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[IC] Rage Across the Delaware Valley- Werewolf: the Apocalypse

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  • [IC] Rage Across the Delaware Valley- Werewolf: the Apocalypse

    Rage Across the Delaware Valley
    A Werewolf: the Apocalypse Chronicle
    ST: Jim (NutiketAiel)

    Table of Contents

    Story 1: The Old that is Strong Does Not Wither

    Chapter 1
    Wherein our heroes undergo their rite of passage, an echo from the past is heard and the shadow of a threat looms.

    Story 2: Our belief is often strongest when it should be weakest. That is the nature of hope.

    Story 3: I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream

    Story 4: What Kind of Day Has It Been...
    Last edited by NutiketAiel; 11-24-2014, 09:34 PM.

  • #2
    Chapter 1
    Date: Tuesday, December 31, 2013
    Time: 2100 Local
    Moon: New
    Location: Sept of the Thundering Pines, Wharton State Forest, New Jersey Pine Barrens

    Graveyards aren't usually thought of as places for beginnings. Of course, the graves of hallowed heroes at the Sept of the Thundering Pines can hardly be thought of as a graveyard in any traditional sense. The pine barrens of New Jersey are sparse, for a forest, and this area is no exception. In the very center of this clearing is the burnt out stump of what was once a very old tree, now several years dead and gone. Around the edges of the clearing are spaced thirteen trees, each extensively carved in the language of the Garou. Despite the name, the bodies of the hallowed heroes of the Sept of the Thundering Pines are not actually buried in this clearing. Instead, the trunk and branches of each of the thirteen pine trees is carved with the names and deeds of the fallen heroes of the garou who have protected this caern. At the base of each tree is a larger carving, the sigil of one of the thirteen planetary incarnae, guardians of the stars. From Nerigal the Ice Warrior to Lu-Bat the Peaceful Counselor, from Hakahe the Ebon Whisperer to Rorg the Many-Taloned Hunter, each of the starbound spirits is represented, and each tree is carved with the names and deeds of those luminaries of the sept who lived and died according to the ideals of that spirit. Most of the names are of famed Shadow Lords. The oldest are of Croatan, dating back to the pre-Colombian era. The most recent carvings, dating back to the war against the fallen Shadow Lords who corrupted this land, are of garou of many tribes and septs, including those that died reclaiming this land from the clutches of the wyrm. Some might see it as morbid but, in its own way, it is a testament to the virtue of cooperation. In recognizing the lives of those of all tribes who spilled blood to reclaim this sacred place of Gaia, all are reminded of the greater power that they all serve and the need to work together. Perhaps that is why Quiet Storm, elder Lupus theurge of the Shadow Lords and leader of this sept, chose this site to begin the rite of passage of six new cubs from six different tribes.

    The night is dark. No moonlight shines on those gathered, and the stars are obscured by clouds; fresh fallen snow from the previous day lightly coats the ground and, even as the participants and witnesses of the rite gather together, a few flurries start to fall again, promising more snow to come. The only light comes from a ring of tall torches, one planted in the ground in front of each of the sacred trees. Quiet Storm herself, wearing the form of the wolf, sits next to the burned out stump in the center of the small clearing. The flickering torchlight shows off the glossy black fur, reminding the others of the purity of her blood. She will not be leading the rite, however. Standing on the other side of the stump is an old, weathered human. His skin is wrinkled, his hair sparse, his back bent, but there is still a light in his eyes. His clothes are thick buckskin, old and weathered but sturdy and well cared for, and he leans on a staff carved all over in a language none of the assembled cubs can read. The cubs know who he is, though; even those who have not yet met him were told to expect Dreamrunner, elder theurge of the Uktena and ritemaster of the Marshall Island Sept. It is he who will be officiating this rite of passage; as the eldest theurge in the Delaware Valley, he demanded this rite and none gainsayed him.

