Labor Pains

[Fractured]

Ernest was preparing to settle in for the night with some 'light' reading; an open, English translation of the Torah in his lap, a light clip attached. In the passenger seat sat numerous other texts and commentaries for quick cross-referencing access. The itinerant hippie was looking for the common threads, maxims that held true in every culture; a foundation he could build upon. His van was parked outside North Oak Park; cops hassled him whenever he tried to overstay his welcome at a particular location, and it was time he had been moving on from McKinley Park. He smiled as he thought of the interesting pagan girl he had met there. Perhaps he would meet someone just as interesting here.

As he realizes his thoughts are drifting from his work, he sets the book down. The moon was not quite full yet, but it was fat. It reminded Ernest of an overstuffed belly, or perhaps, a pregnant one. It was making its trek across the night sky without any hindrance, however, and he had yet to greet it and pay it his respects. He steps out of the van, looks up, and smiles at her. "Hello, moon. Thank you for your keeping me company tonight." He takes a deep breath and stretches. The van was comfortable, but not that comfortable.

[Lesingnon]

It's faint, barely noticeable really. So much so that at first he thinks he's imagining it. But it doesn't stop, and it gets louder. All the times Ernest has greeted the moon before, talked to it before, but this is the first time he's heard it respond.

Faint voices of the lunar choir, strains of an unearthly song drifting to his ears.

And though it doesn't get any louder the song does grow more demanding, more insistent. Subsuming his senses, dominating his attention. Calling to him, drawing him deeper into the park.

[Fractured]

Ernest listens to the song, enraptured. His soul was lifting to rejoice, to commune...he didn't even eat any special brownies today. The song sounds so pure, so powerful, overwhelming him. He has to follow, to go where his spirit leads him without hesitation. He ventures deeper into the park, confident in the beneficence of the cosmos.

[Lesingnon]

The song draws Ernest into the park. And he starts to make out the words, the language ancient beyond reckoning yet still something he could somehow understand. A ballad, a tale, a tragedy of a great battle once fought on this ground.

And suddenly the world around him disappears, replaced by one that's very similar but not quite the same. A vision in which he's no longer the only one in the park. Great beasts; men, wolves, and hybrids of the two fill the park. He finds himself amongst a group covered in whirling arcs and lines of glowing silver, their hides thickly scarred from a lifetime of battle. Locked in a desperate struggle for survival, one that they're losing. Accosted on all sides by those similar to them, yet different. Lines of glowing red overlaying the ritualistic scarring they seem to have inflicted on themselves.

Those marked in silver seem older, wiser, stronger, and more dangerous than their opponents. But they're hopelessly outnumbered. They strike down two of their foes for every one of them that falls, at least. But their foes have numbers to spare, and fight with a fury that can only be caused by fanaticism. Soon only one remains, his grief-stricken howl piercing the night as he changes. Shifting from great wolf to wolf-man, tearing into those remaining to oppose him with unfettered rage. His comrades would not die alone here.

And then the vision fades, and Ernest finds himself back in the here and now. The senses of the park, more vibrant than he could ever remember, thick in his nostrils as four paws larger than any natural wolf's pad upon the ground. As the howl builds in his throat, a wordless torrent of emotions both his own and of that last individual from his vision begging for release.

[Fractured]

The song changes and Ernest watches helplessly at the battle raging around him, as the valiant few are consumed by the horde, at things he doesn't understand. It makes him angry. His guts wrench and bile rises in his throat and he sings his song, the song of the great warrior's death, back to the Moon. No longer in control of this trip, his inner animal guides him to a higher place from which to sing.

[Lesingnon]

He howled folks, any werewolf who happened to be nearby knows what's going on now. And I imagine there must be at least a few who'd want to check it out...

[Shadow Tongue]

Shadow Tongue responds, His addition a yowl of eager agreement. It had been a long time since experiencing the hunt of a new pup. Andrew relishes the chance and the danger. To skirt Death once again.

He hurries in Urhan to where the first song pierced the night.

[Firebringer]

Matthew's ears perk as the howl pierces the night air. The howl of a fellow Cahalith. In an instant, he breaks from his patrol, paws striking pavement as he runs toward the howl's source.

[Alison Yates]

Alison heard the howl was on her way home from dinner when she heard the howl, it sounded close. After hopping out of her jeep and locking up she shifted to urhan when the coast was clear. Once that was done she focused her spirit and called on the speed of father wolf to aid her before rushing off toward the source of the sound.

OOC

-1 essence activating father wolf's speed.