Rory:
[This scene will be considered having ‘happened’ when it’s completed, as it’ll take us a bit to slog through it, and Rory has Things To Do in the meantime. 
]
It’s taken her a while to make the arrangements – and, in truth, get up the nerve to do what she knows she should, what she must do. It’s been time, according to the spirits, for months now, but she refused to challenge her auspice elder for personal reasons.
Lot Nukas! No. He doesn’t… nust jo.
Reasons she keeps to herself. So, that leaves her one recourse – return to the Sept of her Birth, her [torture] upbringing, her Right of Passage. She is better than when she left, she is stronger, she is even a teeny tiny bit braver. But it takes all she is to tell Kora she goes to challenge, and to actually set foot on that bus, and travel the distance.
Each hour lasts a lifetime. Each mile longer than the one before it, until it reverses and suddenly it’s all happening too fast, and there’s no turning back, and the redhead that no one wanted to sit close too is spilled onto the sidewalk heat in Arizona, just a few last miles from her birthplace.
She walks the last bit. It’s been two years since she left. It’s been a lifetime of learning, loving, growing, and still she trembles. Her [tormentors] past is beyond the bawn, her [torturers] teachers waiting for her, her [past] future ready to be discovered.
She pauses outside of the bawn, and adjusts her backpack across her shoulders, takes a deep breath, and then? Announces her presence. They’ll never know how much it takes for her to come back here. Not if she can help it.
She heads straight for the challenge circle, and there she shifts to, and roars her challenge to the winds. They will hear. They will come – if only for the chance to see her fail. Once her howl dies down, she shifts back to her monkey skin, and waits.
[ST]
Stepping out of the stuffy, recycled air of the bus and into the blast furnace that is Arizona heat, Rory treks the last few miles to the sept of her birth. A place as unforgiving as the cracked red earth of the Sonoran desert sprawling endless around it. Its up a hill and through the vengeful scrub brush before Rory arrives in the remote cacti riddled basin that keeps the Ironwood Sept well away from prying eyes.
The Metis can feel the weight of eyes on her as she makes for the challenge circle. She had to know her approach, her return would not go unnoticed. She can feel the hatred lashing at her skin as sure as the punishing glare of the midday sun. The redhead shifts. Howls.
And no one comes.
Minutes stretch onwards towards hours, and still, the metis is left to swelter. Fair woman left to sweat and scald within the challenge circle as her tribe looks on, well hidden in the caves and niches within the hills. Cool and smug in the shade.
Rory:
She can feel them. She can feel the eyes that bore into her more than the sun does. She can feel their hatred, their disgust. She is sin-born. wrong. undeserving Metis and she deserves nothing more than punishment. That she dares, dares stalk to their circle, and demand to challenge, here. HERE….
She can feel the thoughts as if they are her own.
The sun beats down, and soon she is shedding layers, down to a tank top and her jeans, her pack and jacket and such set aside. She has burnt her fair skin more than once in the desert heat, and this will be no different. The sun boils across her skin, turning it pink, then red, then forming blisters as she waits.
She wants to sit. She wants to curl up and make herself a small target for the sun to beat on, for their eyes and hatred to feast on. But she does not.
She will not.
Instead, she tucks her hands into the pockets of her jeans, to keep from rubbing at the skin where sun threatens to burn the freckles right off her.
And she waits.
[ST]
The hateful sun sears its signature into fair skin, all the more torturous that the metis’ human hide never numbs, never sluffs and crumbles, instead regenerating to scorch anew. Fire circles in the sky over head, slowly descending back into the earth, bringing the relief of cool night.
Finally, in the indigo of deepening dusk, footsteps crash heavily through the scrub brush towards the challenge circle. Campfires flare in the night as a dark haired Celt as broad as two regular men steps from the shadows, the ugly line of a battle scar snaking across his chest and disappearing under his t-shirt.
Rory would recognize him. Dahgda’s Might. He was a cliath when she last saw him, and though he wore the confidence of a higher rank, he wore the same leering grin now as he had then. A derisive snort as he settles a hand over the haft of a ornate battle-hatchet, and looks the redhead over, calling over his shoulder to the crowd that began to gather for the spectacle to come.
