A Prelude to the Howl: Bastian DeWitt (Nicholas Vaughn)

A full moon cast its silent light upon the broad shoulder's of the man's thick leather jacket. He stood in the paved parking lot outside "The Dutchman" hands clasped behind him in a semi-military pose. His chin rose with the wind. Even from afar one could see that he cut a handsome profile.

Crash of Thunder sniffed at the soft spring breeze and pursed his lips. "It won't be long," he whispered to the moon above. He was a muscular man, imposing as a statue made to honor a fallen hero. One look at the heavy lines on Crash's face was all that was needed to see the heavy burden that weighed upon his shoulders. Despite chiseled appearance, cleft jaw, and good breeding, Crash of Thunder could not hide the signs of worry.

Behind him he heard the sounds of the doors being locked. Closing time. Finally.

Crash did not move. He knew full well that his protege would come to him. They would speak. An alpha did not give ground.

Instead, the powerful Rahu Storm Lord stood silent in his expensive leathers, a holdover of fashion from his previous pack. From Rachel. He wore them to honor her and made a big deal of his lack of desire for fashion. Truth be told, he had grown accustomed to the way she had dressed him. He liked looking good.

The wind shifted. The scent of another wolf approached.

"It won't be long."

“… and he said, ‘Oh man, that was the hottest slap I’ve ever gotten,’ before walking back to his friends,” she grinned and shook her head unconsciously while her hands finished up the rote task of locking up the bar.



Her raven hair was bound in a tight ponytail that hung down to the middle of her back. Even in the bland, artificial light from the street lamps, it held a striking contrast against the white fleece she wore. Her jeans and dark brown leather boots completed her typical attire. She took more after her Piute mother than her Dutch father, a genetic dice roll her younger brother had repeated.



“I mean, he’s probably not lying,” Bastian responded with a smirk while he watched her lock the door. A few months back, his eyes would have been scanning the empty streets for some hidden assailant. These days he didn’t worry about that too much. “It probably was pretty hot.”



Bastian towered over his sister at nearly seven feet tall. He was dressed in the fashion he adopted from his father and once-fellow colleagues of Arsenal Steelworks: flannel, denim, boots. Today’s choice had been a maroon and white pattern with sleeves he had chosen to roll up to his elbows. Winter in Arsenal was not a time to be without a jacket, but the bar was usually warm, and with the moon being what it was that night, the cold didn’t bother him. He had let his black hair grow out just a bit more than usual to help combat the cold, so he had something in the neighborhood of a crew cut that needed tending to.



Winona DeWitt turned her head sharply and gave her brother what he called ‘the evil eye.’ She could only hold it for a moment before she gave up and laughed. She turned the rest of her body and stepped forward toward the mountain that was her brother and stopped short, eyes narrowing.



Her brother read her body language in an instant and immediately regretted his hubris from just moments ago. He spun on his heels to face the same direction as his sister and discovered the man standing alone in the parking lot. Instinct was taking over and Bastian could feel his heart beating faster, his muscles seeming to flex on their own accord. With the full moon overhead, the fledgling Rahu felt a supernatural strength just on the cusp of being. All he had to do was let down his guard, and it would take over.



In the short second that all of this took place within Bastian, his sister’s brain instead took the time to acknowledge the statuesque man in front of them.



“Oh, hi there, Crash. Sorry if he’s a bit late. I kept distracting him with tales from Girls’ Night out at the Boot ‘n Rally. He’s all yours.” She reached forward slightly and grasped Bastian’s hand with hers, brought it up to lips, and gave it a soft kiss. It was a simple gesture, but enough to refocus Bastian's mind and quell his newer, more violent, instincts.



She let go and gave her brother a smile as she did a half-turn to face toward her parked car. “Have fun tonight. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she said without looking back, a knowing grin across her face.



The big man waited a moment and watched his sister get into her car. He wouldn’t wait to watch her drive away, he wasn’t that overprotective. Instead, he turned toward his mentor and closed the distance between the two.


“Nice night for a walk, eh?” he said, mimicking the other man and turning his head upward toward the full moon. He couldn’t help but smile when he looked up at Her. Bastian relished nights like these.

Crash of Thunder turned at the sound of Winona’s voice. The ghost of a smile played across his features. As Bastian approached, Crash allowed his eyes to linger just a moment too long on the sister as she walked away. An old joke rose to his lips regarding “breeding stock” that he didn’t have to speak out loud for Bastian to feel that rise of familial anger.

