Oil Slick

[The Corpus] Roman awakens to the Godi's voice and the smell of crude oil:

The Church is a smaller place in these moments, lit by the guttering snap of flames riding kerosene lamps in the brazers around the walls and support columns. They create more shadows than light, but the presence of the Full moon and what few street lamps working on their block, do much to cut swathes and sections from out of those shadows.

The Interior is of tall ceilings, second floor balcony seating where organs, choirs and the faithful used to sit and the broad Dais where once stood the out of fashion and ever suffering Messiah of another religion. Now it is host to Horror:

Each of them present was called and beckoned by urgency. Something stirred in the pregnant moments of 'something is wrong' and 'we're going to need a bigger boat'. The small homid body of the CoG Ragabash has been stood over by both his pack and those allies who had first brought him. Others have been called upon, for their expertise and assistance. Yet with the first of those calls, the small body had begun to convulse. Spasms of war broke out across him, cutting lacerations over the body from unseen sources and yet muscles tensed. The body surged and in a moment, a Hispo exploded outward from the smaller mortal visage. Snapping jaws at thin air, eyes rolled back in his head.

Kora and Linus had held him down. Pushed with something akin to stoic, frightening calm. Until it passed. Until the boy settled again, with a low rumble and unhinged jaws. That's when Roman began to 'leak'.

It is the only true description of it. His jaws open and blackish brown syrup, an ichor, began to pour from between teeth and gullet. His great stomach and chest heaved and a small deluge ran over the counter in the kitchen, splashing onto the ground and spreading unnaturally across the tiles. As the Garou and those gathered watched, the pool seemed to reach, bubbling and sprouting long, slender limbs that reached to grasp at objects, furnishings and anything solid it might gain for leverage.

As if the great flood spilling from the Ragabash's mouth were seeking to rise.

What may well have threatened to boil out into a fight there and then was cut short by the Jarl's reaction. A quick glance between brother and sister, the former's eyes a wild flash of recognition, the latter's, a clean sobering declaratoin. Then the Jarl's voice rose with calamity and the power only a Skald could wield.

"Into the Sanctum! Now!"

They'd push bodies ahead of them, the Godi snapping and repeating Kora's orders, shoving at shoulders while turning to look back at the Pregnant Homid, turned glabro a moment later, dragging the Hispo Ragabash behind her, even as the river of black pooled and leaked a steady puddle and stream along the floor behind them all. From this stream, great limbs, jointed by too many elbows (two, three, four...) reached out to claw at the walls, dripping oils and sanity rendered.

It would stop with drops and bits, fleeing Roman's mouth like mice, scurrying across the floor and through the curtains that separated kitchen and Sanctum, leaving the Ragabash's maw dry and empty. The doors clambering shut behind them as a last ditch method of stalling what had come through.

The Ragabash's eyes would flutter and reach for the conscious world, even as the sounds behind that door began to range from the burbles of liquid, to the groan of something more, to the belched vomit of birth, shape and inevitable rise...

[Roman Turner] He coughed and hacked and heaved while his eyes fluttered and watered, ears flattened. The dry hacking cough made extra nasty with the way his maw opened, lips peeled back in a display of big sharp teeth. It took him half a moment before his presence rushed in to the minds of his pack mates like a kid coming down the stairs on Christmas morning. The feeling was laced with pain and confusion as the Hispo wobbled to it's feet in a scrabbling of nails against the floor. Scar tissue already marred the flesh of his neck and chest, leaving it without fur from the older burns. Now his fur was darkened in places where blood mingled with the chestnut brown fur.

[Slaughter] She is there - but apart. Unlike the rest, she was not called here. She is of no assistance in spiritual matters; untouched by the spirit world, nearly unaware of it, either through situational ignorance or deliberate ignorance.

She had been here - however, and at some point, stepped to the edge of the church, her gaze moving to the Garou gathered then the form on the table. Her expression had remained controlled, though her gaze had lingered there a little longer than it might have.

And so she had remained, near the kitchen door, her body language reeking of her separation from the Garou and their business, of her isolation from it all. Still, for all that, she watches. When the blood begins to seep from wounds of an unseen assailant, and the boy becomes beast, she straightens, her spine ratcheting tight. And she did not turn away, her gaze intent on the Garou as if there were a cipher in their actions.

She had been standing a while when things suddenly, abruptly became chaos. Putrid black and oily bile began to seep from Roman's mouth and suddenly everyone is moving. Her weight shifts, abruptly to the balls of her feet and she is out the door toward the sanctum, even as the final syllable is uttered.

It is almost a skill, staying out of the way like this - she holds the door open by stepping behind it, giving the Garou room to exit.

She does not pay much attention to them, however, but to the oily, reeking beast that Fate had expelled.

[Drawn in Blood] To follow an order does not go against his rational nature, does not cause his baser urges to fly up into righteous indignation and rattle at its modern-day chains and demand satiation via rebellion. That is all he has, to be quite blunt: he has his place, and he has the reliance on the fact that so long as he occupies the rank that he does he will be subject to a bevy of orders, many of them so counter to common sense and decency that he would bite a hole in his tongue had the thought to use it to produce speech ever occurred to him.

Some of those orders make him double-take before remembering that the odds of their making it to Ragnarok nosedive in the face of certain foes. Whatever comes out of Fate's body, the hinted-at tendrils of possession that the Modi had not seen beyond the crude drawing doled out by a member of a dying faction, inspires first in John the need to rush forward and meet it in combat.

And then it strikes him with the sense that that would be as good as leaping into Maelstrom.

