingled sorrow as she stares at the mother and cubs, huddled within their spiritual cave.

[Word on the Street] Rhya? he sends the questioning remark out over the totemlink. His eyes still looking between the mother and the cubs.

Watching Buried Hatchet for his lead, not knowing how to proceed either. The city born and bred Garou that had been raised around man, that stank of the city. Appraising the situation as he just stood there silent in thought.

[-red-] The female's eyes burn, glittering like gems at Hatchet, slamming onto Echo as she speaks.

"Killed by hunters." She spits the answer to Echo's question out first. There's menace in her growl, seething in every line of her body, in her eyes, in her upright fur. "Humans come to den-land with roaring metal round-foot beasts, thunder sticks. Cars, you two legs call, guns. They laugh and howl. Chase all my kin. Harry, pursue, taunt. Herd into traps, cages. Even the cubs."

Her eyes flash. There's a vicious sort of exactness to her tale: every brutal detail flung in their teeth.

"Shoot in leg first. Back leg. One, then other. Watch them drag about on front legs. Shoot in third leg, fourth. Sometimes, they open door. Tell wolf, go, run, free. Then when wolf try to crawl, they close door. Laugh. Finally, shoot in head.

"One by one, they kill my kin. We watch all this. My pack. I say, we save them. I say, my cubs there. We save. My alpha say, there too many of them, they not normal human. My alpha say, we let our kin die, save ourselves. He was soft wolf like you, two-leg wolf, not Red Talon! I not listen. He did not understand. They not his cubs.

"I run in alone. I kill many of them." That's a snarl, low and guttural. "Their blood sour. Their fear sweet. But too many. And then, they bring silver."

The female is shaking with rage and hate and vicious, inconsolable wrath. She does not, perhaps cannot, speak for some time. Then:

"When I back in homeland, I find my cubs here too. They all dead. My pack, worthless two-leg Garou: none dead." Her jaws snap the last of that off, a guttural roar. "Now you tell me. What good, teach cubs hunt?"

[Buried Hatchet] Wait. Listen.

That's what the pack gets. What Nate gets. Because Echo is speaking up, and he's interested in the answer, too. Her roar makes him flex his claws against the ground. Her story makes him fight to control his breathing, to control his rage, to control flashes of images he can't cope with that fly through his mind. He hears screaming. He smells copious, drenching blood. He remembers --

nothing, really. It goes away, and he growls a low answer: "Your alpha was wrong. And should have died with you, to save cubs. His or not. They cubs. Not need sire cubs, to know that. He was stupid male. Weak."

He says this with a certain finality, an ironclad decisiveness.

"But now they ancestor-spirits of Red Talons. They hunt, the tribe hunts. They eat, the tribe eats. They part of living ones. What good, ancestor-cubs can't hunt?"

[Word on the Street] (( Sorry guys , I need to head now... Too many late nights at work this week. *hugs all and waves* ))

[-red-] [night!]

[Buried Hatchet] [Night!]

[End Transmission] They are an odd crew, these city-born, two-legged Garou that assemble in Sister's cave. One a Metis, two Ragabash, one of whom is a Glass Walker, all but a Weaver drone. Another the same, the Bone Gnawer and the Fianna Alpha; whose Rage almost burns out of control more than once as he hears her story of death at the hands of the Hunters.

He's not alone, there.

Echo bristles, and her muscles tense as she listens, something like a whimpering snarl of pity, of sorrow, of righteous anger pours out of her before she can stop it. She considers saying she is sorry; but knows it would not be taken well. Not from one of her kind. So she stays silent, turns her head, acknowledges the truth in Buried Hatchet's words with a chuff and toss of her head.

[-red-] The Red Talon -- whose name they do not know beyond Sister, which may be her entire deedname, or perhaps part of it, or perhaps simply what Missing Tooth Good Eyes call hers; whose rank and auspice they do not know; whose bloody history they do not know, either, except that it ended brutally -- is so angry that every breath is a snarl.

Yet, as the Sentinels refuse to rationalize, refuse to grant quarter to an alpha who let the kin of a packmate die, her hackles slowly lower. The growls go out of her breathing. Her cubs, huddled at her feet, afraid to inch away and afraid to inch closer, raise their heads. Their ears come upright.

"Yes," she agrees, a rough bark. "He weak alpha. Stupid, weak alpha. And I stupid, weak wolf for following."

She bends to her cubs, then, nuzzling them gently, whuffing, sniffing them carefully one by one by one as if to reassure herself that they really were here, all of them, all with her still. For a while, she seems to ignore Hatchet entirely.

Then the huge hispo lifts her head again. She noses her cubs forward, three tiny bundles of fur on uncertain legs. They are so very young, still on the teat, only starting to eat solids. The largest cautiously inches forward to sniff at Echo's forepaw, one wary eye on the Ragabash the entire time.

"You want teach cubs hunt, we teach cubs hunt," their mother says. The respite didn't last long. Her rage is curling forth again, black and scalding. "You prey. Cubs hunt. I hunt."

[Buried Hatchet] Oh, fuck me. The Alpha of the Sentinels says again, heard only by Nate, by Echo, by Joey, by Daniel, by... well. His brothers. His sisters. His pack, his family, his.

He twists his head around to look at them, one Fostern of a tribe most loathed by this land. A smattering of Cliaths. A metis who has nothing beyond his fangs and his command of the spirits to defend himself with. He looks at them for a little while, then turns back to Sister. The biggest cub is sniffing Echo. He keeps his eyes on their mother.

"You hunt me. Strongest hunter to strongest prey."

[-red-] At that, Broken Hammer's head whips toward his alpha. Before he -- or anyone else -- has a chance to so much as yip a protest, though:

"Fine." This comes as a single, harsh snarl from the Hispo. "You run. We hunt. Your packmates, they go with. But if they help, we hunt them too."

A beat.

"Start running, two-leg wolf!"

[End Transmission] The biggest Cub has cautiously inched forward to sniff at Echo's front paw. It's massive in comparison, almost the size of the tiny pup's head. The Glass Walker peers down at the infant wolf, but is careful not to make any sudden movements, she does this a) because the Cub might startle and b) startling Cub means enraging already raged Mama. However, when the terms of the hunt are set; Echo's ears flatten against her skull; and she swings dark eyes toward her Alpha; level on him.

This is a shit idea.

She comments over their totemlink, and says no more, bracing for the moment when Hatchet runs.

[Buried Hatchet] Across the totemlink, there's a surge of laughter that is so cracked it goes to show why the Alpha of the Sentinels is such a difficult wolf to follow: he often seems completely and utterly out of his fucking mind. Shit! he says, in between mental giggles that are barely repressed before they get out of his throat. That's totally not what I me--

Start running, two-leg wolf.

Shit.

Dirt and bits of rock get hurled into the air as his paws twist on the earth, push against the interior of Sister's den, and scrape as he turns and lunges. Hatchet is a deft wolf, moreso than he was even when he came to Chicago and was packed under Weasel; he is also in lupus, and his natural agility -- which goes along quite nicely with how flexible (let's put it nicely) his mind is -- reaches surreal levels in this form.

I'm aware! he hollers back at Echo in his mind, even as he's leaving the cave in the dust to dart not down the path but directly into the woods and wildness. You're the Fostern New Moon, you come up with something better! Jesus!

[Face of Death] Joey doesn't need her alpha to tell her to sit and listen. It's what she's been doing for over a month. The Rotagar can talk now, can communicate easily and often does. But she sits more, still and silent, ears alert, watchful.

Inside the cave, she sits near Echo, one ear flicking toward Nate when he comes along her sister's other side, the shift back to listen to the barbaric tale of Sister's death. It's the death of her cubs that gets the most reaction from the barren Fenrir. Her ears flip pack, and a low growl sounds in her throat, soft and low. Tremors ripple through her thick grey fur as she fights to keep her hackles from rising. She realizes she's growling with each breath, and she forces herself to stop. She makes her ears come forward again.

That becomes harder when they find out their task. Joey's ears pin back in an expression of pure unhappiness.

Boss... There is a pause, and the mental equivalent of fingers drumming quickly on a tabletop. Echo's right, this is stupid. We work together.

[Blood Summons] The metis who Bear's children only know as Blood Summons is oblivious to the dissent breeding between the Sentinels and the Alpha who he has got to be convinced by this point is completely cracked. He doesn't know that the No Moons are trying to convince the higher-ranked Half Moon that this plan of action isn't entirely sound, that he's leaving it up to them to come up with a better plan.

He knows that Sister is setting her cubs after the scrabbling Fiann, and that if his packmates go with him, they'll be hunted too. He is not Buried Hatchet's brother, has to be wondering what he was thinking coming along with this motley collection of warriors and healers, but the Godi does not stand his ground and attempt to convince him to rethink this plan of action.

Blood Summons prepares to run some more.

[-red-] Almost the instant Hatchet bolts, Broken Hammer follows -- two wolves running helter skelter from the cave.