“Let’s go.”

The two large men turned away from the bar and began to walk towards the wood line far distant. Despite the fact that he towered over the other Rahu, Bastian followed Crash’s lead. The man was dominant because of his greater presence and power in the Tribe and the city.

“We hunt elk, tonight. But first there is something we must discuss.” Crash pushed down a barbed wire fence at the edge of a field and stepped over. He did not wait to hold it down for Bastian, a subtle sign of control and respect that the man could take care of himself.

“You have had your time to mourn and howl your grief. Your time to consider the mistakes of the past and move forward.” Bastian flinched inwardly as the elder Rahu spoke of old mistakes, dead wolves. “Those People, that pack, is no more. You aren’t responsible for anything but their memory.”

Crash turned to face the other Uratha just before the edge of the woods. “It is time you considered another pack. You could lead, and well. Or you could be a valued addition. No matter your role, ‘the wolf does not hunt alone.’”

“We will do this as wolves, tonight. We have each been too long in our human skin.” Bastian heard a low growl begin deep in the other man’s throat. Crash stalked forward into the trees and disappeared from view. Bastian knew that when he found him next, it would be on four legs, not two.

It didn't take Bastian long to disrobe, setting his clothes at the base of a tree and offering up only a minimal effort to fold them. With the full moon overhead, willing his body into Urhan Form took almost no effort.  The man was still reasonably new to the Uratha life, but he had quickly become accustomed to the sensations experienced when changing - and more importantly - he enjoyed them.

Where once there had stood a near seven foot tall man, there was now an unusually large coyote. Bastian had learned quickly that his animalistic side had taken inspiration from his Paiute blood. In a few moments when he met up with Crash once again, it would be clear that Bastian's ears and snout were more elongated, his nose less wide. He also sported copper fur along his snout and ears, though the bulk of his body would have similar black and beige coloration.

The heightened senses were Bastian's favorite part of Urhan. Though he was much lower to the ground than his usual height, the power of his new eyes and nose felt like they made height irrelevant. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Winnie's perfume still lingered in the air, though she was already in her Civic and down the road. Without looking, he knew exactly where on his jeans that tiny spill of Guinness had fallen hours before. A complex and vulgar smell invaded his nostrils. Homeless Dave was likely stumbling back from where ever he had been to sleep in The Dutchman's stoop. Bastian scrunched up his canine face and unconsciously shook his head, trying to rid himself of the smell.

His exceptional ears heard the padded footfalls of his mentor through the brush. Bastian opened his eyes and leapt forward, breaking into a jog. He kept the pace for less than half a minute. Enough time to break into a clearing, to once again bathe in Luna's full light. He let out a quick "yip" to inform his mentor that he was ready to begin the hunt. He suspected Crash would be amenable to this particular location to mark the true start of the night. It was an excellent spot to pay homage to their Lady up above.

Bastian was excited to try his hand, or mouth as it were, on some elk. He had yet to tackle such an impressive creature. He knew Crash well enough to know that tonight their quarry would be a bull. True wolves would seek the old, the lame, or the young. But we are not them. Two Uratha were more than a match for a bull elk, though Bastian suspected that Crash wanted the entirety of the hunt to be done in Urhan form. Good. It will challenge us. Demand teamwork. Precision.

The man/wolf/coyote paced around the clearing, not out of impatience or anxiety, but out of a mix of excitement and practicality. He was eager to begin the hunt, but also knew that he still took a minute or so to fully grasp the new bodily mechanics of Urhan. The short jog, the yip, the pacing, all of it helped him settle in to the new form. Crash had told him it wouldn't take long before all the forms felt natural. Just took time.

He heard the elder Rahu approach. Instinctively, Bastian sat his hind legs down and looked in Crash's direction as he broke the tree line. Now, he waited for the alpha to lead.

The alpha glided through the trees and came to a stop just before the wolf Bastian. Despite the alpha’s smaller size, it felt bigger, like a sword dangling overhead. It bared its teeth and let slip a low growl, a demand.

Come, it said, and raced away.

The two wolves sped through the undergrowth beneath an invigorating bath of light from the full moon. Its silvered rays gave strength to their legs, length to their strides, and a quietness to their step. They ran on all fours, pads barely touching the ground. They flew, like the eagle in the sky, a hawk diving down from on high.