“What’s this then boy’s? Have you ever seen a sight so pitiful as barbecued mule? What have you come back for then Red? To fill our honored circle with the smell of your ill-born hide? Doin’ the wyrms work already?”
Laughter erupts on every side of the redhead, and Dahgda’s Might smirks smugly from just outside the stained circle of clay.
Rory:
Of all of the Garou she could have wished for – Dahgda’s Might was her biggest fear. She knew she risked seeing him here, challenging him, and perhaps that’s why it’s taken her so long to make this trip. Of her tormentor’s, he and his pack were perhaps the worst.
He didn’t have that scar then. And it’s that, perhaps, that gives her the strength to lift her chin, to lift her eyes to swing around the challenge circle, where they hide in twilight and firelight. He comments on her smell, and she does the unthinkable.
She laughs.
It’s short, brief, and barely more than a huff of breath. Of all the things they might smell – she is not one of them.
He smirks at her from outside the circle, and she lifts her gaze to meet his, before dropping them slightly, just enough to show respect. She is trembling, and she tries to still the quivering in her belly, in her form. She doesn’t try to hide it though. This takes a force of will – and she will see it through.
One way or the other.
“I come cho tallenge for Fostern.” Her voice is soft, but it carries, just enough.
ST:
The redhead laughs and green eyes harden to dark emeralds, Dahgda making a show of twirling his heavy hatchet adeptly in one hand. Only Rory can see the sudden venom in his smiling glare.
“What was that?”
She can count on him to go there. Since the first sentence she’d muddied in his presence, the ahroun before her had never let a slip up go uncommented on. He’d been there for her rite of passage, sneering at her from the sidelines. There’s jostling and snickering from the throng of fresh faces gathered nearby, in the distance shadowy forms stand watchful, presence felt more than seen.
Rory:
The laughter erupts, and venom drips from his voice, and he swings that weapon. She holds no such weapon, she has only the backpack at her feet, and she doesn’t bend to pick up anything from it. Instead, she turns to face him fully, ignoring the way her knees turn to water and threaten to drop her to the desert floor, the way the tremble works it’s way through her, the way the memories threaten to overcome her.
she is young, freshly changed, learning to speak, and learning of her disability. His laughter follows her through the years, his blows and hatred and wicked laughter scaring her in ways tooth and claw never could, never have.
(but he didn’t have that scar, then.)
She lifts her chin, and turns to face him fully. She takes a step closer – but does not come near to leaving the circle. She will leave here only when she passes – or fails. She made a mistake in her wording, and she can’t hear where, or how to correct it. She heard only what she intended to say, as always. But she amends her demand in one way.
“I come to challenge, Mahgda’s Dight-rhya.”
No, in two:
“I tome co challenge you.”
(she is more daring than she was then.)
ST:
“No one by that name here, Red. You been gone too long methinks. Tribesmen! Any of you named Maghda’s Dight? We’ve a clawless mutant here, lookin for some one to be her daddy.”
The Fostern Ahroun plays to the crowd, incited to further mockery by the metis sheer gall. His arms splayed open, turning his back on the red head to address those gathered. Insult clear in action, reinforced in the one that follows as he turns back around. A crude thrusting of his pelvis, Fianna mockery at its basest.
“Heard you’d begged yourself a Shadowlord to tuck you in at night, some Ragabash of no good standing. His pack run a train on you Red? Can’t see what use you’d be otherwise. He get tired of you already, or he just too ashamed to be seen with you to a Proper sept?”
That thrusting only gets more exaggerated, Dahgda goading Rory for a reaction. Leering, revelling in accepted status the sin-born will never share.
“Put her down Dahgda. Get it over with.”
A voice crisp and sharp as a dagger’s edge cuts overtop the raucous laughter of the crowd. A figure cast in flickering shadow, standing watchful from a hill above. Smaller in stature, but greater in presence. An Elder, surely – but which one? They don’t volunteer a name, nor step into the light for the likes of the Metis.
“Alright then. Lets get this humiliation done with. You remember Shannon, don’t you?”