Sister does not immediately bolt after them. She whuffs at her cubs. The bold one sniffing Echo's foot comes back to flank his mother. The other two, a male and a female, sit up attentively. With her cubs gathered around her, Sister waits patiently for the 'prey' to gain a lead.

She ignores the other wolves.

[Face of Death] Almost as soon as Hatchet begins to turn, Joey surges to her feet. She runs with her brothers and her sister as they bolt from the cave.

She said they'd come after us if we help, right? So we fuckin' help!

[Face of Death] [Joey runs with her BROTHERS, since Echo's just chillin' still, lol]

[End Transmission] Echo notes that Broken Hammer takes off after Hatchet, then she turns and meets Sister's eyes, level.

"We are pack, we hunt together. If you want to hunt Alpha, than you must hunt his pack, too. Find us first, then try for him. Teach your Cubs cunning, prowess." It's all End Transmission says to Sister before she looks at her brother, sister and Blood Summons as they each take off in pursuit of Alpha.

Then her dark head swings back.

"Cubs know my scent. Come after me first. Taste of Weaver wolf." With a whuff, she turns and trots out, gradually increasing her speed as she emerges from the cave.

[Buried Hatchet] See, Hatchet grouses as he runs, his thoughtvoice untouched by the panting that is soon to overtake his body, what I meant was that the pups should chase you guys, and Sister Blister over here should hunt me...

They hear it. Understand it. The difference between 'chase' and 'hunt'.

But nooo no no no no, apparently that's not gonna work with Miss Thang back there. Christ. Daniel, what the fuck?

There's little censure in his tone. Just a bark, loud and resounding, as though calling the Talons to him and his brother, his auspicemate.

Don't lose track of Blood Summons whatever you do. Echo, if we're splitting up, if you have a plan, it'd be real super helpful if you'd let me know.

[Blood Summons] He's not the last one out of the cave, but he's pretty damned close. The Godi melts out of his birth form and into his much smaller, much lither wolf skin in the amount of time it takes for End Transmission to try and convince Sister to find the Fiann's packmates first, and he hesitates just long enough to make sure that the Glass Walker is going to be coming along before he turns, leaving bloody paw prints in his wake as he, too, bolts out of the cave.

[End Transmission] Plan is such a strong word, the Glass Walker comes back with. I invited her to pursuit me first, since her cubs sniffed me and all, they know my scent. I figure it'll buy you time to decide how to react, here. Since us all runnin' out together basically made us the dinner menu for tonight.

[Face of Death] Joey runs out of the cave, but hangs back just enough to allow Blood Summons to catch up to her.

"Stay with others. Cubs hunt End Transmission first. Should buy time."

And she falls back to keep an eye on the hunt for her sister.

Let them hunt us both, sis, you then me, Joey says across the totemlink. Should give plenty of time for our fearless leader to come up with somethin', right, boss?

[Buried Hatchet] I'm pretty sure they won't eat us even if they catch us. And I'm pretty sure we can't really kill them if we fight back, since, y'know. They're dead.

He's thinking out loud. He's thinking on his feet. He's running with Daniel as silently as possible now, darting through the underbrush, leaping over fallen trees as big as his torso -- in crinos -- and leaving minute traces of his scent in the air from sweat, from dander, from his mere existence.

Echo did what she did to try and give him time to react, to decide what to do. He flies by the seat of his pants, even when he's not wearing any. He thinks to himself: he can't let his pack be hunted down and destroyed or harmed by an angry ghost. He thinks to himself: they are his brothers and sisters and family, and they cannot let him be hunted down and destroyed alone.

He thinks to himself: stupid, weak Alpha, not to lay it all on the line to save cubs and Sister. Stupid, weak Alpha, not to rely on his pack's strength.

He thinks to himself: lucky, lucky Fianna.

But out loud, he thinks: Elk and mammoth herd. Wolves pack. I'm not sure she's going to try and hunt us down one by one, and if she does, she'll go after the slowest and weakest first. When I divided us in words, she still saw us as a unit. She and her cubs are a unit.

He's getting there.

Split up at first. Dan and I are heading north; Joey and Echo, go east. Nate, take Blood Summons west. Confuse the fuck out of them if you can. Fight back if you're overtaken. Howl for help if you are. We'll converge in the north and turn to face them.

We aren't fucking elk.

[-red-] Silent communication flies between the packmates. Blood Summons alone is cut out of it, though -- presumably -- a few sounds or gestures from Nate conveys the plan to them.

And the pack splits up. The Philodoxes to the north; the Ragabashes to the east; the Theurge and Galliard to the west. Hatchet and Hammer run up the mountain. The rest cut along the ridges and valleys. The temperature drops precipitously as they climb, faster than it could possibly in the mortal world. The scenery shifts around them surreally fast.

A hundred yards up from the bare rock jutting from the plain, they're suddenly in a deciduously forest. A hundred yards after that, a pine forest; and then, the snowline. The treeline. It's like every step is a mile; every mile, the distance between continents and the span of oceans.

Night washes abruptly to day, the dawn an eyeblink. It's clear and cold and bright. The pack is widely separated now. The snow is deep. They're leaving tracks, wherever they are. The Ragabashes pass a glassy mountain lake, utterly calm, frigidly cold, a degree or two from freezing over. A mountain lion hisses at Blood Summons as he goes by. A great prehistoric bear, larger and shaggier than any they can now see, lifts his head from a stream to watch the Philodoxes lope past. Water runs down his shaggy fur.

It's been seconds, minutes, eternities since they ran from Sister's cave.

And then -- suddenly, in the distance, traveling impossibly across the equally impossible time and space they've traversed, reaching each of the packmates at exactly the same instant no matter how farflung they are --

a bloodchilling, boneshattering howl, arcing across the sky like a hunter's horn.

That would be Sister, coming for them.

[-red-] [conveys the plan to him. not to them.]

[Face of Death] Joey races across the distance, chasing down her sister. She hears the roar and she

jumps. She leaps into the air. In her small lithe lupus form, she has the ability to jump twenty feet straight into the air. And when she jumps she twists, and she lets loose a bark that sounds like a laugh. Unsurprising, given her deed name. Come here! she cries to their pursuers.

She does what she can to try to draw fire their way, away from Nate and Blood Summons, away from their alpha and Daniel.

The Fenrir leaps again, and then she blurs.

[Blur of the Milky Eye zomg please work!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 8) [WP]

[Blood Summons] Time doesn't pass with any semblance of sense, at least not insofar as the living mind is able to appreciate without realizing that they are not in a different part of the realm, that they aren't in any land that needs to conform to human standards: this is where the spirits of Griffin's children go when they are freed from witnessing any more of the blight of humanity, where the world is as pristine as to have never been seen or touched by mankind.

It's disorienting, at first, to feel the dilation and constriction of time as they run through a landscape that they had just toiled through, as they pass by creatures that haven't lived since before man learned how to fashion and fire a spear. The mind focuses on the task at hand, though. It has to.

The Cliath Galliard transmits the plan with the assistance of body language and quiet noises that the Godi picks up on easily: head west, converge in the north.

It isn't until they hear that blood curdling howl from the Rage-mad Sister that the reality of the situation hits Blood Summons: these are spirits, cubs even, but by Gaia can spirits kill if they decide to. He does not know the strengths of the Galliard who's running with him, doesn't know if he's particularly skilled in the art of stealth or if he's ever won a fight or if he even knows where the hell they're going. All he knows is that they have to survive until they can meet up with the rest of the Sentinels.

So he empties some of his spiritual energy into the very air around them, bidding it to donate some of its wind to blow away their scent as they run.

[-1Gn, Activate Create Element.
Gnosis: WHOOSH.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 6, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 5 at target 6) [WP]

[End Transmission] Face of Death dashes past Echo Quinn, leaping into the air with a laughing bark of excitement and taunt; her Fostern sister watches her only as long as it takes for her Gift to take control, before she whuffs and wheels about; planting her paws firmly in the earth and straightening her body out.

If she's going to be hunted; then she's going to stare down her attackers, dressed fitting the occasion for a child of the Weaver.

In steel.
[Steel Fur, plz]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 5, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 7) [WP]

[Buried Hatchet] There isn't much for Hatchet to do. He doesn't have the gifts of a Ragabash or a metis; he is lucky, he is strong, and he is able to ignore even the burning in his ribs from the constant activity. He's been able to ignore the pain from still-present wounds left on his body by Blood Summons and Face of Death. He could howl right back at Sister, scare her and her cubs if he could, but he's not sure it would be anything but futile, and it would also be beside the point.

So he runs. And that's all he does. Hard, fast, and northward, keeping track of his packbrother only by totemic senses, by the knowledge that spirit-of-his-spirit is near. They travel the world, and Daniel sees firsthand how adaptable Hatchet is, how easily he manages to keep his footing from one terrain to the next.

He barks a hello to the bear that they pass. That's the only break in his running.

