2014.06.29:No Greater Friends, No Worse Enemies

No Greater Friends, No Worse Enemies
Trekome and Quinn go to rescue a friend, Connor joins in as backup.
IC Date	June 29th, 2014
IC Time	evening
Players	Carolyn, Connor, Trekome, Quinn
Location	Gaian Garou Caern
Spheres	Gaian Garou, Kinfolk, Seelie

It's evening, just about sundown. The city is quiet, just normal traffic noise, the occasional wail of a siren in the distance. A storm, though, is brewing off to the west out over the ocean as a front starts to push in from the southwest, building storms as it pushes moisture laden air up, piling clouds up ahead of it.

Trekome stares off into the distance from his parked truck, grumbling under his breath. "Storm's coming..." he murmurs, finally saying something after a few long moments. "About damn time too, this humidity is getting ridiculous." He looks over at Quinn, "Ever hear anything from Carolyn since we saw her a few weeks ago? It's like she dropped off the face of the earth."

Quinn actually likes storms and ponders starting a fire at home this evening. Granted they will have to up the air conditioner while lighting a fire in the house but the rain plus a fire only seems right. "She went to go see Liam and get that site taken care of."

The storm is clearly heading to shore, thunderstorms building as the front pushes onto land adn the air is pushed up by rising terrain. Lightning flickers within the clouds and the air goes very still in the calm before the storm.

Trekome isn't a fan of storms... they always bring bad news for him. The sudden calm makes him edgy for a moment until he takes a slow breath and shakes it off. "Guess we better get home before it really hits..." he murmurs and throws the truck into drive to pull out of the parking lot and onto the street.

Quinn is more in tune with Trek's edginess than the oddity of the storm. she nods and they are not too far from home so everything will be better when they bunker in for the evening. "I didn't hear anything about large thunderstorms today. Nothing that big" she looks out to the lightning approaching.

A bolt of lightning strikes nearby, taking out a streetlight with a dazzling crash and an explosion of sparks and molten metal and exploded lamp.

Trekome brings the truck to a sudden stop, growling under his breath as he comes to a screeching halt as the pole comes down inches from the truck. He looks at Quinn to make sure she's ok before looking back at the pole. "That's not a good sign." he says flatly.

Quinn grips the oh-shit handle and puts a hand on the dash as if preparing for impact. she makes a worried sound but does not scream or panic. There is no need to yet. she is put right on edge at the sudden danger and smells the ionized ozone. Still this could just be a storm right? it's fantastic but it is not necessarily supernatural. She lifts her nose not hiding her senses while it is only Trek with her and starts trying to scent the air for anything that isn't the storm, the ocean or them in the Truck.

There's a raucous caw, and a large black raven hops from the remains of the pole to the hood of the truck. Its claws click as it walks unhurriedly up the hood of the truck. Little arcs of electricity crackle from claw to truck and along the raven's feathers and eyes. The radio in the truck is nothing but a crackle of static. The bird eyes the two in the truck with beady black eyes and caws again.

Trekome eyes the crow, recognizing it well, and then looks at Quinn. "I /told/ you this wasn't a good sign." he says with a slight growl in his voice. The crow gets another long look as it sits on the hood of the truck, eyes narrowing for a moment. "Where's Carolyn?" he asks aloud.

Quinn looses all hope of this being anything but trouble "That's Carolyn's" she says out loud vary worried now. but why was the crow toppling down light poles in front of them? Surely he does not wish them harm. "Can you take us to her?"

Claws click again as the bird walks up to the windshield. It taps its beak on the glass a couple of times and the glass begins to fuzz in a small area. The crow taps a few more times and a picture begins to form...it's an aerial view, the city and surroundings, flying off to the south east and the scrub on the edge of the desert in the foothills. The view is from high up, maybe 10,000 ft or more. The area is now scrub and desert foothills, the badlands. There's a single dirt road, a track really, and what looks like an old camper trailer.

Trekome raises a brow when the crow starts to click against the windshield, not quite sure what it's doing at first. When the image starts to form he recognizes it instantly; apparently it does pay to be a Glass Walker after all. The area that the images move to are more unfamiliar though, and it's almost difficult for him to follow. "Ok... single building, outskirts of town, in the desert... Definitely not good. Quinn, anything you recognize?"