    Though he may be the eldest theurge, Dreamrunner is not the eldest garou present. That honor goes to Threefold Path, the most renowned Stargazer left in the west, a legendary philodox who stands, as if at rest, next to Lu-Bat's tree. His long grey hair is pulled back into a tail and his dark brown eyes regard all six cubs with a restrained curiosity. His appearance, and that of the cub who came with him, had caused some stir among the assembled Garou, many of whom seemed discomfited by his presence. The age lines on his face are hard to ignore, but still he stands there, seemingly relaxed, wearing loose, flowing clothes in defiance of the cold.

    On the far side of the clearing, several middle-aged people are gathered together. One draws eyes to himself as he coughs slightly, clearing his throat, and pulls his thick, padded jacket around himself. "This is a little much," grumbles Leonard Finch, Glass Walker Theurge and ritemaster of the Society Hill Sept. He is speaking under his breath to the man standing next to him, but in the stillness of the clearing, his voice travels easily, drawing all eyes. "I mean, honestly, torches? If you want to do the ceremony outside, well and good, but we could at least have some decent lighting."

    "It's tradition, you jackass," the man he had been speaking to grumbles back. Steve Growl-in-the-Wind Bolen of the Fianna, dressed in a thick flannel shirt with a heavy black leather coat over it, gives his companion a little shove. "What, you want 'em to break out the floodlights?"

    "Your voices are carrying," another man chides softly, shaking his head primly at the two arguing men. Dressed in an immaculate suit with a thick grey overcoat, a silver klaive belted at his waist, Jacob Speelman, Silver Fang Seneschal of the Sept of the New World's Glory, gestures for the two to quiet down.

    "So what?" Growl in the Wind shoots back, gesturing around the clearing. "We haven't even started yet."

    "We haven't started yet because none of you have stopped talking," pipes in another voice. Sunchaser, Philodox of the Children of Gaia and Master of the Challenge at the Sept of Friends, straightening her light green overcoat and brushing a little snow from her shoulder. Next to her stands an enormous man in a well worn brown leather jacket covered in military patches, his ridiculously long blonde hair pulled back in an intricate braid that trails well below his waste. Karl Wavecleaver, theurge of the Get of Fenris and ritemaster of the Germantown Volunteers Sept, simply shakes his head and grunts at the speakers before turning his attention back to Quiet Storm and Dreamrunner at the center of the clearing.

    "May I remind you," puts in another human, a man in his late twenties wearing a heavy coat against the cold and with a slight New England accent to his voice, "that you are all guests here." At this point, several of the other assembled people start to speak, but they are all hushed as a pair of wolves bound onto the clearing. One, a female, growls loudly at them, her hackles rising. The torchlight plays across the scars that mar her muzzle, and her red-tinted fur looks almost bloody in the darkness. Next to her, the other wolf, a leaner, darker, jackel-like figure, simply looks at the gathered observers. They fall silent, and the two wolves turn to regard the two figures in the center of the clearing, sitting down to watch and listen.

    "Thank you, Sunset Howl, Chases-the-Horizon," Dreamrunner says, nodding in turn to the two wolves. He then turns to face the six gathered cubs, his expression grave. His voice is soft, but clear, and those gathered strain to hear him as the light snowfall continues. "We are gathered here on this night, in the sight of Gaia, to welcome these six cubs into the fellowship of the Garou Nation in the tradition that all of our people share. We are gathered here from all the tribes and septs in this Delaware Valley together, in fellowship, in token of our bonds with each other and with all those who serve Gaia. We are gathered here to renew our closeness to each other. These six young cubs, from six different tribes, are a symbol of that closeness, that unity. We have fought each other over the years when we should have been fighting our enemy, and the enemy of Gaia. We came together to fight our common foe when some among our number fell into shadow. The fact that we stand here, tonight, in this land that was once corrupted, is proof of what we can accomplish when we are together." He pauses a moment, letting his words settle over the others. Some find themselves nodding in silent agreement.

