2018.12.29: Darkest before the Dawn

Darkest Before the Dawn
Aleksandr and a pack of his Tribemates from out of town help Frost find her brother.
IC Date	Thursday, December 29
Players	Aleksandr ST, Frost
Location	Badger Mountain, Nevada
Spheres	Garou Gaian

It’s early evening, the cover of night for such things always advantageous, and make no mistake, this is somewhat of a covert operation. Aleksandr awaits Frost’s arrival outside his place, at the edge of the bawn. Dressed in his rather normal attire, with the exception that there is a good deal blacker. His backpack around his shoulders, and two knifes tucked into his belt, one a clear hunting knife, the other a bone blade with runes on the handle, that looks far more mystical than mundane. Runs are also painted on his neck, in what might be red paint, or possibly blood. There is also a darker red mixture painted on his face, possibly also blood, but mixed with something else. It ostentatiously looks like war paint. Make no mistake, he is prepared for war. His face though is unreadable, his normal mask of neutrality that rarely betrays what Frost might start to recognize is things buried beneath.

The moon bridge opens, the one established for just this occasion and out steps the Garou Frost recognizes. Stalks the Shadow is alone, and he greets Aleksandr with a nod and a bit of a smirk, looking around. Their tone is quiet, but he says, having yet to spot Frost. “I know I am early, cousin, but where is my future mate? Despite her flaw, she is so very easy on the eyes.”

Aleksandr gives him a faint shake of his head, disapproving.

The Ragabash continues to grin, embracing Aleksandr briefly though, as usual Aleksandr looks uncomfortable. For once, and just once, the other Garou looks serious. “Her brother is difficult to track, but there is another concern. I think she might be White Howler kin.” Aleksandr’s expression doesn’t change at the news and the Ragabash looks surprised. “You knew? Of course you did.”

Frost showed up early, as this isn't something one is late for. Her backpack is present as it nearly always is, though strapped to it this time is her hunting rifle. Its easy for her to be quiet and unobtrusive, so she waits in Aleks shadow as things get underway. She watches him, not having seen him geared up for a fight, curious and respectful of what he is preparing to do. When the conversation with his cousin begins, she steps out, looking over at the incorrigible flirt, her eyebrow lifts and a faint smirk appears on her face as she signs. "I suppose that makes two flaws now, and I am utterly unfit for conquest at this point. I shall have to find a way to endure."

Stalks-the-Shadow spots Frost as she steps out from behind Aleksandr and he draws closer, grinning from ear to ear. He doesn’t understand her, of course. But that doesn’t stop him. “Ah, there she is.” The talk of anything previous tops and he steps around Aleksandr to move closer to Frost. A little bit more of a sniff her way, leaning in. “Mmm, you smell fantastic, my star.” Then a glance at Aleksandr for a translation of what she said.

Aleksandr looks to Frost as she moves, watching her sign, and in the darkness, there’s a small shudder at the corner of on side of his lips, but he is able to still it. Working extra hard to do so. He signs back to Frost. “If you have a flaw, I do not see it, but my cousin has poor vision.” Then he turns back to Stalks in Shadow answering, still signing. “She says she is sorry if you think her lineage is a flaw, but that somehow she will have to live through the shame.” Not an exact translation, but he has his reasons, surely. “Now you know her secret though and why she ahs suffered as she did. You will keep her secret though cousin, or I will make you regret it.”

Stalks the Shadow nods at what Aleksansr says, his grin growing as he turns back to Frost. “Well, I’m sure I can get past it, my star.” He winks at her and gives her a completely unnecessary and slow, once over. Then back to Aleksandr. “Yes, yes, cousin. We should go. I will take up the rear and make sure our little sun makes it through the bridge alright. Time is wasting and we have much to do.” He motions for both of them towards the portal.

Aleksandr nods, put pulls something from his pocket and holds his hand out to Frost. He looks at her very seriously, handing her the object. “It is the Talen I promise. Any trouble, and dangerous, and you eat it, okay? It will bring you to the Kinfolk House. Do not risk yourself.”

Frost just smiles as the two Garou talk, the cousin seems to still think she's a little simple and she's content letting him go on thinking so. As he gets into her personal space she takes a firm step back, sliding herself back behind Alek a little once more. She listens as the bite of food comes out and she nods, reaching to take the talen from him. She puts it in the top pocket of her flannel, fastening the button over top to keep it in place. She signs, her expression firm. "I promise."

Aleksandr seems to take her at her word. “Good. Go, I will follow behind. It is a moon bridge, it is not the time for fascination, I know, but still, it is something to marvel at the first time.” His cousin seems about to object, obviously being obnoxious about staring at Frost. Aleksandr seems to head him off at the pass. “She has a mate, cousin, he would likely object. Show some honour, unless you wish to challenge him.” There’s a pause. “And she is under my protection, I wouldn’t push me too far tonight. Or you may just see how soft I am. Do not think because you do me this courtesy, you are free to do as you please, I have paid for it. Focus on our task.”

That said, Stalks in Shadow looks about top reply, but something about Aleksandr’s expression and stance makes him simply nod. “Shit. You really take all the fun out of it.” Still, he does not seem to want to take Aleksandr up on that challenge, so instead, he leads. Heading towards the moon bridge and starting down its path of moonlight.

Frost waits until the cousin has turned around before she looks over her shoulder at Alek, her eyebrow lifting up as she mouths the word 'Mate?' her lips pursing slightly as she turns to walk on. She minds the warning, following along and staying on the path though she does look around with open wonder. It's a beautiful sight and she's not immune, despite the task ahead. Her fingers find the straps of her backpack, shifting it and the gun strapped to it up further on her shoulders for comforts sake.

Aleksandr uses the word ‘mate’ far more liberally than most would understand. It’s the word of the wolf and it covers a great deal of things. He shakes his head as if he might not answer, as if it’s not important and easily dismissed, but then he signs to her, briefly and quickly. “Luna’s Seer.” He knows she doesn’t deem him that0 but he also understands things differently as does his cousin, likely. He elaborates further. “It is easier for him to think. And it is something he understands. The wolf understands things differently, I meant no offense.” Then he is following along behind her, eyes briefly scanning the area before they disappear into the moon bridge.

