2019.09.04 Baby Girl's First Dance
| Baby Girl's First Dance | |
|---|---|
| Alena walks the spiral for the first time and Sam joins her for shits and giggles. | |
| IC Date | 9/4/2019 |
| IC Time | Midnight (Half Moon) |
| Players | Laz, Alena, Cirrhosis Sam, Kurt, Barksdale, Brick, Izayah |
| Location | The Pit |
| Spheres | Garou, Wyrm |
Will you be my Mr. Right?
Can you fill my appetite
I can't be sure that you're the one for me
But all that I ask is that you dance with me
Dance with me, Dance with me, yeah
The ritual chamber has been prepared for tonight's ritual. An area cleared, and spaces for observers to watch and participants to join. The area is dry and black candles have been collected around various surfaces throughout the chamber, burning dimly with flickering light. The smell is musky, with the sulfuric incense coupling the air's aroma and lingering in the background.
The Rite Leader this evening appears to be a snarly looking old woman, wearing a black robe with wicked-twisted fangs that overhang her chin. The mutation of the Metis born is horrific and beautiful in the same manifestation. Her scaled tale flicks back and forth behind her, and her tits sag deploringly down her torso, most fat withdrawn leaving flabs of lump skin, capped with black nipples the size of cup saucers. Her pubic hair is a festering collation of gnarled black fur. She grips a black wood staff, mostly straight save for its end which twists into a spiral and hugs what looks like a black beating heart in the center. Her fingers are coiled and knotted inwards, so holding the staff is likely not easy but her grip looks strong all the same.
"Come forth bastards of The Father.. take your places and know your roles. Tonight I lead you through the Metamorphosis, so you may take your first steps into the Shattered Labryinth and feel the Wyrm's hold upon you. Shed off all your worldly possessions, bare yourself completely for His will. If you are strong enough, you will survive. If you survive, you will be changed. If you change, you will be born anew, Transmogrified into what you were meant to become."
She claps the end of the staff on the ground a few hard times, and the heart at the center of the spiral of her staff begins to glow an eerie green, and blood starts to flow down the staff as the heart pumps erratically faster and faster, thudding loud enough to be heard audibly. The blood trickles down the length of the staff, and onto the floor - starting wide and spirals around the center and coils inwards circle by circle.. nine times until finally stopping in the very center of the spiral.
Lazarus comes into the ritual chamber, wearing some black biker leathers that fit too tightly of course. The jacket over his shoulders is massive, just to contain him and his chest is bare. In the flickering light, the spiral and the symbol of the beast of war can be seen on Laz's chest. He moves over, to take his position to assist with the ritual. He knows better than to disrupt the proceedings, deferring to the rite leader for the evening.
Brick looks around a bit as he enters, curious as to what is going to happen here. He makes his way to where the others are gathering and stays quiet for the moment.
There is there sound of something moving quickly into the area comes a large man with long blond hair, his eyes pale blue, wearing tight leather shirt, with a pair of leather pants. Over his back is a very very large klaive, in the middle of it is a symbol of his tribe painted over with the symbol of a sprawl, his eyes are narrow at the others. The Large man's hands finding each other over his barrel of a chest, as he beams at others with a wicked chuckle."Time to become real, and a truth is coming, I'm Blessed be the Meek, ready to change my name, to something proper."
Cirrhosis Sam comes into the area in his Glabro form, holding a large wooden keg on his hip. The cheapest, vilest, wyrm-tainted beer he could find is contained within. He wears a baggy zip up hoody. and a green and black kilt whose tartan design heralds back to the original White Howlers. A cigarette dangles from his lips. Shit kicker combat boots are on his feet. Neither the kilt nor the boots distract from the mangled look of his legs, whose muscles are twisted unnaturally around the bones and give him a bow-legged look even when he is standing still. Tattoos of totems devoted to the Wyrm snake up and down his legs and peek out from under the kilt. He bobs his head towards his alpha, shoulders and hip checks his way to a place he can get a good look at the proceedings and sits the keg down next to him, never-minding whether it lands on the foot of anyone scrunched in beside him.
The erratic beating of the heart's blood, the powerful pounding of the Rite Leader's staff is met with a resounding boom of a drum that echoes through the chambers of the Pit. Then another to match the sporadic rhythm and then provide counter beat as the procession of the Beast of War arrives. Kurt is at the head of this, stripped bare save for rune carved plates of armor and a leather loin cloth. The Metis is in his breed form, the towering war form of the Spiral is even more marked by the Dragon.