Imogen does not pay much attention to them, but to borrow a narrative technique from Simon's player, she's just standing there! Holding the door! While fucked-up black shit crawls into the kitchen to percolate for a while longer! One of these days he's going to grab the wrong kinswoman by the arm and catch a bullet for his trouble but the idea that he particularly cares to day is a somewhat farfetched one.

He takes her by the arm and urges her away from the door.

[Patrick Llewelyn] Surprisingly, this is not the first case of spiritual possession that Patrick Llewelyn has ever seen. He has quite clear memory of a young Cub being carried back to his home Sept after being attacked during a battle by a tainted spirit. There had been uproar, and quite a few fingers pointed to attest to why he had even been around it to start with.

The Fianna had been a Cliath but a handful of days when it occurred and recalled seeing the limp arm swaying from between the heavier bodies of Hispo Garou, escorting him to the elder Theurge of the Sept.

The fingers had been twitching.

Then, as opposed to now when whatever had been slumbering inside Roman pours out of him, awake and seemingly less than pleased, the Cub had died while they tried to extract the spirit. Remembering it, Prayers to Broken Stone also realizes he's the only in the city to know the story; Farrah and Howard gone to join the nameless Cub in the beyond. All this playing like muted television in the back of the Galliard's mind as he stands with those of Last Watch, expression grim, ready to hold the boy down if need be.

He's aware of the Kinswoman, standing back from them all, watching. Separate.

When Roman begins to convulse, the Fianna is one of the last to back away; his focus as much on what was rising out of the liquid as for the pregnant Jarl of the Fenrir. Drawn in Blood takes the his Kinswoman's arm and propels her out of the way, and Patrick, backing up, takes only a moment to glance at the Modi, nods, looks away.

[Sorrow] There are droplets of muck on Sorrow's fingers, on her booths, the cuffs of her jeans. They move like they have their own minds, their own bodies, these oily little bits of this larger Thing that started oozing from the Ragabash's mouth and nose. She startled into motion, dragged the half-concious, already wounded young Garou behind her, snapping directions to the others as the rainbow sheaned pieces of the thing began to coalesce behind them, a half-dozen jointed arms clawing at the old stone walls, pulling away strips of reality with them.

"FATE."

- just inside the Sanctuary, illuminated by the cutting slant of the full moon through the clerestory, the massive space quiet except for the echoes of their orders. Sorrow shouts his name both as namecheck and order.

Show me you're still there. Show me everything that was inside is out, now.

The rest of the kin were cleared out when they brought Roman back; sent to the Brotherhood, to the fucking park, to friends and family.

She shakes off stray droplets of black goo, watches them skitter away, disappear under the door, rolling uphill, over the jam, to go merge with the rest of the oilslick collected and feels her gorge rising in the back of her throat and swallows it back.

"The doors will not hold long. The stones should, though. We hold it bottlenecked here, attack from all sides." A swinging glance from Garou to Garou to Garou to kinswoman. To brother. "Tell me you can get us help from the other side." With a lift of her cro-magnon chin toward some unseen interior space in the middle of the transept. The point where the cross meets in the center of the cathedral, and the ceilings soar to their highest point.

[Slaughter] John touches her arm, and the deprecation of Imogen's gaze as it drops to his hand touching her arm, and then lifting to his face, a curl of the lip speaks her disdain for the contact more quickly than a voice ever could.

Deliberately, she pulls her arm away, stepping from the Fenrir as the door shifts and moves with the exiting Garou, and then to Kora as she begins to speak. The kinswoman reaches beneath her suit jacket - worn despite the hour, the day, the length of it - pulling out a weapon as she backs up, slowly, her gaze moving briefly from Garou to Garou, marking their positions as she finds her own - preferably with cover. Preferably with a clean view of the door.

[Drawn in Blood] [Empathy: YOU TOTALLY WANT ME]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
to†Slaughter

[Slaughter] (I am only doing this because I need to show you my utterly ridiculous man+sub pool for Garou)
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2
to†Drawn in Blood

[Simon] Simon hadn't been summoned but arrived by his own accord with the intention of spending a little time with the folks usually gathered at the church. It was like a fortress and Simon kinda liked that! It was a great place to stand in a corner in the dark and look all brooding and reflective. People love when you do that shit, and if you do it enough you'll be a total badass!

Sadly Simon was not the kinda guy who could sit in a corner in the dark and only speak the occasional word like one of those freaky creepy guys that people seem to love so much. He was loud mouthed and not really all that awesomely dressed and he was usually kinda a douche... But if there was one thing he wasn't it was easily grossed out.

So as roman wretched Simon's arms stood crossed over his chest. He watched with a curious tilt to his head as stuff began to spill out of the poor guy. Roman was a good kid, a tough kid, and a brave kid... Foolish as all fucking hell but damn that boy's got some balls. So Simon didn't like to see him like this. Why is it Roman always seems to get fucked up in his experience? He almost gets into one of those thoughtful moments where he pauses to ponder the nature of the universe and why roman has such poor luck but he's snapped back to reality when someone turns the handle on the vomit faucet.

He smiled slightly and shook his head."That shit's fuckin' nasty..."Captain Obvious' uncanny ability of pointing out that which is already well known is reaffirmed in the minds of all around him have no fear all is right in the world!

He could see the thing was moving, however, and his attention fell upon it with eyes full of certainty."Mother of fuck... Are you fuckin' kidding me?"He asks as he looks at the pile. Then to Kora and then back to the Pile and finally around him. This is a church there's gotta be something he can arm his ass with. He is SO not fuckin' biting Roman's Vomit Monster. He might be a good kid... But... Not that good!