The walk through the moon bridge is a sight, the entire path seems to be made of light and yet is somehow solid. The distance traveled seems unknowable, unmeasurable, but when they reach the other side, and it’s a matter of minutes, they are not in Kansas anymore. Nothing looks recognizable. The land upon a glade of grass, and three others wait for them there. A grizzled old man, and one blonde man and one brunette female. They are all far better looking than a small sampling of people should be. They all bear some sort of regal bearing that borders on arrogance.

Aleksandr bows his head to all of them, the older man first. “Strikes the Sky-rhya, it is good to see you. My father sends his regards. Thank you for allowing us into your lands, your Caern.” Then the others. “Claws the Moon, Righteous Fury.” He motions to Frost. “This is Evie Frost, the kinfolk whose brother we seek.”

The all bow their heads back, the big, young one, all muscle, the one called Claws the Moon, laughs. “I see what you were saying Alexei, she is a sight.” He makes a bit of a whistling sound. The female even smirks at that, the one called Righteous Fury, though she retorts. “Mate with her later, we have work to do, and a long walk to the place.” The odler man raises a hand, and they all fall silent. He examines Aleksandr and Aleksandr only. Dark eyes look down on him. “Lights the Darkness, you come far for such a simple thing. We can take care of a Hive of Black Spirals ourselves. You risk a kin, you sway to such a petty need. Your father and I have spoken, he wishes to speak with you when you return. Now, since it is already done, carry on, the pack will lead you were you wish to go. I will prepare the war party to raid the Hive. Go.” The moon bridge winks out, and the man turns back towards the small village in the very near distance. He never so much as glances at Frost, like she is beneath his notice.

Frost doesn't look too happy about his choice, but now is not the time to hash that particular topic out. A soft movement of her shoulders as she sighs and she turns back to focus on the cousin's shoulders as they walk onward. The moon bridge keeps her attention from there on until they reach their journey, and as they step out and meet the rest of the group, she seems less irritated. More so as discussion of passing her around seems become a thing. Her hand tightens on the strap of her backpack, and she remains still as they talk about the goings on. The mention of Alek's father and an impending talk makes her glance at him, but she's still until the Elder, or whom she assumes is the Elder, has departed. "You aren't in trouble for doing this are you?"

Aleksandr bows his head to the words of the Elder, Frost’s assumption is well on the mark. “I will speak to him first thing. Thank you, Strikes the Sky-rhya.” The Elder never looks back or responds. He then turns to Frost, shaking his head. “Do not worry, it is a father and son thing.” For his part, he either keeps a very good poker face, or he does not look worried. Then again, he is very good at holding in his emotions when he wants to.

The Ahroun rited Claws the Moon takes the lead instantly. “We will take the lead. You will not be able to keep up with the kin, so we will slow the pace, but it will be brisk. Do not slow us down.” That he says to Aleksandr and Frost as a warning. Then the three of them are already taking the form of the wolf. The Ahroun in the lead, the other two spreading to the sides to flank out.

Aleksandr motions to Frost and then starts moving himself. The pace is very brisk, it is not a walk, over even a fast walk, but closer to a jog that they expect, and they do not seem to care if someone can’t keep up. For the wolves it’s like a stroll in the park. Aleksandr seems not to struggle, keeping the pace, but he constantly keeps an eye on Frost as they move through the countryside into the deeper wilderness, towards nothing but more wilderness. Nothing looks recognizable to Frost, but would she even remember anything from back then? It’s difficult to talk and keep up the pace, especially difficult to sign and jog. So when Aleksandr needs to speak, it’s with words. “You are okay?” General questions like that to ensure she is not struggling.

Frost can't help it, she looks concerned, but it fades as the Ahroun speaks. She listens quietly to the discussion and readies herself for the trip ahead, inclined to stick near Alek's side even if he wasn't the one having to look out for her. There's a look of determination on her face as they talk about her slowing them down, and as they head out she tries her very best not to. It's important to her and she's going to do her best to not make them regret bringing her along.

Aleksandr and Frost are able to keep up, even as the jog stretches out over miles and miles. The distance seems unending. Frost’s lungs start to burn a little as the journey continues, and Aleksandr continues to glance back at her to make sure she is with them. Nothing more though, as she seems to be fine. Finally the reach a forest as they start to climb in smaller mountains, a huge, close jumble of trees that they have to weave through. The silver furred wolves up ahead disappear at intervals, and then reappear as they track and scent and keep watch. Aleksandr watches behind them every so often when not looking at Frost. Checking their rear, even if it’s not necessary, the wolves likely have it. It takes another mile or so before the trees end in a clearing and they continue to climb the slopes, making the travel even harder. It seems like there is simply no way legs can possibly carry them farther, exhaustion simply starting to set in, but the wolves don’t slow. Another set of trees, even longer and then another clearing, at the top of a climb. And in that clearing is a small shack or cabin, or what was once such a building.

The cabin is dilapidated and ill cared for, the years have not been kind to it. But there’s more, it’s ominous, like a spooky haunted place might look. As they close in, it feels oppressive, physically oppressive. It doesn’t take the wolf’s senses to feel the wrongness of the place. No one has been here in years and likely for that exact reason. Like some aura stretches from it and people simply go around it. Would Frost recognize it after all this time? Even if not, some tickles at her memory. The door has been painted with red paint, a big X across it, the last sign of life to pass by here. And then something fresher, recent, something someone might recognize, a rune to represent the White Howler Tribe in white paint. Another to present the Wyrm. The wolf’s chuff and start to spread out, around the place, hackles raising, growling. There is simply something off.

As they close on the house, one can see the disrepair clearer. The door hangs slightly askew off the hinges, windows are broken out, but not boarded up, and a strange wind blows through it, making eerie sounds like a wind time. Something sends a chill down ones spine, but it isn’t the wind.

Frost focuses on the climb, finding a spot in front of her to latch onto as the struggle to continue settles in over time. It changes, each time a flash of silver comes into view she makes that the new spot to head towards, letting the trail of wolves pull her forward. When they finally break the treeline to the top of the hill and into the clearing she stops, breathing heavily as she sees the cabin, or what's left of it. She shudders, despite sweating from the trek, as that unpleasantness tickles at her spine. Her head tilts as she looks at it, pulling for long faded memories; turning to look at a tree a long lone chain hanging from a branch, the rest of the swing long broken and buried under debris. There are memories it seems, sporadic but there.