Bastian heard the hard sniff from the alpha and broke hard to the right while his companion, not quite a packmate, broke left. His tongue fell out of his jaw, limp and hot. His breath came fast. They had chewed up the ground from urban jungle to rural clime with such celerity he could hardly remember the miles.

Suddenly, Bastian knew he must slow. He must stop. He must stalk. Something on the wind told him Crash did the same.

The wind changed and the scent washed over him like a hot shower. The elk, big and male and proud, was not far. But there was something else on the wind. Something…not right. It was not Man, exactly, but nor was it beast.

A piercing howl told him Crash was on the move once more. He must smell it, too. Taste it, it’s so strong.

Urum Da Takus. The Wolf Must Hunt.

But what do we hunt?

A single moment, a single scent, and the hunt had changed. The elk was secondary now. Something that should not be was lurking about. The notion excited Bastian rather than worried him.

Bastian howled in reply to Crash, and raced to follow. As he bounded along, slowly gaining ground on his mentor, his mind began imagining possible scenarios for what they might find at the source of this scent. He relished the thought of a fight against a foe worthy of two Uratha. He worked his brain around the transition from Urhan to Urshul, and with luck, from Urshul to Gauru. Bastian was never one to avoid a physical confrontation, but when wolfing about in the Full Moon, it was hard to get him not to.

The anticipation for what they would find was almost too much for Bastian to handle. He pushed himself to go faster.

Bastian and Crash came to the clearing on opposite sides of the massive elk. It was a big bull of a wapiti, proud and dangerous and regal. It stood there, eyes forward, and stared off into the distance in very un-elklike manner.

This was it. The source of the smell. It stank of piss. The scent brought to mind a giant king of fantasy looming over its subjects. It was the smell of dominance and demand. The smell of pride exuded as control.

The elk was Duguthim. It was Claimed.

By the strength of the smell, the spirit that rode within that massive form was no weakling. And it was proud. That the animal was Claimed was not entirely unusual. Spirits often found beasts to be easier prey than humanity. More easily controlled, at least.

But the scent was wrong, even for a spirit. There was a tangy ozone flavor in the mix. And metal, like steel, or iron. It struck Bastian then that was he was smelling was no mere spirit-claimed beast. It was a Magath. One of the bizarre and shunned outcasts of the spirit world.

Without entering the Hisil, the Shadow Realm, they would not know exactly what corrupted this creature. But it was unimportant.

A Magath could not be allowed to roam freely. It would spread, its resonance would spread to the larger herd. It would corrupt from within with its perverted existence.

And it was the duty of the Uratha to prevent such.

Bastian heard it; the warning growl. The great elk turned its head slowly in Crash’s direction. Bastian could see that the creature’s antlers and fur were laced with a sort of razor-fine metal. Like barbwire growing out of its body. It bristled and the substance oozed the piss-smell of dominance like a poison.

The Claimed beast prepared to attack. Crash had its focus.

Bastian was ready

Oh, my friend, you picked the wrong neighborhood. Bastian was overjoyed at the sight of the Magath. A hunt for an elk would be a fun exercise, but fighting a Magath? That was in his blood now. That was his job. His calling. His desire.

Bastian let slip his mental defenses against his primal urge and, in seconds, he had grown by over a foot and added considerable bulk to his form, assuming what the Uratha called "Urshul". He was somewhere in between a wolf and a wolf-man, and all the more vicious for it.

He moved deftly as he transitioned into the larger form and took position flanking the beast. Silently, he asked the moon above for clarity in the brawl to come and tensed his muscles, preparing to pounce and tear into the abomination.

GM Rolls:

Initiative
Razormind - 26
Crash - 18
Bastian - 17

Round 1:
The Claimed Elk does not see Bastian so he gets Flank bonus (no defense for the creature).