Quinn nods "Thats past the range, an old camper trail. The house is on the way, we can stop, suit up and take the two vehicles just in case. My jeep has a med kit in it" just in case they find Carolyn in poor condition.... but she doesn't say that part out loud. "if we hurry it's 30 minutes tops" because most places are no more than 30 minutes away when you live in a city with good highways.

The crow caws again and flutters its wings. A couple of flaps and it disappears, flying, but not into this world's sky.

Trekome nods to Quinn and gets the truck moving, heading directly to the house. "We need to invest in some SAPI plates if we're going to be doing this more often..." he tells Quinn, "And more ammo. Did you manage to get your hands on any explosive incendiary rounds for the fifty, or are we stuck with surplus rounds?" They're at the house by the time Quinn answers, and off to grab his kit.

Quinn changes swiftly, stripping her civilian clothes as instantly as she is through the door grabbing her cammies since they are desert color. well they don't make you dress in a blink of an eye in boot for nothing. "I have frags and incendiary rounds for the .50, did you want me on over watch, I figired with the two of us I"d stick to your flank." she is already gathering items into her pack including her Sniper rifle, her Sig556, one 1911 in her drop holster and another in a holster tucked under her belt at the small of her back As well as many back up mags. One of the .50 mags has a red band of tape around it's base and can be assumed that that holds the special rounds. her hair is also braided and pinned up already, faster than you would think is possible.

The raven is gone, but the storm continues to grow. The radio is back and there are severe thunderstorm alerts out and the weathermen are saying the storm was forecast but the intensity of it has taken them by surprise.

Trekome is in a set of desert cammies and geared up in the blink of an eye; multiple deployments are useful for that. He function checks his M4 and 1911 with the new suppressors he's managed to wrangle before loading them up and making sure all his mags are topped off and set how he likes them. He then checks to make sure the four flashbangs are ready, as well as the radios. He hands Quinn one of the headsets before donning his. "We sneak a peek from a distance until we can figure out the best approach. From there we go in quietly and clear things room by room. One vic; less of a footprint."

Quinn nods and is ready to go. "Fine, I'll drive." Which will free Trek up to keep an eye out for danger or even spring from the vehicle if he needs to, and leave Quinn in a protective shell that can be used as a weapon if there is any surprises. She hopes none of the neighbors thinks it odd as two uniformed marines hightail it out of there. probably a training mission called because of the rain. Taking advantage of the opportunity.

There's a gust of wind, fierce, that bends trees and snaps off branches here and there. A lighter but still strong wind follows, steady, and chilly after the heat of the day. Sunset is hidden behind the storm clouds and darkness is rapidly falling.

Trekome doesn't argue with Quinn, heading for his truck and double checking a few of the Pelican cases before taking shotgun. "Got a spare rifle and shotgun just in case." he says as he shuts the door. "Probably enough munitions to supply a whole platoon too." He looks at the sky and growls. "If the storm's getting worse, then that crow is probably getting more agitated. Step on it; roads should be clear of other drivers with this weather."

Quinn is actually a skilled driver and knows the way and the roads well. she tries to stay a head of the storm and not get pulled over but once they get out side the city she opens it up till she knows she is near the turn off. Several times she slows only to confirm that it's not the right road untill she finally sees it "that’s the one."

The storm is fast moving, but not as fast as the truck and after a few minutes you're out of the downpour. Ahead, the sky is clear, stars just starting to come out overhead. Behind....behind is darkness lit by frequent flashes of lightning.

The dirt road starts off decently, but rapidly turns into a washed out mess of a four wheel drive track. A couple hundred yards off the road there's a fence line, and a gate across the track. A rusted no trespassing sign still clings to the gate.

Trekome is calm as can be during the drive, even as he gets out to take a look at the fence. "We go on foot from here. Take the fifty and your Sig. We can come back and blow through the fence if we find out we need more firepower." /More/ firepower? Someone's holding out. "There‘re a few frags in the Pelican behind you, best to take them if we need to make a mess."