The chain is rusted, and it too blows in the wind and makes this place even more spooky. The cover of night has fully set in, it’s dark. The wolves chuff something at Aleksandr, not knowing what Frost can understand. He nods, but his gaze goes to the house, he looks above it, and then makes the mistake of smelling for taint. There’s an instant reaction as he gags forcibly, dropping to his knees and coughing, before dry heaving a couple of times. When the heaving stops enough to steady himself and speak, he does. “It’s a blight. So many banes.” He looks accusatorily to the wolves. “Why didn’t you cleanse this?” The Ahroun chuffs something angrily back at him. Frost may not understand the words, but the tone and body language of the wolf is obvious. Aleksandr just nods in response. “We have to cleanse it and then burn it.” Another slight cough as he struggles to his knees, wobbling a little. If he knew how to swear, he might.

He steadies himself on his feet and turns to Frost. “Do you wish to look inside? I’m sorry we have to burn it to the ground, it is so tainted. A blight, it is oppressive Wyrm taint where banes gather in bunches, feeding off the emotions of this place.” He chokes back again, as if still having a horrible taste there. His body starts to glow unnaturally, lighting the surrounding area in a beautiful silvery light centered on Aleksandr. “Come, quickly.” He looks to the others. “We will be quick. It is important she sees it.” He motions to Frost, but he takes the lead, pushing the rotting door open and it crashes to the floor.

Frost blinks and reaches for hiim as he doubles over, dropping down to a knee next to him. Her hand goes to the butt of her rifle as everyone gets upset, and her face pales for those that can see it as he explains why. She looks at her house, what was once a happy family home, and sadness stamps itself on her face. Looking the ruin over, her eyes falling on the paint that someone slapped on the house and her features grow stern, then angry. It's a quiet sort, when one can't make sounds, but its there in her eyes and the rigidness that enters her frame. Once she's certain he'll be ok, or as ok as one can be next to it she stands back up again, moving to follow after him.

Aleksandr shakes his head a little. “I am sorry.” He assures her more with a look than anything else that he’ll live, but he still suffers from the lingering taint he sensed as they enter. The light he extends isn’t blinding, but it covers the ruin of the house. A table still stands where it was the last time she saw it, but the chairs are broken and smashed, possibly in the attack she suffered. Old, dried blood splatters the walls and floor, marking where two people died. Claw marks are savagely dug into the walls, but no bodies remain, leaving one to guess what happened to them.

Aleksandr could probably explain, but he does not seem to be volunteering to do so. A streak of blood runs toward the door as if someone was dragged through it that way. The rest of the place is utterly destroyed, where savage rage monsters left mayhem. Wood and twisted metal clutter the floor that they both have to carefully move through. There simply seems to be nothing left save for ruin.

Aleksandr mvoes through the place, letting the light extend further, to every corner of the place, constantly watching for attackers. If outside was oppressive though, inside is worse. There is a palpable feeling of dread and fear and sadness and death. All the things the Wyrm feeds on. It’s all Aleksandr can do not to fall to his knees again. “We are going to have to cleanse you and me after this.” He speaks quietly.

As Frost walks through, doing what she is, by the ruin of an old mantle place, there is a shine from the light in the rubble, as if the silvery light the Garou extends glints off of something there. It’s momentary, and it doesn’t happen again, but Frost has to be sure she saw it.

Frost watches him with a soft, worried look, nodding as he mentions being cleansed. She shudders herself, the flavor of the memories here threatened by the cold, dank feeling the place now carries. She walks through the room, reaching out to touch the table, stepping around the blood smears as best she can; all that remain of the family they came from. There's a moment where she has to pause, close her eyes and clench her fists against the despair that threatens to wash over her, the memories of the screams echoing between her ears. A breath taken to steady herself, and then she walks on. The glint of light off the partially buried object has her turning, and she bends down to dig into the dirt and wood bits to pull it gently out.

Aleksandr moves throughout the house, checking corners, rooms, but never leaving the main one where Frost is, never losing sight of her. He wasn’t kidding when he said she was under his protection, and he keeps a very watchful eye on her, even as he looks for things hiding in the dark. He pauses as her fists clench and just watches her, his features hard to make our through the light that is somewhat blinding if directly stared at. He might be frowning. Though a brow raises as she goes to dig through the rubble and dirt, moving closer with a hint of concern.

It’s not easy won, the prize underneath the rubble, but as Frost digs, she finally clears away the junk to what glinted. Her hand catching a shard of glass in the darkness and cutting it open. Not too bad, but she starts to bleed. But there sticking out nearby is a bent metal, picture frame. Inside the frame is an old, hardly faded picture, thanks to never seeing the sunlight. The glass still sticks jaggedly out from some edges, but the picture inside it is intact. The edges are creased and worn, but the picture itself can just be made out. Four people standing together, Two adults, and two children, a boy and a girl. Frost would recognize them all, especially the young girl, who looks like the woman herself staring back her, just many, many years younger. A happier time, all of them smiling.

Frost lets out a breathy hiss of air as the glass cuts her finger, shaking her hand a little as she swipes it on her pants. She pays little mind to it, or as little as she can once she realizes what she's got in her other hand. Sliding it free she picks at the frame, carefully pulling it the rest of the way apart, shaking the glass down so she can pull the picture loose. Her eyes are big as she looks at it, the little locket pictures the only she's had all her life. This is a treasure, or is to her, her uncut fingers lightly dusting over the faces that smile up from the glossy photo. She blinks a few times, swallowing before she finally moves again, unzipping her bag to pull out a book to put it in for safe keeping.

As with many cuts of this nature, the flow of blood doesn’t stem easily, and it drip drops in a steady rhythm towards the ground. It leaves behind a streak on her pants, too. She has to be careful to not get it on the picture. With her careful ministrations, and time, she is able to get the picture free without much damage, maybe one of the creases becomes a little more creased. The pictures for all the years and the creases at the corners is in good shape. All four smiling faces can be made out.

