Post by Wilhelm Opens-the-Way on Mar 2, 2010 16:03:13 GMT -8
Suggested Listening: E. S. Posthumous - Unstoppable
I am rage. I am a weapon. I am Garou.
I am what I was meant to be, an arrow, a missile of intention; fire-and-forget. But I am only the tiniest part of this. First, what came before:
Two armies. Three battlefields.
Fighters. Tricksters. The Eldest. On the ground. In the trees. In the sky.
Readying their weapons for war, knowing they may never return the Garou of this fledgling sept bristle and shudder with adrenaline. The mountains shake. The earth trembles. The darkening sky grows impatient.
First there are the howls of war, the popping of cartilage and lengthening of sinew and unsheathing of claw-talons as our battle-forms unfurl. Silent shapes flit through the trees. Thunderous creatures move in the wood, erupt from the earth. Lightening courses over shadow-black clouds. The trumpeting of mighty Mammoth, roars of the Thunder Wyrm the ferocious screams of the emerald Dragon, dire and fearful beyond measure fill the air.
They are trying to make our Caern a Hive.
Then all is movement, flurry, Rage.
Across these battlefields, Garou leap into the air, into motion, some as wolves, some as men, others as their mighty war forms. Claws reach back into the air behind their bodies, muscles whipcord taut, readying strikes. Our enemies are fast, stealthy, powerful. Worse, they are believers, full to the brimming with intoxicating taint coursing through their blood, wearing it on their skin in tattoos and war paint, breathing it in, growing strong even as it hollows them out from the inside. A host of black spirits surround them.
Movement comes in two forms, the slow-time of battle, where instants stretch into eternities, and the brutal crack and rending of certainty, of things happening just too fast to know, to see or to process. Shotguns blast, bullets hail, the sky is filled with arrows and wolf-men and blood. The earth beneath us serves as a springboard to battle, we touch it as a means to motion.
But a swift victory is not to be.
The ruby dragon, a spirit-forged Gift of our eldest's Auspice feels it's throat perforated by razor jaws of the emerald wyrm. Black Spiral Dancers weave among us with deadly, poisonous claws. In horror, I feel Mammoth pass from being. I am on his back, his coarse fur between my fingers, and then, nothing. Hidden shapes warp into view, their ears tattered and elongated, the dread wolves of the Wyrm's tainted, radioactive blood, and their BSD masters, snarling and clawing, glowing spirals leaking green fire from their mottled flesh.
They nearly cut one of us in half. The Cheetah who was flanking us, the healer. I see inside of him as I am falling from the back of the fading dream that was Mammoth. His blood is red like mine. I half expected some other color. That prejudice leaves me as I promise myself to avenge him. My pack is falling too. I meet Holly's eyes for an instant. She is confused, as I am. Afraid. I will miss her muzzle at my ear. The sudden worry in Ellis' eyes causes me to twist as I fall to see what enemy seeks my head for a trophy.
I fall as a man, but by the time my feet strike the earth they are balanced by a toe-clawed foot, steadied by stanchioned forelegs and the massive muscles of a Garou. Gun and Axe fall. I have all the weapons I need. I howl to the rage spirit inside me as the Alpha of the Trickster pack attempts to claw another sept-mate in half.
Rage takes me and I am free. The world becomes crimson and white. Only claws and teeth and battle matter.
In the skies over the forest, great dragons clash. Wolf-men walk as gods and giants into battle wielding maws made of mountains. I hear the sounds of flesh rending, the yips of tainted dogs being cloven in half, the sounds of battle have turned desperate though. Fear has entered the howls of some. I have no sense for distance. It is far away, or right behind me, or in my mind.
My claws enter the creature in front of me, I feel them barely penetrate the tough hide, but blood is blood, and I claw for more. My spine fills with fire as it is peppered with buckshot. Someone is shooting me. From behind the whirling rage, I resolve to kill them in a moment.
The battle above us breaks the sky. Clouds part and rush in, fire and poison and electricity set the air ablaze with color. Scales shine in the Galliard moon, Klaives flash in the night. Strikes that would shatter mountains boom and crackle among their frosty tops, echoing into the valley below. The clatter and clash of sword and axe, of maul and claw and jaw, of spirit and fire echoes in the valley like only a war among beasts can.
Lightening strikes the one known as Visili, energy crackles along his body. Together we fall upon the Alpha slaying him. He picks me up, fuels his body with Rage. I feel the electricity pass over me, ignite me. With energetic might, he flings me at the being in the trees who has taken Mammoth from my pack.
I reach the tainted shaman as a sentient, electrified spear and tear him asunder with velocity alone.
I am rage. I am a weapon. I am Garou.
I am what I was meant to be, an arrow, a missile of intention; fire-and-forget. I am only the tiniest part of this. But to those I have had a part in destroying, my rage is last thing they will know.