Quinn shoulders the weapons and a light pack of mostly ammo that isn't already clipped in the appropriate holsters. The frags get collected, a cover is pulled down over her hair and she nods signaling that she is ready. She pushes out her senses, scenting the air and keeping her keen sight on the horizon looking for the first hint of trouble.

The storm is still approaching from the west, but probably not for at least a half hour. It seems to be slowing as it hits the rising terrain that often stops storms. This one is big enough it probably won't stop, so there will be a rare desert thunderstorm.

Trekome closes his eyes and concentrates for a moment before shifting forms. Seems he's got his clothes and gear dedicated to him, the cammies blending into fur, and actually giving his coat a desert brown hue. His vest shifts with him to fit his form, though his rifle stays as is. Thankfully, the one point sling can be let out enough that it doesn't snap on him, and the trigger guard has been modified to fit larger digits.

Quinn is distracted from her scanning fro a moment having not seen Trek shift like this before. Still the Kin stay focused and in proper formation for the two man team as they continue on. she scans her half of the desert looking for any signs of hostiles, any building or any indication that people have come through here and how long ago that might have been.

The old trailer is still some distance away, hidden behind some folds in the terrain, low hills and a dry river bed or two. The night is quiet save for soft pings from the truck as the engine cools and the small sounds of insects and desert wildlife out. And the distant rumbling of thunder from the oncoming storms.

First-to-Fight listens to the fence before touching it to try to figure out if it's electrified or not before he makes short work of getting over it. Really, he could have probably just jumped over the thing, but oh well. He waits for Quinn before dropping into a low crouch and starting to make his way towards a good vantage spot for the two of them to get a look of the approach to the trailer.

Quinn doesn't like the thought of a desert river bed with the rain coming. she hopes it is not as bad as it seems as dry land doesn't soak in the water and there is often flooding for sudden amounts of rain. it could make the terrain tricky later on. she follows Trek over the fence and uses her acute sight to examine the trailer, any lights on, any movement, any windows. How many doors, if the underside is exposed or if it's resting on a wall of concrete blocks.

It takes about 15 minutes to get within sight of the trailer. There's a dim light on in it, maybe a kerosene lantern or candles, and a small fire in a pit outside. The four wheel drive track runs up to the trailer and continues on past, and doesn't look to have been used for some time.

First-to-Fight doesn't like it. It's too... easy. Nothing ever looks this easy. <<There's got to be a trap or something we're not catching.>> he murmurs quietly to Quinn. He keeps looking around slowly with a small monocular, trying to pick up something... anything. Footprints to show patrol routes, wires, or something that's just /off/.

Quinn makes sure she is in a secure spot where she would not easily be seen and pulls her rifle over her shoulder and out in front of her, setting the legs of the tripod down. she then uses the scope to check through the windows. "This may not be our place sir, The tracks lead past the trailer. We need to clear it to make sure" of the garbles she got 'trap' and nods "I'm weary as well. How do you want to proceed?"

First-to-Fight spots movement pretty easily, and the smell is unmistakable. He flicks off the safety and growls out, "Contact. Everywhere." He gets into a crouch behind Quinn so that they're back to back, and raises his rifle up to immediately engage the first gorehound to his left. Yup, that was definitely too easy; he hates being right about things sometimes.

Quinn already has she sniper rifle at the ready and 20 yards away makes a pretty big target. she hears contact and that they are surrounded and takes the shot at the Gorehound already in her sights in front of her.

The silence of the night is shattered by the boom of 12 gauge shotguns and the crack of the Garou's rifle. The gorehounds roar and shriek as they charge in, pumping the action on their 12gauges....

Quinn takes a bead on the gorehound in time to see a Shotgun raised at her. not even thinking she rolls to the side with her sniper rifle, and it's a good thing too. She managed to be well out of the way by the time the ground where she was takes the blast like a champ.

There's something to be said about being surprised: it sucks. What should have been an easy shot for him is thrown completely off by buckshot peppering him from all sides. Thankfully his flak jacket absorbs a good bit of the damage, but his shots go way off. He's annoyed, and bleeding, which just annoys him even more.