Aleksandr moves over at the hiss, coming closer to stand over top of her. The streak of blood she leaves behind takes more of his attention than does the memento she has in her hand. He takes the well-known crouch beside her, and takes off his own backpack, digging around. When she has placed the picture for safe keeping and he has freed a leather pouch from his bag, he looks up at her. “Let me see? Please?” He holds out a hand to her. Her own hand is still bleeding rather profusely. It’s more blood than a little cut should produce, or one might expect, but that’s how these things go.

Frost glances at him as he comes over, but her focus is on the picture, and making sure it gets tucked away safely. She lets him have her hand, even as the other one closes the book and carefully tucks it back into the bag. If he does anything with it, the other continues to stay busy, using the stick of the frame to dig around in the rest of the debris by the fireplace, looking for anything else that might be hidden under all the dirt and bits of ruined family.

The cut is nothing serious, but nots going to stop on its own. He looks at it, the light at this range bathing Frost completely. Aleksandr is a lightbulb, truly. He pulls out a strip of cloth and a cleaning agent of his own making. The cleaning agent causing a quick and painful burning sensation before it subsides. There is no apology. Then he is wrapping up her finger gently, but he’s not watching his work, doing it by feel. Something he has done a hundred times before. No, instead he is watching Frost curiously. No other expression making its way past those carefully sculpted facial features. He doesn’t say anything or try, giving her the moment, or all the moments she needs with it. Maybe even stalling with how slowly he wraps her finger.

As Frost digs and digs, there is seemingly nothing left for mementos nothing that survived the destruction of the Spirals, nothing she can find anyway. It’s almost as if someone purposely destroyed everything in here, like they came back after the fact and tore the place to shreds. It doesn’t all appear to be part of the original attack and destruction. At least, nothing in this main room survives.

Frost zips the bag up again, sliding the one strap back up over her shoulder, giving it a jiggle to settle it and the gun back into place. She looks back to her hand, waiting until he's done and not a moment longer to take her hand back. It isn't that she objects to his tending, not at all, but her mind is very much elsewhere right now. She signs and absentminded 'thank you' and gets back up to her feet. The longer she's here the more she seems to remember, turning and heading towards a darkened hallway, the one that leads to the bedrooms. There are only two currently, the baby having been sleeping with the parents still at this stage. She hesitates outside the doorway before turning and heading into the one that served as her room first.

Aleksandr’s hands speed up, and he finishes wrapping her finger with a neat little tie off as soon as he realizes she’s ready to move. He was stalling. He lets her have it back, packing up his own stuff as he lets her go about her business. Strapping his backpack back on and rising back to his feet smoothly. He understands her need, in a way, despite his seeming lack of empathy. “You are welcome, Evie Frost.” Words without signing in the darkness.

As she enters her room, she sees the same destruction as the main room, blankets torn to tatters, the bed demolished. Everything the victim of some kind of rage that seems unrelated to the original attack. A darkness very different from that.

Aleksandr follows along after her, either for a watchful eye or to provide light, maybe both. A howl raises outside, but he seems to ignore it. The lights hits every corner of the room, and Aleksandr roams through it attempting to cast away the shadows. He doesn’t spot anything, so much as trips over something. His brow furrows, bending down and then straightening. An examination of what is in his hands before he turns and holds it out to Frost with a curious look. It’s a stuffed animal, one eye torn out, missing of its stuffing, but mostly intact. Filthy, but salvageable.

Frost doesn't seem to care that it's destroyed; a scrap of blanket, a torn drawing...all of these find themselves new homes inside her backpack. The stuffed animal is a find, and she turns quickly to it as he holds it out to her. It's a good thing he's listening and deciding what the calls from outside mean, because she's become very focused. The animal is taken carefully, and she runs her hands over it, dusting it off gently before nodding and hugging it tightly. The last glance she gives the room ends up going past him to the dark, yawning doorway that led to her parents room.

Aleksandr is here to provide light and to watch over her. It gives a whole new meaning to his Rite name, really. He lets her take time, even if those howls are telling him to hurry up. They are ignored to allow her whatever time she needs. Those outside don’t much care for Frost’s mementos. They likely objected to even coming here. He will wait all night if he must, until she is satisfied, that is what he paid for, so to speak.

Her parents room door is open, the door all but smithereens. But the darkness coming from it ominous. Maybe more so to Frost than anyone else. They didn’t die in there, but there is likely to be a lot of memories. Only one way to find out.

Frost adds the animal to her bag, a heavy and long breath taken before she turns and heads to that room too. Her feet placed carefully on the rotting wood as she crosses the hallway, her hand resting on the doorframe before she makes herself walk across the threshold and on into the dark.

Aleksandr follows suit, just behind her, keeping her in the light to see, and to watch over her as he has room by room. Once more he ensures the light touches all ends of the room, pulls the shadows from every corner. There he just stands guard.

Again, there is destruction here, worse than here room, worse than the other rooms. What’s more is that emotion that stifles the place, the fear, the sadness, it’s like a focal point in this room. It all but threaten to strangle and overwhelm those present. The banes focus is surely here. Tatters of blankets littler the ground, the bed in ruins, the night table, everything. Scraps of both her father’s and mother’s and even the babies clothing little the ground, covered in dust and filthy. Along with other possessions her mother and father kept here. But Frost almost trips on something, something intact in this room. She sees it on the floor near the wreckage of the bed. A rifle, her father’s hunting rifle, fully intact, tarnished with age, but possibly even functional. If it isn’t, certainly repairable.

Frost looks the room over, her expression somber. She finally says something, signing with a rather certain look on her face. "He's come back here, hasn't he. Perhaps more than once." The stubbing of her toe has her looking down, surprised to find the item so intact. She picks it up carefully, checking the chamber out of habit before leaving it open. Her hand runs over the barrel, cleaning off some of the dirt and grime, probably getting her brand new bandage dirty in the process. One might expect tears, or signs of hysterics, but for the moment she's actually holding it together; or bottling it up for a later occasion.

