CoR From the Ashes...

Tiko

Tiko

Draconic Administrator/Mentor
Mentor
Administrator
Location
Lupaix: The Den
The Den, once serving as the heart of the Bloodstones, was little more than a charred wreckage.

As Desmond and those accompanying him arrived, the sound of their bike engines died off and was replaced by a somber stillness that settled over them. He had pulled up alongside the side of the street and dismounted, but he made no move to approach the building yet.

Desmond had a knack for understanding people, and his instincts told him to hold back and to let Rhetta and Sel be the first to approach the remants of the building.

The crumbled walls where charred and blackened by the intense heat of the flames. The door frame stood partially intact, but the wooden door had been buried under the collapsing rubble from above, leaving just an empty frame. Beyond that threshold lay a heap of blackened wood, broken glass, bottles, and furniture charred beyond recognition. The fire had spared little.

The Den, a place that had once represented home, family, and safety, was now a somber monument to what had been lost.
 
Rhetta had been here earlier. Last night, or very early this morning, depending on how one decided to divide the time, but she'd stopped by on her own, wanting to see it for herself before she had to deal with it with anyone else around. Sometimes, the best way to appear unbothered was to get it over with, early, on your own. That way, when the time came, you'd be there to do what was needed - whatever was needed - without any of the other messy parts getting in the way.

Dawn hadn't done it any great justice. In fact, she thought it looked worse in the light. Hollowed out, a shell of what it had been. It still felt like home. Maybe that was because she was the same - hollow, trying to figure out how to fill herself up again with the idea of what she'd been before all of this had happened.

She'd parked the bike - at least that had come back easy, no false starts or anything - and followed Desmond in silence before stepping forward to survey the damages, wondering how much of it had been the way she'd remembered it being, and if she'd ever know.

"Fuck." That summed it up pretty well, didn't it? All of it, deployed into one word that encompassed everything about the situation.

She moved her hands to her hips, and shook her head. "Can't leave you people alone with anything."
 
Inside, Ziessel would've called it a cathartic experience, what she felt, when she saw the state of the Den. If they could call it that anymore. A burnt husk of the best place in their lives. A mirror in many ways of the current state of the pack. But she had spilled so many tears, when she had had the time to be alone, that there weren't more to drop here. Over the people that died, over the ones that lived, over the missing time and moments and... everything. She had been able to put herself together at least, the way she preferred to be. Slide a mask on for the day, especially for this day. Seeing it in person was, however, devastating. Sadness, frustration and helplessness coated her from head to toe as she stood watching the monument to their decadence and disgrace. Rhetta had better words for it, she always tended to have them. So she sighed and didn't say anything, just looked back to see the rest of the people that had come along.
 
Like Desmond, Snow had yet to move from where he'd dismounted his bike, leaning against it with his arms folded and his expression darkly stoic. It wasn't his first visit to the ruins any more than it was the others, but nonetheless, looking on what remained of the home-away-from-home he'd grown up in left him feeling as hollow as the burned out wreckage itself.

It was a bitter feeling, but one he had grown used to, and hardened his heart against. There was no time to let such feelings of loss hold power over them, when they were at their most vulnerable.

He held his silence for a few moments more, granting the others time to let their own feelings settle. Perhaps not enough time, but long enough for him to grow impatient with standing idle.

"Let's just get this over with." He broke the silence with a low, even voice, pushing off of his bike and stepping forwards.
 
"ay," Desmond agreed as he approached with Snow. "Not expectin' to find much. But Baron says there was a safe and a lockbox in the loft, and some guns in the weapons cache. The police picked through the place already, but the cache was in the cellar which is buried. We haven't 'eard nothin' about the safe and lockbox either."

It had taken quite a while for the police to clear out of the place, and longer still for things to settle enough for them to spare the people to come look through the wreckage.

"We'll alternate. One person on watch at a time," Desmond said.
 