1. Razormind - Attacks Crash with its wicked antlers. Dice Pool: Str (9) + Brawl (1) + Damage (4) = 15L - (Defense 2) = 13L
Roll Results: 3

2. Crash (Urshul) - Testing Bite. Strength 6 + Brawl 4 10L - (Defense 3) + Armor 1 = 6L
Roll Results: 2

3. Bastian - Bite from surprise. 12L - (Armor 1) = 11L
Roll Results: 6





NPC Spirit: Magath

Razormind (Dominance/Pain/Steel)
Quote: <<Twist you up and MAKE you do what I say!>>

Background and Description: Razormind formed after a particularly heinous accident at one of the Arsenal steel factories that produced razor-wire and barbed wire. A man was caught up for hours, slowly bleeding to death in agonizing pain. Spirits of agony flooded around the spirits of steel. When the foreman came after the man was released and immediately demanded his workers go back to their jobs or be fired, a potent spirit of dominance consumed all the tiny Gafflings and merged with the steel.

Over the course of the next few months, Razormind caused more and more accidents until it was forced out by a pack of Forsaken. It fled into the wilderness and has been experimenting with taking command of dominant animals. It doesn’t matter what kind of animal, as long as it exerts an “alpha-like” sensation over others.

Rank: 3
Attributes: Power 9, Finesse 4, Resistance 9
Willpower: 18
Essence: 20
Initiative: 13
Defense: 9
Speed: 18
Size: 7
Corpus: 16
Influences: Pain *, Pride *, Steel *
Numina: Blast (Razorwire), Claim, Fearstruck, Living Fetter, Material Vision, Materialize, Reaching, Sense Weakness (Gift)
Ban: Unknown to PC at this time.

Razormind Elk (Duguthim)
Base Elk Traits + Razormind fully claimed
Mental: Intelligence 1 (3),  Wits 3 (4),  Resolve 3 (5)
Physical: Strength 5 (9),  Dexterity 3 (4),  Stamina 5 (10)
Social: Presence 3 (6), Manipulation 1 (3), Composure 2 (4)
Skills: Athletics 4, Brawl 1, Survival 2
Willpower: 5 (9)
Health: 14 (19)
Initiative:  5 (
Defense: 3 (4)
Armor: 1
Speed: 17 (23) (Species factor 10)
Size: 9
Synthesis: 2
Aspects: Immune to Pain **, Natural Weaponry (Razors) **** (Hidden Power **), Tough Skin (Razorwire) * (Hidden Power *)
Essence: 18 (20 max)
Attacks:
Hoof 3 (B) Dice Pool: Str (9) + Brawl (1) + Damage (4) = 14L
Antlers 5 (L)* Knockdown (p168) Dice Pool: Str (9) + Brawl (1) + Damage (4) = 15L

With the Demon-Elk's focus squarely on Crash, Bastian made his move.  He exploded forward, advancing with near-supernatural speed. In seconds, the beast knew he was there, but much like the prey animal it had ridden, the knowledge of the assault came too late for a reaction to follow.

The long coyote-esque snout of Bastian's dire wolf form slipped open, in what for a moment appeared to be a menacing grin, eventually widening to its full extent. He closed the distance between himself and the Magath and with all the strength of his transformed body, closed his jaws on the right hind leg of the elk's body.

He felt the teeth dig into seemingly rotten flesh. The taste was foul, the smell putrid. In any other circumstances, Bastian would have avoided the creature without hesitation. The mind inside the beast suppressed the revulsion stemming from the sensory inputs and refocused on the task at hand.

Bastian used his powerful jaws and massive teeth to tear deep into the creature's hide with enough force to likely rend a man's limb from his torso. The filth and corruption of the creature kept Bastian from wanting to maintain a hold on it with his mouth.

As he pulled his head away from the abomination and took a small, cautious step backwards, Bastian saw Crash on the opposite side of the Magath and noted he was also sporting his Urshul form. From their place in the clearing, Bastian could feel the warmth of the full moon's light. His soul was on fire now with the excitement of conflict with a corrupting spirit. He knew he could hold back the urge to go all out against the elk, but he saw little reason to now that the fight had started.

In a distinctly human moment, as Bastian prepared himself to let loose the full fury of a Rahu, from somewhere deep within his brain came a distinctive voice, followed quickly by a familiar guitar riff.

All aboard! Ahahahaha!

Crash flew backward from the force of the claimed beast’s antlers. His jaws were ripped and bloody, slit from the now-obvious razorwire protruding from the demon-elk’s body. The proud rahu rose up on all four legs and prepared to receive a coming charge, but when he gained his feet the situation had changed.

<<Wrap you up and rip your flesh from the bones, half-breed! Embrace you in pain and drink of your essence!>>

The magath’s words echoed back and forth across the clearing in the First Tongue. It had turned the lumbering elk towards Bastian.