It’s what Aleksandr was holding back. When she asks the question he nods. He signs back as well as speaks. “Likely. Likely they used this place to twist his mind again and again.” There’s a pause as he watches her. “It is very possible he knows you. Or, at least, in a twisted way.” He seems to be preparing her for that fact. He coughs a moment, as if trying to clear something from his throat, perhaps still struggling with the smell of taint in his senses. “For this place to be so tainted, it only makes sense that more has happened here. That they delight in his torment. That they feed off the emotions he has provided.” He lets out a small exhale and falls silent. He didn’t want to tell her that, but Aleksandr is as honest as they come. Truth hurts, but he never spares it.

Frost is still for a long while, then nods, running her hand over the stock of the gun. Her fingers drop away finally, rubbing over the material of her jeans and she turns towards him. Her hand lifts to lightly rest on his arm, and a gentle push to guide him back out of the room and towards the doorway. "It's time to go." it lifts up long enough to sign and then she's heading towards the broken down front door. It seems, at least for her, she's gotten what she needed from here and is done with the place.

There is a brief moment there, when he nods to her, and Aleksandr’s arm rests on her shoulder as she touches his arms. He gives her the slightest little reassuring squeeze. It’s like instinct. Not sure what possesses him to do it, he does it anyway and then lets his hand fall away. “Time to go.” He echoes, moving out of her way to follow her out and back under the night sky.

The wolves wait outside, now gathered around the entrance and impatient. Aleksandr turns back to the house, but then glances back at Frost, bowing his head. “I am sorry, this must be done.” He’s sincere, apologetic, and she can feel a small sadness in his tone. The wolves all chuff at once, it sounds derisive. A ball of flame ignites out of nothing in the Theurge’s hand and then explodes into the house, lighting everything on fire. The fireball so big, that several things catch all at once. “We will come back and cleanse this later.” The trees are far enough away that it will not spread to them, and there is very little around for it to catch, save for the grass. Still, the Theurge then produces water, and wets the ground all around the house in massive pool. Soaking everything not part of it. He turns to the wolves. “Now we hunt.”

Frost just nods to what he says, sliding her backpack on the rest of the way. Her head lifts as the flicker of fire springs to life, but she doesn't look back. Fingers tighten around the straps of her bag and she takes a break as the house goes up like tinder. The burning of a corpse long overdue. She glances to the wolves as they ready for the hunt to begin. And she asks Alek with a simple sign, "Do I stay here?"

The lead wolf chuffs an answer before Aleksandr ever does, but Aleskandr give sit a look, shaking his head. The house burns and lights quickly, the heat soon very hot coming off it, the flickering flames dying in the water next to the house. But the eat licks at Aleksandr and Frost’s faces, everyone’s really. Aleksandr turns back to face Frost, very serious. “That is up to you, Evie Frost. It will be dangerous. It is a matter of what you want, I have said this from the beginning. You are under my protection and I will protect you. Choose.” He shrugs at that, waiting for her to decide, shifting his back pack up higher.

The lead wolf chuffs again and Aleksandr nods, looking back. “Stalks the Shadow has your brothers sent. They will divide his pack from the rest with a ploy. Then the Sept will attack the hive, and we will attack your brother’s pack. I will be switching to lupus after this to travel, I must be prepared. What do you wish?”

Frost lets the heat wash over her, the wind brought up by the temperature change blowing some of the smoke their way. She reaches up, pushing her hair back from her face, looking off into the dark of the woods before she nods, "I will come then. If I get into trouble I have the talen." She takes her father's rifle, slipping it across the back of her bag before strapping it down in place of her own gun. That she takes off and checks the load, turning in preparation to follow along, unlocking the safety

Even as Aleksandr waits for an answer, the light of the moon seems to bathe over him, surrounding him in a nimbus of its light. He nods to her answer. “You do. And stick near me, I will not let any harm come to you, on my honour.” And it seems quite obvious that means more to him than his life. He’s very serious. Since she chooses to come, eh changes his mind. “I will travel in Crinos and watch over Evie Frost. Let us go.” His form shifts and for the first time she sees that war form that means death. There is a regality to it, as well. Like the perfect form of a werewolf, a majesty projected along with his silver fur. He takes up next to Frost and turns to the wolves.

They set a steady pace, again, but the hive is far closer than this was. The Ragabash that constantly menaces Frost takes up the lead as the other two flank, leading the hunt. They all grow to their dire wolf forms, all dwarfing Frost now. Again, it is a jogging pace for Frost, but for everyone else, they could be taking easy strides. He turns to her, harder to sign like this, so he speaks, in rough English. “If you need, I can carry you.” It is an odd offer, but one given all the same. A howl goes up from the Ahroun and soon in the distance it is answered, and then again in another direction.

Frost watches them all change, and kinfolk or not, there's a shudder there; any smaller animal knows an apex predator when they're in the presence of one. The offer of being carried has her hesitating briefly, then she nods. "For speed." being practical about it. She buckles the stomach strap of her bag, buttoning herself up into one package as much as possible for the trip, holding onto her gun tightly.

In this form, Aleksandr’s backpack disappears into a tattoo under his fur, leaving him free to fight as he will, but the bag inaccessible. He nods at her, still moving at an easy pace. He considers her for a long moment, but in this form he’s massively strong and Frost is massively small. He scoops her up in one arm, but he’s not exactly gentle or easy. “Hold on.” Where or how she does so, is up to her. Once she is secure though, he growls something forward. The wolves pick up pace, and so does the Crinos Silver Fang, running at top speed. The ride is a little bumpy and fast, she should be holding on. It also looks a little strange, but he holds her tightly to him, protectively and securely as they travel, eyes ahead, nose sniffing just as the wolf would. His free hand on the bone dagger with runes that has grown to hit the massive hands he now has.

Frost nods, wrapping her arms around his neck the best she can, resting her chin on his shoulder once he's settled into his run. She watches as they head off into the forest, eyes on the fire they're leaving behind until it disappears into the dark; and for the briefest of moments there's a hitch in her breath. Then her hand tightens on her gun and she grabs at the strength it offers, not to mention the war formed garou that's packing her around like a toy. Then she waits, quiet and still, making bringing her along as easy as she can for the trip.