"I'll take watch." Someone had to, after all, and Rhetta might as well volunteer before someone else did. Truthfully, she'd rather be on watch anyway. Keeping an eye out for danger was simple and familiar. Going into the wreckage to look through the ashes for something that might be useful was... something else entirely.

The more time she spent in there, the more real it would become. Staying out here, keeping an eye out for intruders - it wasn't that she was deluding herself into pretending that things were different, it was just that she'd rather remember the place the way that it had been. Remember the rooms as full of people and not full of soot. Remember sneaking through the hallways when she was too little to be here, and then walking through them like she owned the place once she got older. Remember the little things, the places where there was always a deck of cards, where there was always an envelope with a few loose bills and no one would look if you took a few out, as long as you made good on it when you could; where there was always a couple spare cigarettes that she wouldn't touch but liked feeling like she could, if she wanted one.

When it'd been full of voices and footsteps and doors opening and closing and sometimes slamming, and not just the damn wind and the empty echo of something that should have been there for her, but she hadn't been there, and now it was gone.

And now here they were, to dig through the grave of the place and see if there was anything left behind but the ash and the hollow walls and the silence.

Yeah. Fuck that. She'd take watch.
 
How to begin, to set herself in motion?, when what you were about to do was pick through the wrecked corpse of one of the best places in your life? The Den had been more than a building. One could argue it had enough personality by itself, and thanks to the people who had inhabited it over the years, to be its own entity. Independant, strong, and now dead. Ziessel doubted it would ever be back. Perhaps legendary was a better word than dead, since she also doubted it would ever be forgotten.

Her eyes paused on Snow for a moment, when she turned back. He had grown. Most of the pups she'd known before she was put away had. His sister too, but she wasn't in the pack in the same way that he was. Aimee, who she had yet to see at all. Lark, who she'd be forever grateful towards for keeping her bike in top notch condition. Others, who were dead. Wrong topic, Ziessel, you have things to do. She thought to herself. Then she just... started, took the first steps while Rhetta stood watch and began the search.
 
Snow stayed silent as he began to methodically dig through the ashes of the pack's old home. Everything stank of smoke, making finding anything by scent impossible even for his senses. They would be doing this the hard way.

The Den might barely be a skeleton now, but it was still easy enough to tell what had been what. There were patterns in the ash, charred scraps of old furniture, the remnants of walls or the old bar counter jutting from the rubble. Even if there hadn't been, the layout was crystal clear in his mind. He could close his eyes and see it, just as it had been the last time he left.

He made his way towards the back of the building, beyond the shell of the stairs leading up to a second floor that was no longer there, until he found what he judged to be the area below where Baron's office would have been. The safe should have fallen there, and if the police hadn't found it, that meant it was buried in the more densely piled rubble. The heaped timber and stone would've been immovable for your average beat cop without the assistance of heavy machinery. Thankfully, he could manage fine enough without the help.

The first support beam crunched as he hefted it from the pile and shoved it a few feet to the side, out of the way, followed by chunks of stone and metal piping. He worked unceremoniously -- with just enough care to be sure he didn't crush anything important, but without time for anything close to reverence. The sooner the job was done, the sooner they could leave.

It wasn't long before he caught sight of the corner of something metal and sturdy enough to have retained its shape in spite of the heat and the collapse. "Got the safe," he announced, raising his voice just enough for the others to hear him clearly as he began to dig it free, though his tone remained even -- almost deadpan.
 
"The lockbox should be close by," Desmond said as he made his way towards where Snow was working. "Once we locate it, we can see what we can do about the cellar."

Baron's information proved accurate and it didn't take the group long to recover the lock box once Snow had discovered the safe. The cellar was another matter. Buried under the entirety of the building would take a lot of time and careful work to clear the way to the weapons cache. They where still at work as the sun crept its way towards noon.

"Oi, this isn't gettin' us anywhere," Desmond grumbled.

