2017.04.03 Chariots of Balefire

Chariots of Balefire
A group of Garou and Kin take on fomori armed with balefire.
IC Date	4/3/2017.
IC Time	6:30pm.
Players	Sandra, Tabia, Rhys, Halle, Bliss, Furio
Location	Caern and bawn.
Prp/Tp	Oublique Angles
Spheres	Gaian
Theme Song	https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CSav51fVlKU

RP Room 1

The caern bonfire burns merrily in the hidden, underground valley. A stiff breeze ripples through the tops of the trees, carrying with it the rich scents of pine, grass and wolf. There is a stillness to the place, reminiscent of the calm before the storm as if the whole world had just taken in a deep breath.

Obvious Exits:

Rhys is sitting near the bonfire, perched on one of the logs that circle it. In his hands is an acoustic guitar. It's beaten up, clearly seen a lot in its age, but one might guess from the price tag still attached that it hasn't lived that life with Rhys, or at least not for long. Despite the wear and tear, the instrument has a lovely timbre, a deep voice that has an almost buttery quality to it. Rhys isn't great, there are little stumbles here and there in the melody, fret-squeak as he moves his fingers back to the previous position to try those tricky transitions. He's clearly learning, but it sounds nice. Ish. There is the typical level of activity, perhaps a little slower than usual. The time of day is hard to tell under ground, but it might be close to dinner time, the scents of food drifting over from the living niches.

Scratch comes trotting up, possibly returning from a patrol, possibly just out and about. Regardless, though, she offers her opinion on the playing by joining in with an amused howl.

Bliss wanders in, hands in the pockets of a pair of faded jeans fraying at the cuffs. Paired with that is a simple white t-shirt with no design on it. She's humming a little to herself under her breath until Rhys' playing reaches her. Pausing in her footsteps, the little redhead cants her head to the left and heads that way instead.

It is one of the few times, perhaps, that the big grey Fenrir *isn't* here for dinner hour, word that she's taken hold of her own territory off the bawn giving reason for why. She's not far behind Scratch, though they don't appear as though they've traveled here together, the howl - and the music - earning a flick of her ear as she approaches the fire, stopping only a moment ot stretch out her front legs, then her hindquarters, a brief shake of her body given afterwards. And a light sneeze. Grass. <<Setting my teeth on edge won't bode well for your next lesson, Deals-With-Both-Hands-yuf,>> she points out to him, somehow managing a 'mild' tone, even in growls.

Rhys eyes Scratch as she arrives and howls her accompaniment to his playing. There's a laugh from the Philodox as he continues trying to build a familiarity with the finger movements, despite the distraction of his audience. "Everyone's a critic." He's clearly amused and not at all put off by the Ragabash adding her voice to the tune. He's sitting near the central bonfire, an aged and battered acoustic guitar in his hands, though there is a pricetag dangling from it to hint it's perhaps not been his very long. His playing is being echoed by the howls of Scratch, though as that message is conveyed from the Fenrir, with a final fret-squeak that causes even the Philodox to wince the guitar is set aside. "Message received, Razor-Eater-rhya." There is still a merry amusement in the Philodox's eyes as he greets the Fostern Get. He glances past her and spies Bliss, offering her a friendly smile.

A Bane comes hurrying out of the underground forest, with hunters from the Sept hot on its tail. Though this Bane appears to be made of cardboard, or at least is wearing cardboard coverings on arms and torso, painted black, and a big ugly face mask with a drawing of a gaping mouth and sharp-looking, albeit two-dimensional, teeth. And the hunters range from 6 to 12 years old, but manage to make as much nose as howling Garou. They chase the Bane down and pull the Wyrm abomination to the ground, climbing on and making growling noises and pretending to claw the Bane. The Bane cries out in a female voice, "No! Oh no! The Garou have me..... aarrrrrghhh.." before going still, apparently dead. The children cheer, and a few jump up and down on the figure. Ouch.

