A Return to Arms
23981
THREADID
124
POSTS
1 - 10
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The freshly fallen night hangs crisp in the air. There is unrest in the Hisil. Howls of Challenge can be heard throughout the city. Howls that echo in the ear's of the People. Howls that can be heard no matter how far one has gone from The Tur.
There is trouble at the caern of Flame-of-Man.
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The same dream, night after night. It was times like this he wished he'd been born under any other moon. Some sought knowledge of the future in hopes of blunting the force of an oncoming disaster, but he'd found that far more often Luna's visions seemed simply to drive him more forcefully onto the path they foretold.
It was maddening.
Just as maddening as the howls that now rang out from the Tur. Paws pound against the ground of the Hisil, fury driving him faster than any living being had a right to travel. If they had so much as touched Flame-of-Man's grave, he would light them up so brightly Frank's pyre would seem like a sputtering candle by comparison.
-1 essence for Father Wolf's Speed
Matthew is in Urshul form
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The light of a moon like the one that had welcomed Jeremiah into his new life glints off the blade of his knife. The Ghost Wolf had drawn the knife as soon as he'd reached the border of Tur and shifted into Dalu form.
All of this SHIT has pissed him off. The Brothers up and leaving out of no where. Filidh running off too. Right when things seemed like they were going to work out. Fuckers.
Fingers play along the handle of the knife as Jeremiah walks his way to the grave. Whoever is there can keep acting like assholes. Jeremiah's stopped caring about hiding his anger, if someone wants to play then why not.
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Steel is right behind Jeremiah. Totem or not, or whether or not they have enough wolves, Jer is still his pack. Even if it's just the two of them.
Whoever is raising that racket picked a bad night to do it, though. Jeremiah is clearly on his last nerve and Steel isn't feeling much better. The rahu can feel the dual rolls of nickels jangling a bit in his pocket. As they arrive, he moves them to his hands and wraps his fists around them.
All he needs is his hands and gifts. That's all it'll take if someone wants to mess tonight.
Upon reaching the hilltop it's apparent that the intruders of the neutral ground have long since left.
But evidence of their presence remains. The stench of death and rot hangs heavy in the air, here in the Hisil it's more than just a scent. The scents of Hatred and Fear are thick as well, and Pain.
At the foot of the rock of Flame-of-Man sits two large wooden boxes. The grass of the ground around the boxes, slowly wilting and dying before the gathered's eyes. Tiny spirits of grass, bugs, and earth, so minuscule they are commonly overlooked and ignored, are easily noticeable as they retreat away from creeping vortex of decay.
Perception rolls please (Wits + Comp)
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Steel growls at the sight of the decay.
"If this is somebody's idea of a joke..." he mutters.
He doesn't continue. It's clear this is something much, much more. No amount of wishful thinking will change that. He takes a deep breath, feeling his body swell to Dalu form as his senses open to the world around him. No way he's going to let whoever dumped these here just sneak off.
2 sux to shapshift to Dalu, but only 1 on perception
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Matthew snarls, an ugly, grating sound born out of the white-hot whip of anger searing through him. The most hallowed site on their land, turned into this.
And no target on which to vent his wrath. No quarry on whom vengeance could be sought.
Jaws clack together around the throat of an imagined foe. But it is a mere gesture of frustration, bringing no comfort. That would come only with the red blood of a true enemy running under his claws.
Cautiously, he pads forward, studying the source of decay while remaining an uneasy distance from its region of influence.
His doing, then? Is this finally it?
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Kevin travels to the Tur, jogging to Tur, he didn't know why he's even coming to answer this howl but he is. I wonder how my old pack's been doing since I was escorted out of the city? He wonders as he moves as silently as he can to Tur.
He arrives and glances around, unsure of his welcome.
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Jim had expected coming to sacramento to be an adventure, something new, and big change.
Hearing someone do the equivalent of pissing in everyone's corn flakes qualifies as new and different, and so Jim sets off at a hard push.
He arrives to see four other werewolves advancing on two boxes next to a grave and is on alert. This is all sorts of not cool, the decay reminding him of those assholes he dealt with all those years ago.
He doesn't hide, but walks openly, his hands open and at his sides. If these wolves are wary, then he will assuage them. If they are violent, then he will end them.
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Tony ran to the Tur as quick as he could in Hishu with a duffel bag full of rite gear flung over his shoulder. A challenge likely meant wounded, and Anthony knew the rite to heal his brothers and sisters if it was needed. He was thankful it wasn't.
It was little surprise to see the two Alphas and one of the Sworn, but seeing the exiled Kevin Swift put him on his guard. He still didn't know who issued the challenge, and the return of an exile at this exact moment was very suspicious.
"So," He started as he approached the group, pointing at Kevin, "the fuck is he doing here? And what are those?" His arm flailing between the two crates and the area of decay.
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