Daghda pauses only long enough to gesture over his shoulder at the whip thin redhead pushing her way towards the challenge circle, green eyes lit with anticipation. She’d shared her Rite of Passage with Rory, and had a score to settle, an ego bruised and left to fester into something rancid. When Dahgda speaks again, he’s jostling his hatchet from meaty palm to meaty palm, stance broad and ready as he steps into the circle to set his terms.
“Carve, by tooth or claw, your name into the Deedstone. Simple enough, even for a creature such as you. “
He grins widely, gesturing across the fire lit basin to a natural pillar of stone Rory knew all too well.
The sept’s history, in writ and rune. A small mark denoted TongueTwister’s own accomplishments here. Towards the bottom, worn by sand and obscured by prickly pear. A notch alone, carved in secret by the only garou gracious enough to be ashamed of behavior towards a lonely mule.
Dahgda snorts loudly as his packmate joins him in the challenge circle, Shannon’s expression smug as she gives Rory a scathing once over.
“Course… It wouldn’t be a challenge if you didn’t have plenty of opposition, now would it?”
There’s a wave of chortling through those gathered, excitement an electric tremor in the air. Had she come home expecting a fair challenge, she’d clearly forgotten the nature of her Sept, and was in for a painful reminder. They were counting on it.
[alright. we have us a combat scene to roll once you respond madam!]
Rory:
There is a blessing in the time she had to wait, her skin burning and reddening and healing and burning again. There is a goodness in that – as in the darkness now, the flickering firelight, there is no way to tell if that is remnants of the burns, or a blush.
Those at home would know it to be a blush. Would know her to duck her head and shrink into herself and fall silent. And it is indeed a blush, bright and red and creeping under her skin as he mocks her, and her disability. It turns to anger when he speaks ill of the Bogeymen, of the Alpha that showed her acceptance, and showed her how to be part of something bigger than herself. Tension weaves through her spine, and she pulls her shoulders back, but refuses to allow herself any other reaction.
She doesn’t say anything. She could. She has spent an awful long time with Ragabashes, and possibly could fire back – if it were in her nature to do so. It’s not, but more importantly? He wants her too – and for that? She refuses. She just stands, her hands in the pockets of her tattered jeans, her shoulders hunching briefly, before she forces them to relax again.
Someone says for him to get it over with, and she snaps her head toward the voice. She searches but a moment, before her attention returns to the Fostern in front of her, and the terms of this challenge.
Green eyes shift toward the Deed Stone when he names his challenge. She lets her gaze rest briefly in return on Shannon, who has never forgiven the mule for the humiliation of their rite of passage. If Rory were anything other than what and who she is, she might remind Shannon that if not for Rory? They would have failed. If not for Rory, they would be dead. But Rory is as she always has been – accepting of her lot in life, accepting of the way others treat her.
It’s simple enough. Even for a creature such as her.
She knew this wouldn’t be fair. She came home knowing the chance was extremely high that she would fail. She came here, though, to prove something – to herself. To prove she is more than what they expect of her, more than what they remember – no matter what the outcome is.
She flicks her gaze toward Shannon, then back to Dahgda. She puts everything she has into lifting her shoulder into a simple shrug, before she nods. As if this is no big deal, as if this is what she expected, as if this is all she can expect from someone like him, like them.
Then she pulls her hands from her pockets, stretches and then nods again. “Ok.”
Single words are easier.
[ROLLS – THE DICE HATE ME:
[Rory] [changes tag to “I’M SO SCREWED!”]
[Ragabash and Ruin] [alright. Going to say that carving is a roll of str + crafts – dif 6 + number of remaining attackers. (so 8 to begin.) Further – as its solid stone, and needs be legible with two attackers, I’m going to say it requires a full 12 sux. the Stone stands 3 full movement actions away]
[Rory] [Inits! +8]
[Rory]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2
[Dahgda’s Might] [Init + 6 +10(SotF)]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4
[Ragabash and Ruin] [+5]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2
[Ragabash and Ruin] Order is as follows. As usual, delcare slowest to fastest and roll fastest to slowest. For the purposes of this challenge we’ll be keeping track of Rory’s movement, so post it!
Might 20
Rory 10
Ruin 7 – slink into the shadows behind Daghda and disappear!]