It wasn't for lack of effort. He was covered in as much soot and ash as the rest of them. It had been deceptively fast going at first, but the more they cleared of the larger rubble, the more concentrated the smaller rubble became. They hadn't the right tools for this.

"Let's get the other stuff back to the railyard, an' we can come back out again tomorrow wi' some better tools," he said. "I'll make a call an' 'ave someone come by with a truck for us to load the safe into."

He made his way free from the rubble to more open ground to make the call.
 
The day had been long, but the skies had been clear and the weather comfortable for this time of year. It was a rather nice day for the Bloodstones to be digging into the ashes of their former 'home'. As they dug, crows began to land on the buildings near by.

One or two at first, then a couple at a time. Until dozens of the black feathered creatures began to caw out in a chaotic symphony as noon approached. When the sun beat down on them from directly overhead, the air would suddenly grow tense creating unease in the air as the birds' cries garnered a new fevered pitch.

The sky suddenly turned blood red. Where there had been no clouds only moments before, dark thunderheads rolled in and rumbled low as the winds began to swirl and pick up the disturbed ash of the former establishment. Beneath the sound of the frenzied birds and the angry skies, a sound as if something was beginning to crack echoed through the air.

Something unnatural was happening...
 
Rhetta spared one more glance for Sel, just to make sure she was okay with this, but it seemed like everyone else was fine to go in, so she left them to it, leaning against a wall she'd probably leaned on a hundred times before, when it hadn't been half-crumbled and more than half scorched. If she'd gone past it, there would have been a hallway, and a few twists and turns would have taken her in further, to-


"Daddy, Daddy!" The only way to enter the room was full speed ahead, running into his legs with the certain knowledge that he'd be there to stop her from running into anything else, and that the descent of his hand would rest on top of her head, fingers ruffling her hair, if she'd left it in pigtails like she usually did instead of knotting them up.

"What's up with the cinnamon buns, Maggie?"

"Jacques pulled part of my scalp off!" She'd been delighted. It was all better, but it had been a rather momentous occasion at the time.

The hand on her head had paused, for a moment, and the question that followed was just a little bit tentative. "Are you... okay with that? Jacques can be kind of... rough sometimes."

"I'm an Enforcer-almost. Besides, I like Jacques. Almost no one else hits me for real." Everyone else pulled their hits, even her dad sometimes. She didn't see how she was going to get any better if people kept going easy on her.

"Hm. Well, you have a little way to go before you make Enforcer, I think. How about you try for seven, first?"

"I'm six and a half." This was important. It was almost seven, in the way that she was almost an enforcer. She was certain of it. "Ragenard is going to be training with some of the new recruits. Can I go too?"

"To... watch?"

She had hoped he wouldn't ask that. "Well... Can I fight him too?"

"No." The firmness of this answer did not bode well for her afternoon plans.

"Why not?" She was prepared to argue. She had, in fact, spent a great deal of time preparing to argue.

"Because... you're too sticky."

"...What? I am not sticky." This was confusing. She had prepared arguments for Ragenard is three feet taller than you and probably five times your weight and could squash you like a bug, because that was what she'd expected him to say. That was what everyone else said. Sticky she didn't have an argument for.

"Yes you are. You have strawberry jam on your face, and you're sticky. So no fighting Ragenard. Mathis would be very angry with me if I let you get his son all sticky. But - If you finish three more math problems, you can go watch."


The memories were there, but Rhetta didn't let them distract her. If anything, they sharpened her senses, attuning what should have been and what actually was into an overlay that made her hyperaware of every little change. In the ashes, the others were searching, their voices familiar, calm.

The call of a crow was less so - and when another joined it, it might have meant nothing, but when further birds joined the group, enough to make her remember that the pluralization there was murder, she stood up cautiously, watching the area with a wary eye as the others started making their way back and the sky dimmed to crimson.

"Hey, we might have an issue."

Crows. They'd go for the eyes. All right. Rhetta took a deep breath, letting the scent map of the place settle, hoping it'd be enough to keep her mind on the where of things if the birds did what she thought they would and she ended up having to kick their little feathered asses blind.

