Ivan Press

[Something clever] Fact
Ivan Press has fourteen other things he could be doing right now aside from acquiring a fetish for Bleeding Heart. Two of those things are identical and red-haired.

Fact
Getting that fetish- which didn't seem to be particularly useful or particularly awe inspiring- had been entirely too easy to track down. His journeys took him to an office, and from that office into the umbra. Leaving with the box was easy enough. Who knows, maybe the Silver Fang even pulled an Indiana Jones and replaced it with a near identical item.

Who knows.

It's not important.

What is important, however, is the fact that Ivan's aware (because you have to be aware if you're a good scout) that he has limited time and that he might have been followed.

The umbral landscape of the city is full of tall, but largely insubstancial buildings. there is glass and cracks in the sidewalk and the air literally crackles with electricity. There are gremlins in the street lights, with large eyes and the shadows of cars passing through. It's where we open the scene. On the streets in the umbra, with a mission half accomplished.

[Resplendent] Fact
Ivan is -- well, not quite a coward, but reluctant to risk his regal neck, shall we say? Occasionally errant flares of honor, or perhaps parental nagging, leads him to rouse himself to do something for the Nation, but when that happens he'd much rather be the advance scout, the one that sneaks in and out and then hands the whole messy business over to some lowbred Ahroun to handle.

Fact
This is not one of those situations. This is him on a mission, alone, no backup, no room for error. He may have been followed. He: who could all but fade to a shadow at will. He: who could crack goddamn fort knox if he really wanted to. That means whoever's tailing him is good. Really good. That means he might actually be in danger right now.

Fact
He's not terribly happy with this.


Ivan rode his Ducati tonight. He's wearing a fullbody motorcycle suit outside his clothes. It's warm enough -- or rather, simply not-freezing-cold enough -- for him to wear only those two layers: jeans and a v-necked tshirt inside; the thick, padded motorcycle suit outside. The latter is uniformly black, and the retrieved fetish is a heavy, solid weight against his ribs, under the cushioned gear. It feels oddly warm. Something even warmer clings to it: a tiny white mouse, curled securely against the Ragabash's heartbeat.

Slipping out of the tower of glass and steel -- impossibly high here in the umbra, crackling with electricity -- Ivan looks left. He looks right. He feels like he's in Tron's cyber-world. He pulls his gifts around him like a shroud and starts to move, keeping to what few shadows there are in this glistening, weavercast world. His bike is three blocks away, where the Gauntlet begins to thin enough for him to cross safely. Once he's on that thing, he's home free.

[Scent of Running Water: active!
-1 WP: Resist Pain!
-1 Gn: Eye of the Falcon!
and rolling Blur: Manip + Stealth + 1(mouse!)]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 6, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[Resplendent] [sneakifying! dex + stealth + 1(mouse) +1(twister tagalong!)]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 4, 5, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2

[Resplendent] [percep+alert - everything but sight]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Resplendent] [percep + alert, sight (-1 diff from eye of the falcon)]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 2 at target 5)

[Something clever] [It's like tag, only better. I'm hiding!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 6, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Something clever] [And looking for things. Do you see my looking-ie lookingness? Per+alert, -2 lupus, +1 blur
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 5, 8, 8, 8 (Success x 4 at target 5)

[Something clever] The Gauntlet will be thin enough for Ivan to cross over a few blocks away, and he knows that if he can get there, this will all be easier. Being tracked outside of the umbra is harder than it is here. At least when humans are looking, they aren't actually seeing anything. [Keep your head down, don't look]. They'll no doubt leave his bike alone. Home free and he can get back to his damned day.

He still isn't sure where his tail might be, or if his evasion was actually successful. What Ivan notes is the occasional paw print, the occasional chitter of banes- he's a Silver Fang. People pay attention to them. Things pay attention to them. The electricty cracks around him, and masks the tracks of a would-be pursuer unwittingly.

The city seems at once too loud and too quiet.

... and he's two blocks away from his bike.