From just over the ridge leading into the valley, there's the sound of electronic chirping, followed by a lock chunking open and a lid opening. Items get deposited, the lid thunks closed, and the lock chunks back into place. A few moments later, Furio comes lumbering into the caern. Still decked out for his patrol in his paramilitary look, but minus his tech. "Hey, paisanos. How's everybody doin', ah?" he booms good-naturedly. "Rhys, really good to see ya." He goes to see about getting some coffee put on to percolate, when that Bane comes tearing through. Chased by children. It takes a moment for him to notice that the Bane is actually cardboard, and he lets loose a deep laugh. "Yeah, get 'im! Kick 'is ass!" he cheers to the kids as he sets the coffee pot on the edge of the fire to brew.

Grinning in return to Rhys, Bliss comes closer to extend her hands to the fire. "I dunno, dude," says she, glancing that way and raising a brow. "Didn't sound -that- bad and everyone has to start somewhere, yeah? I mean, if it was me playing, then there'd be cause to complain on account of I'm pretty sure I don't have any musical talent at all. Yeah." She turns at the comotion to study the children, smiling faintly.

Scratch shifts up to her birth form at the commotion not far away. "Keep up good work like that, an' your whole pack'll be makin' rank in no time!" she calls out to the kids. To Rhys, then, she offers a grin. "Sorry, couldn't help m'self." The others get an amiable enough nod of greeting.

The evening is infused with that curious stillness, and that only emphasizes the heart-tugging yowl of terror that filters through the trees. It's faint. So very faint as if only borne to the ears of those present as if by a faithful wind spirit. It speaks to those with the ears to hear Lupine, << No! Away! Leave! >> To those who cannot translate the yip and yowl can still hear the panic, the outrage conveyed in that sound.

Rhys had been in the process of turning towards Furio to return the greeting when that sound comes and he is on his feet, head cocked to one side, his eyes narrowed, pensive. He glances to Scratch and Razor-Eater, "Did that..."

This time it is a little louder, a pack of three kinwolves from outside in the bawn. The barks are angry, defensive, and then a single voice is raised in warning howl, calling to their kin. << Intruders! >>

A **REALY** Garou just complimented the Kin children on their hunting prowess. OH. MY. GOD. Best day ever!! The children beam smiles and let loose howls of victory. "Ok, time to wash up for dinner," the Bane says, voice muffled by the mask and the small mountain of children atop her. The kids climb off and scamper off, still in full-on imaginary Crinos-mode. "Thank you Ms. Halle," one of the little girl says to the Bane before running off. Halle gets up slowly, untying the straps that hold the Bane costume on. It's pretty beat up. Probably gets replaced after each time. "YOu're welcome Jessica," Halle tells the girl, then dusts herself off. Seeing others sitting nearby, Halle makes her way over to them, setting down the costume where it will be out of the way. "Afternoon, all," she says, and giving a respectful lowering of her eyes to the Garou present.

Razor-Eater's ears perk immediately at the sound of the panic. Unlike Scratch, she has yet to - and, at this point, does not shift to breed form, body turning to face the entrance. She looks back at Rhys at his question, but it's clear she's angling to move, sooner rather than later. The children are forgotten - though she'd afforded them an annoyed curl of her lip, initially, even if it wasn't quite enough to show her teeth - and it seems as though all else is, as well. Shifting upwards to crinos, it's not the Mother tongue, but outright English the Fenrir uses to speak, "Anyone able to fight," shouted out and articulated, a bit slower than she might prefer to be understood by those incapable of using the Garou language, but goddamn does it get attention, "fall in line. *Now*. Kin in the back, Garou up front. Can't defend yourself? *Stay here.*" It's brief, barked out at a volume that anyone even remotely within earshot will hear those orders, and it's without a single additional word that she drops to all fours to run for the entrance, apparently confident enough in those orders that she *expects* those around her to follow.