[-red-] But it's not Sister or her cubs that come for them. Not at first.

Wherever they are, all the packmates -- and their unfortunate guest -- hear the Red Talon's howl. A moment later, they also hear other howls. A rising chorus like a tide, echoing from peak to peak, valley to valley: the cries of dozens of other wolves; entire packs rallied to the prey.

They can see them: darting amongst the woods, racing up the slopes, out of the treeline and across the snow. They come for Echo and her hidden sister, fifteen or twenty of them, a huge pack. They come for Blood Summons and Nate, nose to the ground, slower, milling, tracking the indistinct scent. They come for Buried Hatchet and Broken Hammer, running flatout because the Philodoxes have nothing but the strength of their will to aid them.

At least there is this: to some degree, Sister has kept her word. Her huge, hulking form is amongst the wolfpacks that tracked Hatchet. She dwarfs the other wolves utterly, and they follow her unquestioningly: a pack around its alpha. The prey has made its stand. The wolves react as wolves do, fanning out, flanking.

Hatchet can see the cubs following in Sister's wake, uncertain, their short legs unsuited for the depth of the snow.

[Face of Death] Joey doesn't stray far from her sister. Echo stops, her fur stiffening, shining in the light of day, and Joey stops. Blurred as she is, she stalks back, keeping low to the ground and out of the way. If the No Moon's are making a stand, let them come for Echo. Joey will take them from behind.

What the FUCK? I thought we were just teachin' the cubs? she shouts across the totemlink. She doesn't sound panicked. There is every possibility their pack and their guest will be torn apart today. But Joey is Fenrir. She will fight with tooth and claw until her last breath, until the ground is soaked with her blood and the blood of her enemies.

[Buried Hatchet] Oh. My fucking. God.

If the Sentinels look to their Alpha for unswerving, unshakable confidence,

if they look to Buried Hatchet for infallibility,

if they look to him for stoicism in the face of unspeakable odds,

they are in the wrong fuckin' pack. He's always been up-front with prospective packmates. He's always told them: I've failed. She's failed. He's failed. We have all made gross errors and grave mistakes. We have put Garou we loved and Garou we fought with into the cold ground, and we have gotten up minutes later to keep fighting. We bear histories of shame, of dishonor, of fighting fang and claw back to any position of renown, ripping respect from the throats of others if we must, ignoring the jabs and snide remarks of other wolves for the sake of what we believe in following Bear.

He tells everyone: we can't offer perfect. We can't offer much that a lot of young Cliaths are looking for.

So maybe Nate and Echo and Joey and Daniel, at least, aren't all surprised to hear Hatchet shudder internally as those howls chorus around them. He runs faster, barks for Daniel in wordless encouragement or just to push him. He falls back a few paces and bites at the Forseti's heels, snarling

"FASTER."

He hears growls and howling reverberating throughout what seems like the entirety of the Red Talons' homeland. He wonders if Missing Tooth is hunting them now, too, his pack in tow. He wonders what will happen when they're all chased down. He wonders what the point of this test is, if there ever was one, if it is simply to stand in the face of grief and rage and act like a motherfucking wolf.

He throws back his head and lets out a summoning, crying howl: it's time for his pack to converge with him. Let the packs of fifteen, twenty wolves haul ass after Echo and Joey. Let them harry Blood Summons and Nate. Let them surround he and Daniel. His pack will come together. Fight together.

[End Transmission] Echo, facing so many wolves, so large a pack, should be terribly afraid, even if she registers somewhere in the back of her mind that they are spirits, are ancestors of Red Talons. That there's every possibility that her Gift will do absolutely nothing at all to spare her.

The No Moon is strangely calm.

She had faced down a pack of Spiral Dancers once; bleeding and angry, separated from her pack. They had laughed at her, and hearing the nearby howls of End Transmission's pack, almost all had set off to make an end of the Kismet Bytes. Two had stayed behind to finish off Echo Quinn.

Two that never made it back, either.

So, now. She narrows dark eyes at the wolves. Face of Death! Go, join Alpha. End Transmission stands her ground before the gathered wolves; raises her head and lets out a defiant howl that reaches across the lands. Listen! it says, Listen! My name is End Transmission, Fostern No Moon Glass Walker, member of Bear Pack, listen! Ancestor wolves, to my howl! I am not afraid of death, I am not afraid of you!

She howls, stomps her paws with a strange metallic clinking; and finally, turns after her sister.

[Blood Summons] There is no English translation for the noise that Blood Summons huffs out as the chilling chorus of howls kicks up out of the distance, as the distinct sense of being hunted courses up his spine. It's partly born of exhaustion, the metis growing tired from hours upon hours of tearing across a landscape beautiful and deadly at the same time; a greater portion of it, though, is morbid amusement.

Of course it wasn't just Sister and her cubs. Of course.

Out of the distance comes a howl that is more familiar, that is not meant to instill fear but to rally together, and Blood Summons abruptly zags northeast; once their path is diverted and clear, he slows so that he is running behind the Cliath whose guts he had spilled onto the waterfall's floor just hours before.

He doesn't attack him this time. He just puts himself between the Galliard and their pursuers.

[End Transmission] [Charisma + Leadership: I R HOWLING AT U.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 4 (Failure at target 6)

[Buried Hatchet] [charisma + leadership: MAH PACK'S COMIN', YOU GUYS ARE JUST DICKS]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Blood Summons] [Charisma + Leadership: All the Other Fosterns Are Doing It!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 4, 7, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[End Transmission] [Charisma + Leadership: I R HOWLING AT U. Take Two.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 6, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 7)

[-red-] [Charisma + Intimidation for Daniel!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Face of Death] [edit!: Joey didn't circle back and stuff, she just kept runnin' *waves magic wand that makes that all make sense*]

[-red-] Time and space are mutable here. This is the umbra, as much as it may resemble the earth-realm, the world they know. Travel is less a matter of distance and more a matter of will.

Hatchet calls them together. They turn to come together, to rally, and as farflung as they were, distance melts away beneath their paws, their frantic rush. The pack is soon within sight of one another, soon forming up in a bristling circle of howls and rage and heat and tooth and claw, ready.

Hispo-formed, they fling howls back at the wolves, and amongst each other. They bolster one another with their strength and will, throw defiance in the face of the much, much smaller wolves that hunt them. They can see one of the packs falter, and turn away. The rest quickly surround them.

There's a tense standoff, then. The wolves have the advantage of number. The Garou have the advantage of sheer strength, sheer size, and something no other animal has:

a determination beyond mere survival. A cunning beyond mere instinct.

Sister roars suddenly. There are no words to that: it's simple bloodthirst. And the wolves descend, dashing in, nipping, harrying, the bravest leaping onto the backs of the Garou to try and bear them down.

[Face of Death] [maybe it'll help: char + int (hahahahahhaah)]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 4, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Word on the Street] [ Chat + Intm- diff 6]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 4, 5 (Failure at target 6)

[Word on the Street] [ Chat + Intm- diff 7]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 4, 6 (Failure at target 7)

[-red-] [Okay, this is how it's gonna work.

The wolves will be divided into three groups: neckbiters, flankers, frontal attack. The neckbiters have a collective "HP" (fairly high, reflecting number of wolves), attack with a collective 15 dice, damage with a collective 15 dice. Damage is spread evenly amongst all packmates, and may be soaked.

Flankers have a collective HP (quite high -- most wolves here), attack with 10 dice, damage with 15. Damage is evenly spread.

Frontal have a collective HP (medium-low -- only a few wolves face them down directly), attack with 5 dice, damage with 15. Damage is evenly spread.

Each group of wolves attacks only once a round. Each group of wolves soak with 10 dice.

--

On the other hand, the Garou roll attacks normally. Name a target -- flankers, frontal or neckbiters -- and that'll be the group that soaks/takes damage.

Effect of Howls:
-3 to ALL wolves' rolls
So neckbiters actually attack with 12, damage with 12
Flankers attack with 10, damage with 12
Frontal attack with only 2, damage with 12

and:
+9 to ALL garou's action rolls (not damage)]

[-red-] [Typo: flankers attack with 7]

[Buried Hatchet] [Gonna say he shifted upon convergence! W00t.
Reflexive speech to tell pack + Bob to get the wolves off each other's backs first. No hickeys!
+ 9]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2

[Face of Death] Hispo, baby!
[+9]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4

[End Transmission] [Goin' Hispo!
+10]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6

[Blood Summons] [Hispoooo!
+8]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

[Word on the Street] [ Hispo done
Int - 8+ ]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4

[-red-] [Dan +9]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-red-] [Frontal wolves! +7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8

[-red-] [Flankers +7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3 (Failure at target 6)

[-red-] [Neckbiters +7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2 (Failure at target 6)

[-red-] Init Order and Current Health:
Dan 19 3A
Echo 16 1A
Frontal 15 OK
Joey 13 OK
Bob 13 3A
Nate 12 3A
Hatchet 11 3A
Flankers 10 OK
Neckbiters 9 OK

[-red-] All wolves: just attackin', yo!