[The Corpus] The doors swing shut with a clamour as the Modi drags back the Kinswoman and the gathered Garou collect together not far from the doorway itself. The Dais and arch of the Church's main interior continues to gutter with abnormal light swathes from the bare windows and the guttering candle flames along the walls. The heavy breath and crackle of of feet on paved stone and tile, a resounding thing alongside orders, names and barking commands within such a vast space.

Kora's attention shifts between the Garou present, doling out the possible plan and then toward her Brother, who is already pacing back and away from the door with a wide assortment of snapping curses under his breath. Roman receives a homid hand on his shoulder, bracing (a gesture at best) and a comfort to let the Ragabash know he is sound in body as much in mind again.

The Godi is turning with a spasm of words across the totemlink It's forming quick. Seek out it's sustenance first and foremost. Rationalize it's hate next. Roman's the immediate target. Recognizable. You're next on the ladder, Kor' and me for the Pack tie. Everyone else is a secondary but-

The Doors heave, shudder, bulge in an obscene twist of physics that should not be. Black ichor touches the cracks separate floor and wooden frame, before they settle again. The sounds behind the door begin to diminish and cease and a flood of stench creeps out from under the door beneath nostrils and into senses:

Burning Oil

A waft of it, like the breath of some miserable gullet, crashes outward and puts water in eyes for it's power. A moment before the strength of the stench diminishes and leaves behind the breath of frigid air that is the night coming through the windows and openings of the Church's interior.

"...fuck. I need time!" It's the Godi's response, clacking teeth in a feral snarl too human to be much of anything. He turns, the length of his spear already flashing into being from it's place beneath cloth and skin and spirit. He is searching the ground between the pews, a distance now from the gathered before finding what he is looking for, lifting the spear and spiking it down hard into a slim crack in the marble and stone. There, the half-head jams hard and the spear juts straight upward, brown haft reverberating slightly with the impact.

The Godi turns and sits, leaning back against the stout weapon of war, like some quiet man beneath the Woe Tree. Without another word his gaze slips closed, hands rolling sleeves up before settling on the floor infront of him.

And the Doors bulge again, another wave of that Burning Stench of Oil colliding with those gathered close to it's framework. Once more bringing tears to eyes, a wave of nausea perhaps to the stomach.

[Drawn in Blood] [Enigmas+Intelligence: THINGS]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 5)

[Simon] [Wits+Leadership]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[Roman Turner] Per+alert
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 5, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Slaughter] perception+alertness!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[Sorrow] GNOSIS!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 5 (Failure at target 8)

[Patrick Llewelyn] [Enigmas + Intelligence, we're all doomed.]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 8 (Success x 1 at target 5)

[Sorrow] GNOSIS
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 9) [WP]

[Slaughter] From Harv:

The doors are not holding. The way they bend so is unnatural to say the least and does not work within the physics of this reality. Perhaps some power of the other world the Garou are so knowledgeable of is manifest now and judging by the Godi's reaction to things, it is evidence enough that this moment is far removed from the Ordinary. What may not be so obvious is the measure of it. The power behind those doors, should have rendered them obsolete. They could no more contain what had emerged then Imogen might well have held the door with hands and body alone. No, whatever was behind was not delayed by the doors, but waited and prepared for it's emergeance. Something was coming...quickly.
to†Slaughter

[Roman Turner] His presence rushed in to Kora's and Linus' minds, mingling, twining with her in the way only those that share a link can. He wasn't her family, he wasn't her Tribe, but he was Pack. And though he was a little confused and scrambled the overlaying emotion was a surge of relief, almost like it might be if a child had been lost in a huge crowd to the point of tears before the crowd opened and suddenly there was mom and dad.

That feeling was short lived as his enemy surged against the closed door. His head cocked, hackles rose, lips peeled back as he growled with his tail out straight and every hair on his body standing at attention. He made himself appear as physically big as he could. The growl rose, rumbling through his wounded chest, warning the creature he still remembered the fake William Tell. He knew it's wounding lies.

Across the link to the minds of his pack came the warning.

~It's preparing for attack!~

[Simon] Simon can feel the stinging of his eyes and ears. Already his senses are strained under the crushing weitght of that terrible odor. He can't exactly look away, if they were going to fight something, they were going to need to see it. However, he also knew that certain chances couldn't be taken and if they were going to fight they needed to be able to do so.

"If that shit is burning my eyes and nose this much... Avoid making use of your senses as much as possible. Avoid animal forms!"He shouts outward not as a suggestion but a warning. His eyes were already watering and he knew that his Hispo or Lupus forms... Hell even crinos might be too much. Simon easily shifts to a larger and more impressive form as his attention moves around him. But he still needed to arm his ass and he didn't readily see Battle axes hanging around. What the fuck Kora? You folks are Fenrir there should be a battle axe on every damn wall! Fine... I will find... Something else.
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 6, 7, 7, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 7) Re-rolls: 2

[Drawn in Blood] He can't speak, but that doesn't make John entirely stoic and stone-faced, either. When Imogen shoots him that look, the expression the Modi returns her with is an unpointed What? It's good-natured, as though he can't possibly understand what a strong, independent female with near-enough renown to submit to a Rite of Passage would find wrong with a huge bearded Fenrir taking her by the arm, but once she gets moving, John releases her back into the wild and takes up his position beyond the door.

All levity drains away, then, as he stands in preparation to confront a force that will not withstand the blows from his claws, nor the combined jaws of Last Watch. The Modi does not appear to panic or suffer anything remotely resembling an existential crisis, yet still in homid, he stands with his hands on his hips, staring at the door with a mixture of clarity and recollection on his heavy features.

No one is looking at him when that look of Oh, shit crosses over his face. He looks from Garou to Garou to Garou to kinswoman, damning for likely the nine thousandth time since arriving in Chicago that he is not mentally bound to anyone presence, and pats his pocket.