"You want me to do something about them?"
 
Snow felt the shift in the atmosphere as an instinctive bristling on the back of his neck before he saw, heard, or even smelled anything out of the ordinary. It had him stopping mid step, eyes turned up as the first cluster of crows were perching nearby. That instinct was reinforced when more and more of the birds began to descend, and by the time the sky was darkening crimson, his hackles were already firmly raised.

Crows were bad luck. It was a common superstition, and things like that tended to be rooted in truths. Maybe not every crow was an ill omen, but when they came in a murder and brought with them a bloody sky, that crossed the boundary from superstition over to plain common sense.

"I don't think the crows are the problem," he answered Rhetta in a low voice, his eyes narrowed. "They're omens. We should be more worried about what's coming next."
 
Desmond too sensed something was amiss as the hair along his arms prickled from the charged tension in the air. He couldn't quite place its origins, but while it felt ominous he didn't experience the instinctive sense of hackles being raised that comes when he brushes up against his more wolfish instincts. He was uneasy though as the number of crows rapidly grew in number, silhouetted against the darkening red sky.

"No guns unless we 'ave to," Desmond told Rhetta.

Guns would bring unwanted attention, namely in the form of police.

"But be ready," he added. "Fall back everyone."

He pocketed his phone and withdrew his handgun from its holster. He held it in a steady two handed grip, pointed downward towards the ground as he flicked the safety off. He moved slowly, backing up and keeping his eyes on the sky.

"Snow, watch our flank. Rhetta, keep an eye on those crows. Ziessel, you're with me. Cover Snow. We make for the bikes, slowly."

One to watch the sky, one to watch their retreat, and two to cover them.

He hadn't yet determined if the birds where a threat, but he didn't want to risk riling them into a frenzy either. Even if they weren't a direct threat, there where plenty enough of them that the chaos of beating wings would blind them to other sounds.
 
Ah, the day just wasn't being grim enough. Someone, magical or not, had decided to grant their evening a dramatic turn. Really, what was this?? a murder of crows watching them, the sky turned red. The entire thing made her hair stand on end and as she followed Desmond's orders to retreat towards the bikes and cover young Snow, she shifted the tips of her fingers into claws. It was a good way to be armed for close attacks that wouldn't keep her from driving away if they needed to make a quick escape from whatever this was. Magic, but what kind?, was it visible from anywhere in the city, in the world? or was is localized? Was it a coincidence it had happened almost at the same time that Snow had found something relevant?.
 
Wrong. The thought crossed her mind in Iverian, and a moment later, she repeated it aloud, in Lutetian: "Wrong."

Margot had spent the day exploring while Re was working, and she presently found herself in the Phantom Quarter near a coffee shop. Unlike a lot of the businesses in Lupaix, she couldn't find a clear branding or a sign. Weird. She had made a round through the district and was on her way back to Lupaix when she noticed the sky was discolored. Red. In the distance she could see circling birds--big ones, by the look of it--over a location.

Re. This all seemed to be happening quite close to the bakery, and she didn't like that. Could Re take care of herself? Probably. She'd survived this long. But this was magic. This was Margot's domain; Re knew almost nothing about it. But there was something wrong with it. Margot's magic was harmonious; she exerted her own will and her own power, but ultimately she worked with nature and the natural world order to influence it. This magic felt twisted. It was pushing back against the natural order.

Much like sulfurous compounds attacked the olfactory, so too did this magic attack her magical senses, and she desired to see it end. It was also powerful; she was pretty sure she couldn't stand in the face of this power directly. But if she could protect, distract, shield, redirect, she would. For Re? Absolutely.

Even as she was lost in this chain of thoughts, her body was already reacting. She took off towards the disturbance--the perversion--as fast as her shoddy sandals could bear her.

And faster.