[Buried Hatchet] [1a.
1b.
1c. -- all bites on neckbiters.]

[Word on the Street] { 1A Bite Neckbiter
1B Bite Neckbiter ]

[Blood Summons] [1a:
1b:
1c:
1d:

All attacks on neckbiters. Switching to flankers if they go down.]

[Face of Death] [-1WP activate Resist Pain
1a:
1b:
1c:
1d:
All bites on Neck biters!]

[Buried Hatchet] Echo
[1a.
1b.
1c.
1d.
R1. -- all bites on neckbiters, then flankers if neckbiters go down]

[-red-] Dan:
1a/b/c/d: biting the neckbiters!

[-red-] [and yes, resist pain is go.]

[-red-] Dan: a!
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 13 at target 5) Re-rolls: 2

[-red-] dam +12
Dice Rolled:[ 20 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)

[-red-] Neckbiters: collective soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 6, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-red-] The lean, hardy Forseti is the first to move. He tears a wolf from his alpha's back, flinging it away into the snow. Another one immediately leaps into its place, snapping its teeth at the scruff of Hatchet's neck.

[-5 transferred to Flankers group!]

[-red-] b.
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 5) Re-rolls: 2

[-red-] +6!
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6, 6, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-red-] c!
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 4, 4, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 10 at target 6)

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 17 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 6, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 9 at target 6)

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-red-] oh, i forgot rerolls *LOL*
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 5, 5 (Success x 2 at target 5)

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 3 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

[-red-] [aw, no add'l damage]

[-red-] d. last one!
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 6, 6, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 5)

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[End Transmission] [1a. Bite! +1 Diff Steel Fur]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 7)

[-red-] The wolves do not bleed when they're torn from the Garou, bitten open, smashed into the snow. They simply become less ... present.

And they're all linked. The strength of one affects the strength of its brother. As one is wounded, they all dim somehow. As one leaps onto the back of a Garou, he or she seems to feel the phantom weight of them all dragging her down.

[End Transmission] [Damage]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 6, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[End Transmission] [1b! -5 +1 diff]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[End Transmission] [Damage]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 7, 7, 7, 8, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 8 at target 6)

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[End Transmission] [1c! Same again! -6]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[End Transmission] [1d. oh come on. honestly.]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8 (Failure at target 6)

[-red-] Nearly half their strength gone, the flankers stop leaping to fill the gaps left behind as their brethren are dashed to the ground.

[Neckbiters will take direct damage now!]

[-red-] The few wolves brave enough to face the Hispos directly, to hold their attention while the rest of their pack attacks at the flanks and backs, dash in for a quick, glancing skirmish.
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 4, 9 (Success x 1 at target 5)

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-red-] [Everyone soak 1agg!]

[-red-] [Dan]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Blood Summons] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Face of Death] [soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Buried Hatchet] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[End Transmission] [Soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 5, 7, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[End Transmission] [Nate Soaks]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Face of Death] [1a: Bite!: -4]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 8 at target 5)

[Face of Death] [dam: +7]
Dice Rolled:[ 16 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 10 at target 6)

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5 (Failure at target 6)

[Face of Death] [1b: Bite!: -5]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 7, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5)

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Face of Death] [dam: +3]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 3, 5, 5, 6, 6, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Face of Death] [1c: bite!: -6]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 5)

[Face of Death] [dam: +6]
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Face of Death] [1d: Bite!: -7]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 5)

[Face of Death] [dam: +6]
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 6, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 10, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Blood Summons] [1a: Brawl+Dexterity (+2 +9): Bite! -4 pool (split).]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 5)

[Blood Summons] [Damage: Strength +3 (Hispo) +2 (bite) +5 (suxx).]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 9 at target 6)

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6 (Failure at target 6)

[Blood Summons] [1b: Brawl+Dexterity (+2 +9): Bite! -5 pool (split).]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 4, 7, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5)

[Blood Summons] [Damage: Strength +3 (Hispo) +2 (bite) +2 (suxx).]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 6, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Blood Summons] [1c: Brawl+Dexterity (+2 +9): Bite! -6 pool (split).]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 6, 6, 6, 8, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 7 at target 5)

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Blood Summons] [Damage: Strength +3 (Hispo) +2 (bite) +6 (suxx).]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 4, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Blood Summons] [1d: Brawl+Dexterity (+2 +9): Bite! -7 pool (split).]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 7, 8, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5)

[Blood Summons] [Damage: Strength +3 (Hispo) +2 (bite) +2 (suxx).]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 4, 4, 6, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Word on the Street] [1a Bite Neckbiter - 6d6]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-red-] Only a few wolves remain on the backs of the Garou. Their fellows, swarming around the Hispos, whine and snap and snarl. None take the leap.

[Word on the Street] [ Extra Dice - 9d6]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 8, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)

[-red-] soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Word on the Street] [ Dam - 15d6]
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Word on the Street] [ 1b Bite Neck bite - 14d6]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Buried Hatchet] 1a. -3
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1

[Word on the Street] [ Dam - 11d6]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Buried Hatchet] damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 8, 9, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Buried Hatchet] 1b. -4
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 12 at target 5) Re-rolls: 6

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Buried Hatchet] damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 20 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-red-] soak b!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Buried Hatchet] 1c. -5
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 12 at target 5) Re-rolls: 2

[-red-] soak c!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Buried Hatchet] damage the third
Dice Rolled:[ 20 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[-red-] All at once, several of the wolves ranging at their flanks gather up the nerve to attack: dashing in to bite at the Garou's hamstrings, their heels.

[attack! -1diff for flanking]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 4)

[-red-] [damage +3!]
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 8, 8, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 10 at target 6)

[-red-] [everyone soak 4 each!]

[End Transmission] [This is going to hurt.]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Buried Hatchet] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Face of Death] [soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Blood Summons] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 8, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[-red-] [dan]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Blood Summons] [Natetron!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-red-] This is what it feels like to be prey.

To be herded, harried, nipped at, assaulted on all sides by a whirlwind of grey and white. The wolves dash in, they rip at the Garou, they pull out mouthfuls of fur, scratch their thick hides, injure them.

They do bleed. Their blood is hot and red, melting the snow. The pain, for those that can feel it, is real. So are the injuries.

Which are so severe, in Blood Summons' case, that he should be down. His leg is mangled. He shouldn't be able to stand. He should be stunned on the ground, incapacitated

but he's not. He's still up. And the wolves are still coming on.

[Henceforth, every damage on Bob that's not soaked will subtract 1 from his current WP.]

[-red-] Neckbiters!
-2 diff.
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 12 at target 3)

[-red-] Damage +11!
Dice Rolled:[ 23 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 7, 8, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[-red-] [soak 2!]

[Face of Death] [soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-red-] Dan!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Buried Hatchet] [SOAK]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 7, 7, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Blood Summons] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[End Transmission] [Soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 4, 4, 6, 7, 7, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Blood Summons] [Nate!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 6, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[End Transmission] [R1. BITE.]
Dice Rolled:[ 19 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 8 at target 6)

[End Transmission] [Damage + 7]
Dice Rolled:[ 16 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[-red-] soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[-red-] [Round summary:

Dan 19 3A 5WP
Echo 16 4A 5WP
Frontal 15 OK N/A
Joey 13 2A 3WP
Bob 13 7A 3WP
Nate 12 3A 4WP
Hatchet 11 5A 5WP
Flankers 10 -21 N/A
Neckbiters 9 -40 N/A

Frontal wolves are OK
Flankers look about half down
Neckbiters are straggling

Reroll inits with damage thrown in! Executive decision: due to IRL wife aggro, Nate gets swarmed by a bunch of flankers and is busy there. -10 to Flankers, Nate out of the roll rotation!]

[Buried Hatchet] [+9]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2

[Face of Death] [+9]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

[Blood Summons] [+8]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

[Buried Hatchet] This is his pack: his Rotagar, his Forseti, his Walker, his Gallard. This is the Theurge they told him about, brought to him, whose paws bloody when his claws grow, who fights til he falls, whose rallying, stirring howls knit together the rest of their voices into one stunning roar of defiance in the faces of Sister's wolves, called down on their throats.

Hatchet is called arrogant, often enough. Maybe he is. But sometimes he has damn good reasons to be proud. They fight with all they have, full tilt, flat out. He holds back a bit, reserves his strength, watches them for their needs, who is closest to falling. And when the one of them who is not one of them drops into a bloody heap, Hatchet sinks his teeth into the wolf he's fighting one last time before tearing towards Blood Summons.

[End Transmission] [+10]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9

[End Transmission] End Transmission, that gleaming, steel furred Glass Walker is right in there, in the thick of it. For all that she's a city born wolf; an urrah like Nate, she fights just as ferociously as any of the Red Talons swarming them. She does not hesitate, and she does not back down. When Blood Summons falls; or should have fallen beneath the staggering weight of his wounds -- Hatchet is not alone in moving toward the fallen Fenrir.