<<Nothing will save you from bending the knee to RAZORMIND. Your flesh will serve this host as sustenance. I will MAKE it devour you whole.>>

Bastian had its full attention now. Crash saw his protégé make the choice and could have sworn he saw laughter in those dark eyes. Bastian began to shift, to change, to fully embrace who he was.

Crash backed away against every demanding instinct. He would watch. He would see how Bastian’s prowess tested against a monster of this magnitude.

<<DIE YOU FILTH! DIE YOU MEAT, BLOODY MEAT, RIPPED AND TORN AND BLEEDING IN AGONY UPON THE GROUND, YOU DIE! YOU DIE! YOU DIE!!!>>

The two monsters collided together in violent display, blood and gore and flesh flew. The elk’s body jutted out with thick razorblades. The pain must be immeasurable to the creature, but the spirit was ascendant and there was nothing it could do.

In day to day life, most all Uratha are content in their human form. It is the form in which they are most familiar, having lived in it for years until their First Change. If a Uratha wants to shift into another form, it takes some force of willpower to do so.

But that's not always true. When the moon is in the Uratha's auspice, changing between forms is as simple as moving from seated to standing and back again. Right now, in this moment, Bastian's transition to the Gauru form was the equivalent of letting yourself fall into bed after a long day. He would fall into Gauru and be embraced by it, wrapped in its comfort and strength, warmly lit by Luna's full light from above.

For as comforting the transition was to his pysche, it was equally as violent on the outside. His body contorted once again, his hind legs growing tall like a humans, his fore legs becoming once again like arms. He rose to his full height of ten feet, displaying some five hundred pounds of muscle.

The Rahu looked at the corruption in front of him, threw his arms out wide, then let loose a powerful roar. It was the kind of sound that reached into your lizard brain and triggered the flight response in all but the most stalwart of predators. It was a sound that shook the nearest trees, that petrified small game, that signaled an oncoming storm for which there would be no shelter.

With his howl still lingering, still drowning out all other sounds in the clearing, Bastian pounced. His massive clawed hands sought out the creature's razor-tipped antlers, grabbing them and letting their steel bite into his flesh. He used his incredible strength to hold the abomination steady as he opened his immense jaws and brought them down like a vice around the creature's throat.

OOC Notes
I don't want to actually leverage the Grapple or Called Shot rules, I just wanted to be more descriptive.

Warning Growl: 1 Success v. (Composure + Primal Urge)
Bite Attack: 4 Lethal

Razorwire wrapped around muscle, entwined deep in the jaw, tore through the natural armor of the goliath wolf and stuck.

The corrupted elk sang out in pain and agony, but was unable to dislodge itself of its damning rider. The spirit known as Razormind urged, pushed, forced its will into the animal and Bastian felt the wicked twines grow out of its flesh.

The elk fought without purpose. Razormind flailed, out of control, and sent images of its own painful existence deep into the Uratha's mind.

There was no tactic. No maneuver. Simply a biting mass of razored steel met by claw and flesh and hate.

Razormind's Flailing Antler Attack: 4 Successes

You can just go fuck yourself.

Bastian took a short step back and hunkered down low like a football linebacker and a split second later, he lurched forward, throwing his shoulder into the elk's torso, forcing the beast up off its front legs. He grabbed the creature with his massive claws and went for a second bite, this time at the base of his neck along the length of his spine.

Bite Attack: 5 Lethal
Spent: 1 Essence to Heal 1 Lethal

All of a sudden, Bastian felt the massive elk go limp as dead weight in his arms.

It is dead weight. The thought confused him, until a split-second later and he understood.

The physical body the spirit rode was dying or dead. Between them, they had ripped it apart.

But the spirit was far from defeated.

Bastian heard the sound of rusted razorwire grate cross a metal pole and turned to see Razormind materialize into the physical world.

It exploded out with furious hate. Thousands of coiled razor wires flew forth from its twisted body to wrap about Bastian's bloody form.

Blast: 4 Successes

The pain was present, he knew; it just didn’t seem real. For better or for worse, Uratha in the war form just didn’t truly register pain until it became near overwhelming.

With the host dead, and the spirit materializing before him, Bastian didn’t hesitate. If anything, now he was more angry. Why wasn't it all the way dead yet? He surged forward, a hulking mass of fur, teeth, and claws, his mind consumed with an intense desire to bring pain to this otherworldly being.