[Resplendent] The Ragabash has been doing this long enough to know that sneaking isn't about putting effort into it. That's usually counterproductive. It's a more subtle art. It's all about looking ahead. Being aware of one's surroundings. Being aware of one's body, but trusting one's body, also, to know how to move. Where to step. What not to step on. How to duck around those bars of light; how not to startle when an errant spirit of electricity bursts into plasma inches away.

Every now and then, he stops. He listens. He looks. He looks every which way, searching for his tail -- he can't find him. Maybe he's just being paranoid. But no. He's been doing this long enough, too, to trust his instincts. Those same instincts -- amped up by his borrowed temporary totem -- are whispering to him.

He's being followed. His bike is two blocks away, he has the fetish, the mission is halfway complete

but he'd being followed.


All at once it's not a slim young man walking these unbelievable streets. It's a lean white wolf-man, a crinos form as rangy and powerful as a mountain cat. And without hesitation, he starts climbing.

[Resplendent] [dex+stealth again! crinos!]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Resplendent] [percep + alert! everything but sight.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Resplendent] [sight!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 5, 5, 8 (Success x 3 at target 5)

[Something clever] [I'm still hiding!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 4, 5, 8, 9, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Something clever] [but I can totally find you!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 4, 6, 7, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 5)

[Resplendent] [climb! -2 for perfect balance.]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 4)

[Something clever] They've both done a good job of evading one another. One ragabash- the one who is silvery white and shines and has been graced with all of the gifts of Gaia- keeps to the backways. Shifts to crinos, and still manages to keep hidden pretty well. From his higher vantage point, Ivan can see his pursuer.

They are nothing alike. One is light, the other is dark and sickly. Has a mad, offsettling look in its green eyes. The wolf is mroe grey than brown, more brown than black, and more black than green... because-

Well, now, Respelndent Dusk has seen Black Spiral Dancers before. He knows what they look like. The wolf, it seems, has lost its senses and doesn't seem to realize that it's not wise to stand out in the middle of the open and stare at the big, white-furred ball of breeding that has his damned fetish.

The wolf chuffs in displeasure, then shifts up.. up... up again to crinos. Ivan can practically hear the irritation in the Spiral's scent and taste the look on his face.

[Resplendent] And so their hands are tipped.

Ivan grins, sharp points and fierce curvature. A fierce, savage sort of joy grips him. The white wolf can't really stay hidden, clinging to the side of a skyscraper as he is. The dark wolf can't either, standing in the middle of the goddamn street. Resplendent Dusk waves jauntily at his counterpart. It's very likely one of them will die tonight, but there's no reason not to be a gentleman, is there?

The dark wolf snarls with irritation and starts to climb. Laughing to himself, the white wolf continues upward, his dexterity inhuman, his balance godlike. Up, and up, and up.

Here in the Umbra, the city is a living thing. Factory row resounds with the clank of machinery, the hiss of steam, work-songs from an age long past. The docks smell of commerce and fish. This land, downtown, is a fever-dream of glass and steel and awe-inspiring height. Every skyscraper is a needle that scratches the heavens, shrouded in webs that glisten like diamond nets.

He's looking for a place where those threads stretch from one building to the next - light as carbon fiber, strong as titanium alloy, tensile as the best steel. High up, where wind spirits rip at the fur - where one misstep leads to an unpleasant dive toward a sea of concrete.

[climb some more!]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 3, 5, 6, 6, 6, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 8 at target 4)

[Resplendent] It should be mentioned:

the fetish is held gently in his teeth, like a pirate with his knife. And the mouse is riding his shoulder, clinging to his fur.

[Something clever] The Spiral just rolls its eyes and heads up the building. If he was going to think about it, he would just watch the Silver Fang becuase my god-

There's no bounds to how insanely good he is at scaling buildings and doing things that he shouldn't be capable of use to that too perfect balance of his. He heads up the walls, and the spiral barely has his claws in the building by the time that the Silver Fang is at the top.

The building, it should be noted, groans and creaks under his grasp and the rooftop seems to sway under his feet. It gives him no trouble, though. Even if mouse is chittering in his ear, saying whatever it is that mouse says.