Without thinking, she threw down her speed enchantment, small arcs of electricity jumping from toes to earth, like ten little electrodes, and she tore off down the road, easily passing between, around, beside vehicles. Her wooden sandals caught flame as she went, and the small twigs that formed the thongs quickly yielded, leaving her running through town barefoot yet again.

It was hard to keep track of time with the levels of adrenaline she had pumping through her veins, but it was probably less than a minute before she showed up at The Shake n' Bake bakery. She'd been wrong; the epicenter of the wrongness was a block or two away. She looked in the window and saw Re working, seemingly oblivious to the goings-on, and decided in the moment to redirect.

In fact, it wasn't until she was standing behind a group of Bloodstones did she realize that she'd managed to enhance herself in her human form. She'd only ever been able to achieve in her lupine form. Was she just thinking too hard about it? Was she empowered by whatever this nightmare was before her? Didn't matter much. She was here, and something was happening.
 
Snow didn't like it, either. Rhetta nodded a little bit to his assessment. Desmond had gotten there as well, taking charge of the situation... pretty damn naturally, actually. Huh. One point for the fuckpuppy, then. Rhetta still wasn't completely sure how she felt about him, but she was at least willing to give him a chance. He'd argued for a cautious approach, too, which was good if he was going to be Second-ing to Ragenard.

Not so much for Baron, though.

She wasn't going to say anything about that for now, especially with the crows all around watching them. She didn't actually have a gun, but she could absolutely put a knife through a crow's eye in flight - which would leave her open to the rest of them. Better to keep her weapons close. A pair of knives had made its way into her hands, at the ready in case they were needed, but she stayed where she was, moving slightly to the side to open the passage to their flank for Snow, giving them both the coverage they needed to keep the group focused and in control of the situation, at least as much as could be done. Sel had her claws out, prepared in case they were needed.

They were all feeling the same thing, then - tense, like something weird was about to happen. Sure, it was probably just superstition, but when a bunch of fucking crows showed up and the sky turned red, a little superstition was allowed. Besides, she knew there was something going on with Ragenard, too, not that he had been Mr. Fucking Informative, but she'd seen enough to know that he was mixed up in some very weird shit right now.

That was why, when another person showed up with the same fucking lightning blue thing going on around her feet as Rage had in his eyes, she was just a little uncomfortable with the situation. Rhetta stepped in, putting herself between the interloper and the rest of them, not attacking yet, but making it very evident that she could be, if she wanted to.

The newcomer was a girl, which meant nothing. "Desmond?"
 
The city skyline became a canvas of ominous, swirling clouds threatening to release their pent-up fury. Lightning crackled ominously across the darkened skies, casting fleeting glimpses of an angry tempest brewing overhead. Winds began to swirl, coaxing the clouds into a menacing dance around the crimson sun, like an eye to a hurricane.

Amidst this atmospheric turmoil, a deep, resonant crack split the air, its reverberations echoing like a dire omen through the hearts of all who heard it. It was a sound that seemed to pierce the very soul.

Then, like a fissure tearing through a fragile mirror, a vivid crimson rift tore open the sky. It stretched downward with unnatural brilliance against the brooding backdrop, as though reality itself had been cleaved in two. Upon reaching the earth, the rift fractured like shattered glass, spreading outward in a jagged circle upon the ground.

Through this fractured tear in the fabric of existence, what seemed to be another world could be perceived. It was as if one gazed upward from the ground, witnessing a scene of chaotic upheaval. Strange humanoid forms and monstrous creatures piled in an angry jumble, their cries of fury and agony distorted by the rift. On the opposite side, a lone humanoid figure floated above the ground, unmistakably the spellcaster who has caused this chaos.

From the seething mass of creatures, a colossal form surged forward, borne aloft by a swarm clinging desperately to its immense frame. With a titanic effort, it lunged towards the spellcaster, a massive paw extended to strike before the weight of its burden dragged it inexorably towards the shimmering portal.