    The elderly shaman extends his hand towards the six cubs. "I sense the stirrings of a great destiny around these young cubs. This pack, created from our unity, has the potential to shake the very pillars of the Earth. Now, in this time when the Apocalypse draws near, and the days of the final battle against the forces of darkness loom, is a time for great packs and great deeds. May these six prove themselves worthy of entry into our ancient and illustrious nation tonight, and show us the first examples of the wisdom, honor and glory with which they shall acquit themselves among us."

    "Step forth, you young cubs who would be more, and tell us who you are."

    Comment


    • #3
      Hannah stood as the snow fell. Quietly, chin up; if she was nervous, it didn't show. Ice blue eyes focused on the scene around her as her elders exchanged words and barbs, her only real acknowledgment towards the assembly was a solemn nod to Jocab Speelman after he spoke. As Dreamrunner truly began the rite in earnest her attention snapped back to him though.

      As he spoke she did a mental check of herself. She was wearing a grey overcoat, similar to Speelman's, but cut for a women, ending mid thigh; and lined with fuex-fur. Under that was a dressier woman’s button up shirt, navy blue with lace designs. She had on a simple pleaded black skirt, and black leggings, ending in black ugg boots. Her long silvery hair was in a thick braid, cascading over her shoulder, her makeup was conservative, but immaculate.

      As the last words left Dreamrunner's lips, she stepped forward without hesitation, seemingly not even acknowledging the other cubs with her. She approached with poise, like she'd stepped into a thousand spotlights, and offered a small curtsy that ended in a half bow, and a look of deference to her assembled elders. Then her chin snapped up and she moved to almost a military stance, hands behind her back, feet wide, eyes strait ahead, but she couldn't wipe a proud smirk from her ruby lips as she spoke.

      "I am Hannah Dawnstar, Grandchild to High Lord William Dawnstar of the Sept of the New World's Glory. My blood is Silver Fang; pure, even crossing ties with our good King Albrect. That blood has flowed from many heroes, my dearly departed Aunt Anne, and Uncles William, and Bradely counted among them. I am Homid, born on two legs, I am Ahroun; proud warrior of Mother Gaia. I am honored to be here."

      Her words are practiced and level, but proud and perfectly timed. When she concludes she offers another small graceful curtsy before taking one poised step back, leaving room for the others to present themselves.
      Last edited by MrMarkers; 11-25-2014, 01:21 AM.

      Comment


      • #4
        Val couldn’t stop shivering. He wore an enormous canvas jacket, the voluminous hood thrown over his head, and still the cold bit him. Clutching his trembling arms, he realized Hannah had stopped speaking, silence shrouded the gathering.

        Glancing at his fellow initiates, he waited for them to make a move. They did nothing. Sighing, Val decided to bite the bullet and get this charade over with.
        Slouching through the snow, he pressed his gloved hands together and bowed.

        Namaskram, I’m, uh, Val.” He glanced up. The elders stood impassive, even Sunchaser. Coughing, Val continued.

        “I’m apparently from the Get of Fenris, a Ragabash. Weird word huh? I looked it up online and…” He trailed off, his cheeks burning.

        “Anyway, don’t know a thing about my ancestors. Although my great uncle Aju apparently made really great paan, so good that…”

        He stopped, trying, and failing to read the elders’ emotions.

        “Tough crowd,” he muttered. “I’ll just go stand over there shall I?”

        Flashing the assembly an awkward grin, Val slunk back, into the shadows.
        Last edited by Al-Haleem; 11-25-2014, 04:07 AM.

        Comment


        • #5
          One, two, three, four... Jon was counting the number of people, and wolves, present. The way they were talking amongst each other, across species, was absolutely alien to him. Even more alien to him is that he could not read them. He learned the art of cold tells and deception early in his life, but he now felt like there's no point in trying it here.