[Rory] She is a literal creature, Rory. She listened, and listened well to the challenge, and what it will take to pass. It’s stacked against her. It always is. She fights anyway. She always does.
[Insta-shift Hispo, ftw! split first action, 2 rage]
1a: RUN RED RUN
1b: Falling Touch on Shannon [Dex+Medicine diff her Sta+ ath]
1R: Bite DM
2R: RUN RED RUN
[Dahgda’s Might] [Rageshift Crinos
1. Clinch-style Grapple]
[Dahgda’s Might] [Str + Brawl]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 5, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Rory] [GETTOFFME! Str+brawl+hispo]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 6, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 3
[Dahgda’s Might] [Damage: Str (B)]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8 (Failure at target 6)
[Ragabash and Ruin] [Ruin – dex/stealth]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 7, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Rory] Really? I said GET OFF ME! Since ya didn’t I’ma NOMNOMNOM!
R1: Dex + Brawl + Hispo = 3+4+2= 9 diff 5+2 diff for cinch – reroll 10s +wp
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 4, 6, 6, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 7) [WP]
[Rory] Damage – Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9 + 2
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 3, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 10 at target 6)
[Dahgda’s Might] [Soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 7, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Dahgda’s Might] [Willpower]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Rory] Really? FINE THEN! OMNOMNOM!
R2: Dex + Brawl + Hispo = 3+4+2= 9 diff 5+2 diff for cinch – reroll 10s
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 7)
[Rory] Damage – Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9 + 2
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Dahgda’s Might] [Soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Ragabash and Ruin] **Might 20 (-4 HL (Agg))
Rory 10 (still 3 movements away. Still Clinched)
Ruin 7 (invisible raggie)
Ruin – rage shift to crinos.
1. Throw a dagger.
R1. throw another dagger!
(2 r spent)**
[Rory] FINE. YOU BASTARD.
1a: BITE
1b: BITCHA AGAIN YA FUCKER. (An I hope she hits YOU insteada me!)
1R RUN RED RUN
2R RUN RED RUN
[Dahgda’s Might] [Reflexively Releasing the Clinch
1a. Claw the Face [WP] (You bitch, that hurt!)
1b. Dodge
R1. Bite
R2. Hatchet Front Legs
[Dahgda’s Might] [Claw: Dex + Brawl, -2 split, -2 w.penalty]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6) [WP]
[Dahgda’s Might] [Should have been +2 diff, but it worked out anyway!]
[Dahgda’s Might] [Damage: Str + 1 Suxx (A)]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 6, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Rory] Soak! Cuz I’m tougher than you!
Sta+Hispo = 4+3=7
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 4, 5, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Rory] […or not. *L*]
[Rory] I”MA EATCHA FACE OFF!
split 1: Dex + Brawl + Hispo = 3+4+2 = 9 -2 for split = 7-1 for wp= 6 diff 5 – reroll 10s
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 8, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1
[Rory] RAAAAAAAARSMASH!
Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9 + 2
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 5, 5, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Dahgda’s Might] [Dodge: Dex + Dodge, -3 split -2 w.penalty]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 3, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Dahgda’s Might] [Soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 5, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Rory] 1b: due to incap Dahgda – RUN RED RUN!
[Ragabash and Ruin] [1. throw blade! -2 dif flank. spec-thrown weapons!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1
[Ragabash and Ruin] [well that sucked. but surely this will hurt!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 7, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Rory] …um… OW?
Soak:
Sta+Hispo = 4+3=7
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Ragabash and Ruin] R1 – THROW KNIFE! (no longer stealthy.)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Ragabash and Ruin] [forgot spec]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 4, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Ragabash and Ruin] [DAMAGE! ]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Rory] [dearsweetgodalmightyPLEASESOAKTHIS!]
Soak:
Sta+Hispo = 4+3=7
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 4, 5, 9, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Rory] OMFG PLEASE RAGE BACK! KAHSEENO YOU WHORE DO NOT DO THIS TO ME!
+ WP!!!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 6, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 8) [WP]
[Rory] FRENZY INITS! +8
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5
[Ragabash and Ruin] [Ruin +6]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10
[Ragabash and Ruin] [Ruin
Rory]
[Rory] Rolling WP!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 10, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Rory] [KAHSEENO YOU ARE A WHORE]
[Rory] Declare: RAGIN!