Echo is right behind him, securing a pathway; biting whoever comes near, repelling blows with her tribe's gift where she can.

[-red-] Frontal! +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-red-] Flankers! +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4 (Failure at target 6)

[-red-] Neckbiters! +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-red-] Dan! +9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2 (Failure at target 6)

[-red-] [Order of inits/status --

Echo 19 4A 5WP
Neckbiters 16 -40 N/A
Joey 14 2A 3WP
Frontal 14 OK N/A
Bob 13 7A 3WP
Hatchet 11 5A 5WP
Dan 11 3A 5WP
Flankers 11 -31 N/A ]

[-red-] [Should also init for Sister -- +9]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-red-] As the remaining wolves begin to falter, much of their strength lost to the Sentinels, Sister at last lunges into the fray.

Her snarling howl inspires the wolves. They rally around her, driving back at the pack with redoubled force. The enormous Hispo takes the frontal position herself; the rest of the wolves swarm to the rear and the flanks.

[Sister is frontal; Frontal wolves are splitting between neckbiters (a few) and flanks (most)]

[-red-] Declaring:
All wolves -- keep trying to bring "prey" down!
Sister: held for now.

Dan:
4 splits on neckbiters!

[Buried Hatchet] [Reflexive:
1a. MT on Bob
1b.
1c.
1d. -- bites on neckbiters, then flankers]

[Blood Summons] [1a: Mother's Touch on Hatchet.
1b:
1c:
1d:

Bites on neckbiters, flankers if they go down.]

[Face of Death] [1a:
1b:
1c:
1d:
R:
All bites on Flankers]

[End Transmission] [1a.
1b.
1c.
1d.
R. -- all bites on Sister]

[-red-] [Sister declare -- all actions +1 diff:
1. Bite Echo
R1. Bite Echo
R2. Bite Echo
R3. Bite Bob
R4. Bite Hatchet!]

[End Transmission] [1a. Bite Sister!]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 7, 7, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[End Transmission] [Damage + 2]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 4, 4, 5, 7, 8, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[End Transmission] [1b. Again!]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 6, 7, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[-red-] [soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[End Transmission] [Damage + 5]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 8 at target 6)

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[End Transmission] [1c. and again!]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 6, 7, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[End Transmission] [1d. annnd again!]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[End Transmission] [Damage + 0]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 5, 5, 5, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-red-] soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 7, 7, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[-red-] Attacked by the gleaming, steelfurred Glass Walker, Sister, until then merely an inspiring presence amongst the wolves, reacts as one might expect her to:

Instantly. Savagely. And with unadulterated fury and utter outrage.

"YOU DARE?!"

[chomp!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 5, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2

[-red-] [damage!]
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[End Transmission] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-red-] Neckbiters!
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 5, 6, 6, 6, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 3)

[-red-] Damage +4!
Dice Rolled:[ 16 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 8 at target 6)

[-red-] [everyone soak 3A!]

[Buried Hatchet] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 5, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Blood Summons] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[End Transmission] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Face of Death] [soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-red-] [Dan soaks!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 3, 5, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Face of Death] [1a: Bite! Flankers: -4]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 9 at target 5)

[-red-] soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 7, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)

[Face of Death] [dam: +8]
Dice Rolled:[ 17 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Face of Death] [1b: Bite!: -5]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 6 at target 5)

[Face of Death] [dam: +5]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 4, 4, 4, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Face of Death] [1c: bite!: -6]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 7, 7, 7, 7, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 9 at target 5)

[Face of Death] [dam: +8]
Dice Rolled:[ 17 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Face of Death] [1d: bite!: -7]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 6 at target 5)

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Face of Death] [dam: +5]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6, 7, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 7 at target 6)

[-red-] and soak d!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Blood Summons] [-1Gn: Activate Mother's Touch.
1a: Medicine+Intelligence (+9): MT Hatchet. -4 pool (split).]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Blood Summons] [-1Gn: Activate Mother's Touch 'gain.
1b: Medicine+Intelligence (+9): MT Echo. -5 pool (split).]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 6, 6, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 2)

[Blood Summons] [1c: Brawl+Dexterity (+2 +9): Bite! -6 pool (split).]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 5)

[Blood Summons] [Damage: Strength +3 (Hispo) +2 (bite) +5 (suxx).]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 11 at target 6)

[Blood Summons] [1d: Brawl+Dexterity (+2 +9): Bite! -7 pool (split).]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 5)

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 6, 10, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Blood Summons] [Damage: Strength +3 (Hispo) +2 (bite) +3 (suxx).]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 6, 7, 7, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Buried Hatchet] [1a. -1G, -4, +9: MT on Bob!]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 5, 5, 7, 7, 7, 7, 10

[-red-] With that last, devastating attack, the neckbiters break off, turning tail and running. They scarcely reach the treeline before they're lost in the snow, the glare, the forest, the shadows.

[Buried Hatchet] [1b. bite flankers now! -5]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1

[Buried Hatchet] [damage!]
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Buried Hatchet] [1c. excuse me, bitch?]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1

[Buried Hatchet] [+5]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6 (Failure at target 6)

[-red-]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 5, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Buried Hatchet] [1d. that's better.]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 9 at target 5) Re-rolls: 4

[Buried Hatchet] [+8]
Dice Rolled:[ 17 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 7, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[-red-] soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-red-] As Hatchet spins and whirls, teeth flashing, the flankers fall back: ears back, tail tucked. All at once, they turn and flee.

Now it's just the pack -- and Sister: huge and bristling. Echo's bitten her four times already. If she's injured, it doesn't show. Her cubs are still there, too. Hanging back in the snow, crowded together, whimpering.

Broken Hammer's sides are heaving. His breath is white in the chill, and there's red in the snow at his feet. His eyes are wild as he looks for more wolves, more attackers to fend off -- there are none.

[Buried Hatchet] Hatchet wheels about, now almost completely healed, more whole and hale than he's been since the attack right outside the waterfall. And his thick fur bristling, he plants his paws and bares his teeth at Sister, snarling for his pack and his would-be pack:

no words.

There is only the body language, the sense of things now, red-tinged from rage and battle and blood. Gather. Gather to his sides, and behind him. As a pack.

[End Transmission] End Transmission; healed from her would be grievous wounds [not that she felt a damn thing beneath Bear's gift] bares her own teeth at Sister, a reminder perhaps of what they had already delivered to the other female Hispo wolf, and what they could do if she pressed her case. Then, glimpsing the tiny Cubs hunkered down in the snow-packed earth, a snuffling of breath leaves her snout, and she trots back to fall in line beside her Alpha.

Wordless.
Pack.

[Face of Death] Ears back, fur bristling, Joey falls into place, beside and a little behind Hatchet.

[Blood Summons] He should be dead right now, or at the very least in a berserk frenzy after clawing his way back from death. He's not dead. After Buried Hatchet's healing touch, he's not anywhere near close to it. His tawny fur is splattered with blood dried and fresh, his and not-his, but he's still standing with the rest of the Sentinels.

Their Alpha calls for them to stand beside him, and that's where the stranger goes: he falls in next to End Transmission, a snarl riding its way up his spine and rattling out into the air in a white stream.

[-red-] A tense standoff. Not a word from either side. Ferocious glaring; snarling from the huge Talon, a steady growl underlying every breath until it becomes clear that the Sentinels have stood down. Then, slowly, the growling abates. Her eyes are still suspicious and glaring, full of mistrust and dislike, but for the moment at least -- she does not attack them again.

She chuffs instead, calling her cubs to her side. They come forward. One attacks another on the way; they tumble in the snow, spring up, shake their downy fur off. Sit at their mother's feet, between her forepaws, protected.

Who begins to speak:

"In my last life, I called Angry Spirit Sister, high rank Moon Seer of the Red Talons. Now, I called Angry Sister Howls For Blood. I do not think I will be Moon Seer in next life.

"These my cubs, Grey Muzzle, Always Curious and Barks Loud. The wolves you drove away, my kin. My grown cubs, my brothers and sisters, my mother, my father, the brothers and sisters of my mother and father. Their cubs too.

"My family.

"You, not-small rank Stag's wolf: you promise, teach my cubs hunt. What have you taught? What, besides that your packmate, the metal-skin one," there's such outrage in the way she spits the words out, "is fool, and rest of you happy to kill kin wolves when wolves no kill you?"

[Buried Hatchet] If she had attacked, he would have ordered them on her like lightning strikes. He would have told Blood Summons to call down whatever spirits might answer the call of a Fenrir metis in their own homeland. He would have told Echo to shield her packmates where she could. Would have told Nate to hang back and heal if necessary. He would have told Daniel to flank Sister, would have told Joey to leap on her from behind. Would have gone for her throat, himself.

And they would have orphaned three cubs, if she attacked his pack again.