          It was the most motley of crews, here. You had the Disney Princess, you had the zen student, you had... a wolf, and, well... is that Hadji from Johnny Quest over there?

          What is that smell? Oh, her...

          Jon himself was wearing a more humble ensemble. It looks like he put minimal effort into grooming before this life-changing event. This is how he'll remember it. Messed-up black hair, the slightest hint of 5 o'clock shadow, an olive-drab Vietnam-era army anorak, jeans, and waterproof boots, all concealing the long johns and thermals he's got underneath. He's from this area, so he's normally used to the cold. But today seems somewhat chillier than he's used to.

          Really? Makeup? Wow, Brittany Matthews. Going all out.

          But suddenly it was his turn. The princess went up, then the comic relief. Difficult acts to follow.

          "I am Jon, son of..." Don't say Mogh, nerd. "..."

          Jon couldn't bring himself to say it. Other than barely knowing his father to begin with, the rotting hatred, and the jarring Darth Vader-by-proxy revelation that his father was too busy being hero and none being a dad, he had to change the subject.

          "Galliard and apprentice lorekeeper of the Shadow Lords." Performer of the Rite of Boasting as taught by the Spirit of Mountain Dew.

          With that, he steps back.

          Comment


          • #6
            Geoff had stopped shivering two hours ago. Being the "cub" with the heaviest built among the five teenagers (the wolf didn't count, she was cheating) helped with the cold, along with his black leather jacket, the black gloves, the rangers and his blue jeans. He had also donned a brown beanie which kept his long auburn hair from flying in his face because of the wind, and a deep blue scarf that occasionally brushed up against his stubble.

            He had refrained himself from sneering at Hannah's lengthy introduction. He didn't want the elders to see him as disrespectful. Also, this Speelman guy looked fucking scary. Jon and Val had been equally nervous in their introduction, and he couldn't blame them. Geoff quickly looked at who was left : both of them looked the quiet types. It was his turn, then.

            After a deep breath, he stepped forward and cleared his throat. "I am Geoff Bolen, Philodox of the Children of Gaia, and Growl-In-The-Wind's nephew." He quickly looked at his uncle, smiling at him, before focusing back on the shaman. The kid bowed as respectfully as he could. "I am honored by your words, wise elder." Honored and excited, he wanted to add! Shake the pillars of the earth? It sounded like something out of a fantasy novel, but Dreamrunner made it sound so solemn and awesome!

            ...Although, it might have been just a figure of speech, to make the cubs feel special. Yeah. That was more believable, unfortunately.

            He finally stepped back, his introduction complete.
            Last edited by Evilmarmelade; 11-26-2014, 01:41 AM.


            "And for my next trick" I said, "anvils!"

            Comment


            • #7
              Worry denies Tranquility. Scott is a thin man with golden blonde hair and a smooth, shaved face. He wears only a pair of old jeans, a plain white tee-shirt, and a beat up aviator jacket that looks as if it is falling apart. The young man doesn't shiver because he holds all of his muscles tightly together, both to attempt to resist the cold but also out of anxiety. Today he has seen twice as many Garou as he had come across in the past year. Perhaps three times the amount. But if the uncertainty of so many unknown people around him was not enough, Scott felt the sharp pains of anticipation of loneliness each time he looked at Threefold Path. Yet he would not disappoint his teacher here.

              Scott comes forward and takes a deep breath before he speaks. While he may of seemed distant while alone, he steels himself and gathers all of his composure when the attention is on him.

              "I am the Bridge-Between-the-People," Scott announces, shoulders straight and chin raised. He looks at Threefold Path once, as if confirming something for himself, then continues. "I am a walker of the Middle Way, a Stargazer. I was born of a human woman, under the Mantra Moon. While not of blood, the only one I would call 'ancestor' is my teacher, Threefold Path. I seek to bring unity to all of the children of the Emerald Mother, that Balance may be returned to Darkness." As Scott concludes, he brings his arms to his side and gives a slight bow to show respect for his elders, and then returns to where he was before.