Furio's eyes get wide when he hears the panicked wolf-cries. He looks to Rhys, then over to Sandra. When the Fenrir rises into her Crinos shape and barks that order, his eyes get even wider. "Jesus fuckin' Christ," he gasps. He looks around the gathering. "I need my weapons, Razor-Eater-rhya, I'll be right back!" And with that, the big man turns and -sprints-. Leaping up the slope leading out of the valley and vanishing over the ridge. Beep-ba-beep-beep-CHUNK. Moments later, he's pelting back down the slope, earbud in his ear and silver studs at his temples. "Eva, tactical overlay," he growls as he draws the Beretta off his hip, chambering around with a satisfying ch-CHAK. He falls in towards the rear of the combat group. "I'm ready. Let's rock!" he growls.

Halle's hands close, lightly clenched as she hears the sound. She turns, making sure the children are all safely away. The smiling, sunny disposition fades from her face, and so too does the look of concern. Replaced by a dispassionate but business-like expression, she turns towards the sounds of the terrified howls. The Kin nods towards Razor-Eater after the instructions are given. "If you need, Furio, use me for cover," she tells him.

The first signs of trouble don't reach B's ears, but she has no problems understanding the shout of intruders, Bliss blinks and turns to look that way. "Wha..?" she begins, "the children!" Halle has that in hand. By then Sandra has taken control of the situation. Eyes wide, Bliss falls in near the back, running after Razor-Eater as fast as her short legs will take her.

Tabia says, "Halle! Been a while. Hope you've been..." and she trails off as the sound from the wolves begins, the greeting and catching up forgotten as it becomes clear that something's wrong. To Sandra, she notes, "Might be better t'have Halle give us some recon from the air. Or me t'take point, if not, since I can cover ground faster than anyone who isn't flyin'." With that, she begins shifting back down to four legs, though she's already starting to move while she's still on two legs.

Deals-With-Both-Hands does not waste the time to nod his understanding to the Get, instead with a pop and snap of bone and sinew he is falling forward, red and brown fur rippling over his form as he shifts into Hispo and moving after the Crinos Get towards the exit of the caern.

Another pair of howls carry through the air << Leave! Do not bel-->> The howl is cut of, turning to a purely frightened yelp, that sound fainter, not carrying as well. Sound echoes through the tunnel leading back to the bawn, and once outside of the caern, the world seems grittier, dirtier. The sound of the howl comes again from the northeast, perhaps a mile to a mile and a quarter away.

"If someone can do air recon," Razor-Eater shouts over her shoulder, though this may take a little more effort to piece together, "then do it. Wolves in formation, together. No questions." And that, it seems, is that, the ten foot Fenrir barreling forward at top speeds towards the source of the sound, her ears swiveling to pick up the warning. 'Find out what the hell that was about' is, at this point, kind of a given.

You paged Bliss with 'Okay, so you go high, circle and you see almost 2 miles from here, a trio of pickup trucks, six big, beefy figures, two are standing next to mounted weapons in the back of the trucks, looks almost like fire hoses? Three of the others have tanks on their backs with wands/hoses. And there is fire. Big patches of flame. The fire is acting very odd and things are coming out of it, mutated, misshapen squirrels, rabbits. One of the wolves is half covered in the flame and seems to have grown three new legs and half a new head.'

Halle's mental voice can be heard in each person's head. << I've made a telepathic connection to each of us. If you want me to hear you just think the thoughts at me. I can't read any thoughts you don't actively desire to send. >> Halle takes up at a run, keeping pace with the wolves and running unnaturally fast.

Furio takes off at a sprint, following the combat unit. He's almost immediately outpaced. "Jesus," he grunts. He lifts a hand and makes a couple of gestures. Tracing a broad circle before himself, his eyes gain razor sharpness as he mutters. "Eva, I want a geometric contractive vortex directly in front o' me," he growls. "Call it a ten to one ratio. Run process." There's a subtle rippling before him as space begins to stretch and twist in response to his Will. With a grin, he takes off again. As he goes, he seems to streeeeetch forward. Think the old Star Trek: The Next Generation, whenever the Enterprise would enter warp speed. It causes his movements to blur, until he's caught back up to the Garou.