1: BITE!
1R: BITE!
2R: BITE!
3R: BITE!
[Rory] [oh and spending rage to ignore pain too – so yeah. thats -4 rage. RARSMASH]
[Ragabash and Ruin] [Ruin – 1a. Dodge! 1R dodge. 2r dodge! 3r – I don’t have one I’m out of rage oh GOD!]
[Ragabash and Ruin] (can only spend 1/2 your rage in a turn madam. nix one of your bites, and rollem!!)
[Rory] Bite:
Dex + Brawl + Hispo = 3+4+2= 9 diff 5 – reroll 10s
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1
[Ragabash and Ruin] [1. dodge!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Rory] RAR! Bite:
Dex + Brawl + Hispo = 3+4+2= 9 diff 5 – reroll 10s
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 9 at target 5) Re-rolls: 3
[Ragabash and Ruin] [AUGH! 1r DODGE! WP!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 6, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]
[Rory] Really Kahseeno? NOW YOU SHOW UP?
Damage:
Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9-3(dodged)-1 + 5
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)
[Ragabash and Ruin] [soak like the WIND!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Rory] (covers eyes and rolls last ragebite)
Bite:
Dex + Brawl + Hispo = 3+4+2= 9 diff 5 – reroll 10s
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 6 at target 5)
[Ragabash and Ruin] [dodge! -2 wounds]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Rory] Damage:
Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9+2
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Ragabash and Ruin] [soak!?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Ragabash and Ruin] [at this point warders jump between Ruin and Tonguetwister, taking all damage beyond incap in exactly the way they DIDN’T for the Metis. Challenge at an end.] ]
ST:
Even the shortest battle has a story.
This story is about a meek Fianna Metis, returning home to those who loath her. Returning home to challenge for the rank that was hers, earned through shed blood and spilled tears in a far away city. An unfair challenge set before her, her enemies eager to see her fail. A name carved in stone her path to victory.
Within the challenge circle, the beginning such as this.
Rory snaps into the lean and angry form of a dire wolf, surging forward, stone in her sights, only to stop abruptly as furred arms wrap around her, Dahgda’s crinos muzzle open as he snarls and bears her backwards off balance. The skinny redhead “Ruin” fades into the shadows, a ragabash’s ploy. Waiting.
The Metis doesn’t wait. She thrashes, twisting and snapping, testing Dahgda’s so called Might with every action, rage pluming off of her like heatwaves off desert clay. Teeth tear into flesh, angle awkward, but deadly effective as her tribesmate’s blood pours over her shoulder in a hot wash of crimson.
The rising action then.
Dahgda roars in indignation, all out of clever taunting with his shoulder a tattered mess of muscle and fur. The metis is released, ahroun’s pride demanding blood for blood and then some.
The Fianna’s claws rake across Rory’s face at the insult of his injury, tearing deep furrows into her muzzle, ripping out the sides of her mouth that the sad-faced mule might sport a smile for a few days, win or lose.
Now to the climax- where in the outcome is decided, where all is won or lost.
Dahgda – has underestimated his opponent’s strength. He doesn’t know it in his hubris, doesn’t believe it until the last moment, when blood swims in his vision, and teeth shear against bone. The fire of conviction in Rory’s eyes the last thing to occur to him before the world goes dark, and the mighty ahroun falls unconscious and bleeding to the ground.
Rory – has underestimated a ragabash’s spite. The metis runs, streaks forward to the stone in which she’ll leave her mark, and as she closes a knife strikes from the shadows, spiralling through the viscera of her intestines and sending her massive wolf form tumbling towards the Deedstone.
It was enough to put her down, and yet Shannon is not content. Green eyes flash poisonous in the firelight – and the point of another dagger sinks deep into the Ahroun’s unconscious form.
Amid flickering firelight, a falling action, and a grim conclusion.