[Up the way!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]

[Resplendent] Mouse is probably expressing extreme concern and anxiety over being up so high. In such a bright, clear, exposed place. Without nice shadows and grasses and dirt and fuzz to hide amongst.

Ivan ignores his tiny totem's chittering, though, pulling himself up the side of the building so smoothly, so quickly, that he may as well be running on flat ground. His claws sink into the quasireal substance of the walls. Tiny spiders rush to repair the damage as soon as he moves on. When he climbs to an impassable ledge -- he merely leaps sideways, building to building, and continues upward.

Soon he's a hundred, a hundred twenty feet off the ground. And there he slows. The Dancer is far, far below him. If Ivan were a more uncouth sort of Ragabash, he might lift his leg and urinate on his unfortunate counterpart now -- but he's not. He has style. He has class. He straightens, standing on a narrow ledge, scattering a few sleeping pigeon-spirits as he edges to the side of the ledge

and then over it. From below, it looks like he's standing on thin air. He's supported by those impossibly thin, impossibly strong threads of the Weaver, though -- big hindpaws spread wide, tail moving this way and that to help maintain his flawless balance.

Another glance down. His opponent is still climbing, infuriated. Ivan has time. He looks around. He finds a place, a terribly fragile cradle of weaversilk, where he can place the fetish. Easily within reach should he decide to cut those threads and let the fetish fall. Perfect.

Fetish secured, opponent closing, Resplendent Dusk draws his deadly, angular, lightlessly black knives. He waits.

[Resplendent] [gnosis - grab the web!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Resplendent] [dex+ath: throw!]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 6, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2

[Something clever] [ACK!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 4, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[Something clever] There isn't so much a sound as there is... well... a lack of sound.

Ivan is careful, because somewhere along the line he had a plan. A good plan. A very good plan- there's no real reason to engage in combat unless necessary. No reason to cause undue stress, because really? Really? It's a waste of energy. Waste of time. Waste of resources. Ivan has better things he could be doing right now than dealing with some Black Spiral Dancer who, as it seems, is having a bad day. Or, more accurately, Resplendent Dusk has simply outclassed.

Who could blame him, really? It's not hard. This is a Silver Fang we're talking about here.

So, he moves ever so carefully, and takes a strand of the pattern web- something that hasn't been tied off, or something that has frayed enough that the spiders haven't had time to go deal with it. He takes it and, very carefully, throws it down. The spiral either doesn't notice or moves the wrong way.

Whatever it is, Ivan's now prey has a noose around his neck (literally) and finds himself half tangled in the web with a few options: he can stay put and be a sitting target, or thrash and alert the spirts more quickly of their error.

Both parties know how the weaver feels about disorder.

"Well fucking played."

[Resplendent] So another Silver Fang - standing there on the webs between two buildings, weapons in hand, hands at ease - another Silver Fang would be waiting for his opponent to come to him. An honorable duel. A test of combat prowess and balance and wits, like some storybook knightly challenge of old.

Maybe that's what this Dancer's expecting. That's not what he gets.

As soon as the Dancer steps off the edge of the building and onto those lovely, glittering webs, Resplendent Dusk moves almost too quickly to be seen. Just a flick of the arm. Just an arc of weaversilk soaring gracefully across the distance. Just a snap of the wrist, and the silk pulls tight, entangles the Dancer where he stands.

Fifteen feet away, balanced on webwork, the Fang bares his teeth, a sickle grin. He sketches a bow.

"Why, thank you. Now kindly hold still and die, will you?"

-- he leaps at his counterpoint, knives drawn.

[Something clever] [Dude: 8+1d10]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

[Resplendent] +9!
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6

[Something clever] There are things people tell you about combat, and they all go out the window when you can't really move. his first concern, his most immediate concern, is breaking free. The Spiral Can't very well deal with his opponent, or expect an escape really, if he can't move. What he's actually doing, however, is drawing attention.

[1: GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS (breaking webs, gotta beat the gauntlet rating (8) in successes in order to successfully break out completely.
r1: Seriously. GTFO.]

[Resplendent] 1a. get behind poor wriggling prey
b. backstab!
R1. again!
R2. again!