Horns sprout from his forehead, sweeping back before finally curling upwards into wicked points, the protrusions look menacing in their own right with jagged points that would tear flesh. Pearlescent white scales grow along his throat and chest, hard and armor in their own right, picking up again along the sides of his hips and outer thighs. Scars, brands, glowing balefire green cracks in his thick hide show the sheer amount of radiation and sweet Father's milk he has been around. The Philodox wears his power in the form of Fetishes and trinkets, chains and torcs alike shining to those who watch for such things.
As soon as they are within the space, the Elder gives a sharp snap of his jaws that ceases the noise from his followers as they move to wherever he stands, observing and watching, giving his support to the new Dragon Pack.
As she enters the room, Alena pauses to absorb the scene. Her eyes move across the black candles, the gnarled rite master and the spiral traced by blood. She looks from the woman, to Brick, to Laz and steps forward towards the center. Although it's not exactly 'reverence', she at least seems to have respect for what has been prepared, and even more determination for her role in it. Her usual facade, for once, has been set aside in favor of a simple pair of jeans, sneakers and black hoody, which is up and covering her blonde hair and fair face. Her father had planned for so long what might happen if her brother, Maxim, might rage. So well had he planned, in fact that he missed the promise of his daughter and yet, here she stood. But, not in the service of Gaia. Tonight, she would dance for The Father. Alena pauses to look up at Laz, meeting his gaze as she slips the hood from her head.
Even Barksdale has come out for this. He isnt dressed in his usual clothing, his dark form in glabro at the moment. Gaze intense as he watches on, dark skin on display save for the the loin cloth he wears. His gun, a fetish created for the father slung on his back. A glyph honoring his totem Thrace, written on his chest with what looks to be a mixture of blood and mud. Eyes drawn to the cubs, a low natural rumble in his chest.
"Step forward chosen for this honor, unburden yourself of possessions.. these material constraints will only slow you down in your union with the Soul of All. Tonight you will confront, acknowledge, and if you are strong enough.. transcend your Urge." The rite mistress begins tracing the spiral and starts the ritual. Bones start to rattle from the ceiling, wavering and chattering as she walks the spiral and traces the blood path with her staff. Each time she circles the room begins to flicker and waver slightly. The flames of the candles dance in hypnotic pattern, as though they were dancing together to an unfelt wind. The shadows twist and loom like faces peering from around to see what is transpiring.
Those able to see across the gauntlet, see the twisted and warped faces of the banes coming to the call, scratching and clawing to peer and know what it taking place. "Follow me children.. to the great spiral.. where your dance begins."
Laz watches, rising and begins to remove his clothing and starts to chant. Joining in with the ritual and helping to call forth the mouth of the Wyrm to accept these new cubs as their offerings. It wasn't long ago he underwent his first dance, and the memory is still fresh in his mind. He nods towards Alena, offering the slight grin.
The cub with the large klaive, is walking to the corner setting it down now, with a bowing of his head towards Lazarus."Of course, that is something I wish to destroy when I return, it was my grandfathers, and his all the way back for generations, it is linked to my past. That will burn tonight, and I will be seeking the truth soon." Meeks sure does like to ramble, he is a Silver Fang to the tips of his toes, to that never ending prattle, as he walks over to the man now as he waits now.
Brick looks as if he is about to rid himself of his possessions, before he realizes they are about to cross. He leans back against the wall and watches.
Cirrhosis Sam looks over to Alena and gives her a supportive wink. He unzips his hoody and sheds it like a husk of snakeskin. His entire body, like his face, is covered in an obscene amount of freckles and tattoos ranging from the comical to the profane. His arms are twisted like his legs. He kicks his legs up one by one onto the keg and pulls off his boots, already untied. No socks, just like there was no shirt. And once he drops the kilt to reveal his offering to the Wrym, no underpants either. He walks in a small circle, letting anyone that wants to have a look (sick fuckers that they are) take in the sexiness that is his twisted metis body. Then he shifts into his crinos form.
Tall, thin and as wrecked as his glabro form, his crinos is missing patches of fur where other tattoos, different tattoos are revealed. These tattoos are not just burned into his flesh but into his soul - for the glory of the Father.
Alena closes her eyes and tilts her head back, lolling it from side to side as she inhales deeply. She rolls her shoulders back and, as she clenches her fists, her transformation into her war form begins in sinewy pops and twists. She levels her gaze at the Rite Mistress, baring the shame of her pure white coat for those that gather. It will be the last time she wears this coat of shame. Heavy-lidded eyes bounce closed once, and twice, as she tries to keep her focus on the Rite Mistress. And then, her feet begin to step lightly towards the spiral.