Death creeps cold and ashen over the Fianna known as TongueTwister. Fire light fades to white illumination and the faint strains of a whimsical fiddle can be heard over the dying beat of a kind heart. With the fiddle, the desert wind, and on the wind, something else. Laughter. Contemptuos laughter. FURY surges through every molecule of Rory’s being, and suddenly she’s on her feet, death shrugged off in favor of white hot vengeance. There is nothing kind hearted to the wild eyed creature that descends on the tribesmate who loathed her. Nothing meek in the hispo that shreds flesh from bone, a revenge long in its coming. Warders hang back for half an instant, and in that instant TongueTwister bears Ruin unconscious. Another heartbeat and she would see the woman dead – unforgiving in her frenzy.
It is not to be. The world swims dark in short order as her septmates fall on her. Put her down.
The end.
…
Or is it?
Dust would tickle Rory’s nostrils, and a jagged pain would stab her awake. Her crinos form being drug roughly over rocks and cactus, out of the punishing Arizona heat, and into the cooling shade of an ironwood tree. Midday sun would scorch her eyes, and make a blurry shape of the panting crinos before her. Only when a gourd cracks hollow and soothing warmth trickles across open wounds does her vision clear to reveal a familiar face. One that doesn’t immediately fill the metis with dread. “Foggerty’s Jig”, the galliard with whom she’d shared her Rite of Passage. The one who had given her a name. Her name. He watches her, expression detached.
Rory:
She remembers. She remembers Dahgda’s Might grabbing her from behind. She remembers the taste of his blood across her tongue – hot, acrid, hateful. She remembers taking him down, and bounding forward. She remembers the knife. And the Ragabash.
Then, she remembers nothing but rage – pure and red as the curls on her head, the feeling of teeth rending flesh and shattering bone, the taste of blood, coppery and angry…
And then nothing.
Nothing until now – when all is pain, and red and dusty, and oddly… cool. Cooler than the heat of the sun, anyway. Cooler still when the gourd is cracked, soothingly across her wounds. Oddly she remembers this, first. Dahgda didn’t have a scar last time. Later she’ll discover she has received her first, at his packmate’s hand.
Lashes flutter as vision clears, and she presses back against the tree until his features trigger memory, until his voice gives his name, and she remembers. He gave her her name. Her real name. She shifts then, melting back into her monkey skin, pail and freckled and blood covered under tattered jeans and tank top. She wipes her hand – fragile looking and pail – across her face, and nods.
She remembers.
She looks around for her things, brow furrowing slightly. “Py mack?” And then, the more important question as she gestures to herself, the tree. “Why?”
ST:
*A redhead takes the place of the bloodied monster, and the wan faced galliard relaxes on his heels. Scratching the back of his head a moment before pointing to a speck well across the arid desert. Her pack, laying where she’d been left to scorch in the heat. As to why she was drug under the tree, Jig only shrugs, eyes still on the backpack far in the distance. Awkward and grim.*
Elder wants to see you.
Rory:
Seeing her pack in the distance, untouched, gives her a sense of relief that is only felt briefly, because…
The Elder wants to see her.
She ducks her head, letting her curls hide her expression, her voice small, soft. “…oh.”
And then, she straightens her shoulders, presses her hands – so much stronger than they appear – into the tree trunk behind her, pushing herself up to a painful stand. A grunt pulls from her lips, and she grits her teeth, grinding them together, to keep the cry from completely escaping. She rips the lower half of her tanktop off in long strips, and then winds it about the gaping wound in her belly, tying it tight. She doesn’t ask for help. She didn’t expect this much.
So then, a nod.
“Ok.” A beat, and softer still. “Thanks.”
ST:
*Jig nods, eyes on the horizon as Rory stands. Tends her wound. He offers no comfort or advice, only the solace of silence as she struggles with her pain.*
Ruin is being punished for her dishonorable conduct.
*Parting words. Perhaps to assure her justice was being served. More likely mistrustful that she wouldn’t go seeking her own. The grim faced galliard retreats beyond the ironwood tree, leaving Rory to her trek.*
Rory:
She tips her head, slightly, brow furrowing in confusion. Perhaps it’s because he told her, or because she can’t decide why he did, or why they would punish the Ragabash for doing what they all wish they could have… She is not the type to seek vengeance, however. She never has been. That she dared step foot into the sept after the way they raised her is testament to that. It is simply not her way.
