If you're having pet problems I feel bad for you son...

[rebel-wulf.livejournal.com]

Techné did not like the other hedgebeasts who were part of the motley at all.

First of all was the large black mountain of fur and stupid that liked to call itself King Kong. The size of a short horse and with a brain only capable of insect levels of insight and amusement, Kong was not simply a dog. Kong was a problem made manifest. His long, lank black fur was often caked in mud from his constant travelling with Millicent, small bits of thorn would often simply break in the tangled mess of hair rather then peirce the skin rather then accidentally infect themselves with the liquid stupid running through the beast's body that dared call itself blood. And that hat. That stupid. Irritating Sherpa hat that the blasted thing wore at all times. It was almost enough to drive a cat to demanding bigger tear ducts so that it could be driven to tears. Almost.
     Right now, the stupid creature had summoned some earth elementals that looked like a dogs-eye-view of the three members of the motley to rub its belly. The big dumb wide smile on the Mortar-elemental's face alone would have been enough to make him want to tear his own skin off, let alone the fact that the dog was willingly allowing mud and dirt to rub itself all over him. "HEY CAT" the stupid mongrel entreated his regal and beautiful ally. "YOU CAN COME GET BELLY RUBBINGS TOO BECAUSE YOU ARE MY FRIEND. THE DIRT IS YOUR FRIEND TOO". Techné shuddered visibly.
     "I would rather roll in my own puke. In fact, i think i'm going to go do that now." He hacked up a furball and spat it artfully at the dog, whereby the Otto-copy interposed its face. As the battery acid melted his 'owners' visage, Techné mused on the improvement before flicking his tail and lazily twisting his head to watch the other local village idiot.

Roric was, of all things, some sort of moronic lizard made out of metal and fire. An odd choice of companion for the stoic and ... well, more stoic Mortar, for where Mortar was... Stoic, Roric was often fairly flighty and with a mischevious cunning streak a mile wide. All power, no finesse like he had, however. Scales made out of burnished gold and a tongue made out of Lava obviously overheated what brain the little bastard had, since it often took to mimicking Mortar's personality whenever it felt bored enough to pretend to be an emotionless lump of rock. To the point, it was currently using its tail and rear legs to balance in an upright standing pose and making repeated solid strikes with its claws on a training dummy in the room that the Motley's Creatures (Kong preferred the group sobriquet 'THE SUPEREST BEST FRIENDS EVER', Roric without an opinion of the matter and Techné solidly of the 'If you lump me in with those two flaming retards again im going to shit in your eyesocket' school of thought) had taken up as somewhat of a 'Basecamp' in Neo Sanctuary. The only reason Techné hung around with the two idiots was because they had the wonderful side effect of terrifying the Cloven Brains Hobs or whoever they were from coming near him, which he was more then happy to take advantage of.

"SALMALA" Kong said quietly, trying to get Rorics attention and failing.
"No, try again moron." Techné encouraged.
"SLAMAMA?"
"Are you even trying? really?"
"SLAAA"
"Sal"
"SAL!"
"Ok, good, lets see if you can do the next part. Sal-A..."
"SAL-A"
"Mander"
"MAMBLER"
"Why can't i kill you just by thinking about it?" Techné scowled, flattening the only ear still on his head and flicking his tail, annoyed. He was, ultimately, not as handsome as he used to be. He'd lost an eye, apparantly, which had been replaced with a sub-par focusing lens which he couldn't close. He'd lost most of his jaw, which had been replaced with an equally shoddy metal replacement which fit his mouth badly and made him drool. Most of his digestive system had been replaced, for that matter, with the Hellish liquid abomination that Otto himself used to keep his arms running now he was out of Arcadia. His spine, now completely made out of metal, couldn't regrow skin so was entirely visible to anyone who cared to look at him - at least the stupid goblin had got that part right, and actually managed to make him more flexible then he was before the accident. One of his legs had almost completely been shattered, which some moron thought meant it needed hacking off unceremoniously and replacing. (Again though, he DID gain an opposable thumb... which was hilarious). In many ways, there wasnt much Ginger left on the old Tomcat's skin, but he was at least remarkably harder then he ever rememered being, which basically made him a god amongst cats.

"SALAMAMBLER DO YOU WANT RUBBINGS?!" Kong asked excitedly, flopping onto his side and then dragging himself to his feet, bounding over and nearly sending the cat-sized Salamander runt flying with his nose bashing into the back of the reptile's head. "Cant hear you" Roric pointed out, cupping a clawed 'hand' to the side of its head.
     "DO YOU WANT RUBBINGS I LIKE RUBBINGS OR MAYBE SCRATCHES MAN I LOVE SCRATCHES"
     "Can't hear you" Roric pointed out a second time, turning slightly. "Speak up"
     "D..." Was all the chance that the tiny salamander needed, belching a fireball into the massive dog's face and and setting Kong's fur on fire, the dog's head wreathed in flames.
     "WHY DO I FEEL WARM?" The dog asked dumbly.