He's ready to kill. He's ready to die. He's ready to show Sister and her children what a real hunt can be like, when you go up against the predator of predators: a Garou. A pack of Garou.

Deep, deep inside: he is so relieved that she does not attack that his legs feel weak for a moment. His heart hammers in his chest. He watches the cubs tumble and shuffle through the snow towards their mother and he aches. He bows his head because he knows she isn't coming for them now. He breathes, his air steaming in the cold.

She speaks, and Hatchet lifts his eyes, listening.

"We taught: when you hunt Garou, Garou fight back. We taught: pack fights together, even when Alpha stupid and weak."

He pauses there, brushes at the snow with his paw.

"You want easy hunt for cubs, you want prey that you can take down and eat after you hunt with such a large family? There are elk here. There are others to be teaching-prey for you. I did not choose your quarry. You chose, Angry Sister Howls For Blood-rhya. I did not promise. I told you: cubs need to know how to hunt."

Another pause, before he speaks again, as level, calm, and respectful as his snarling, barking voice can be in hispo:

"You had them in cave behind a stone."

[-red-] A long silence.

Then Sister whuffs once, a discontented sound -- but not an aggressive one. That's all the acknowledgment or approbation Hatchet will get.

"I not like you, two-leg wolf. I not like you at all. But, you may continue." She angles her muzzle toward the mountain path: ever steeper, ever upward. "If you have the strength."

Their blood and their enormous pawprints scattered amongst the much smaller ones of the kinwolves: that's all that marks the snow they tread across on the way upward.

[End Transmission] End Transmission looks back at the great totem, her ears pressed flat against her skull. When he commands that they prove themselves worthy of this knowledge she tilts her head slightly in a very wolfish manner and then exchanges a glance with her pack-sister. She turns back in time to witness Griffin flying apart in a flash of fur and feathers; birds take flight into the skies above.

Then; Missing Tooth Good Eyes appears.

Echo looks back at the Moon Dancer through dark, inquisitive eyes quite the match for his own in intelligence. Then, rising to her feet, she waits for some signal, some indication from Hatchet, or this mystery wolf, that she should begin to proof her worth and in turn, her pack's.

[End Transmission] [typo, prove, not proof. ugh.]

[Buried Hatchet] Out of respect, or submission, or simply not to take up so much damn space, Hatchet shifts down into lupus as Missing Tooth comes into view. He's still bleeding profusely, but he's on his feet, even if his eyes are a bit glazed with pain. He whuffs an answer -- not a Let's go! so much as an acknowledgement, then twists his head around and digs in his fur with his teeth. He tugs a small gourd seemingly from nowhere and crushes it in his jaws, chomping down until the gourd is dust and the water inside flows down the sides of his maw, trickling with blue.

He's still wounded at the end, but not as grievously. Standing doesn't make him look like he's about to pass out. Digging around again, he takes out two more talens: one for Nate. One for Blood Summons.

He rolls his head on his neck, gives a shudder, and makes a lower, rougher sound towards the Talon. A grunt of assent. Or readiness.

[Face of Death] Joey crouches, mortified. This is not the first time she's torn open her packmate, specifically Daniel. This time Buried Hatchet has dropped to the other Fenrir's side, dropped because of the savage power of Joey's brutal strength, unleashed quite against her will. Well, at least in Daniel's case.

When Griffin speaks, she rises slowly to her four massive feet. Her ears are down and back, but brings herself up, standing tall and strong. She is the Get of Fenris. Finding herself lost to madness again, snapping to her senses to find her brothers' blood in her mouth and drippding in her fur may have unnerved her, may have startled her, but she is not so weak as to continue to cower in disgust at what she's done.

She meets Echo's gaze, ears flicking toward the Fostern briefly, then she turns back to the ancestor spirit. Ready to fight and prove the strength of their pack.

[Buried Hatchet] [Ack! And one GB for Daniel, too!]

[Blood Summons] These human-born, this band of brothers and sisters with whom he agreed to trek out of the city and into the wilds, are not his family, but that is not why he attacked them.

Without having heard the tale of what befell the five-strong pack over a month ago, without hearing that two of their number were overtaken by primality and stripped of their humanity until all that was left was their intelligence and their baser instincts, he wouldn't have had the slightest goddamn idea what came over him as he followed the Fiann and the Glass Walker and the Fenrir and finally the Bone Gnawer under that waterfall. Perhaps someone told him the story on the way up here, or he heard of it through the rumor mill back in Chicago. Perhaps he's heard of the Red Talons' capacity for bringing about the beast in people. Either way, he ought to be prepared for this, but in the end, he is the first to turn against the Sentinels.

He is not the first to fall, though.

As Griffin appears before them, the Theurge lies in his birth form, bites taken out of his throat and belly where his tribesman had moved to protect his family from this stranger. He shudders with each cycling of breath through his body, but he does not allow himself to shiver from pain; he does not call upon Bear's Gift to help him weather it. He lies there, stilled but alive, very likely awed, as the Alpha of the pack converses with the Incarna. When it's over, when the others begin to stir and recover, he follows the Philodox's lead and slides out of his birth form, becoming a tan-furred and lean if somewhat ragged-looking wolf. His claws are translucent, look like one good swipe against something hard would snap them off at the bone.

When the talen is offered to him, he accepts it with a chuff of gratitude, and breaks it open with his teeth. His body still burns with injury, still bleeds, but he's on his feet again.

[-red-] Missing Tooth Good Eyes waits for them to heal. His tongue lolls out when the last of them struggle to their feet; he seems pleased.

Then, without another word -- with only a yip! of encouragement -- the wolf turns on his heels and dashes into the undergrowth. If they don't follow, he'll be gone in an eyeblink.

[-red-] [First roll to determine initial distance! dex+ath.

Everyone needs to roll stam+ath to try to catch up. Next turn, MTGE will be rolling stam+ath to keep going too. These rolls are all assuming lupus form. If you're in hispo, you'll be significantly (about 25%) slower!]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Face of Death] [stam + ath, diff -2 (ability aptitude, woo!)]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 4, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 4)

[Blood Summons] [Reflexive: -1WP, Resist Pain.
Athletics+Stamina (+2): Don't Fucking Laugh.]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[End Transmission] [Stam + Ath]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-red-] [dan, stam/ath!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 6, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Buried Hatchet] [4 (stamina: tenacious) + 2 (athletics) + 2 (lupus) - 1 (ow)]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 3, 7, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[Buried Hatchet] [kahseeno, you and i are through professionally]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 7) Re-rolls: 1

[Word on the Street] [ 1WP Resist Pain - Nate - stam/ath - 7 stam + 0 ath ]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 6, 6, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-red-] Missing Tooth is lean and fast. His paws seem to skim the earth as he dashes into the undergrowth. Away from the cave that serves as their entrance into this realm, the wild -- or the Wyld -- quickly grows rampant, out of control. Kudzu vines, live oaks, tropical rainforest trees and taiga pines: a wild mishmash of climates, species, locales all jammed cheek to jowl into this wild land.

The scent of rich earth and plant life is almost overwhelming. Unseen but heard, animals dash out of their way as the Garou run pell-mell into the forest. For the first few paces at least, Face of Death, End Transmission and Broken Hammer keep pace with Missing Tooth. He does not try to shouldercheck them aside or otherwise hinder them. His tongue lolls from his maw. There's a wild joy in the way he runs.

[second round! stam+ath for everyone now, diff 6 still.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Face of Death] Missing Tooth yips at them, turns, and runs and Joey.

Joey shifts to lupus, and she's right there. It helps that all throughout her life she has been active. It helps that she was born with a natural athleticism. It helps that she loves running on four feet.

Echo is with her. Together they flank the Talon. Nate is close behind, ignoring his injuries and chasing after his sisters. For now, the white faced iron-furred Fenrir runs with tongue lolling. For now, this is almost fun. Joey wonders if this is the test, or if they're going somewhere and she and Echo will be tested first.

[still runnin'!]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 5 at target 4)

[Blood Summons] [Athletics+Stamina: Weeeooo!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[End Transmission] [Round two! ROLL!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Word on the Street] [ - stam/ath - 6 stam + 0 ath ]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Buried Hatchet] There's a snarl behind the rest of the pack as their alpha, of all Garou, falls behind them utterly. He barks, and barrels forward, rather large paws chewing up ground behind the rest.
[round 2!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 5, 5, 5, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]

[Word on the Street] [ Round Two - stam/ath - 6 stam + 0 ath ]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-red-] Dan!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[-red-] Within seconds, the ragabashes dash into the lead, displaying their prowess and speed incontrovertibly. Joey runs about a bodylength ahead of Missing Tooth. Echo reins in to pace Missing Tooth, and there's four wolves running abreast. Broken Hammer is close on their heels; Hatchet rather far behind, straggling.

Missing Tooth barks sharply -- a sort of this way! -- before swerving sharply into ever thicker plantgrowth.