But it is with her quiet acceptance that she nods, and watches him as he fades away behind the tree, and then simply nods again.
And begins the long walk back to the circle, her backpack, and the waiting Elder.
ST:
The trip back to the challenge circle is agony in every step. When finally the Metis arrives, a single elder stands alone, form dwarfed by the deedstone. A small stout man, whose very presence spoke of conflict. Pale face furrowed with old scars, expression measured and cold, his eyes blue embers, waiting to ignite in anger.
Fire and Ice.
His voice crackles, thick with the accent Rory would remember well from the few moots she was allowed to attend. The Grand Elder was speaking to her.
“You’ve one request. Best be makin it good TongueTwister. Once its o’er an done you’re never to be returnin’. On pain of a slow n’ ‘orrible death. You been drivin’ good garou to dishonor themselves wit’cher antics. We’ll have none o’ that business about from the likes of you.”
The small powerhouse of a creature doesn’t explain further. He’d never gone out of his way to acknowledge Rory when she was a member of the Sept. Why he does so now she can only speculate. Perhaps the challenge was too openly unfair. Perhaps she’d impressed them with her performance. Perhaps her attempted murder in a public spectacle was enough to finally afford her small courtesy, even if it came on the heels of banishment. The wounded redhead couldn’t be certain. Certain was that the Elder was waiting for an answer, and that even this small courtesy surely had a time limit.
Rory:
Every step back to the circle is excruciating. Slender arms are wrapped tight around her bound belly, though she does not allow her head to hang, her shoulders to sag. It takes time, and she is out of breath when she arrives, pale and damp with the effort. But the Athro elder is talking to her – for the first time she can remember.
She blinks when he grants her a request, and gives her the price for it. The time limit is implied, but she still takes another moment or two to ensure she words it correctly. Well, as correctly as she can given her circumstances.
Kora’s words whispering across her memory.
bold, yeah?
Yeah.
She lifts her chin slightly, and her green eyes study the elder [though never daring to meet his gaze. Respect, always, in the slender Metis] and the stone behind him. There are so many things she could say. So many things she wants to say. Things that need to be said – but likely never will be by the shy young metis. They will never understand how one such as her resulted from the abuse suffered at their hands. She should be a rage filled killing machine..
[…wait…]
…not the respectful, oh so shy, quiet redhead standing before him in her human skin.
She takes a steadying breath, and then…
“I request a chair fallenge.” A fair challenge.
Bold, indeed.
ST:
The cold expression on the elder Fianna’s face doesn’t falter with TongueTwister’s request. He stabs a finger towards the Deedstone, his voice deadly flat.
“You were given a challenge, cliath. You’re alive. Finish it. “
[MOAR ROLLING!
[DeedStone] [I OWN this desert, bitches!]
[Rory] [IRSCARED!]
[DeedStone] [carving is a roll of str + crafts. dif 6 for claws/hand carving. dif 8 for muzzle/teeth carving. It requires 12 sux to make a deep and lasting mark, and any roll resulting in failure increases the difficulty by 1. Botch on any attempt and the mark is ruined.]
[Rory] She blinks, and then snaps her gaze to the stone. And back to him. Before she glances down, and lets her curls hide the little smile. Alright then. She melts into hispo, once more, and approaches the stone.
[Ok, here we go. Roll numbah one!]
Str+crafts+hispo=11 – 1 (wounded) = 10 diff 8 for teeth+wp
DO NOT BE A BITCH KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8) [WP] Re-rolls: 2
[Rory] [Oh you WHORE.]
AGAIN.
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 7, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 8) Re-rolls: 2
[Rory] Better. DO NOT BE A WHORE KAHSEENO!
AGAIN.
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 9 (Failure at target 8)
[DeedStone] [it occurs to Rory that this would be alot easier if she could do this by hand. Which would require either a tooth, or a claw. in her hand. Too bad she doesn’t have any of either of those >.>….
to Rory
[Rory] She narrows her gaze, slightly, and steps back. And then? Does the unthinkable.
She rips out her own damn tooth.