The glassy surface shattered as the creature hurtled through, bringing with it a noxious miasma of decay and death. Chaos erupted as the creatures spilled onto the other side, tearing into each other with primal ferocity. Blood-curdling screams reverberated through the air, mingling with the sickening sounds of flesh rending in their frenzied scramble.

An enormous war axe gleamed amidst the turmoil, its design familiar to some, aided the massive creature in his savage retribution against the assailants. With each swing of the axe, it cleaved through his enemies swiftly ending lives and leaving others to writhe in agony as the beast was able to stand back up amidst the chaos. Some of the creatures, sensing the tide turning against them, scattered in a desperate bid for survival.

But he paid them little heed as they made their escape. Instead, his focus honed in on the shimmering portal that had torn the two worlds. A roar filled with all the wrath he felt ripped through him as he rushed the portal and tried to stomp through with no success. It was solid. With all of his might, his final attempt was to use his axe to cleave through to the other side. The weapon hummed as it sliced through the air down to the ground, burying itself into the asphalt as the portal disappeared, reversing itself back into the sky as swiftly as it had come.

He paused, his breaths ragged and heavy. Broken shafts of arrows and remnants of shattered pole arms protruded from his thick hide, while his fur was a macabre collage of blood and gore, both his own and that of his adversaries.

Slowly the creature turned, his eyes ablaze with a primal rage that burned crimson in the dim light. Lightning cracked across the sky, lighting him with an eerie light before the rain finally came.

The Bloodstones stood before a war-raged Werebadger.
 
Snow had moved to follow Desmond's orders without hesitation, silently retrieving his own pistol and holding it ready as they retreated back toward the road. Margot's lightning-fast arrival had earned her an audience with the weapon's business end, levelled at her cautiously as he spoke a challenge.

"Who are you? Is this-"

His question was interrupted before he could finish it, by what could only be described as a display of utter insanity. He stared in dumbfounded shock as the sky ripped in two, and creatures straight out of folk tales seemed to swarm in a realm beyond their own. Snow was no stranger to the existence of magic, but this was altogether something different. He couldn't even begin to fathom what exactly it was he was witnessing.

Comprehension could come after action, though. "Get back. Quickly!" He urged , his voice sharp to cut through what was likely a similar daze for his packmates and urging them to move faster and further from this rent that had appeared in the sky and the earth, before whatever it was threatened to spill over upon them.

When it ended, and they were left confronted with a raging beast of a man, Snow held his weapon ready -- not pointing it at the man who had just torn his way out of what looked like hell itself, but ready to lift and fire in an instant should his apparent rage be turned on them. He doubted bullets would do much to a creature that had done what they'd just seen, but then, he wasn't sure what would.

He didn't speak. If there was going to be an attempt at dialogue with the beast, he wasn't the one for the job. Instead, he simply awaited Desmond's call -- be it talk, fight, or flee, he'd follow his lead.
 
"Oi girl, get out of 'ere!" Desmond hollered at Margot.

He didn't need to worry about bystanders being caught up in whatever the fuck was going on-

His line of thinking was abruptly cut short as his eyes where drawn skyward, following the thread of light down until it reached the ground opening a window to an unknown landscape.

"Ah fuck me," was his only response before seconding Snow. "Keep movin'!"

He hesitated though as they reached the bikes and followed Snow's gaze to... Broch? No, this man was far too young, but the similarities where uncanny. Even down to the war axe. This combination of familiar and strange caused Desmond to take a step forward, towards the stranger. He stopped after that one step though. He knew that look in the stranger's eyes quite well.

The portal had vanished, and the urgency of getting clear of the epicenter of the event had lessened, but he remained cautious. Why couldn't he shake this sense of familiarity? The man radiated Broch down to his posture.

He raised one hand up in a staying gesture.

"Easy there," he spoke. "Who are ye?"

The rains grew heavier and rivets of sooty water ran down his arms and face. The inexplicable change in the weather would interfere with visibility and footing he noted.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top