Scratch doesn't quite disappear, but does blend well into the background, making her harder to notice, and good luck hearing her even if you're standing right next to her while she runs. With Halle providing air support, she'll stick with the rest of the group rather than pulling too far ahead, but even without gifts involved, the Strider can move fast as they cover the distance to the entrance to the giant cavern.

Air recon is something Bliss can do. With a nod, the little redhead shifts herself. Bone break and reform, turning herself into an eagle, she launches herself into the air. Wings beat furiously as she gains altitude. Soaring high overhead, she scouts in a circle, only to pass back information for Halle. << Six humans. Lots of fire mutating animals, >> comes the shrill cry from the eagle.

Kinfolk are moving with blinding speed. Some are literally warping space and time. Okay, just space. Another is *flying*. Rhys? Rhys runs. He focuses on the ground in front of him, on the sound of those howls up ahead.

Speaking of those howls, another comes, but it sounds deeply, profoundly wrong. It turns in on itself, burbling and thick with a high cackle at the end. << Better. Stronger. BURN. BURN and grow! Power! I burn you! >> There is a mournful howl filled with loss and love, wordless, evocative of pain, grief and growing rage.

Halle relays telepathically what Bliss sent back. << Bliss sees six humans, and lots of fire mutating animals. >>

Though there's a shock of annoyance that comes from Razor-Eater at having someone speaking in her mind, the big Get seems to at least see the practicality of it as she runs, << Understood, >> projected to Halle as she shifts down to Hispo to pick up speed. She'll remain in that form until they get within range of the howls, claws scraping extra hard through the soil for a few long strides to get them sharpened, and shift back to her war form the second enemies are in sight.

The scene is as Bliss via Halle described it: A small clearing opens up, a wolfden dug under an arched root, two wolves standing in front of it, their hackles raised, their bodies defensive, but their eyes, those eyes reflect terror. The cause of that terror is evident: Gouts of vile, foul smelling flame roils along the ground the grasses corrupted, rather than burning. Stalks ending in baleful red eyes tangle within the tufts of grass, bushes and underbrush have sprouted unnaturally moving vines, thick with syringe-like thorns. In the center of the clearing, shrouded in flame, half its body wreathed in its corrupted essence, is the third of the wolves, a partially grown second head, lacking in skin, revealing bone, teeth and sinew has grown from the left side. Three additional atrophied limbs twitch uselessly from its center mass. Rage and madness burn violet in its eyes as it moves towards its packmates, ropes of saliva dripping from its second head.

Behind the fomoriwolf are a trio of trucks, clearly having off-roaded it through the forest. Churned up earth shows their path. Six vaguely human shapes are present, two stand behind truck mounted flame throwers, though neither are at their posts, instead they are laughing, pointing at the mutated wolf. The four on the ground all carry tanks and wands, three of them are tipped in that balefire. Clearly the source of that tainted flame.

<OOC> Deals-With-Both-Hands says, "There are two isolated in the back of a pick up truck each. There is a truck between them. The four on teh ground are in a loose, spread formation"

Halle moves with the kind of speed a Raging Garou possesses, moving to cut off the fomori wolf from reaching the surviving Kin. Her hands which have been held losely closed now spread their fingers wide, showing each finger is tipped with a talon that rivals a Crinos's claws for sharpness. She slices through the fomori wolf and it practically explodes from the impact, flesh flying as beast is clove in two. Unfortunately, Halle's hand is left wreathed in balefire. Uh oh!

Scratch goes streaking toward the trucks in lupus, a leap carrying up onto the hood and then over it, exploding into crinos as she hits the fomor near the flamethrower in the back, tearing large gouges out of his flesh with her claws and sending him flying back away from the weapon. She may not be able to stop the balefire that's already in use, but she can certainly help to make sure that no _more_ gets added to the mix.