Finding his journal and pen, John scribbles quickly. Imogen is the one who is shown what's he's written.

[Patrick Llewelyn] Prayers to Broken Stone comes to bear alongside Roman; not yet pack but still, there is the sense of relief from the Fianna as he brushes against the great beast's side and briefly nudges against the Gaian before turning his eyes; watering somewhat from the power of the burning oil. He coughs, and turns his face from the door for a beat.

"Christ," he mutters, and shakes his head as if to clear it. "It's gotta have some power to manifest like that."

Roman's growls built in decibel, and Patrick fought back the urge to pat the boy's fur in a calming gesture. Going on the stench alone, he couldn't blame anyone for snarling. Still in his homid skin, the Fianna does note Drawn in Blood's concentration on the door, the sudden patting for a pad and pen -- his eyes flick to Imogen and whatever she is shown.

"What is it?"

[Sorrow] "That thing is poison; more than poison," says Sorrow, her breath coming fast, heart beating in her throat. There's a flash of white teeth in her mouth, blunt with the form, but sharp compared to the dull human teeth usually inside her smile. "I can taste it. It can taste us.

"Do not bite at it; do not swallow it down your gullet. When it attacks, it attacks more than your body - spirit, self, blood. Avoid its attacks at all costs. Fate. It's coming for you first; then me and Linus. You can draw it out - back through the church, expose the flanks of whatever it sends after you. Dance away when it lashes out at you. Draw it out, avoid its lash, let the Full Moons take it down."

This comes out as a snarl, nearly, the orders repeated across the totemlink with the impression the spirit makes on her senses, offered in rough English, voice rising as she continues to shift from Glabro to Crinos.

[-1 GN Trollskin!]

[Sorrow]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 7)

[Drawn in Blood] Feer-spirit
Feeds on weekness
Elders say cant fit with force
Never see 1 relmsid
Weeker here?
Tell others no cross
to†Slaughter

[Patrick Llewelyn] [Doo de doo, Resist Toxin?]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Slaughter] Kora speaks, and Imogen's gaze tears from the doors to look at the Skald, her gaze fixing on the inhuman human form. "It's waiting," she raises her voice to be heard.

"It could ha' broken through already. Ten seconds ago. We might be giving it the advantage."

John gets a look on his face and scribbles fiercely on his journal, shoving it in Imogen's direction. She drops her gaze to the words, her free hand coming to take the edge of the journal and turn it toward her better. Her brow furrows with the effort of reading it. It is the poor spelling, the childish handwriting, the subject. All three make the doctor pause.

"Fear spirits feed on weakness. The elders say you can't fit--" she breaks off and glance at the mute, "Fight?" the slightest pause for comfirmation before she continues, "With force. He's never seen one realmside, and it might be weaker here. Don't cross." A glance up at John, her gaze on him as she finishes the sentence, "into the Umbra," this time only an arched eyebrow notes her request for confirmation.

"Can't fight. Do we need t'be brave then? Unafraid?"

She bloody fucking hates spirits.

[Roman Turner] Kora gave orders and he shifted to homid, his weakest form. Shifted so he could talk and do one of the things he did best.

Run his big mouth, which tended to get him in more trouble than not.

"Hiding behind the door? I knew ya weren't William Tell! Ya nothing but a big one stankin pile of chicken shit! Couldn't hold me, could ya?! Bawk, Bawk, Bawk. Chicken shit!"

His hands were under his armpits and he was flapping his elbows, doing the chicken strut. Ready to run like hell through the church when that door burst open.

[Patrick Llewelyn] Patrick's brows constrict; he hears Kora's words and closes his eyes a moment, pulling his concentration inward. There's a brief shudder, that runs the course of the man's body and he opens his eyes again; looking toward Kora. "I'll be alright if it gets me, I'll use my tribe's Gift to resist poisoning."

He smiles, suddenly, a disconcerting sight.

"Or maybe I'll regret those being my last words before a fight with a stench spirit, especially one that's been hiding in Roman. You seen what the kid eats?" Flat, his words; but the eyes gleam with amusement in the midst of potential death. Trust the Fianna, always trust the sons of Stag.

Still, it does not display fear, does it.

"Maybe it can't take over the unafraid." Patrick wonders, his shoulders lifting in a shrug. "It can only infect if its got fuel in there."

[Drawn in Blood] His handwriting is childish, but nothing about the Modi's demeanor is: there is no happiness, amplified or otherwise, when the doctor manages to decipher his scribbling. When she asks for confirmation, he nods, businesslike but not terse, and when Imogen asks if they need to be brave, unafraid, he looks thoughtful.

Left hand is held up at chest level, pads of his thumb and forefinger held up a few centimeters apart while he squints. That's about the time Roman starts clucking like a chicken. The Modi slowly looks over, visibly worried the boy's been possessed again, and even more slowly lowers his hand.

He scrubs his grizzled face and sighs.

[Simon] Simon hear's what Kora says and his attention shifts around the room. He reaches out to grab ahold of a Cadelabra and the attached chain. His attention then shifts to John, the other Full Moon in the room as he grabs ahold of a table and flips it up."That thing is liquid right? So we keep it the fuck off Roman... Got it? We don't have to kill it... Just keep it from killing everyone till Linus can do his magic shit. Keep it the fuck off everyone..."He says as he begins to work at his table to knock away legs and find himself a good Solid grip on the thing.

This is where the Full Moon shines. A somewhat familiar battlefield... He didn't come armed but he was quick to arm himself with the things around him."Control it's movement... Make it go where you want it to."He wasn't a genius when it came to spirits but he did understand the basics of combat. It was all about who controlled the Battlefield and Simon looked like he was prepared to do just that.