              Comment


              • #8
                "I do not belong here."

                It was this thought that claimed Stir of Echo's expression, her head arched back, ears skirting the nape of her neck as she fixed the bickering crowd with a poorly hidden scowl. She glanced to her would-be pack for reassurance, but their flat faces, and their gangly bodies, hidden by false fur, were difficult to decipher. In her frustration, Echo's gaze swept over to Quiet Storm. The woman had never been much of a comfort, but they were alike, and Echo found a sliver of solace in her presence.

                Her brooding was soon shattered by a familiar growl — ears lurched forward, tongue out, her tail beginning to bob and dance at the pair who crashed the scene. Pack, her body shouted. They were her family, not this band of strangers and weirdos beside her. She longed to go to them, to escape all of this and be with those who'd understand, but Dreamrunner's sermon snapped her back to reality.

                Her mouth went dry, her jaws clamping shut and her posture freezing in place, suddenly self conscious. When introductions were due, Echo remained in place, only extending her neck out to get a quick sniff at the other pups as they passed by.

                Still, apprehensive as she was, when it was her time, Echo strode out with head high. She was dressed in nothing save for a thread woven into her fur that bore multiple feathers, claws, and teeth of various animals. Snow had begun to cling to her coat, but with every step, it crumbled and fell. "I am called Stir of Echoes," she paused, bowing her head and dropping her tail to her ankles as she approached. Her voice was soft, ill befitting of the form she wore. "I am wolf-born, a Theurge of the Red Talons," and with that, she withdrew.


                Rage Across the Delaware Valley
                Health:
                Rage (3):
                Gnosis (7): X
                Willpower (6):

                Comment


                • #9
                  Dreamrunner nods solemnly. "Good. Now, as is the tradition since time immemorial, a task will be set before you, through which you will all have the opportunity to prove your worth in the service of Gaia." As he speaks, a wolf separates himself from the crowd and pads forward. He is a sleek, youngish wolf, his fur dark grey, the snow crunching under his paws as he approaches. The elder Uktena continues speaking as the younger garou approaches. "Battleseer, the Keeper of the Land of this Sept, will tell you of your task. Should you choose to accept this challenge, I will intone the final blessing, and then you will be on your way, to succeed or fail on your own merits."

                  The newcomer wolf, Battleseer, nods to Dreamrunner, then looks to Quiet Storm. Quiet Storm nods his own approval, and the Keeper of the Land turns to face the gathered cubs. He does not speak, however; instead, he shifts form in front of them, rising to stand on two legs as a human. His dark grey fur changes to dark brown hair. He is a short young man, seemingly in his mid twenties, and when he speaks his voice is clear and resonant, though with a hint of a southern accent. There is no hint of intonation or ritual when he addresses the cubs; instead, he speaks simply and frankly, his tone brooking no nonsense.

                  "Yeah, I have a task for you. I wanted to take care of it when I first noticed the problem yesterday," Battleseer announces, his voice carrying around the entire clearing, "but Quiet Storm made me save it for you kids. Just as well; not much to it. Even a bunch of kids probably couldn't mess this one up." He snorts, and some murmuring comes from the crowd.

                  Battleseer lets the assembled Garou mutter amongst themselves for a few minutes before loudly clearing his throat. The sound dies down, but at that moment Growl-in-the-Wind grumbles "What a jackass," in a voice that was not intended to carry but, in the sudden silence, instead fills the entire clearing. Battleseer whirls to glare at the Fianna, baring his teeth slightly. Steve rolls his eyes. "OK, yeah, I said it. It's not my fault you were being a jackass. This is their big night, you don't have to treat them like something you scraped off your boot!" As he speaks, the other members of the crowd slowly move out of the way, opening the space between Battleseer and Growl-in-the-Wind. For a moment, the clearing fills with tension, and Battleseer takes a step towards the still calm seeming Steve Bolen, his fists clenching, his teeth grinding.