[okay, now we're switching to dex/ath rolls! MTGE, Bob, Echo and Nate all start with 5 succ. Dan starts with 4, Hatchet with 2. Joey starts with 4.

This roll is diff 7.]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 1 at target 7) Re-rolls: 2

[Face of Death] [dex + ath]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5)

[End Transmission] [dex + ath]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 6, 9 (Failure at target 7)

[Buried Hatchet] [dex + ath + lupus -1]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 7) Re-rolls: 1

[Blood Summons] It's been a good several weeks since he's left behind the wilds of the rural Midwest, full of forests and fields, for the urrah Sept of Maelstrom. The Fostern does not run with the abandon of the Red Talon, tongue lolling and breaths coming excitedly, but there is a lightness in his step that isn't entirely the result of his choosing to ignore pain in favor of being able to keep pace with Missing Tooth.

[Athletics+Dexterity (+2): Zoom!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 7)

[Word on the Street] [ Dex + Aths - 5d6]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-red-] Dan!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 5, 5, 6, 10 (Failure at target 7) Re-rolls: 1

[-red-] These forests are lush and wild, which is refreshing at first, and then mildly irritating. And then frustrating, as plants and thorns seem to all but spring up from underfoot to hinder their way.

Echo, previously doing so well, suddenly finds herself negotiating a wall of vines that she ends up having to go around. Daniel comes up against a stand of trees too closely packed for even his lithe lupus form to slip through. The rest of the pack has better luck, more or less keeping pace with Missing Tooth.

The wolf runs on. The woods grow thicker still.

[Round 4 -- diff 8!]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 5, 7, 7, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8) Re-rolls: 2

[Blood Summons] [Round 4!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 8, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[Buried Hatchet] [-1WP RP.
KAHSEENO YOU IGNORANT SLUT.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 6, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 8) Re-rolls: 1

[Face of Death] [Byooom!]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 4, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[End Transmission] The Glass Walker is frustrated. What was with all this green shit? She bites her way free of tangling vines, and lopes after the rest, eager to catch up.

[they see me rollin', they hatin']
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 4, 6, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8)

[-red-] Dan!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 9, 9 (Failure at target 8)

[End Transmission] [For Nate!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[-red-] Nate!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 9 (Failure at target 8)

[-red-] This time, even those wolves who might've run ahead keep pace with Missing Tooth. As the Red Talon puts on another burst of speed, he again takes the lead, all the Sentinels but Broken Hammer close on his heels, Blood Summons right there alongside them.

Missing Tooth takes another sharp swerve. This terrain is almost impassable for the thickness of the undergrowth. Up above, the canopy of the trees blots out the sky and the moonlight.

[And one last round -- diff 9!]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 5, 5, 7, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 9) Re-rolls: 2

[Face of Death] [keep going!]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 3, 5, 6 (Botch x 2 at target 7)

[End Transmission] [oh dear.]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 6, 6, 6, 8 (Botch x 1 at target 9)

[-red-] [dan!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 9)

[Blood Summons] [Round 5]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 9)

[-red-] [nate!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 9)

[-red-] [reroll on dan!]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2 (Failure at target 9)

[Buried Hatchet] [Round 5!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 6, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 9)

[-red-] So many trees and brush and flowering vines jammed together now that it's a maze of pungent green darkness. Everything smells alive, riotously, rampantly growing, crowding, reaching for the sky. Nearly blind now, the wolves press through it --

and abruptly, Hatchet and Nate leap out of the undergrowth, tumble into a broad meadow of sere summer grass, silvery-white under the moon, that stretches nearly as far as the eye can see. Far, far away, a snowy peak rises from the plain. Missing Tooth is there ahead of them, stopped now, his sides moving as he pants.

Meanwhile, Joey, Blood Summons and Echo have become inescapably tangled in vines. Broken Hammer, coming up from behind, pauses to gnaw them free. Eventually, the four wolves emerge out in the meadow as well, somewhat worse for the wear.

When Missing Tooth sees them, he whuffs a greeting. Then he turns and begins to run again -- not a headlong dash this time but a steady, ground-eating lope, heading for the mountain.

[Three stam+ath rolls each! Start at diff 4. If you fail a roll, +1 diff to next roll and take 1 unsoakable lethal that won't heal until you stop running.]

[-red-] [final results on the cross country dash, with reining-ins and botching taken into account:

MTGE 11
Joey 5 BOTCH
Bob 6 BOTCH
Echo 6 BOTCH
Dan 5
Hatchet 8
Nate 8 ]

[End Transmission] [Stam + Ath]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 6 at target 4)

[Buried Hatchet] [roll 1]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 6, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 4) Re-rolls: 1

[Blood Summons] [Athletics+Stamina (+2): Part 1.]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 4)

[Buried Hatchet] [roll 2]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 4) Re-rolls: 1

[Buried Hatchet] [roll 3]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 7, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 4)

[Face of Death] [+1]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 9 at target 2)

[Blood Summons] [Part 2: Electric Boogaloo.]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5 (Failure at target 4)

[Blood Summons] [Part 3: Ow Fucker!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 5)

[End Transmission] [Part Two!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 7, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 4)

[Face of Death] [+2]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 7, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8 (Success x 7 at target 2)

[-red-] MTGE 1
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 3, 5, 7, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 4)

[-red-] 2 -- oops, extra dice. -1 from this one!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 4)

[End Transmission] [Part Three!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 4)

[-red-] 3!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 6 at target 4)

[Face of Death] [+3: Please keep in mind that Joey will not run ahead of their guide]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 5 at target 2)

[Buried Hatchet] He forces himself. Pushes past the pain with their totem spirit's gift. And he manages. He gets past that initial frustration, that original anger, and bursts forward to run with his pack, to run with their guide, to run in a place unlike any he's ever seen or even dreamed of. When they find Missing Tooth on the field of grass, his sides are heaving, and not simply from exertion.

He's overwhelmed. Already. And it's so early.

[-red-] Nate 1!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 5, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 4)

[-red-] 2!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 4 at target 4)

[-red-] 3!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 5, 6, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 4)

[-red-] Dan 1!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 4)

[-red-] 2!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 6 (Success x 1 at target 4)

[-red-] 3!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 6 at target 4)

[-red-] This time,

they run for hours.

Not fast -- but steadily. Easily. Running together under the moon, across a meadow so vast the pale grass blurs into a solid color, like snow, like an ocean in white and silver. Many of them are running wounded. Pushing through pain with sheer determination and grit. One of them is wounded again, running beyond his ability; he pushes on, too.

For a long time, Missing Tooth says nothing, simply runs ahead of them like an alpha or a scout, his long legs and lean paws devouring distance without effort. As the mountain slowly, almost imperceptibly grows nearer, he lets his pace slack somewhat, draws abreast of the other Garou.

"Those were Wild Woods," he says, his words as rhythmic as his breathing. "The Moon Seers say, every Wyld thing can always find refuge here. Every Wyld thing, dies unjustly in the Gaia realm, knows he can come here, find succor and safety with Griffin, until he is reborn again into the world.

"But lately so many come. So many from everywhere, too many flock to our Homeland. Griffin will not turn any away, it is not his way. So they come, they crowd, they grow wild here, while our Homeland shrinks day by day. So many of them, so few of us.

"More and more of us fall into despair, drift into Deep Umbra never to be seen again. More and more of us reborn, choose another tribe, newer ways. Forget the joy of running, the strength of pack, the oneness of blood, the true Wyld in our bones."

[End Transmission] After a few setbacks in the form of thick vines, the rangy Glass Walker does not suffer any more problems in keeping pace with her brothers and sisters; with their guide. She lopes along easily, her mottled brown and gray coat dappled with moonlight as they cross the wide expanse of the meadow; her little pink tongue dangling from her maw as they slow, then begin anew.

For hours.

When Missing Tooth finally speaks to them; Echo's attention is on the mountain growing larger ahead of them. She listens, attentive and curious to learn about the Wild Woods, something that she, and her tribe, seem so removed from, so distant from. She might not respond, but she listens.

And listens well.

[because I forgot to do it earlier, gonna go ahead and activate RP. doo de doo.]

[Buried Hatchet] During this run, Hatchet draws up almost alongside Missing Tooth, a mere two, three thuds of his paws behind the Talon. This time, he keeps pace. He looks back every so often, checking on his packmates, and on their guest. But otherwise he stays with the Moon Dancer of the Talons, behind him in rank and in everything else here. When they slow, he is breathing heavily. The wounds on his body are not given time to heal by rest, and he leaves his blood throughout the homeland. He doesn't feel it anymore. He does feel: exhilirated. Warm. His head pounds with the effort to push back impinging memories, his own or ancestral. He doesn't know.

He ignores it, as he can any pain the world can bring.

"What will happen to you?" he asks, the most he can get past his panting. He means: Missing Tooth. He means: the Red Talons. He means: us.