The fomori Quinn targeted falls over in a heap, a thumb size hole in the front of his chest, and half his back missing where the massive bullet blew through his chest and shattered his spine before continuing on out into the desert, his internal organs pulped by hydrostatic shock.

Quinn is fast to realign her shot and though she knows she is cutting it close as the Gorehound raises his shotgun to her new position. She pushes the fear of a shotgun aimed at her right out of her head and focuses on the shot. Even as the blast impacts her vest she manages to maintain her sights and follow through in sending her round right through her target.

First-to-Fight growls when he feels more buckshot hit him, most of it hitting Kevlar thankfully, though a few hit his exposed arm. It doesn't matter though, this time he stays on target. For all 30 rounds, dumping the mag right into the gorehound in front of him and dropping him in the seconds it takes the rifle to run dry. He feels the bolt lock back and sees the body crumple in front of him, his cue to immediately turn to the next threat and lash out with his claws. He only tears fabric with the first swing, but catches some flesh and makes a nice red streak across the gorehound's chest.

Quinn turns and rolls up onto her knees hefting the heavy rifle up into a kneeling position. She sees the Gorehound at First-to-Fight's back and takes aim. She waits till there is nothing but her target in her sights, for damn sure not wanting to catch Trek with the high velocity round and then sends it. Nothing will ever do the sight justice but a slow motion camera as the round enters in through the Fomori's lower rib and our through his shoulder tearing the limb off and sending shock wave after shock wave through its body like a the rippling surface of water.

First-to-Fight doesn't even concentrate on the gorehound to his flank, trusting Quinn will handle it for him. That's how sniper teams work; they cover each others' backs, divvying up the threats and taking them down together. And Quinn most certainly doesn't disappoint him, turning the gorehound into a mass of blood and, well, gore. The arm is torn off, and the rest of the body crumples, leaving him free to work on the last of the ambush. This one's nimble, attempting to dodge out of the way of the claws, but not so nimble that he doesn't get chunks of flesh torn out of him by the Garou. The last swing catches him like an uppercut, but with claws, and rips open the gorehound's chest to expose bone. The blood loss and shredded muscle from the slashes finally drop him. Death by a thousand cuts.

Quinn approaches the trailer with caution. she did not like how close those fomori got before they were aware of them. She is first to the door and she checks for the usual traps and trip wires, then nods to Trek letting him know she didn't find anything. she puts her back to the trailer and covers thier six while Trek gets into position for breaching.

First-to-Fight nods to Quinn and takes a look himself as well, signaling for Quinn to be quiet as he gets into position as well. Normally he'd go for the dynamic entry, but this time he slowly turns the knob to try to get the door to open quietly so the two can sneak inside.

The night is ...far from quiet. A huge storm has rolled in from the sea. Trees are down and leaves are flying everywhere. A huge bolt of lightning cracks nearby, shattering a tree and plunging the neighborhood into darkness as the power goes down. There's a rustle, though, in the room...and a 'caw!' of a crow. The bird hops across the floor toward Connor, flickers of lightning playing along its feathers. There's a whisper of sound and Carolyn's voice comes from the bird, oddly enough. "Help me," Her voice is hoarse, little more than a whisper. "The crow will lead you. Remember the old accords....please." If Connor follows, the raven will lead him out into the desert, past Trekome's parked pickup truck, past four bleeding corpses, and finally to within sight of a dilapidated trailer. First to Fight has his hand on the doorknob, and Quinn has her back to the trailer, covering the area....

Connor didn't even bother to ask questions, aid was called for and he answered as was his way, he paused only long enough to gather his spear and apply his woad before shifting through his forms to bound after the crow to follow. That direwolf form of the Fianna pads up behind Quinn and First to Fight quietly, a shiver rolls through his form and he smoothly transitions to human, resting the blunted end of his spear on the ground, his face dark an actual anger crossing his features. He taps the spear against the floor quietly to get their attention before speaking softly "Where is she?"