                  That tension is cut by a single word, spoken firmly and clearly. "Enough," says Threefold Path, still standing along on the far side of the clearing. "This bickering is pointless. If you two want to settle a challenge, do it later. We're here for a rite of passage, not another brawl."

                  Battleseer looks over his shoulder at the elder Stargazer, but finally nods. He looks at Steve one more time, grumbling "We'll settle this later," before turning back to the cubs. "To the south, near the edge of the forest, is a small, abandoned human village. What the humans call a 'Spirit Town...'"

                  "He means 'Ghost Town,'" calls Steve from the crowd.

                  Battleseer grinds his teeth, but otherwise ignores the interruption. "It is part of the site of what was once the Piney Sept, a small sept of the Bone Gnawers that lived at the edge of our lands. During the war, these Bone Gnawers fell and were tainted along with the former inhabitants of this very caern. They were beaten, and the site cleansed and reclaimed, but it could not be... purified enough to serve as a caern again. The town was part of the bawn, and some of the Bone Gnawer human kin lived there."

                  "Yesterday, a few spirits came to find me. They say that they have seen a bane spirit moving around the penumbral reflection of the village, and have sensed the taint of the Wyrm. This happens sometimes, a little taint cropping up, usually centered on some dormant talen that was missed and somehow became active. Your task," he continues, meeting the eyes of each cub in turn, "is to travel to this village, this..." he hesitates, then glares at Steve out the corner of his eye before continuing, "this 'ghost town,' find the source of the corruption, deal with it and perform a rite of cleansing. You may encounter some minor bane spirits or other dark creatures drawn by the taint. Nothing too powerful, though; we would know if the forest had been penetrated by the Black Spiral Dancers or other, more potent enemies."

                  "The village is at the end of a deer run which passes by a fox den and a fallen tree covered with mushrooms, but not the tree that smells like the east wind..." for several minutes Battleseer goes on in this fashion, explaining the location of the village using landmarks and scentmarks. The homid cubs have trouble following the convoluted directions, though Stir of Echoes easily understands them and could find the place with little trouble.

                  When Battleseer finishes, Growl-in-the-Wind interrupts again. "In other words, it's about a quarter mile from the northeast shore of Batsto Lake," he says, rolling his eyes, though that's only enough to narrow the location to a general area.

                  Battleseer doesn't react to the interruption this time, simply continuing. "If you start your journey from here, you can travel the whole way on foot without any difficulty..."

                  "Whoa, whoa, whoa," Growl-in-the-Wind calls out, pushing his way to the front of the crowd. Jacob Speelman in particular glares at Steve Bolen as he is elbowed aside. "On foot? Are you fucking kidding me? It's what, 10, 12 miles away? Bullshit. We'll be waiting all night for them to go and come back. The place is, what, a quarter of a mile from Goodwater Road? They can drive most of the way, then park and hike in for the last bit."

                  "Drive?!?" Battleseer exclaims in shock and outrage. "Is that some kind of joke?"

                  The two start growling at each other until Sunchaser pipes up again from the crowd. "There are other options, you two. Doesn't this sept have a bunch of canoes at that little stream over that way?" she asks, gesturing in a vaguely westerly direction. "All the streams in this part of the forest feed into the Batsto River, right? They can canoe down until they hit Lake Batsto, then hike in."

                  "Canoe? In these temperatures?" Finch of the Glass Walkers scoffs.

                  "Enough," Threefold Path cuts in again, silencing the others. "Ritemaster," he says, addressing himself to Dreamrunner, "as I recall, it is the cubs' choice how they proceed on their appointed task, and none may second guess them. Perhaps it would be best if all assembled here would stop speaking over their heads, as if they were not here?"

                  "You are correct... honored elder..." Dreamrunner replies, his mouth twisted in a frown as he speaks to the Stargazer. He turns back to the cubs. "The choice of how to proceed on your task, if you should accept it, is, indeed, yours."