[Resplendent] [oh god don't fall...]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 6, 6, 6, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 4) Re-rolls: 2

[Something clever] [WANT OUT! Dex+brawl, diff 8]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 8) [WP]

[Something clever] [damage]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Something clever] [no soak for you, pattern web!]

[Resplendent] 1b. stabbity! from behind!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 3) Re-rolls: 2

[Resplendent] [damage +6!]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 4, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Resplendent] [fuck. sorry. -3!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 3) Re-rolls: 1

[Resplendent] [STOPPIT WITH THE ONES. dam +2]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Something clever] [OW! STOPPIT!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 6, 7, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Resplendent] R1!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 11 at target 3) Re-rolls: 4

[Resplendent] [i'm so splitting this damage up. 7+10!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 5, 5, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Resplendent]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Something clever] [Soak?]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Something clever] R1: OUT NOW! (-2 dice)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 7 (Botch x 1 at target 8)

[Something clever] [Ow, don't hurt yourself kiddo]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Something clever] [seriously?]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 6, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Resplendent] R2. That was so sad. I would cry tiny tears of pity except I'd rather STAB.
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 7 at target 3) Re-rolls: 1

[Resplendent] [dam +6!]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Something clever] [ ; _ ; ]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Something clever] [I think this constitutes a rage back? I think?]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 3, 5 (Success x 1 at target 8) [WP]

[Something clever] The Silver Fang is... graceful isn't the word for it, because that would imply that this had the quality of a dance to it. There is nothing rhythmic about it, though admittedly his movements require artistry. When his opponent is clawing away at the webs, sending ripples through the pattern web and telling the Weaver that her deisgn is imperfect, and it's all that thrashing that does the biggest damage-

because, had he not been prey to such an obvious [wounded pride speaking- the Silver Fang had been clever to use his environment, make no mistake] trap, he wouldn't be in this mess. And it's proof positive that one mistep in battle makes the difference between going home and staying on the battle field.

Or, in this case, in the pattern web. It's fortunate, really, that Ivan stabs him solid, between the third and fourth rib and he punctures a lung. he Spiral half chokes out a roar and lashes out at what is holding him. he does more damage than he needs, sending whatever ripped shards of the pattern web into his own flesh, further cementing himself into his predicament.

Insult to injury, Ivan drags his knife across the Dancer's throat. Leaves him bleeding and gasping, and the world goes black, but not red.

The form should be lashing out at Ivan, but there is only the injured stillness that comes with narrowly surviving. There is only the imperfection that the Weaver despises.

[Resplendent] Oh, he's a clever, clever thing, this lean smirking silver shadow of a wolf. His heart is pounding with the wicked joy of it all, his veins hot with the rush of most unfair combat. No Ahroun, this one, reveling in an evenly-matched and ferocious battle. This suited him just fine.

The mouse on his shoulder, a far more timid creature than he, squeaks a warning. The Ragabash's lean head snaps around, keen, looking into the distance. Silver shapes amidst the crackle and glitter of the downtown Penumbra. Too many tremors on the web. The Weaver was coming.

For a moment - cruel - Ivan thinks of leaving the Dancer right where he is. Let him be calcified in place. Locked there for all eternity. But then - not out of mercy, but out of pragmatism - he thinks better of it. Such an enemy could still be dangerous. Who knows; something might malfunction. He might be released. He might be repurposed, turned to the Weaver's bidding.

No. Better to be safe. The knife slides in under the ribs quick as a viper, smooth as silk. The great dark heart of the beast convulses once and ceases to beat.

Resplendent Dusk withdraws the knife. He wipes those angular, dark wedges of violence clean on his opponent's fur, then slips them away. A flick of a claw severs those thin webs holding the stolen fetish in place, and Dusk tucks it back between his white teeth as he turns to go. There's something poetic about leaving a dead body entangled in webs: almost like a little present for the ultimate spider-queen. He thinks about leaving a message. This should buy me one get-out-of-jail-free card! He thinks better of it. The Weaver doesn't bargain. It homogenizes.

And unless he wanted to be homogenized, it was time to get scarce.