Ahead, there was a monster.

This much was true.

A defiant light in the now-encompassing darkness, the pair - canid in their wiles and thoughts and hunting down the monster, made their way into the darkness with no real light to speak of. There was only the smell and sound and tactile sensations that came and went like fleeting dreams. The tap-tap-tap of canid nails tapping on the stone underfoot. A brief rustle of fur against a warm breeze. And a scent - curled up in the familiar scent of your packmate's but altogether foreign from it.

In the dark pockets where there existed no sound and no scent, there were only questions. They filled the mind and races past the ears. Was this the right path? What lie ahead? Would you even survive this hunt?

[Private to Feathers: Please make a Willpower roll, difficulty 8. PM me the results. ]

There was a growl from the dark. Low and snarling and coming from your packmate-to-be, Feathers. At first, it seems like something has alerted him to a presence. Something shifts and rustles.

Lonnie can feel a breath of hot air. The familiar growl, in the black, is right in front of your face. It grew upward. Flesh shifted in the dark.

Before Lonnie can respond, before a hair's breadth of a second passes, Lonnie can feel long claws lifting him up by the neck and torso. Sharp, shark-tooth claws dig into his flesh and muscle and scrape against his collarbone and shoulders. Then, he was lurched to the side and weightless, thrown.

His landing was anything but graceful.

There was a crack of skull against rock as Lonnie's body smacks hard against the stone walls of the tunnel and he falls gracelessly to the ground beneath in a heap.

A sharp inhale of breath was all Lonnie could muster in the next very brief moment that passed. It was a sharp and ragged breath, like a gasp of air after being underwater for far too long. The pain was excruciating and seared through his entire nervous system like lightning and fire. Lonnie could smell his own blood.

[Private to Lonnie -Crash Test- Jenkins: You'll take Lethal damage, leaving one health box open. (Sorry)]
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:41, Wed 20 Mar 2019.

"Guess this time I'm the butt of the joke..well done..Trickster.." Thge thought floating thru the little concious thought that Lonnie can muster, and it's barely a thought..more like words that happen to go together that meet in the pool of wetness that is his mind as it tries to both asses all that is wrong and to hide from it...

Darkness..so many shades..he can't be sure what is real and what isn't..what is the darkness of where he landed and what is the his mind shutting down to hide from the pain, the agony..so deep..sharp that it's almost pleasurable..

Part of him wants to cry, yet there is no energy for the tears, no wetness..

It would be so easy to just lay there, to give up..to sink into that which is hovering at the edge of his mind..calling to him..to go where there is no pain..

and yet he can't..won't..

For is not the ultimate trick the one played on Death itself?

and his eyes close, at least it feels like they do, it is all the same to him..and he tries..doing his best to pull air into what is left of his lungs, past the shattered cage that holds them..pushing with all he has..to howl..to the Spirit of his people..to all Nuwisha that have gone before him, that tho they are inviting him, he's not going to take his seat at the ultimate gaming table..

and he pushes as hard as he can to shift..to change..needing to try heal at least enough to survive..

There is a sudden surge of electricity that powered sickly orange lights from a nearby hanging bulb revealing Feathers in Garou form. Hulking and standing nearby, facing Lonnie. His claws are covered in blood. Lonnie's blood.

There is a brief look of confusion that passes over Feather's face before it is taken by something else. The rotted flesh that covered his chest, revealing flayed flesh and ribcage, had crawled upward to contort and twist away at his face. One cheek rotted, as if by Wyrm taint. Feathers looks down at his hands and his head tilts. Then, when Lonnie makes a subtle movement, his eyes flicker upward and he snarls.

And then, darkness again.

The steps came closer to the fallen and broken coyote. This may be the end. The lights flicker on once more in a flash just as Feathers begins to leap toward Lonnie. Fangs bared through graying flesh and matted fur. Claws extended through knobby fingers.