He then looks at Roman with a snarl."Taunt it Roman but don't engage... You got me? John and I will do what we need to to keep it off you. If it's coming for you it... Will hopefully ignore us. So you keep fucking moving! Don't let it get you!"

[Sorrow] "Wants us - " this is a rough growl of a voice, from the Crinos-formed beast close to the door. "to smell it. Imagine it. Fear it."

She is massive now, hulking, her pelt gray shadowed with brown, all the clothing she wears gone except for a trio of leather bracelets on either arm, and a strip of braided leather around her throat. All expanded to suit this size, too. The great wedge-shaped head stills, gleaming amber eyes settled inexorably on Imogen as she speaks; then swing to Drawn in Blood, unblinking, watching the Modi's face for confirmation, too, of the words Imogen looks to confirm.

"Do not let it touch her." Clear direction to the Modi. "The rest of us we face it down."

Then she throws back her head, and - snarls, howls. Bass rising to descant, sheering off eerily into a patterned rhythm, the sound of drums on the horizon, calling the people to war.

[Sorrow] Call of the Wyld! => Anthem of War, for uhm. Courage!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 5, 5, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Sorrow] The howl finishes, echoing through the space, shearing off the rafters, the solid stone walls. The braziers flicker with blossoming light and Sorrow - her torso so vulnerable in any of these upright forms - shifts again, throat still open, the coursing sound changing with her body as she begins upright and ends on four paws.

Plants herself.
Ready.

[Patrick Llewelyn] Kora throws back her head and howls; and if he had no choice in the matter, the other Galliard among them lets loose a guttural noise from his throat; his form exploding upward into a hulking, enormous Crinos beast that joins her in this Wartime song.

[HOWLIN'.]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 6, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Slaughter] Do not let it touch her.

Imogen's gaze flicks, silently, to Kora and rests there a beat, then moves back to the Modi. A tendon moves in her jaw as she deliberately steps further back, more as a statement, than for any real purpose. She is nearly as far as she will get without actively leaving the church.

This is more a statement of body language. Without words, she says to them all, she has no intention of getting involved. She will do her best to stay out of the way.

Deep beneath that is a sliding whisper that she is not happy about it - but the complexities of it are too hard to read at a glance. The simple, unavoidable fact is that she steps back, as far from foreseeable risk as she can. Though the Garou now intend to face it down and not fight it, they keep their war forms.

She keeps her gun, low at her side, the safety off, her finger on the trigger-guard.

[Roman Turner] Per+Alert
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Sorrow] Per + Alertness
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Simon] [Per+Alertness]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [Alertness, son!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 8 (Failure at target 6)

[Patrick Llewelyn] [Per + Alertness]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[The Corpus] (Linus: Use Anthems of war in Summoning: Wits 4 (Negotiation) + Rituals 2.)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 7) [WP] Re-rolls: 2

[Roman Turner] dex+ath
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 7, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8) [WP]

[Drawn in Blood] [Reflexive: snap-shift Crinos, BAM.
Athletics+Dexterity (+1)]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8)

[Patrick Llewelyn] [Dex + Ath]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 7, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Simon] [Dex+Athletics]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[The Corpus] The pair of Galliards erupt into sound, collapsing the silence that has pervaded the air, tense and pregnant and ominous. As the last of the orders fade, the rising crescendo of wolves, each off key from one another as instinct demands, carries a Twin timbered full force havoc that seems to crash and echo strangely within the confines of the Church's vast interior.

The doors suddenly suck inward, the inverse of their previous reaction, a response perhaps to the Howls. Another defiance of the laws of Physics, the wood begins to crack and splinter, as if some mighty inhale had come. The doors splinter and are devoured into nothing behind them. A thick permeating black that has doused all light and seems to be...Hovering.

Each of them regards this moment clearly, only for recognition to arrive on the heels of Intuition (for some) and reflex (for others). The Last Watch lunge backward on the former, pushed almost bodily into the Church's centre, direction infront of the chancel and the Altar behind it, while the three others, Shadowlord, Modi and Fianna are shunted almost bodily by the explosive rush of breath that crashes through that opening like some clawing vomit of a creature:

It lunges, thick of smoke and splashing tar that crashes into pews and over the ground to all sides. Like some great reptile, it hurdles the Chancel and lands on the dais where once the Cross of Jesus stood, now the figure materialized.
A body like the bowed shape of some monstrous beast, bare of fur and gleaming black muscle, deep an ebon and slick with the dripping remnants of the Ichor left behind. Shoulders, broad and wide, sprout hackles of black iron that end in jagged, cruel tips, while the long lash of a sinuous tail crashes into the wall behind the Altar space, leaving behind wet lacerations of oil in it's wake.
The head is a mounted skull, borne atop a neck that is little more than smoke. Indeed, the very essence of what might be considered a mind, permeates that skull, issuing in long wisps from empty eye sockets and the gaping jaw of some Canid animal, filled with rows of yellowed teeth. A clouded shape that moves not unlike a Crinos' own head (a borrowing perhaps from Roman's mindscape, twisted to it's own needs), seemingly at odds with the shapes upon it's back; the hovering, like seaweed at an ocean's bottom, shape of a half dozen long tendrils of slick black muscle, dancing as they sprout from where muscle and bone should be along the creature's shoulder blades and spine.
They twist and dance as if a life of their own, even as the Creature's three-clawed hands plant and grip the base of the Dais, settling low to the ground, the size of a city bus. It's head shifts and dances, changing from one Garou to the next with furtive spurts before finally settling on Roman.
Where it freezes in place. Bizarrely still in that regard, the jaws of that skull clacking abruptly closed, even as thick plumes of black smoke begin to pour from those eye sockets.