First-to-Fight smells Connor's approach (no offense), and waits for him to join the two before doing anything. He can only shrug and nod inside before growling softly, <<We just took down an ambush. We can't sense her inside, but the crow showed us this place, so it's our best lead. The fomori ambush just beyond the fence confirms that.>>

Quinn sees the hispo approaching and raises her rifle before she can identify it as a friendly. she taps Trek's shoulder and moves away from the trailer silently drawing his attention. They have already been ambushed once and she doesn't want to be unaware again. she stands down as soon as she sees who it is of course. She and Trek are in Marine uniforms though Trek has absorbed his into his Crinos form.

There's still no sound from inside, and the same glow from the windows, as of candle or kerosene lamp. The night is silent....only the oncoming storm making any noise.

Connor gives a low dip of his head, shifting his gaze over to the glow "A'right then. Lets see why tha camper ain't a rockin'." he shifts his weight and transfer his spear over to his left hand nodding over to Trek

First-to-Fight looks at Quinn and motions for her to cover their rear while he gets in position to open the door again. He goes for the soft and gentle approach, attempting to open the door quietly, and ready to kick the thing off its hinges if it makes too much noise.

Quinn steps out again to again guard the rear using her excellent sight to attempt to keep another ambush from happening. This puts Connor second to head in if need be. Her Sniper rifle is slung and the 556 is on a strap around her chest and held at the ready as she covers the rear.

Connor settles in next to the door, giving a nod to Trek. He wasn't aware of breaching tactics, and would leave that up to the ahroun Marine

First-to-Fight lets the door swing open, the sound of the wind howling around them covering the sound it makes opening. He does a quick scan for any traps before entering, weapon at the ready for anything that comes up in front of them. He's quickly through the threshold, sweeping the area for threats.

There are no traps on the door. But inside is ... odd. The light is from a pair of kerosene lanterns, one on a table in the kitchen area the other in the living area. There are four people in the living room....All four are Carolyn. She looks the worse for wear: Dirty, bruised, bloody, her clothes torn to where they're hanging on by threads and stained with blood and dirt. Her hands are bound in black iron manacles, and hooked over her head. She kneels against the wall, half supported by it, head hanging down and hair obscuring her face. All four look identical.

Connor flickers his gaze between each of the tied up women, hey who likes fae shell game? His nostrils flare out briefly as he takes in the scents

First-to-Fight narrows his eyes when he sees that there are four identical Carolyns. He looks from one to the other, trying to differentiate each one by sight and scent, then looks at Connor. <<This is... odd.>> he growls out before looking at each one again.

Connor pads over to the tied up Carolyn's, his nostrils flaring as he stops at each one. His nose screwing up slightly as he catches the Wyrm taint "I've dealt with this before. Or rather something like this. Wyrm taint is new though." he reaches out to touch one of the Carolyn's at random

First-to-Fight just steps back and lets Connor do what he does, this being something outside of his field of expertise. No sense in interfering when there's someone else who knows what he's doing taking charge.

The "Carolyn" changes before Connor's eyes, in a flicker....there's a brief moment when he sees a crinos Garou...warped and foul, but then it turns into the image of First to Fight....even as it lashes out at the human formed Connor..... To Trekome's eyes the figure is now the image of Connor, lashing out at Connor. And the other two take on the same appearance, one charging at Trekome and the other .... the other deeper into the trailer.

Connor would only arch his brow a moment. He had dealt with these before and he swiftly brought up the mace end of his spear, the markings on that end clearly (or not depending on what Trek knows) show a Troll's makers mark and he sweeps the iron head of the mace around into Trek's evil twin

First-to-Fight hasn't dealt with this before, but he knows (for now) which Connor is which, and the one coming at him is most certainly not the one on /his/ team. The rifle is already at the low, and takes but milliseconds to bring to bear on the attacking crinos.

The .. thing that looks like First to Fight, explodes, lashing out at Connor with a clawed hand, and opening him up in a spray of blood....