His neck is huge around and all muscle, like holding onto iron. He barely notices she’s there, likely. His fur is soft as one can imagine for such a creature of death and destruction. The Garou’s instinct are far better than the man’s empathy. He glances at her sideways when her breath hitches. It doesn’t slow his stride, but there is a sense the giant wolf head nestles against her very, very briefly at that, as if to offer quick comfort. As a wolf would. Then it carries on.

Soon they close in and howls are released again, closer and closer. War howls, by their very sound. The wolves slow and then almost come to a stop, chuffing back at him. “The pack is separated. We are coming upon them. Quiet now. Stealth.” He settles her down on the ground finally, pulling the dagger from his belt. “Stay close.” He crouches and his steps become light. They come to the edge of a bunch of trees, and three giant, sickly looking Garou stand there in Crinos, back to back to back, as waiting for an attack.

Frost nods, sliding silently to her feet before shouldering the rifle. She moves behind him, and apparently has some sneaking skills of her own as she manages to do so without making a peep; or stepping on something as the case may be. Her feet move soundlessly through the leaves and branches as she walks behind him, and as they reach the edge of the trees she slides slowly down to one knee, taking up a shooter's position as she looks to the three Spirals there. Her eyes move from one to the other, to the other, likely trying to figure out if one of them is the brother she's lost.

The Ahroun and the Philodox grow into Crinos at the end of the copse of trees. The Ragabash stays in Hispo. Not that any of it matters. One of the Black Spiral Dancers points. “THERE!” At all of them, spotting someone. The Ahroun growls something and charges, as do his pack members, three on three. Each choosing an opponent.

One of the Black Spirals grows horns, sickly looking ones and charges, spearing the other Ahroun. It’s barely a wound, all the Silver Fangs seem to possess the armor Aleksandr does. Sickly green slime seems to drip from one of the others claws as he slashes at the female Silver Fang, causing her to yelp even as her own claws come down in a slash. The Ragabash joins in on her, taking to pack tactics to take one down. The final one charges at Frost and Aleksandr. He moves to meet it, dagger immediately slashing for the abdomen of the other Crinos as the Black Spiral Dancer brings claws down on Aleksandr’s back, drawing some blood, not much. A flesh wound, while Alek opens up his stomach with that blade. The battle is joined.

It leaves Frost a distance from the two Crinos, Lights the Darkness and the Black Spiral Dancer, locked in battle. It’s a scene to be this close to the war forms killing each other. Blood soon fills the battle field along with growl, howls, and pain. Four on three, it appears the Silver Fangs are winning, but it is really difficult to say.

Frost remains in the shadows at the base of the tree, her gun at the ready though it'll clearly be for defense as shooting into melee would be unwise. She glances around her, making sure not to become too focused that someone can sneak up on her, but time and again her eyes return to the fight and Alek watching with concern.

Aleksandr is not the Warrior an Ahroun is, and he has picked a powerful opponent, ro rather it has chosen him. The tide is turning, as one Black Spiral Dancer falls to the pack, and the the rest gang up on the second, stronger one. The female and the Ahroun Silver Fang sport injuries, but the cunning Ragabash is unhurt. However, Aleksandr is buckled with a slash of poisonous claws against his midsection, even though the Black Spiral is always quite hurt. It is hard to say who might win, but there is no give, no surrender in the Theurge, who moves a good deal slower than the other. It may simply be a matter of time before Lights the Darkness loses this fight and possibly his life, hobbled as he suddenly is.

The gunshot rings out loud over the clearing. It hits squarely too, but barely even pierces the skin. It’s only then that it is obvious, the Spirals have some kind of sickly hide protecting them. That’s what stops it. But it’s enough for the Spiral to look from Aleksandr to Frost with a snarl. A bad move as Aleksandr takes the open to shove his blade straight into the Crinos’s throat, as it sputters black blood all over and begins to fall, holding its throat, unable to stop the gushing blood from flowing and oozing out around its fingers. The pack has brought the other to the ground and is finishing it off, as Alek braces himself on the ground. Which, if any of these is Frost’s brother, though? Any?

Then it happens and no one notices him. A Crinosed Spiral grabs Frost from behind one arm around her torso, holding her fast, the other bringing its sickly claws to her throat, right where they clawed her before. Where they made her mute. Holding her hostage and tight, hugging her all too tightly to himself. He sniffs at her deeply, and then licks her with a sickly tongue. “I have missed you Evie.” His tongue running all the way up her cheek slowly, sensually almost, past her eye. “You taste so sweet. Smell so sweet. Where have you been hiding?” It’s almost whispered through a growl, a growl that doesn’t sound menacing, but more sexual in nature.

Frost gasps as she's grabbed, the air squished out of her as the arm goes around her chest and she's lifted up. She scrabbles to hold onto the gun, but the surprise of the grab and the sudden pull has it dropping out of her fingers. Kicking as she's lifted her eyes go round in her face as that voice comes, then the lick...a look of repulsion planting itself on her face. She's not able to answer him, not that she would, but as he hugs her to him he's going to find she isn't going to cower, but rather do her best to land a hit somewhere, anywhere on him.

Frost’s squirming and attempt to plant a good kick in the Cronos’s nether regions has her accidentally twist into the sickly claws, drawing blood, and piercing her throat. Not too deep, but painful and almost causing him to pierce her carotid artery. That would have been bad. She can feel his hot breath against her bear as he licks that too. “Mmm. Careful, not yet. I don’t want to kill you yet. Let’s have some fun first.” This is the depravity inherent in the Spiral Dancers. This is the depths to which his mind has been twisted. His hand closes around her throat and begins choking her, not enough to completely cut off her breathing, but it becomes very difficult. It won’t be long before she passes out.

Aleksandr turns, hearing the voice and rises, blood still dripping from his midsection which looks infected. It isn’t healing to be sure. He strains to stand, but stand he does, growling. <<You will die. I will kill you myself. Let her go.>>

The pack has completed their kill and approach, the Ragabash disappearing somewhere, as he blurs out of sight. So focused on Frost, that her brother does not even notice. The Ahroun and Philodox flank Aleksandr, looking at his wounds and then to the situation. The Ahroun speaks first. <<Kill her, she is just kin, easily replaced. So then I may put you down.>> Is it a bluff?