For the home team, back on this side of the sanity wheel.. the sight is less exciting. Though the gauntlet grows thinner, and those capable of looking past the gauntlet completely are able to see the Temple Obscura beyond. The great inlaid spiral of the Labryinth is set before them, and as they shamble the ground of the ritual chamber, their physical body is left behind as their spiritual self travels to the great Gothic Cathedral in Malfeas.
The smell of sulfur and monoxides thickens in the air, and the sickly green balefire lamp, churning with lava and effluvium cast their light back through the portal into the ritual chamber. The scars and atrocity markings on each body present glow, showing them in The Father's light more brightly now.
The shadows move, like snakes all around the group - thick bands of darkness like heads of the hydra coiling and peering, watching all present. The rattle and hiss of the unseen looms near, scraping sounds and twisted shrieks can be heard in the distance.
Brick watches the dance as best he can (Spirit Sight) and silenty roots Alena on.
That Silver Fang cub, meek is starting to twitch, his body is dropping down now as he is taking himself to the other side, with a solid thump on the ground. First bad move, is it going to be a trend, or just a one time trouble. Then there is a dark, inky, sulfur smell as he leaps up into it all with a snarl of his eyes.
Cirrhosis Sam hunches forward and crawls towards the spiral. His crinos face twists into a sneer/smirk/grin as he turn his eyes - one baleful green and one brown - towards Alena. >>I got you pretty. It's not as bad as it looks. The pain is fun once you embrace it. I'll be there with you whole time.<< He gives a twisted barking laugh and turns his eyes towards the spiral and they go into a trance like state. He skitters forward, a knobby kneed jerking dance taking over his body as if he has been possessed by the spirit.
As the trance takes Alena over, her whole body gives a tangled twist, sliding her over to the other side. She turns, and circles, letting her arms go over her head, tugging her down towards her knees as her shoulders writhe and roll to the beat of the hours that invade her mind. The center of the circle both compels and repels her at once, and she finds that she is unable to look directly into that void. The torments inside her brain fester and grow even as her fingers begin to dig at her ears. That lovely white fur begins to take on an ashen sheen.
Alena's body twists once more, from her hips through her shoulders. Her arms carry the flow as they reach out above her head and bring her upright once more. She slinks to the side a bit and snakes her head down, eyes peering hard at something in the darkness. There's a bit of a chuff and she crouches, her knees rolling forward to snap in position in front of her. Shoulders lightly bounce... She watches... And growls lightly, or... Is it laughter? She pulls her body upright, claws sliding lightly up her ribcage and into the air above her head, shaking as if she were slinging blood from those claws. She hops back away, and twirls in the opposite direction.
Cirrhosis Sam goes still, his body stiffens and becomes erect, rising to it's full lanky crinos height. He raises his arms out to the side and then into the air as if in praise. He spins in a circles, he's trained on something in the middle distance, unseen. He spins and spins and then lowers his shoulders and crouching, rocking back and forth as if in some aggressive, tribal dance. Growls and twisted murmurs escape his lips, like a recording of the wolf tongue played backwards in order to find the satanic messages in the lyrics.
The rite leader stands now, watching as the ritual is enacted. The hazy shimmer of the gauntlet's weakened wall showing the spiral of the floor beyond. As the dancers continue, she seems to knowingly grin her fanged lips. A look is given towards Kurt, nodding her head respectfully to the Elder - all the while her staff continues to tap repeatedly on the ground, keeping the ritual going while they suffer within it.
Laz continues to move in the circle around the room, mimicking the movements and chanting to the beat of the staff. The large man's body undulating with every movement, shifting and coiling with the feeling of being so close to the darkness once more. He growls, rolling his head back and extending his claws out as he moves. As though there was music he could hear, or something chiding him on.
Kurt wears a wild eye as the Spiral is revealed, his draconic eyes narrowing to focus on the headache inducing thrum that can be found at the center. He smiles, twisted and full of sharp teeth. This is home, and so often has he slipped into the cold embrace of the void. Now it is his turn to watch others breach the rings and grow in Knowledge. Dark, unfathomable knowledge that will slowly edge an Urge Wyrm into their minds until they're as twisted as the Incarnae they serve. It's a warm fuzzy feeling that he revels in. The nod from the Rite Leader is returned in reverence. While he may lead the Hive in war, there are others who lead in times of Spirit and Umbra.