(Initiative folks)

[Simon] [+8]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7

[The Corpus] Corpus: 9 +...
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

[Sorrow] [+9]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4

[The Corpus] (Linus: 7 +...)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

[Roman Turner] +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7

[Drawn in Blood] [+7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

[Slaughter] (+9)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10

[Patrick Llewelyn] [+7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2

[The Corpus] Imogen
Simon
Corpus
Kora
Roman
Drawn in Blood
Patrick.
Linus

Declare in reverse please.

[The Corpus] Linus

He seems almost oblivious to the world. His eyes are closed and there is a steady stream of blood seeping from knuckles and palms, washing the ground in the aisle between the pews. He is in front of Imogen by a number of yards but behind everyone else at this point, facing the Altar and...unawares as he reaches out for something. Someone

(Continue Extended Summoning)

[Patrick Llewelyn] [Patrick is gonna:
1a.
1b. Block for Roman like's a pint of beer on St Patrick's Day being threatened (snerk).
R1.
R2. Same!]

[Drawn in Blood] [Reflexive: RETROACTIVE PRE-CRINOS MEANINGFUL GLANCE SUCK IT MEI NOW IT'S DOCUMENTED
1a:
1b:
R1:
R2: claw Corpus. Probably going to end up switching to defensive action though. My bad.]

[Roman Turner] "Run as fast as ya can, can't catch me I'm the Gingerbread Man!"

Running for the kitchen to grab cooler lid and frying pan!

[Sorrow] Kora: 1a. Defensive Action; 1b. Claw that thing. Rage 1: Snarl of the Predator. Rage 2: Defensive Action.

[The Corpus] Corpus

The monstrosity rears, skulled head tilting sharply as it's eyes following the furtive steps of the Ragabash, clamouring and hollering loudly. No sooner has it shifted attentions, then a choking sound erupts from where a physical neck should be.

(Initial Action: Choking Breath attack.
Tentacle 1 - 4: Block
Tentacle 5: Battering strike on Patrick
Tentacle 6: Battering strike on Drawn in Blood)

[Simon] [-1 Rage Shift to Crinos -1 Willpower Resist Pain

Reflexive Snarl: "Keep it off Fate! And... Anyone else!"He snarls as he moves with his shield to intercept the portion of the thing racing towards Roman.

1a: Crinos Shield Block!
R1: Crinos Shield Block!
R2: Crinos Shield Block!
R3: Crinos Shield Block!

Meplay tank!]

[Slaughter] 1 Fire.
2. Fire.
3. fire.

[Slaughter] shot 1
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 6, 8 (Success x 2 at target 5)

[Slaughter] +1 die because apparently I cannot remember my PC's dice pool after 89 years
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1 (Botch x 1 at target 5)

[Slaughter] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[The Corpus] (Soak)
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 6, 8, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 8 at target 6)

[Slaughter] HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 5)

[Slaughter] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[Slaughter] HAIL MOTHERFUCKING KAHSEENO
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 5) [WP]

[Slaughter] BOOYEAH
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[The Corpus] (Soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Simon] [Block 1!]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Simon] [Block 2]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[The Corpus] (Choking Breath Attack: Radius. Imogen and Linus are out of range. Dex 5 + Ath 3)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 5)

[Sorrow] Dex + Dodge! -2
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Patrick Llewelyn] [Ack, Stamina!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [FUCK YEAH STAMINA]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 5, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Sorrow] (Stamina!)
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Simon] [Stam]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 5, 5, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Patrick Llewelyn] [+3 for Resist Toxin!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[The Corpus] (Battering Strike on Patrick. Dex 6 + Brawl 0)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 8, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Patrick Llewelyn] [Blocking! (-1 dice, -2 Split) Dex + Brawl]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 5, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[The Corpus] (Str 5 + 1 sux)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 6, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Patrick Llewelyn] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[The Corpus] (Battering Strike on John: Dex 6 + Brawl 0)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 6, 9, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[The Corpus] (Str 5 + 4 sux)
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 6, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [COME AT ME BRO]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Slaughter] (dundundadunnnnnn)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 7)

[Sorrow] Claw a Tentacle! -3
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 5, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Sorrow] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[The Corpus] (Soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 6, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Roman Turner] Wits+melee
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [1a: -4 pool (first split/choking), clawing a tentacle!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 6, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[The Corpus] (Tentacle 1 Block: Dex 6 + Brawl 0)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 4, 7, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [FUCK YOUR MOTHER]

[Drawn in Blood] [1b: -5]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]

[The Corpus] (Tentacle 2 Block)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 7, 7, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] Patrick
[1b: -6 pool (wound penalties/second split), claw a tentacle!]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[The Corpus] (Tentacle 3 Block)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [+0]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 6, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[The Corpus] (Linus: Continued Summoning. Diff - 1 for On-going)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[Simon] [Attack 1]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 4, 6, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[The Corpus] (Tentacle 4 Block)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 5, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Simon] [10!]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[The Corpus]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 6, 6, 8, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Simon] [One more attack!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 6, 6, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

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

[The Corpus] (Soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Sorrow] Snarl of the Predator!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6) [WP]

[Sorrow] Rage 2: I'm'a CLAW ME A TENTACLE.
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 5, 5, 6, 6, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 3

[Sorrow] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)

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

[Drawn in Blood] [R1: CLAW -2]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [+2]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 4, 4, 6, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[The Corpus] (Soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [R2: WEEEOOO -2]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 5, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [+2]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8 (Success x 8 at target 6)

[Patrick Llewelyn] [R1. Clawing!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

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

[The Corpus] (Soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Patrick Llewelyn] [R2. Clawing another Tentacle!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 10, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Patrick Llewelyn] [Damage + 0]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 4, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[The Corpus] (Soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[The Corpus] Imogen
Simon
Corpus
Kora
Roman
Drawn in Blood
Patrick.
Linus

Declare in reverse.