Her brother’s hand roams up and down her body, feeling her up, or so it seems even as he licks her face again. “I don’t want to kill her, not yet not until we have fun and not quickly.”

Frost doesn't seem to care that he's cut her, and when the tears in her eyes well up they're from frustration and anger. It's hard to be confronted with what her brother's become, even if its expected. She continues to struggle, even as his hand closes around her throat, and when one can't breathe the groping she has to endure becomes secondary. She reaches up with one hand, going for an eye; if he's going to keep licking her she's going to try for what he leaves available, until she's unable to fight any further.

It’s difficult, he has her in such a tight grip, that Frost struggles to get an arm free, anyway, but the groping loosens one, and she is able to reach up and gouge one of his eyes. Not hard, she can’t put a lot of force into it at this angle, but it’s enough to maybe scratch the eyeball, and make him momentarily lose focus. He growl gets angry, but that means he never sees the Ragahbash, Stalks the Shadows come up behind him and rake claws down both arms. Her brother howls in pain and drops her roughly to the ground, almost throwing her. But Lights the Darkness is quick, and the Crinosed Theurge catches her before she can tumble all the away, cradling her against him. Throwing his body around her to put himself between her and her brother, protectively.

It matters very little, The Ahroun and Philodox both move as one, claws coming down on her brothers, dropping him so quickly. His form shifts back to his homid and despite it all, she can she her brother there, and image of Frost in male form. The resemblance is easy. He lies there, bleeding out. There is no chance that he will heal, but he will die slowly. The Ahroun spits on him. He blinks and turns to look at Evie, and his voice is different. “Evie?” Like suddenly waking from a dream. “Evie? I’m sorry. Kill me, please. I’m sorry.” Drowning in his own blood.

Aleksandr shifts back to his homid form, hurt as he is, and his wounds look worse like this. He offers Evie that mystical dagger of his, whispering something to her. “Side of the neck, carotid artery, make it quick, painless. If you cannot, I will.” The other Silver Fangs do not seem to care, they will happily let him suffer and die slowly.

Frost lets out a hard wheeze of air as she's dropped and caught, the raspy sound of her trying to catch her breath is heard, probably the most noise he's ever heard her make. She's a little limp in his arms as he holds her, then the sound of a resumed fight behind her makes her push gently against him to see. Even in this state she's careful of his wounds, knowing how much they must hurt. She regains her feet, one hand going to her throat to cover the new cuts, the other trembling as she reaches to take the offered knife. She looks at him as he talks, and even if the words are lies she takes them anyways. Walking over towards him she looks down, and drowning or not, even a headless snake can bite. Her hand drops from her neck as she kneels near his head, resting her hand on his hair.

She pets his hair slowly, memories of how her mother would do it when he cried in his crib as an infant, the motion soothing him through teething. The knife is lifted slowly, and she doesn't hesitate then, pushing it into his throat, to put an end to it all. When she's certain he's taken his last breath, only then does she slide the blade free; and still her hand moves, continuing to slowly pet his head as he slips away.

As Frost moves to her brother, Aleksandr follows, like a limping sentry. Standing just over her, behind her, watching her brother like a hawk. Watching what she does. The whole scene unfolds in an instant. Her brother’s ploy is found out as he clenches his teeth when she strokes his hair, and he lashes out with a fist toward her throat. He was trying to draw her in. He misses, or rather Frost is able to move from the limply thrown fist, and Aleksandr brings a foot hard down on that hard, there sounds like a cracking of bone. He grimaces in pain, but it doesn’t matter. The dagger is inserted into his neck and it takes very little time for death to claim him. Eyes rolling back a little and remaining open, staring blankly up into the sky with his final, gurgled breath. The pack, has already moved away, gathering the other bodies and throwing them into a pile for burning.

Frost doesn't seem surprised that the attack comes, she knows her brother's gone even if he's still moving around. The cracking of bone makes her flinch a little, and the hand in his hair pauses briefly, but then its pack to petting until the light of life is gone from his eyes. Reaching down she runs her hand over his face, closing his eyes before she reaches to wipe the blade off on his clothing, trying to clean the blade off more than she probably should be focusing on at the moment, but it gives her something to do until they come for his body.

They don’t come for his body because Aleksandr pauses them with a hand, giving her as much time as she needs with the now dead Spiral Dancer. The three, now all in homid, make faces at Aleksandr, rolling their eyes. Nonetheless, Frost is given all the time she needs to mourn, or whatever she is doing. The Theurge just stands watch over her now, blood running from his wound, just as it runs down Frost’s neck from her own. He leaves his own for now, kneeling and taking his backpack off, but he doesn’t pull supplies from it. A hand, very slowly, touches the back of her neck and she can feel a warmth spread through her body, her wounds disappear as if they never were. He leaves his hand there, gently for just a moment longer, as it provide some comfort and then he takes it back again. His magical healing even more spectacular than his mundane.

Frost sighs, and finally she signs, "He looks a lot like our father." perhaps an odd comment to make over a corpse, but then she looks up as he touches her wounds and they warm and heal. Handing the blade back carefully she moves to stand and step away from the body, looking to him with a small smile and a shake of her head. Its clear his wounds are far worse compared to hers and she steps over and places her hand gently against him. It isn't a connection she starts this time, but he can feel as she does her best to reciprocate; the warmth of healing that spreads through the wound, mending the damage done.

Aleksandr takes the blade back silently, with a bowed head. He wipes it a couple more times on his clothing to be sure. These clothes will need to be burned anyway. Then he places the blade back in his belt sheathe. Now that she is standing, he signals the others to move. They so, taking up the body and carrying it towards the others for the pyre. He tries to find a way to force a smile back at her, but somehow the mood simply doesn’t allow him to do that. Instead, there’s a small, quick look of sadness and sympathy for her, before it is gone. Watching her as she approaches then, curiously, her hand coming to his abdomen, he seems about to brush it away, as if not wanting her to touch the bad blood. But his brows quickly raise when she heals him. Clearly, that was unexpected. He had no idea she COULD do that. A bowed head follows, and that does earn her one of those very slight smiles, quick and gone. “Thank you, unnecessary, but thank you.”