[Blood Summons] The Godi is not an athlete, natural or otherwise. He does not look like one. Like many spirit-talkers he is sinewy, skinny even, most of his weight coming from muscle that doesn't reveal itself in any obvious way. His limbs are strong, his core more so, but that strength does not reveal itself in an ability to continue on long after he has become tired.

Bear's Gift enables him to ignore the bite wound still scissored into his side and burst out into the meadow to join the Alpha and the Omega of the Sentinels in staring at the wild wonder around them. Almost as soon as the stragglers have caught up, Missing Teeth sets them off running again. The Fenrir does not complain.

He just runs. Even when he injuries himself further, tearing tendons or snapping off claws from running beyond his ability, he does not whine or whimper. He slows, is drawing up the rear as the run continues, but this is a land he has never been to before. This is a sight he will likely not see again until his spirit travels to its own homelands, and without pain to contend with, he can take in as much as will seep in underneath the mounting exhaustion.

Eventually, as the mountain becomes larger by degrees, their middle ranked guide slows enough to speak. Blood Summons quiets his breathing so that he might hear what the Moon Dancer has to say.

Whatever curiosities might spring up at the tale, he does not speak. Perhaps he can't.

[Face of Death] When bramble and vine catches her, arresting her forward momentum, Joey strains, pushing her head forward, clawing against the plants which hold her fast and securely in place. She's not alone. Echo and Blood Summons are tangled, as well, but she watches as Hatchet and Nate disappear ahead of them, brothers leaving her behind, and she has to fight to keep a whine from leaving her throat. Daniel frees them, and Joey bumps against him, grateful, and they leave the forest and the Wyld behind together.

Find their Alpha and their Omega on the plain with the Red Talon guide. The set off for the mountain in the distance and Joey, with nothing but open space and time and distance to cover, moves quickly. Easily. She moves among the pack as they run, sometimes running beside Hatchet, bumping her shoulder against Echo and Nate, watching Missing Tooth. Even Blood Summons, Fostern Metis of her tribe, runs next to the smaller Rotagar for a while.

They run for hours, paws eating up the distance. Joey pants as she runs, tongue lolling, ears erect, looking around them, at the mountain and the meadow, at everything.

She listens to their guide, and she listens to Hatchet's question.

[-red-] "I do not know," Missing Tooth says simply. "I will fight against the ending. I will remember our ways. We will all do this, Griffin's true children. We will trust Griffin to guide and provide. But in the end, maybe it is like sea-tide. Inevitable change, like lizard-kings dying, furred-elephants passing into memory. Maybe time of Red Talons has come and gone."

The meadow all but glows under the light of the enormous moon overhead. Every blade of pale, dry summer grass is cast into a cold incandescence, gleaming like frost.

Sometimes at the edges of the meadow they see other animals. Great elk, antlers spread twenty or twenty-four points wide. A tiger, striped and bold. A herd of mammoths like those Missing Tooth speaks of, lumbering along with trunks swaying, young following. Flightless birds; ancient reptiles; tiny, brilliant insects.

Packs of wild wolves, too, running alongside them. Howling as they pass. Tumbling with cubs and brothers and sisters and mates: the memories and spirits of wild things unjustly lost.

They come to a stop at the base of the mountain. A narrow, winding path leads up into a cave set perhaps a hundred feet off the meadow floor. A stone's throw away, the path is blocked by an enormous boulder. Missing Tooth sits.

"Your quickness has been tested. Your tenacity and stamina. Now, your strength. Move rock. If you move, then you may go into cave, where Sister waits."

[-red-] [If you're currently out of breed form, as I think everyone is, your lethal/bashing will heal now. If you have agg damage, that'll stay.]

[-red-] [As for the rock: it will take a cumulative str 50 to move aside. Everyone pushing together is 45 str in crinos, so people will need to make WP vs diff 9 rolls to try to get it to move. If you fail a roll, there's no penalty, but if you botch you take + botch in self-agg damage. Go ahead and tack rolls onto your posts!]

[-red-] [whoops -- i meant Rage vs diff 9. not the typical WP!]

[Face of Death] When Missing Tooth sits, Joey stops, sides heaving from the long run. She saw things, amazing spirits, most of them long since lost to their world. She'll remember what she's seen for the rest of her days.

She stands with feet braced, jaw open and tongue lolling. She looks like she's laughing. Maybe she is. This isn't a journey for fun and games. It's dangerous, and most of them have already taken injuries, some from Joey's own jaws. But she loves to be in motion, and her adrenaline is pumping. Her pack is with her, and even though they rarely spend time with all of them together, they are close.

Missing Tooth instructs them to move the rock. Joey closes her mouth, tips her head up and up to look at the boulder. Her ears flick back, briefly, and then she's melting up into her Crinos form. Pushing up onto two legs, she joins her pack around the boulder, braces herself. And pushes.

[rage diff 9]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 1, 9 (Failure at target 9)

[End Transmission] End Transmission comes to a halt when they reach the entrance to the cave. She sits, and tilts her head, her ears flicking back and forth as she hears what the next task is. Nose twitching, the Glass Walker rises from her haunches and shoots upward into her massive Crinos form. Then, following in her brother and sister's wake, she moves forward in and wedges her shoulder firmly against the boulder.

And shoves, grunting.

[Rage vs Diff 9]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 3, 4 (Botch x 1 at target 9)

[-red-] Dan, rage!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 5, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 9)

[Buried Hatchet] Which makes Missing Tooth Good Eyes officially the wisest Red Talon Hatchet has ever spoken to. And surprisingly, he's actually spoken to quite a few in his lifetime. He lopes along with the Galliard, quiet now, keeping his disagreement silent. They run together.

He feels the way he felt when Serafine spoke her tale at her challenge. It twists and stabs in his chest as his great heart pounds with the force of the run. It chokes in his throat. He watches the creatures they pass. He sees the family-packs of wolves and their cubs and knows

they are gone

they are all gone

Seemingly at random, Hatchet lifts his head and opens his maw and howls. He's no Moon Dancer, Hatchet, but he is a singer. And there's a keening savagery to the sound that earns members of his tribes name like Banshee, like Wyld Singer, like Goldthroat, Silvertongue. It is no dirge. It is no song, really. It is just a howl, aching and long, fading into the rhythm of their pounding paws across the fields.

Then quiet again, but for the noise of life around them, which has its own strong, steady, undeniable heartbeat, no matter how soft it is. No matter how many human beings would call it silence.

When they get to the mountainside, they slow to ascend. His head swivels to Missing Tooth as the Galliard speaks, and he whuffs understanding. Strides forward and does not bite or bump against the higher-ranked spirit. He bows his head and steps so that it is underneath Missing Tooth's lower jaw, not quite touching. He sniffs at the other male's ruff, and then draws back.

Hatchet moves up into hispo. He moves up into crinos. He stands, hulking and bloody and wearing fur the color of granite, tinged at the tips with red. His coat is thick from winter, his nose wet with sweat, his eyes gleaming yellow. He snarls softly, directs packmates and Blood Summons with body language and chuffs of air, and then they put their backs into it.

[Rage]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 9)

[Face of Death] [please please please!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 9)

[Word on the Street] [ Rage diff 9 ]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 7, 7, 7 (Failure at target 9)

[Blood Summons] When they finally stop running, the Fenrir stumbles a bit, as though his legs are threatening to give out on him, but he does not fall to the ground in a heap of exhaustion as he likely wants to. His sides, gleaming with blood, are heaving; his fur practically bristles with each cycle of breath in and out of his body as he watches the exchange between the higher-ranked Red Talon and the Fostern Fiann. He listens. They've been tested this whole time; their next task is to move this massive rock separating them from Sister.

Without hesitation, without too much direction, he surges up into his birth form, fragile claws practically crying out as they elongate. His injuries look worse in Crinos, but he looks heartier, stronger. Directed to join the pack at the rock, Blood Summons lays his great hands upon the cool stone, and heaves.

[Rage]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 5, 7, 10 (Success x 1 at target 9)

[-red-] At first, as the wolves turn into monsters and the monsters put their backs to the rock, nothing happens. It doesn't even roll. They grunt, straining. Some of them bare teeth. Little by little, the boulder begins to shift in its socket.

Then, all at once, some critical point is reached and exceeded. The boulder rolls free, grating out of the way, tumbling down a shallow slope and THUDding to a stop with an impact that caves the earth in beneath it, rocks the ground beneath their feet.

Echo will feel that strain for hours to come. Missing Tooth Good Eyes stands, barks once at them -- happiness at their success -- and without any ceremony or sentiment, turns to lope back the way he came.

The path up to the cave stretches ahead of them, winding up the steep mountainside.

[Current Damage Tally:
Hatchet 3A
Echo 1A
Dan 3A
Joey 0A
Nate 3A
Blood Summons 3A

After the boulder is moved, everyone regains full rage (I'm assuming rage was blown during RAR combat), and +1 Primal Urge for remaining duration of storyline.]