Techné merely slammed his paw into his own forehead, repeatedly, and made a mental note to build some better friends.

Forsaken background

[annwfyn.livejournal.com]

( Background for a possible new Forsaken PC. Still open for ties and scenes prior to game )

In the name of the Mother, In the name of the Father and in the name of the Shotgun, Amen.

[rebel-wulf.livejournal.com]

The metallic tang of silver in my mouth reminds me why i'm here and why i'm doing this.
My heart beating like a gorilla on a drumkit reminds me exactly why I shouldnt.

I'm sitting down on the floor with my mum's old shotgun cradled in my hands trying to regulate my breathing through my nose so i'm not announcing to the world where i'm hiding with panicked breath. In my mouth, out of nervous habit, i've got her holy symbol resting where it wont get snagged on something and ripped off from my neck. A wolf, howling against a moon - i can feel the familier grooves resting underneath my tongue, comforting yet uncomfortable.

This used to be her job. Hunt down the Reavers - the things that cross the wall of reality to prey on mortal men and women. They wear them like disguises, but their presence warps the flesh of men and turns them into demons. They become claimed, and they are one of the worst kinds of monster. Her holy warriors have much bigger problems to deal with then the smaller ones, the ones that are still part mortal... the ones who you can see in peoples eyes sometimes.

Thats why i'm here. Theres a thing living inside a man who used to be a construction worker. I got lucky this one time - I bounce between jobs a lot and recently, i've started working for a firm based in Bas-Vegas. I got the itch as soon as i saw his face, like the skin down my spine was being sliced slowly with something sharp but not-quite-sharp enough from top to bottom, like i was getting hollowed out to be worn. Happens every time, my mother got the same feeling and so did hers. Couldn't quite tell what it was that was inside him until i'd followed him to his little house and watched his hands grow chainsaw links along his fingers as he meticulously destroyed antique furnature. I hate the ones that can hide themselves, those are the worst. Smart enough to protend to be a real person. It should be opening its front door soon, any second now.

I grip the handle of mum's shotgun and try not the clench my teeth around the chain as i place my thumb against the open screaming mouth on its side, pressing my flesh into the sharp teeth and dragging my thumb across the old rowan stock, two lines of blood streaking across it like go faster stripes as i mutter a prayer to the Wolf and the Moon.

"In the name of the mother, In the name of the father and of my family. Grant me an indulgance as i work this sacred duty, grant me a measure of your loving light. For yours is the hunt that protects the walls and yours is the light that illuminates wickedness. Grant me this chance to prove my love and my worth, that i may serve you better." I spread the blood in all the cracks of the designs, just like my mother taught me, until i feel the bastard awaken in my palms and i hear the scream in his head as the Moon-Mothers dictum forces it to do as it was bound to, any traces i've left behind dissolving like ether in the air. Just to make sure, i pull out a hair and watch it dissolve. I give my thanks. "Amen".

Then i set about my holy work.

The face in the mirror [werewolf the forsaken]

[connororeilly.livejournal.com]

[Nov. 14th, 2011|06:16 pm]
Cody had never considered himself a vain man, well not in the traditional sense but he liked to think of himself as rugged looking, a bit rough round the edges, a face that told a story, but the new scars he had on his face told a horror story. He traced his hand down the four scars that ran from his hair line down across the left side of his face and clear down his neck.

It was hard to think how close he had come to death, if he had switched to Hishu instead of Urshul after the fight had finished he would have died. It would have been a good death but not quite good enough, not in his eyes. He flashed a grin at the mirror and flinched at the face that grinned back at him, He used to like his smile it showed the side of him that wasn't Thu Ibru, the side of him that used to be a good father and a loving husband, it was the smile he had given his children when they had done something he approved of, it was the smile that he shared with Valentina in the quiet moments of the night when the kids were in bed and they snuggled up on the sofa in front of the fire.

The thoughts of his family made him turn away from the mirror, They were gone now, and so was the smile he shared with them. He wondered what they would think of the way he looked now. Still he was lucky a few Rahu recently hadn't returned from battle, Hayden and Harm both lost in battle yet he had survived. Mother Luna had other things in mind for this warrior, he was sorry he had missed Harm's funeral but had made arrangements with Jala to go to the Cairn and pay his respects. still if things kept going the way they were he'd see them soon enough.