[The Corpus] Linus

The Godi's attention flickers up briefly from his place, leaning against the Spear. A shadow carves itself somewhere in the depths of his eyes, unfocused and lost to some other plane of existence. Close to him, the echo of Kora and Patrick's howl continues to reverberate even as he mumbles and whispers to himself. A hand reaches up to pull aside the hoodie, baring a pale slim chest which he decorates with an Odd, arcane Glyph painted in blood.

(Continuing Summoning)

[Patrick Llewelyn] [Patrick is:
1a.
1b. Clawing Tentacles!
R1.
R2. - Moar Clawing! DIE DIE DIE.]

[Drawn in Blood] [Fuck this splitting shit.
1:
R1:
R2:
R3: claws! Might switch to defense. Nothing too crazy.]

[Roman Turner] Snap shifted in kitchen to warform

1a. Charge out of kitchen with Fridge door shield and meat cleaver!

"Honey, I'm home! Miss me?!"

1b. Swing for tentacle

(ran out of rage pushing it out)

[Sorrow] [Kora: 1a. DEFENSIVE. 1b. CLAW TENTACLE; Rage 1: CLAWING TENTACLES. Rage 2: CLAWING TENTACLE.]

[The Corpus] Corpus

There does not seem to be any pain from the creature, who's skull shifts in place to re-orient on the milling Garou around it's legs and feet. The brackish smoke it had spewed moments ago continues to linger and form a thick fog at knees and ankles, while atop it's back, the stumps of torn asunder limbs seem to warp and spasm sickeningly. It's maw hinges open and it stares down the aisle, as if to lock unknown eyes upon the Godi and his mumbling.

From somewhere within, a spark alights, gushing brilliant orange up through the centre of that smoke made throat...

(Initial Action: Ignite Breath Attack.
Tentacle 1: Puncture Kora.
Tentacle 2: Puncture Patrick.)

[Simon] [1a: Entangle a Tentacle!
1b: Jam a Shield in it's Mouth/face?
R1: Try to rip off an entangled tentacle!
R2: Try more!]

[Slaughter] 1. 3rb
2. FIRE! (a la Patrick Stewart)
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

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

[The Corpus] (Soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

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

[Slaughter] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Simon] [Dex+Totem+Crinos+Melee = 10 -2 for Split -2 for other thing so... 6! Diff 6]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 5, 7, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2

[Simon] [Umm... 10 again +2 for Shield! -3 for slpit and -2 for coughing crap. = 7 dice diff 8]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 5, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[The Corpus] (Initial Attack: Ignite Breath. Dex 5 + Ath 3. Diff 5. -1 sux for Shield Block)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 7, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5)

[The Corpus] (SImon)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[The Corpus] (Kora)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[The Corpus] (Drawn)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 6, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[The Corpus] (Patrick)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[The Corpus] (Roman)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [NOT NOW DOCTOR PLEASE]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 4, 6, 6, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Simon] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 7, 8, 8, 8 (Success x 4 at target 7)

[Roman Turner] soak
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 5, 7, 10 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[Sorrow] Dex + Dodge -2
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 7, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Patrick Llewelyn] [Soaking!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 4, 8 (Failure at target 7)

[Sorrow] Kora: Claw!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 8 at target 6)

[The Corpus] (Soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Roman Turner] MT Patrick.
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 6, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]

[Drawn in Blood] [1: BAM, -2]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [Oh, bite my shiny metal ass, Kahseeno.]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

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

[The Corpus] (Linus. Continuing Summoning...)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 5) [WP]

[Simon] [Str+Brawl!]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 9 at target 4)

[Simon] [Umm this makes 16Dmg]
Dice Rolled:[ 16 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 5, 5, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Sorrow] Tentacle soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 5, 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Simon] [Attacking Main Body!]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1

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

[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 4, 4, 4, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Sorrow] Rage 1: Claw!
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 7, 7, 8, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 10 at target 6) Re-rolls: 3

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

[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 9, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Sorrow] Rage 2: Claw!
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]

[Sorrow] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 8, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

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

[Drawn in Blood] [R1: DROP MAIN SHIELDS. -2.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [+3]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [R2: ENERGIZE]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [+1]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 5, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 5, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [R3: FINE KAHSEENO KEEP BEING A FUCKING TWAT IT'S NOT LIKE ANYONE HAS TO GO TO BED SOMETIME THIS CENTURY]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 6, 6, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood]
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 8 at target 6)

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

[Drawn in Blood] JOHN STORMS OUT AND DANCES THE SPIRAL
EVERYTHING WAS BEAUTIFUL AND NOTHING HURT

[Roman Turner] 1b claw
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 8, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 4

[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 4, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

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

[Patrick Llewelyn] [R1. RAR CLAW (-2)]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

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

[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 6, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Patrick Llewelyn] [R2! Patrick, this thing said Howard was a pansy.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 5, 6, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Patrick Llewelyn] [Damage + 2: I think it also said it was your fault.]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

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

[The Corpus] The entire moment happens in the span of a few minutes. It is a cluster of mayhem and havoc:

The Garou are small creatures, next to the monstrosity that scales the altar, moving in to harry it's flanks and sides and draw it's attention around one another. The skull, that of a lupine, shifts and dances from target to target, even as the Tendrils on it's back writhe and dance with eerie, spasmodic movements. Swift and sure, the Garou lunge inward, claws out and Rage a plume so heavy it leaves the vague, insubstantial wake of red mist clouding the ground around their ankles.