After the initial flash of Rage that goes rushing through the towering Ahroun at the mere *sight* of the fomori present, a sharp snarl turning no small amount of attention in her direction, Razor-Eater chokes back what should have been a full-on frenzy, no matter that her hackles are still raised, the hatred in her eyes clear enough to anyone who affords her so much as a second glance. She opts to focus that hatred rather than spring into action, her gaze turning sharply to what appears to her to be the leader of this hit squad. Her nostrils flare, and what may seem superfluous to anyone else (or just plain mean-spirited) - a *slam* of her claws against a nearby tree that tears deep past the bark, and into the 'flesh' of it (she'll apologize to it later) - sure as christ doesn't look that way to him. Something about locking eyes, about seeing the kind of damage she's capable of dishing out, has the guy wide-eyed and stumbling backwards, his quaking met with a couple sniffs from the two guys to either side of him. Anyone with a decent sense of smell will become fairly well aware that the dude just dropped a deuce in his jeans. This is, of course, met with a snort from at least one subordinate, though-- I mean, really, he sobers up pretty damn fast.

The red-furred Direwolf seems to take a cue from Scratch, leaping for the second truck with the mounted flamethrower. A long-limbed run ends in a launch, his claws striking the fomori square in the chest, and bringing him down, hard to the bed of the truck, keeping him away from the flamethrower. That takes two of them out, leaving only three more active, as the leader is cowering in the wake of Razor-Eater's wrath.

The fomori trounced by Scratch is bleeding from gouges that cut down his torso. There's a wheeze, possibly indicating some internal damage as well as it slowly manages to crawl up to its feet. It wavers, wobbles and otherwise just gets its balance for now.

As the leader continues to tremble and bawl, a scraggly haird fomori, his palid skin hanging off his bones as the spiritual corruption within him withers his flesh, lifts his weapon in his arms and flicks a switch, letting a gout of that greenish fire oooze out, thick and unlike natural flame. He does manage to create a line of flame that blocks any inbound charging from the wolves. However, that fre is dangerously close to consuming the leader as he curls up on the ground.

The eagle swoops down from above, aiming to land near one of the fomori without a flamethrower. Before she hits the ground, the eagle's form shimmers, shifting again. This time she becomes air shimmering with heat. Formless, more or less, she begins to advance on the fomor in front of her.

The remaining two fomori, one has a flamethrower, the other does not. The one without books it into the trees, running as if his ass were on fire. Which, considering the powerhouses that came to the wolves rescue, it likely could be. The other fomori, however, is emboldened to turn his spray on and blast the nearest opponent. Which would be the Get Ahroun. The mix is bad and like the other flamethrower it spits and drizzles more than bursts from the end of the nozzle. The flames move towards Razor-Eater, but the Get manages to sidestep the gout of sickly green balefire.

Furio watches the combat unfolding, eyes flicking back and forth. Seeing the runner, his brows knot together. "Oh -fuck- no," he snarls. He lifts his hands, framing the runner. "Eva, I want the numbers for translocation. Destination--" His eyes flick straight up. "Five hundred meters." He swirls his hands around and invisible globe, then thrusts them forward at the runner's back. "Run process!" he barks. The poor fomori, running for his life, vanishes in a flash of neon blue light. High overhead, there's another flash--and a human-sized figure starts plummeting to earth. However, Fury's moment of glory is short-lived. The big man doubles over as that same blue light shears around him. "Gnnn--AAAAGH!" he shrieks as he's lifted into the air. Bent backwards, there's a sickening crunch of bone as space warps around his person. A gout of blood coughs from his lips, misting over his beard. He lands on the ground, strange after-effects still playing around his person. Space warps and twists at various points around his body, causing strange, eye-straining distortions. And the big man himself? Down for the count, his breathing raspy and ragged.