Connor grunts falling back as a wide series of gashes is opened up across his chest, his body shivers and a fire flares up behind his eyes. The angered Garou flips that spear of his around, crashing troll forged iron into the shoulder of his opponent, at the last moment he shifts his weight backwards taking another grazing across his chest though the claws this time leave nothing more than red lines against his body

First-to-Fight doesn't hesitate for even a second with the charging doppelganger, keeping the dot on his optic right on the thing's chest and squeezing the trigger. He doesn't take chances with it though, not wanting to find out whether or not it really does possess the sheer destructive power of a crinos, and holds down the trigger. The sound of automatic gunfire is intense indoors, and the image of bullets ripping through fur and flesh is something that most would need years of therapy for. Except First to Fight, who looks like he's meditating as he drops the creature, continuing to fire even as it crumples and slumps over.

The one shot falls in a spray of blood. On the other hand the one Connor clobbers with his spear staggers back, form flickering, flickering....and resolving. It no longer looks like Connor but is a Black Spiral Dancer...bat ears and hideous disfigured form and leprous skin and mangy fur.

Connor sweeps that mace back around, snarling as he watches the glamour ripple away to reveal a Dancer. That heavy blunt object comes whipping around though and crashes squarely on top of the monster's head with a bone splitting crunch. He flickers his gaze around and digs into his satchel quickly pulling out a fistful of herbs to cram into his wounds <<Move on! He scored a damn good hit and I don't know how much longer I'll keep my wits about me! One went ta tha back!>>

First-to-Fight turns to the remaining doppelganger, who has given up the charade of being another one of the good guys, only to find that it's not taking up impersonating a corpse. A rather good impersonation at that, complete with crushed skull, bone fragments sticking out, and blood pooling on the floor from blunt force trauma wounds! He looks at Connor, and barely waits for the wounded Garou to finish speaking before he bolts for the back door, reloading quickly along the way.

The Black Spiral falls, blood and worse spraying everywhere as it writhes to the darkness. From outside there's silence. And then BOOOOOM. Joan just went off. There's a ripple, and the 'Connor' that Trekome shot previously fades, slowly turning into another Black Spiral Dancer. This one in Glabro form, but perhaps even uglier and more twisted looking for it.

Connor watches the wounds close up over his chest, though they're still going to leave scars. He dips his head in a nod of thanks and then proceeds to count out the corpses and turns to the last one who is chained up and should be the correct Carolyn

First-to-Fight comes to a skidding halt when he hears the sudden report of a .50 going off, and then silence. He smirks, knowing Quinn did her job and dropped the remaining target: one shot, one kill. He steps outside to confirm with Quinn, who remains holding security, then makes his way over to Connor. He looks disapprovingly at the wounds, then places a palm over the wounds and concentrates on them healing. It isn't perfect, but it's certainly better. Connor gets a nod before he looks over at Carolyn, frowning a moment. <<Is she going to be ok?>>

Carolyn's still manacled to the wall. She's breathing, but she hasn't looked up from where she's leaned against the wall, hands high over her head, and her hair hides her face. What can be seen of her, though, is a mess. It looks like she got beaten and then maybe the Spiral started to work on her some.

Connor gives a small nod of his head "She's made of sterner stuff. Need to get the iron off her though." he reaches out for the manacles and either moves to bend them off her wrists or to pull them out of the wall before moves out to the Fae’s cousin's corpse to check the body for a key, he was the only real fae here so he must have been in charge and of course the one with the loots

First-to-Fight lets Connor free Carolyn before he helps her down and concentrates on healing whatever wounds she may have. It doesn't seem to have /too/ much effect, but it helps nonetheless, and probably more immediately helpful than anything in his medkit, which is still out by the truck. He looks at Connor, <<Quinn can drive her to safety. That should help with some of her immediate wounds. The iron seems to be hurting her... let's get it off of her and get her to safety. Can cleanse this place once she's out of here.>>

Connor carefully slides his claws between the iron and the wrists of Carolyn <<Some stories are true. Fae don't like iron.>> he strains a bit and leverages the iron manacles open <<Need to get it off her flesh, it burns.>>

First-to-Fight helps Connor with the other manacle, thankful that it's soft iron and not hardened steel. Once off he lets the other Garou carry the Fae out while he leads the way and makes sure the path is clear.