The mist is not alone for long. The jaws unhinge on the creature and a thick blasting gout of brackish gray smoke erupts from the neck, clouding the ground and chasing the lungs and throats of the Garou present who's senses reel with the thick and pungent aroma of Gunpowder and Oil. Patrick's movements carry him into the thick of the fray, pushing aside the choking sensation to lunge into the creature's path, securing a hit against his fellow Gaians while attempting to clear his lungs. No sooner has this happened, then the slashing of tendrils tears out through the air, forcing back attacks from a valiant Godi and Fianna, while crushing the Galliard Cliath into the church grounds with bone cracking force. The impact leaves a small dent in the stonework where Patrick landed. The Fianna climbs bold y

Shots ring out in the air, as the Good doctor, a marginal and safe distance, snaps off a half dozen shots in the span and space of the Garou close quarter. Several crack off the Bone skull, forcing the things head to bounce awkwardly before it rears back into play with the True born, seemingly ignorant. The Doctor's attentions shift with a snort of irritation, clipping bullets clean through one of the dancing tendrils, severing it neatly with an explosive pop toward it's base.

Roman's departure from the scene in homid, is quickly returned in crinos, the young Cliath baring a meat cleaver only slightly less impressive in his Crinos paw then might be suggestive and the Fridge door from the Pack house's store cabinet. He lunges back into combat, even as each of the others turn attentions to the living limbs upon the Monster's back.

Quickly, brutally, efficiently, the Garou snap long limbed opponents from the Beast, who is already rearing for a second gusting exhale, this one made of fire. The Modi's movements collide with a pair fo tendrils, tearing them free of their moorings with deadly and silent skill, while Kora's own motions, her child barely visible in her current form, snaps another off on the opposite flank.

Simon's own movements, bare a shield half-jagged at one end for the broken door it once was, gripping the banded iron on one side, bent outward like a makeshift handle, thrusts in and among the others with quick efficiency, barricading several from harm before lunging directly into the Creature's path, the shield shoved upward as the gush of flames erupts from the mouth, igniting the waiting fog of Gunpowder around them.

Flames erupt. Imogen is privy to the Garou vanishing in a cloud of bright Orange, though Kora manages to skate free and down the aisle toward Linus as the heat blooms outward and illuminates the entire Church from floor to Rafters for a brief few seconds. When the fires clear, smoke curls the air and the creature's back is already beginning to grow more Tentacles to replace those stolen.

Yet the Gaians do not stop the press of attack. Bodies lunge inward, to draw black blood from the creature's sides, rears and limbs. It quivers and balks, body suffering blows most other things might consider mortal and yet that Skull fails to waver on a bouncing neck of smoke. Eye sockets singed black with the smoke permeating from them, stare fixed on the settled Godi in the distance.

Roman, Drawn in Blood, Kora, Patrick and Simon all lunge forward, delivering blows with howling fury across the framework of the Beast. It's battered shape takes the hits, from blood gushed lacerations to blows that would crack rock to sand and yet with each, the creature stands, unsettled though each blow that makes it. Each of them is doused in blackish blood, the stench of unburned oil clinging to fur and shape and yet still they press forward...

...And that gaping jawed Mouth unhinges, high above the heads of the Garou. The billowing smoke flashes orange once more and Imogen can see from her vantage, down that gullet as Fire builds.

The Godi, Bone~Writer, convulses once. The blood on his chest, painted in Hermodr's Glyph, seems to bubble, hiss and vanish in a flake of cinders, leaving a black mark like a cannon ball's discharge in it's wake. A second convulsion, rocks the lanky frame, this one sprout a hard crack, pressure thrumming in ear not unlike the Gauntlet's rending when passing through.

The movement from the Godi hurtles through the air with blinding speed and a second Crack erupts, followed by the vicious Jerk of the skull upon it's smokey neck. The Skull is suddenly pinned to the back wall, above the altar, the long stout shank of a Spear three times the size of Linus' own, jutting from it's split brow, the vertical staves to either side of the enourmous triangular head identifying a Boar's spear. The flapping flag below the head, bares the mark of the Host of War.

Who stands upon the cobble work, astride a brown Charger. He is not larger or smaller than a Man in this incarnation, hoarfrost and steam rising from the patches of ice that still cling to the chainmail and plates that make up his armoured form. Fur is seen in the form of belts, buried beneath it all while the heavy helm sits atop his head, a simple T opening showing a shadowed face below, whilst a pair of curved horns run low along the chin line.

The Charger shifts in place, clopping hooves filling the hall, as he looks upon the Beast with something like controlled disdain. Iron Will.

The body of the monster sags finally, under the blows of the Garou. Claws put to flesh, find it peeling away rapidly, pooling and falling to sludge at their feet as the Collection of bodies surges forward to rend it, literally, limb from limb. The skull remains pinned to the wall, lifeless and empty, even as the remainder of the creature falls to sections and bits and black ichor staining the floor.

[Sorrow] There's no way to describe the aftermath. They are spent, half of the wounded, some sorely. The air is full of the afterburn of foul oil and the firebreath, the stench of its sulferous interior, the caustic spatter of the destroyed creature.

Sorrow stands up, gathers herself from her feral form, rises into Crinos and shakes her fur free of the black ichor that exploded from the skull of the destroyed spirit. There is a level look from packmate to packmate, a moment's silent acknowledgment.

Then, to Patrick: This is Hermodr, Odin's Son, the Warsinger, the Jotunn-Slayer, the Host of War. Let me introduce you. A shake of her fur. Our totem.