A few of his wolves get agitated, growing antsy in the face of having to stand still for longer than a minute. One tries to make a yapping growl as the Spiral draws at him but the Beast simply scruffs him in one hand and pulls him back in line with a warning snarl. They will not be interrupting the proceedings.
Cirrhosis Sam continues to rock back and forth, back and forth, lower and lower to the ground until he settles into a crouched position. He pulls his body in on itself, his growls and whispered gibberish getting softer and softer. His eyes, hypnotized are also hypnotizing, drawing anyone looking at him in. He crooks a finger as if to draw someone or something closer and whips his head back and forth as if whispering conspiratorially. It's almost reminiscent of some horrific quarterback in the huddle. His arms swings out and points. His gibbering, drooling mouth flashes a filthy grin over sharp teeth. His cock and balls dangle freely, dragging the ground.
And Alena stops, her body goes still for a moment, and then, as if pulled back at the waist, she slides back again in the opposite direction. Tugged from the hips to spin around entirely, she wobbles a bit in hypnotic pulse and then leans her head back, rocking it from side to side, claws dragging don her throat. Suddenly, she leans forward and extends those claws, pulling at the air in front of her tearing it as she pulls it forward, pulling it right through herself, Her hips shive forward deeply, almost bringing her to her knees and she lets out a victorious howl, and a small of hunger. She gnashes her teeth to the left, and right, dragging those claws out once more, draegggggggging the prey inside of herself.
Cirrhosis Sam swings back into a standing position and waves his arms as he lopes and spins along the spiral. 'Fly my pretties, fly!' his body language seems to say. He kicks a forward kick and then leans forward and lets out a roaring, rasping howl, the mightiest the Galliard can give. His arms swing and flail as he spins. He kicks and and nearly falls to the ground as the momentum generated by his body meets air. He jumps forward and slams his body down on the ground, punches the floors until his fists become bloody and his fingers crack. He rages and rips some unseen foe, then waves his arms about as if he is painting the world in their entrails. Finally his drags his claws down his face, covering his muzzle in his own blood and clawing at his own skin. He howls to the sky!
The rite mistress waves her gnarled hand forward and hisses, "Behold.. they are tested.. twisted by His will and forced to face their fears and weaknesses." she points towards Blessed be the Meek, as he begins to howl and lose his mind. She starts to cackle as he thrashes around and jerks and convulses. The harsh and twisted tone of her voice bellowing through the ritual chamber as he screams in pain and agony and grips his head, falling to his knees. She seethes, and lashes her tongue out like a snake might, forked and a few feet in length - like she wanted to taste him. "His mind is weak.. his will broken.. The Father rejects him."
Laz continues to dance, growing more animated as the Beast boils within him. The sound of the Silver Fang male cub failing, and losing his mind only seems to sing to him all the more. He tips his head back, hissing green flames into the air and extends his arms back behind him like wings as he moves and gyrates further into the dance.
There's a moment of exhalation, those clawed hands of Alena's rise toward the dark skies. Her ashen fur ripples, growing duskier. And then, just as suddenly, she drops into a low crouch, rocking violently from side to side, paws shoving at her ears. She logs her head back and her tongue, now tangled and warped, lashes out. An incomprehensible warble erupts from her maw, the cry of a dying beast, and then those claws move down her chest. A palm slams against her chest, a fist forms, a yank! And that fist is held out in exhibition as her body undulates in the bum-bump, bum-bump beat of a heart. She rises again to her feet and lets lose another shuddering howl.
Cirrhosis Sam's howl dies and his head twists around, looking this way and that as he reacts to something only he can see and hear. He yips and yelps, his twisted forearms flailing around his head as it to ward off whatever it is trying to infect his mind. He hunkers down further and belly crawls out of the spiral as if he is trying to crawl under barbed wire in enemy territory. He find his knees at the edge of the spiral and scrambles to safety, pressing his body against a walk and covering his ears. He rocks back and forth, snarling. Anyone that comes near him is likely to get bit, he drools profusely and his eyes look haunted as the trance begins to fade.
Barely, Barksdale manages to choke back a triumphant growl as the one Silver Fang fails horribly and is driven mad. The muscles of his form ripple, twist, the jagged and twisted flesh of his warshirt begins to rip from his flesh as he transforms to crinos. Memories of his own journey through the labyrinth, the validation of his sins, the urge wyrms work on his mind.
The maddened Silver Fang cub comes running out of the spiral, frothing at the mouth and maddened in his eyes. He shifts up to his crinos form, and enters a frenzy of insanity. Clawed hands reach out to strike at the nearest observer. The rite mistress hisses, "Weakness! Kill him. He shall not be allowed to walk in the Father's will. He is not worthy!" she chants, and slams her staff on the ground.