After sidestepping the gout of radioactive fire spewing at her, the unnatural heat of it drawing a sharp snarl from the Ahroun, she pays only enough attention to those around her to see that everyone's got their priorities straight before lunging in at the man responsible for trying to light her up. From a glyph on her hip she produces a wicked looking dagger, pulled seemingly out of thin air (let's call it werewolf hammerspace), her free hand lashing out to swat aside the weapon. Her own weapon comes down in a sharp backhanded arc, digging first into the meat of the fomor's shoulder, and - the moment the blade's 'teeth' lock in place - tearing downward in a grisly, diagonal slash, the bulk of the creature's shoulder degloved, and his torso split open so plainly that he just kind of-- dangles awkwardly to one side for a moment before falling to the ground.

Scratch hops down out of the truck, trusting the...mist?...to handle the badly injured fomor. Well, hey, it _does_ seem to be helping, whatever it is. And that means that the remaining fomor on the ground with a flame thrower gets a fang dagger in the back. The blow itself might have been enough to kill it, but when the dagger bites deep, it makes death a certainty. There's a reason she calls it Heartbreaker.

Fomori with a flamethrower goes down hard under the fierce form the the Get of Fenris ahroun. The other flamethrower weilding Fomori is stuck with a pain dagger in the back. He howls a wild keening cry as he bleeds out. Deals With Both Hands is snapping at his fomori, but apparently doesn't like the taste as the bite while it strikes does very little damage.

Without warning, the cloud that is Bliss ignites itself around the injured fomor. The stench of burning flesh, hair, and cloth fills the air mingled with the man's dying scream. He crumples to the ground, corpse still smoking as the flame-cloud moves away from him.

Halle crouches by the unconscious Furio, keeping her burning hand away from him. She reaches down with the other, being careful to keep talons from poking him as she lets her gnosis flow down into the man. The wounds seem difficult for her to heal, and only a slight improvement is made, but enough to restore consciousness hopefully.

While Deals didn't seem to enjoy the taste of Fomori, apparently the dire wolf tastes no better to his foe. The Fomori's jaw unhinges and a set of razor-sharp teeth clamp down on the Philodox's haunch. Thick fur does its job, making sure the Fomori gets little more than a hairball for his efforts, his head falling back as he coughs and tries to spit out fur.

With one of the armed fomori ripped apart, his weapon knocked aside, the Ahroun makes it a point to look around towards whatever it is that's left alive. Seeing the fomor that Rhys finds himself dealing with, she vaults up onto the truck, pulls herself past the mounted flamethrower, and slashes at the thing's back. It's not quite as successful a blow as the last, though it rips open clothes and scores into the flesh beneath, and - to make matters worse - the teeth of the dagger don't bite, either, the added umph that goes into the strike markedly absent. Leaves Razor-Eater a bit peevish, to say least, but at least she's left the guy open for the Fianna's own assault.

The fomor may have been desperate to survive, as it somehow managed to endure both Rhys and Sandra's attacks. Sadly for the creature, that leaves him wide open for Scratch to get in close and end him with a fang dagger to vitals. She slides the blade free, wiping it on the fomor's clothing before she resheathes it. ~How are the wolves?~ comes the question. ~Are any hurt, and will they need to be cleansed?~

The flames flicker and fade, shimmering away into nothing as Bliss reforms herself. Hair still steaming from the residual heat, the little redhead stumbles a couple of feet from the corpse. The smell of burnt flesh and her part in it is just too much. Down to her knees she goes, landing hard and doubling over to empty the contents of her stomach onto the corrputed grass. Spitting out a momuthful of yuck, she glances up towards Furio. He's taken care of. With a nod to herself, she gets to her feet, brushes the few fallen leafblades from her knees and turns to walk back to the Caern unless she's still needed.

The battle was as furious as it was brief and the resulting carnage is spread over a good hundred yards. The three pickup trucks are still intact (though one is charred from the Bliss Immolation effect), engines idling, two of them sporting those mounted flamethrowers, the tanks bolted to the truck beds inscribed with foul glyphs. There are fout shredded Fomori bodies, one that is crumpled and broken from his high fall, and the charred corpse of the last. The fomori'd wolf is in pieces, that gloopy balefire still shimmering around it. Three more patches of that balefire exist, shrouding corrupted bushes, those thorny vines growing visibly, though none yet have developed control enough to move violently, they are still only twitching.