The lights continue to flash and everything became confusion. As Feather's hot breath comes down upon Lonnie, there is a sudden yelp of pain as something reaches out from the darkness ahead. Something wet and black and shining in the flickering light. It wraps around Feather's skull and between his jaws. Another protrusion snaps outward from the darkness and cracks around the claw that was coming down upon Lonnie, tightening with a crack of bone. Feathers strains and grunts as he attempts to fight whatever it was that had caught him. He pulls, gaining only a few inches with the supreme effort before the darkness wins out, pulling Feathers off his feet and into the tunnel ahead.

A splash of warm blood sprays across Lonnie's face with a loud, echoing. yelp from the darkness. There were wet sounds, then. Cracking bones and the sounds of thick liquids spraying against hard stone.

More blood..as if he wasn't wet enough..this thankfully not his even as it mingles with that flowing from his wounds, confusion taking over him, nothing making sense..

"More tricks? what..." his thoughts trailing off in a wave of relief and if he dares to admit it to himself, a kind of sorrow, not that he wants to die, yet it would end the agony he's in..

His body failing, his mind seems to sharpen in a way, as it tries to make any kind of sense of what is happening..

"A friend trying to kill me...whatever was in front of us..could it..is it what saved me..were we wrong?"

Too many thoughts..too much thinking..

and again he tries to move hair in lungs that scream at him, that don't want to work..as he tries to push a howl thru his mangled body...to Crow..to those he's been traveling with..or to Gaia herself..but someone is going to hear him..if only to see how this trick..this game...turns out.

Blathnaid would come slowly upon a scene not unlike that of a horror movie. A single, dim bulb flickering overhead and swinging slowly. The walls were not just composed primarily of bone and skull, but the walls, the floor and the arching ceiling was nothing but weathered bone. Blood was splattered everywhere, and there was a single, massive, crimson drag mark leading off into the darkness beyond. And, against the eastern wall, was Lonnie - barely moving and slumped. His face covered in blood, both his own and following the spatter of spray around him. He appeared broken - his breath wheezing through a punctured lung. His neck and shoulders mauled by claws. His collarbone protruding.

Ahead, in the blackness, something was eating. The sound echoed through the corridor.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:53, Thu 21 Mar 2019.

In the flickering light Plur-na-Fuil tensed, not in fear, though these scenes of horror did frighten her, but as a predator waiting for just the right moment to strike. She felt oddly at peace. Flower-of-Blood so named for her ability to take worse beatings then she had business surviving and looking good even covered in blood. She should have been born Nuwisha for the kind of wisdom she was about to show.

She didn't know what kind of Wyrm creature this thing was. She wasn't even certain Devourer or Corrupter. She was certain it could out run her if she had to carry Lonnie, but it sounded like it was distracted. She hoped by Feathers tearing it a new arse. She hoped the strobing light would dull it's senses. She hoped the seconds of confusion these would cause would get her enough distance to leave it's territory, and maybe get the foolish coyote back to the safety of the pack. That was the timing she used and went from crouch to sprint quick as traction would allow. Hispo was the right form for this. She took the Nuwisha like a pup in a mother's mouth hoping her familiar scent would keep him from squirming too hard to escape, and soon as she had a grip planned to bolt towards the exit she came in through.

He jumps when he feels her presence..or would if anything was working right, his every breath a gurgling wheeze, his voice cracking as much from shock of what has happened as from the pain and damage.."Feathers...did..this..attacked me..tried..to..kill..me...what..whatever that..is..took him...saved me...but..ate..him..I..think"

He braces himself for whatever he is about to do, hoping it's to help him..part of him dreading the next few moments in case it's not..relief washing over him when it seems she's still one of the good guys..

"Not sure I'd have liked yet another of these tricks..or could have dome much about it anyway..but..whatever to you are..no matter how this turns out...thanks for saving me.." his thoughts clearish, yet with a tinge of hysteria...or maybe that's just him being him...sometimes even he can't tell.

(Y'all make it back with no issue, the sound of sloppily eating, wet splashing against stone and bones crushing fading into the darkness behind you. I'll post y'all back into the main thread!)

If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied
And illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs
If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:51, Sat 23 Mar 2019.