Frost nods slowly, her hand sliding away once the wound has been tended to. Her eyes are a little empty, despite whatever expression her face happens to have at the moment. And she turns to watch them take his body away, tossing him on the pile with the rest of his pack. Her head tilts and her breath catches then, her fingers curling into tight fists; then she's moving again, picking up her bag and her gun from where she dropped them, gritting herself against the pain inside as she gets herself together and waits quietly for the trip home.

This is where Aleksandr fails. He’s not much good for comfort, or understanding human emotions as they are. It’s something he simply has been working on learning and understanding. There are moments, flashes when instinct tells him this, or something else prompts him to do something in that regard, but they are rare. He simply watches Frost, not knowing what to do or say, as the pack piles the bodies and lights them on fire. He doesn’t move, just watching Frost, as if trying to figure something out, as she picks up her gun and supplies and waits. He picks his own bag up, but doesn’t strap it on his back, instead carrying it with one hand. A couple steps and he stops beside her, looking towards the now burning bodies. All he can think to do is something he recently read. He reaches down and gives her hand the smallest of squeezes, gentle and then he is moving forward, spurring Frost forward with him with a motion of his head, so they can start the cleansing ritual or her and the burning bodies.

Her hand is cold and clammy as he takes it, and when he motions her forward she follows after. Her legs carry her and she does as she's bade, but it seems as though autopilot has kicked in for the most part, the kinfolk going through what motions the Garou require of her, the emotional part shutting down for a later time. Her eyes remain on the bodies as they burn, the one on top in particular, the faintest hints of sadness and perhaps residual fear lingering in the look.

The ritual is performed by Aleksandr, being the Theurge amongst the group. A circle drawn around the bodies and the others, as they step inside it. A stick from his back lit on fire, and then doused in Caern water from his bag, as well. He walks widdershins around the circle, his voice raised as he attempts to scare away the Wyrm taint. The other Garou switch to lupus and howl at the same time. Water, hot from the sticks it flicked onto each individual as the circle is walked around. It takes a couple passes, leaving Frost to wallow in her sadness for longer than she might like. The ritual complete, the bodies burned and it is time to go. They are clean now. The pack is healed by Aleksandr of their injuries, what is remaining. Then the journey is started back towards the Caern from whence the came. The three pack mates walk up ahead, quite exuberant in their victory, their glory. Laughing and chatting as they go. Aleksandr takes up position at Frost’s shoulder and remains silent as he follows along for the long walk. The pace is not hurried this time. The mood in the front far different than that in the back. A contrast.

Frost doesn't begrudge them their celebration, after all, they just defeated a Wyrm pack when they were out numbered. It's a reason for warriors of Gaia to be joyful. For her, she settles into the march, and since it isn't a forced pace she simply looks at the ground and walks along, using Alek's presence as her compass; if he turns to go one way she falls back into his shadow. It isn't until they hit a break in the trees and a little starlight falls through that it can be seen she's crying. At least there's a perk to her muteness, she's able to keep her grief to herself for now.

Aleksandr doesn’t celebrate, his mood is far more somber, or maybe he is simply holding it back, like he does all the time. He is, his usual, unreadable mask. Just at Frost’s shoulder the entire time, watching her. Standing guard over her, making sure she gets back okay. Then the worst thing imaginable happens. Frost is crying. That’s a hard enough thing for a normal male to deal with, but Aleksandr is very ill equipped to deal with such. There’s a small frown as he considers her, watching tears fall down her face. He understands it.

The pack ahead never turns to look back, content that Aleksandr knows how to follow them simply. They reach the bottom of the mountain and continue towards the Caern and the village. Aleksandr reaches a hand out to touch Frost’s shoulder in comfort, but retracts it before it gets there. Hesitation now, as the usually confident Theurge is anything but. This is the opposite of his realm of expertise and exactly why he has sought help in it. Finally, he says something in a low whisper, the only thing he can think to do, and probably the wrong. “Can I do anything for you, Evie Frost?” Low enough the others could never hear over their own voices.

Frost lifts her foot, then the other, its a simple repetitive motion that she can do. As he speaks she lifts her head a little bit, the almost touch having gone unnoticed. She takes a deep breath, the motion stuttering as she pulls the air in. Her hand lifts to sign, trembles and clenches before she manages to sign. "I'd like to go home." There's a pause, "And my rabbit. I'd like my rabbit back now." The tears continue on, a bit of a fountain at the moment, but she doesn't bother with them since drying her cheeks would be pointless.

Aleksandr nods. “We are almost there.” The words are barely spoken when the village starts to come into view. He pauses for a moment and then moves to speak to the pack. Still laughing and having a gay old time. The Ragabash that has been hitting on Frost constantly takes off his own pack and pulls the rabbit out, handing it to Aleksandr. Then they split off into a jog towards the village. The Elder from before waits for Frost and Aleskadnr’s approach, but Aleksandr turns the other way towards Frost, presenting her said rabbit. No words, just offering it to her gently.

That given he turns back to the Elder, moving to meet him with a bowed head. “Strikes the sky-rhya. You were successful?”

The man scoffs. “We do not fail. The hive is clean and burned. Did you succeed?” For the first time, he looks past Aleksandr at Frost and then back. “I see you did. Go now.” The moon bridge opens and he motions to it, dismissing them, but not before adding. “One kinfolk, Lights-the-Darkness. One. For all of this? You are either a fool or weak, perhaps both.”

Aleksandr simply bows his head to the words and looks back, waiting for Frost to go first. “Thank you, Strikes-the-Sky-rhya. I most appreciative.”

The man basically barks. "Just go!”

Frost takes the rabbit gently, hugging it to her chest. She waits for him as he speaks with the Elder, and his angry question has her looking up looking between him and Alek. She moves forward towards him as the order to leave comes and the bridge opens once more, stepping through the doorway as he motions for her to go first. The trip back is likely to be less appreciated than the one here, carrying the remains of her family with her.

The bridge is the same as before. Solid moonlight that brings you great distances in a short period of time. Aleksandr follows behind Frost again, just at her shoulder, quiet until the come out the other side. As the step out on the grass near his place, the bridge winks out behind them. There is likely no fanfare, no fascination with the bridge. He turns then to Frost and studies her again for a long moment, then looks past her. “I will walk you home.”