Halle's arm is examined by Rhys after he shifts back to his breed form. "I think I can take care of that. Follow me, I'll gather what I need for a cleansing." He and Halle move to the side, away from the worst of the radioactive fire. Bliss and Furio follow, increasing the distance between the kin and toxic flames. After Rhys completes the cleansing, Halle and Bliss assist in taking Furio back to the caern.

The enemies are slain and Furio has been carried off back to the caern by the other kinfolk. Rhys returns from the cleansing and looks around the area. The puddles of balefire congealing in its swirls of green flames. Rhys frowns eyeing one of the bushes with those thorny vines. He moves over towards the nearest one and watches as it twitches in his general direction. "We're going to have to uproot these, do you think? There is balefire near its roots."

Tabia only shifts as far as glabro. It's not like that's _much_ protection against something like balefire, but it's still better than being in her breed form. "I'm gonna search the truck. If they were smart enough t'be able t'contain the stuff, maybe they were also smart enough t'take some precautions in case they had an accident with it. Plus we might be able t'find some info on who sent 'em an' why."

Upon examining the trucks, the Ragabash finds several documents that could provide clues to the Fomori's identity, or at least who they used to be. Stuck under the driver's seat of burned truck is a stained leather-bound journal. When the pages are opened, the text written in it is in some cryptic language, just reading it creates a pain in the temples, a sense of wrongness sliding down the spine.

Razor-Eater doesn't shift, for her part. She stays towering in crinos, looking to the bodies and to the balefire respectively. There's a low rumble in her throat as she takes a step around the truck, grabbing one of the bodies of the fomor in her wake. Without much pretense - and seemingly zero common sense - she throws one of them on to the worst of the fire. If she's given any odd looks, she looks straight back, and growls: ~A distraction.~ As if that clears things up. Only now does a more conventional method of snuffing out the fire start to take place, the big Get using those massive hands to shovel soil over the mess. Takes a bit of work, but it seems to be helping, the fire more concentrated on consuming the body more than anything else. ~Get the other bodies,~ she says to Rhys. ~Balefire doesn't behave like any fire you've seen.~

Tabia doesn't emerge from the truck with any fire extinguishers, sadly, but she does come out with a bunch of papers and what looks to be a book. "Someone's gonna have some translatin' t'do, looks like. 'Cause the book isn't somethin' I can read. An' we've at least got a startin' point for where these guys came from, assumin' the truck wasn't stolen."

Rhys nods to the Crinos Get and shifts himself into his war form. He trudges over to the nearest body and picks up the separate pieces, one in each hand, dragging them back to one of the guttering flames. The body is chucked unceremoniously onto the flame, and, copying Razor-Eater, he begins burrowing, covering the body and the flame in fresh, pure earth. When Tabia comes back he grunts. "Amethyst. Zeppelin. Both very smart kin, might be able to figure something out."

Razor-Eater's ear flicks, and she turns to look to Tabia, taking a couple steps towards the Strider to peer down at the material, her ears pricked and attentive. She gestures for the Strider to open it; provided Tabia does, she starts looking it over, giving idle gestures here and there to keep turning the page. ~Won't get far if they don't know the Pidgin nonsense things speak amongst their own 'kind,'~ she says, tone dripping the disdain. ~The language is specific to fomori. Deals with elemental forces.~ She lists the Wyrmish ones, which her player is forgetting, right at this second. ~Those two might be smart, but they can't divine something they don't already know.~ And she seems confident that they don't.

Tabia says, "I'm bettin' we'll be able t'find someone that _does_ know, one way or the other. For now, though, I'm gonna get these t'the Warder an' fill him in on what happened. He needs t'be able t'prepare in case these guys have friends that might come lookin' for 'em."