I am rage. I am a weapon. I am Garou.
I am what I was meant to be, an arrow, a missile of intention; fire-and-forget. But I am only the tiniest part of this. First, what came before:
Two armies. Three battlefields.
Fighters. Tricksters. The Eldest. On the ground. In the trees. In the sky.
Readying their weapons for war, knowing they may never return the Garou of this fledgling sept bristle and shudder with adrenaline. The mountains shake. The earth trembles. The darkening sky grows impatient.
First there are the howls of war, the popping of cartilage and lengthening of sinew and unsheathing of claw-talons as our battle-forms unfurl. Silent shapes flit through the trees. Thunderous creatures move in the wood, erupt from the earth. Lightening courses over shadow-black clouds. The trumpeting of mighty Mammoth, roars of the Thunder Wyrm the ferocious screams of the emerald Dragon, dire and fearful beyond measure fill the air.
They are trying to make our Caern a Hive.
Then all is movement, flurry, Rage.
Across these battlefields, Garou leap into the air, into motion, some as wolves, some as men, others as their mighty war forms. Claws reach back into the air behind their bodies, muscles whipcord taut, readying strikes. Our enemies are fast, stealthy, powerful. Worse, they are believers, full to the brimming with intoxicating taint coursing through their blood, wearing it on their skin in tattoos and war paint, breathing it in, growing strong even as it hollows them out from the inside. A host of black spirits surround them.
Movement comes in two forms, the slow-time of battle, where instants stretch into eternities, and the brutal crack and rending of certainty, of things happening just too fast to know, to see or to process. Shotguns blast, bullets hail, the sky is filled with arrows and wolf-men and blood. The earth beneath us serves as a springboard to battle, we touch it as a means to motion.
But a swift victory is not to be.
The ruby dragon, a spirit-forged Gift of our eldest's Auspice feels it's throat perforated by razor jaws of the emerald wyrm. Black Spiral Dancers weave among us with deadly, poisonous claws. In horror, I feel Mammoth pass from being. I am on his back, his coarse fur between my fingers, and then, nothing. Hidden shapes warp into view, their ears tattered and elongated, the dread wolves of the Wyrm's tainted, radioactive blood, and their BSD masters, snarling and clawing, glowing spirals leaking green fire from their mottled flesh.
They nearly cut one of us in half. The Cheetah who was flanking us, the healer. I see inside of him as I am falling from the back of the fading dream that was Mammoth. His blood is red like mine. I half expected some other color. That prejudice leaves me as I promise myself to avenge him. My pack is falling too. I meet Holly's eyes for an instant. She is confused, as I am. Afraid. I will miss her muzzle at my ear. The sudden worry in Ellis' eyes causes me to twist as I fall to see what enemy seeks my head for a trophy.
I fall as a man, but by the time my feet strike the earth they are balanced by a toe-clawed foot, steadied by stanchioned forelegs and the massive muscles of a Garou. Gun and Axe fall. I have all the weapons I need. I howl to the rage spirit inside me as the Alpha of the Trickster pack attempts to claw another sept-mate in half.
Rage takes me and I am free. The world becomes crimson and white. Only claws and teeth and battle matter.
In the skies over the forest, great dragons clash. Wolf-men walk as gods and giants into battle wielding maws made of mountains. I hear the sounds of flesh rending, the yips of tainted dogs being cloven in half, the sounds of battle have turned desperate though. Fear has entered the howls of some. I have no sense for distance. It is far away, or right behind me, or in my mind.
My claws enter the creature in front of me, I feel them barely penetrate the tough hide, but blood is blood, and I claw for more. My spine fills with fire as it is peppered with buckshot. Someone is shooting me. From behind the whirling rage, I resolve to kill them in a moment.
The battle above us breaks the sky. Clouds part and rush in, fire and poison and electricity set the air ablaze with color. Scales shine in the Galliard moon, Klaives flash in the night. Strikes that would shatter mountains boom and crackle among their frosty tops, echoing into the valley below. The clatter and clash of sword and axe, of maul and claw and jaw, of spirit and fire echoes in the valley like only a war among beasts can.
Lightening strikes the one known as Visili, energy crackles along his body. Together we fall upon the Alpha slaying him. He picks me up, fuels his body with Rage. I feel the electricity pass over me, ignite me. With energetic might, he flings me at the being in the trees who has taken Mammoth from my pack.
I reach the tainted shaman as a sentient, electrified spear and tear him asunder with velocity alone.
I am rage. I am a weapon. I am Garou.
I am what I was meant to be, an arrow, a missile of intention; fire-and-forget. I am only the tiniest part of this. But to those I have had a part in destroying, my rage is last thing they will know.