                  Every eye in the clearing turns once again towards the cubs. Some are curious, others annoyed. Growl-in-the-Wind holds up a set of car keys, pointing at them and nodding emphatically at the cubs until Speelman reaches over and casually knocks them to the ground, rolling his eyes.
                  Last edited by NutiketAiel; 12-02-2014, 11:36 AM.

                  Comment


                  • #10
                    Hannah had been watching intently since she'd stepped back. Trying to evaluate the young Garou who would someday be her pack. The parade of awkwardness that followed since she'd retreated was somewhat painful. She mulled it over in her mind, realizing the key underlying similarity was perhaps a lack of pride, something no one had ever accused her of.

                    As the precession dragged on, her military front and center had devolved to a relaxed half annoyed stance with her arms crossed in front of her, and her proud smirk had shifted to a scowl. As the task was levied she listened and watched her fellow pack as much as Battleseer, trying to see just what they comprehended, and what they could offer.

                    When the suggestion of driving came up, that seemed reasonable. But Speelman knocking the keys to the ground seemed disapproving to her, so she made up her mind. Which to her meant she'd decided what they would all do. She cleared her throat, and took a step forward.

                    “We go as wolves, we'll cover twice the distance in half the time, and we'll be the most silent on approach,” the tone was clear, it wasn't a suggestion. She offered a soft smile to Stir-of-Echoes, “How about you lead the way, you've got the upper hand on tracking for sure.” She let her glance roll over all of them, then waited to see how the others would respond.

                    OOC: I took a few liberties for things I intended to roll for, but Invisible Castle seems to need to renew their domain name.
                    Last edited by MrMarkers; 12-02-2014, 05:28 PM.

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                    • #11
                      "The first stone dropped into a well must carry the weight of all the rest," Scott says to Hannah. Since the introductions, Scott seems to have calmed his nervousness down somewhat.

                      Comment


                      • #12
                        Geoff frowned an instant at Hannah's suggestion, no, order. How typical. He crossed his arms, looked at his uncle, before getting back to the Silver Fangs. "Either the car or the walk sounds fine. The canoes are too dangerous for us, we could hit patches of ice and I think that this journey would give us more trouble than the bane spirit. You know, I have my driving license, if that's the problem. I'm a good driver, never had any accident yet." He smiled to the cheerleader, with a polite but firm smile. "But let's hear the others. I'm sure they have their own opinions too. So..." He turned to the rest of the pack, directly asking them as to encourage them. "Val, John, and...Stir of Echoes, right? What do you vote for?"
                        Last edited by Evilmarmelade; 12-02-2014, 09:25 PM.


                        "And for my next trick" I said, "anvils!"

                        Comment


                        • #13
                          Val really doesn’t want to walk. He’s already freezing his extremities solid, and frankly, he’d prefer shoving off and going somewhere warm. But then, that’s exactly what Karl would expect him to do.

                          He glances at the hulking Fenrir, who seems unconcerned with Val, but no doubt he’s waiting for him to wuss out and go with the easy option. ‘Of course,’ he’d scoff. ‘What else would a snivelling weakling do?’

                          But it’s so bloody cold! And the car probably has a heater!

                          Yeah, but you’re gonna make yourself look like a pussy in front of all these manly dudes.

                          And? Screw that! I’m not walking!

                          Don’t you wanna see what Princess Hannah looks like after a sub-zero forest trek?

                          Kinda…but it’s so bloody cold!

                          If you start shivering again, you can ask that big guy to warm you up! Bwahahaha!

                          Piss off!

                          I can’t. I’m YOU…But with way more style, darling.

                          Val grips his temples, feeling the beginnings of a rather acute headache. But his inner bitch is right, he can’t look pathetic in front of Karl…He’ll wipe the smirk off that Aryan bastard’s face yet!