Then she moves over towards Sammy, extending her hand down towards his face to snatch him by the chin. She laughs cruelly and hisses, "Yes.. writhe.. feel Angu burn inside you. Lust for the kiss of it child." and she brings her gnarled hand down, extending a claw and starts to carve a symbol of pain into Sammy's twisted body. "You are gifted. You are marked. Go now, to His will."
Alena spins wildly, dizzily, but her arms enclose around her, tightening. As the spin ceases, she crouches low once more. She rocks, body snapping back and forth, back and forth, a growl growing with each movement. Finally, she slings her arms wide, her shoulders broad and strong, her claws tear again at the air and continue to rip as she lopes to the side and around, raking those claws trough her vision, wrecking mayhem and lunging out every other step in a snarl and snap of destruction.
As the rite mistress marks him, Sammy seems to calm from whatever terror is digging in his mind. The pain caused by her claw seems to calm him and he goes before her on his knees as a supplicant, allowing his skin to be carved, giving himself to the pain. He lets out a chuf and sighs as a strange peace seems to come over him.
Having been walking from the shadows, Izayah has felt his own rage spike through his heart, hair bristling on the back of his neck. This brings back memories of course from his first waltz through the spiral and how he emerged victorious and in the Father's good graces. With excitement in his dark eyes, he glances about the interactions, the chaos and the mayhem. When the rites mistress calls for the Silver Fang's life, he whips forward his large rifle and without so much as aiming, he fires off a single round of silver. The armor piercing bullet strikes through the head of the young cub, causing it to explode in a shower of blood, skull and gore, much like one of Gallagher's watermelons when on tour. Drawing the rifle upwards, he inhales the smoke from the muzzle, then blows it out his nose with a satisfied hiss.
There's a series of frenzied spins, Alena's body twirling in hypnotic numbness. She makes a leap and stumbles from the Spiral, her body still abuzz and her eyes entirely unfocused. She pants and growls, <<Tokef Teth>>...
Cre'ntee-f, the rite mistress for tonight's festivities starts to bring the ritual to a close, the withered woman moves towards Alena as she comes free, and extends her hand down to snatch her up by the chin and cackles, "Tokef'Teth, so you shall be known. The Father has accepted her.. she is rited, she is one of ours now." With that the staff slams down once more, and the haze begins to retreat and the room begins to lighten once more. The smell of sulfur begins to fade as the light of the green lanterns of Malfeas fade beyond the gauntlet once more.
Laz stops his dancing, and grins towards Sammy and Alena. He nods his head and snarls, "The Dragons are stronger today.. welcome Tokef'Teth." He lifts his chin, and smiles cruelly.
There is a nod of approval, first to Alena, a Spiral true now. Then to the alpha and corrupter, a job well done. A step taken in the war on Gaia...speaking of....eyes scan, Barksdale has own intents on corruption and destruction. With the Silver Fang cub dead, he takes the short steps and picks up the Klaive the poor bastard left behind....because, someone has to.
Brick had been dancing along in the real, watching what he could from his side of the gauntlet.. The upside of being able to see all the base realms at once, don't even ask him what the dreaming looks like here... He flops down in a heap when the dancing is through and claps his approval at Alena's success.
Cirrhosis Sam comes to his feet and scoops up Alena in his arms, not picking her up, but bouncing her in celebration. "YOU DID IT PRETTY! HAHAHAHAHA!"
Alena pants and pulls herself up to her full, impressive height. Still in her war form, that fur now as richly black as it once was white. A pelt of Pride for the Father, no longer a mark of shame. She gives out a laughing chuff as she takes in the room. And them Sam has grabbed her and bounced her. She cups the back of his neck with her paw and bumps her head again his <<brother!>> She chuffs. As Sam releases her, and Laz approaches her, and they embrace. There's a heartbeat of time... And she seems to struggle in his grip. A low growl rumbles forth <<Ye. Of Little. Faith.>>
Laz reaches out his hand to catch the back of Alena's neck and pulls her head down into his chest to whisper something to her. When she starts to resist, the man holds her with the death-lock grip of his, and doesn't let her get away. A grin traces his expression when she tries to fight him. "Little faith?.. I might be the only one who believed in you at all baby girl." He turns then to look towards Kurt, Izayah and Barksdale. He nods his head and offers, "Thank you for coming and honoring us." he nods then towards Cre'ntee-f as well and offers, "A well performed ritual. The Dragons owe you."