[str diff 7, +wp!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 10 (Success x 2 at target 7) [WP]
[Rory] Alrighty – now, by HAND.
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 8, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 7)
[Rory] you WHORE.
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 7) Re-rolls: 3
[Rory] You motherfuckin WHORE!
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 6 at target 7) [WP]
[DeedStone] [Finally! Success!] ]]
Rory:
She blinks, and then snaps her gaze to the stone. And back to him. Before she glances down, and lets her curls hide the little smile. Alright then.
bold, yeah?
Yeah.
She melts into Hispo once again, and steps to the stone. Maw open wide, she makes a testing mark, her jaw strong, honed by years of use as a primary weapon. Even so, that first mark barely makes a dent as she tests the strength of a stone that has seen decades of deeds marked into it’s face. Then, she steps back. And narrows her gaze, a growl low in her throat, before she does the unthinkable.
She digs a claw into her own jaw, snarling with the pain that flairs, setting her jawbone on fire as she riiiiiiiiiiippppppppppppppps a tooth right out of her maw.
She’s trembling, then, even as she steps in, and marks again. And again. And again. And faster than most would believe, she leaves her mark.
Legible.
And spelled correctly.
[…she will have to thank Edwin, when she sees him, for teaching her how…]
She steps back, and spits a mouthful of blood to the side, and studies her mark.
Rory.
It is not the name they willingly gave her. It is not the name they call her, when they deign to call her anything. But it is what her parents would have called her. It is a gift from a Gallaird that also saw fit to drag her out from under the sun. It is her name. Hers.
ST:
He’s standing behind her when the Metis turns around. Hands loose at his sides, eyes narrowed thoughtful not on Rory herself, but on the word she had carved in child’s script across the sun warmed surface of sacred stone.
Twin shadows flank the elder, garou approaching from either side. They’d been watching from the shade of the hills, the only others to witness Rory’s deed. There are the passing murmurs of conversation, and the fiery eyed elder steps forward.
“You’ve found your rank. That on the rock there’s the last we’ll be seeing of you here. Let them call you Sgian-Dubh, if they must call you anything at all. Now off with you. Afore sundown.”
Backs are turned as one. The trio doesn’t leave, instead they wait in stony silence for the redhead to depart. No one had witnessed Rory’s determination save these three, and they don’t discuss it – but her name was etched deep and lasting , a part of the sept itself, for all they cared to deny it. There, set in stone. A name stolen, borrowed, traded for a name earned and freely given. Perhaps that’s all that she’d come for in the end.
[* all the pertinent combat and carving rolls etc have been kept in a transcript. They’ll kick around for a month before I let them disintegrate with the rest. Thanks to Kenna for rolling Dahgda’s Might in combat.]
Rory:
She waits. Quietly. She doesn’t fidget, really. She doesn’t do anything other than watch them through lowered lashes, respectful to the last. Slender homid fingers, fragile looking and pale, turn the tooth – her tooth – over and over in her hand as she waits, blood covered, injured, exhausted, and hardly daring to hope.
Then, the verdict. And then her head comes up, her eyes showing her surprise, her head tipping slightly as she takes in the name. She will ask Patrick what it means for sure. Or Kora. Someone who knows the language.
For now, she rolls it around in her mind… Sgian-Dubh. ski-en du.
Fostern.
He shoos her off, and they turn their back as one, shunning her, ignoring her, making her know that she is banished for good, that this is the last time they will set eyes on her disgusting metis form. And so they miss it. They miss the smile. A full, unabashed, delighted, proud, beautiful smile.
She closes her fingers around the tooth and shoves it into her pocket, and then she moves to her pack and snatches it up. She slips it over her shoulders, and turns her head to look at the deed stone, one last time, burning the image of her name there – lasting and real and unforgettable – one final time. Then, a nod. She sends a look into the desert where she last saw the Galliard, Foggerty’s Jig, and then back to the Deed Stone in silent victory.
And then, without a word, she begins the long walk back, going away from the place where she was raised, and headed to Chicago once again.
Sgian-Dubh is finally headed home.
~~~~~~~~
[Thank you for STing, Punkin! And Kenna too for helping out! Awesome scene, one I expected to fail all the way through! AWESOME!]