                          “Ahem.” Val makes a great show of clearing his throat.

                          “Maybe…Maybe, we could walk.” He practically spits the words out.

                          “I mean, if everyone’s cool with it…And it’s not too much trouble. You sure you don’t wanna take the car Jon? You look like a car type of guy.”

                          This is gonna suck.

                          Comment


                          • #14
                            Jon could hear it all in his head now. All the complaining no matter what road they take. It's too cold out here. It's too wet and icy in the canoe. Why are there so many empty packets of strawberry cheesecake trail mix and cans of Dr. Peppers back here? And he must not forget about being trapped in a car with a wolf that smells like... that.

                            Jon didn't like where any of this was going. He glanced briefly over to the elders. He was about to ask for advice, but he then stopped. No. No running to the "adults" for help. After choking back his words, he turned to Val and responded, "Well, we can take my car. I mean, I could fit all six of us in there. Bit cramped. Also, the heater only has two settings: off, and subtle. But if we're going to be inconspicuous, do you think the Diplomat is the way to go? No, I'm honestly asking your opinion." Though maybe he wasn't, as Jon cocked his head to the side, a pained look on his face as he tried to indicate Echoes. On one hand, he genuinely wanted to respect her. On the other, would being trapped in a closed car be good on the olfactory senses?

                            Jon kept his back to the Barbie doll while giving his opinion to the others, "I think we should walk it, as she suggests. Though I for one will give the 'as wolves' thing a pass. I've only tried it once, and I'm still finding my legs. Or all four. I think we should do what we feel we do best. If we aren't in our best form, we may end up fucking everything up..." He stretched his words to emphasize them, "...on our first miiiiission. I've got some old blankets in the trunk. They need to be washed, though. That could keep you warm, I think."

                            A hand thrusts into his jacket pocket and pulled out a packet of strawberry cheesecake trail mix. Jon opened it and crunched down on a couple of the oat cluster pieces. Breakfast of champions.

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                            • #15
                              One Time

                              The feeling rolled up from deep inside of her; and she couldn't help it. She started to laugh loudly, it almost sounded fake. "One, haha, time?" She snorted, "You've done it one time! Are you kidding me?" The cheerleader swept between Jon and the rest of them, gliding past him still laughing. "Are you serious?" She she doubled over, hands on her knees as she let the few final giggles escape her.

                              She took a second to compose herself, standing up strait. "Oh my god guys, please tell me you've been training for this. I've eaten, breathed, and shit nothing but kickboxing, wilderness training, and shapeshifting for like 3 months solid." She shot a glance at Jon, "it's not going to hurt you to learn and it's a skill that you need. That settles it."

                              She closed her eyes for a moment, speaking half to Jon half to herself, "you won't get stuck if you just push through, keep focus, will things to change, and take slow even breaths. Know what you want."

                              (Stamina to Change, no Primal Urge, Diff 6, Homid)
                              http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/4731014/

                              All at once her mass swelled, and her face split into a huge smile, with wicked teeth. The coat strained against her, the seams popping. Taller, taller, still, the coat shredding into bits, as fur poured over her. Her smile lost when a snout replaced her mouth. For a moment she loomed as in Chrinos, before closing her eyes again.

                              (Stamina to Change, no Primal Urge, Diff 6 Garou)
                              http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/4731015/

                              Then she lurched forward onto all fours, bones popping as her limbs twisted. Shrinking slowly at first than quicker, passing strait through Hispo. The coast was lost, but the rest of her clothes seemed to have been dedicated, or no trace of them was left. The strong silver wolf with cunning ice blue eyes seemed to manage a taunting smile at Jon as she strutted around the clearing, testing her legs.

                              "Let's go," she looked to Echoes, "they'll follow us." She began to slowly pad off in the direction they were suppose to go, casting a few glaces over her shoulder at the rest of the group. Comeon guys.
                              Last edited by MrMarkers; 12-03-2014, 07:57 PM.

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