Bite Attack: 6 Lethal
Spent: 1 Essence to Heal Lethal, 1 Willpower for +3 Attack

<<Too powerful!>>

The voice rang out across the clearing in the First Tongue followed by the splitting roar of a man in agonizing pain. A recognizable pain for Bastian.

The sounds were of meat tearing, bone snapping, tendons stretching far past the point of endurance. He glanced just briefly to Crash and saw the powerful Rahu rise up from four legs to two. He was not as big as Bastian, not by far, but he had a majestic quality to him that demanded respect.

The second Gauru stepped out into the moonlight. His vibrant golden fur caught the light and shimmered across the powerful muscles. A thin streak of gray ran down his back and across his muzzle.

He stepped across from Bastian, two monsters out of legend facing down a third, and he roared.

For the first time, Razormind retreated. The materialized form of the Magath was a painful mockery of the war-form. Steel wire wrapped about bloody muscle and twisted a body made of pain with every movement. Razor jaws snapped and barked, but the beast was hesitant against the two.

Crash looked to Bastian long enough to speak once more.

<<Too powerful for one alone.>>

Bastian roared and charged forth. He would make himself the embodiment of overwhelming force to focus the spirit's attention on him, allowing Crash the freedom to attack as he so desired.

Bite Attack: 1 Lethal, All Out Attack

OOC: 14d10 and 1 Hit? Ugh.

Atlas felt the weight of the world on his shoulders alongside the sting of metal in his mouth. He felt Crash slam into the materialized spirit and heard the rip-tear-squelching sound of jaws extending impossibly wide. Crash's mouth fit, barely, around the beast's throat in an attempt to tear it apart.

The spirit flexed and its body grew larger by leaps and bounds. It expelled essence at a rapid pace into its own false flesh in order to resist them. Then, it bellowed out a vision of pain.

Screeching metal on flesh, metal on bone, metal on metal filled the minds of the two Rahu and the image of a hundred dying men and women being flensed by razorwire was impossible to shake.

<<Thrash and tear until you are nothing but jagged, bloody bone!>>


OOC: That roll sucked the big one for you. Then again, so did mine

Crash Establish Grapple: 1

Razormind use of Fearstruck (see below): 1

Crash Resists Fearstruck: 4


Fearstruck:
Numen allows spirit to cause an opponent to become paralyzed by fear. The spirit spends a point of Essence and then rolls Power + Finesse; the targeted opponent contests the roll with Presence + Composure + Primal Urge. SUccess renders the victim unable to move or speak (or even scream) for one turn. Exceptional success indicates that the victim freezes in place for three turns.

Somewhere deep in the recesses of Bastian's mind came thoughts of his father, of Bastian's imagined scenarios of how the man died. He knew enough to know that it was a horrific and painful death, as with many industrial accidents. The strength and the fury afforded to him my Mother Luna allowed him to bury those memories. Bury them for another time.

With Crash on the attack, Bastian again gave the abomination his all. He tore into its jagged and filthy essence with his supernaturally large jaws. He would not - could not - relent until he had found victory.

Resist Fearstruck: 4 Successes

Bite Attack: 7 Lethal , All Out Attack

Intimidation had failed. Brute force rebuffed. Overpowering, supernatural fear met with a wall of Will the likes of which the magath could not tear down.

There was nothing left but submission.

Razormind, amalgamation of pain, dominance, and steel, was a creature that knew only two ways to deal with others, rule or be ruled. And over the two Rahu it could not be king.

The smell of piss soaked through fur was the first sign. The massive beast changed, shifted into a recognizable form. It was still held firm by Crash, but it was no longer a threatening demon.

A smallish wolf hung limp. Every scent and sense it gave off spoke to the two powerful Uratha that this was a pup, a runt, an omega.

Razormind exposed its belly and its throat.

<<No more! No more! Powerful are the wolves, the children of Urfarah, great Iminir! This one is your servant and begs beneath your dominance to be allowed to live!>>

When Bastian-who-was-Atlas looked into the spirit’s eyes he saw nothing but willing obedience. His gaze continued to the shifted form of Crash who had returned to his dalu and stared back with obvious expression:

Your choice, it said.

Bastian/Atlas felt the terrible curse of rage rise up in his bile at the mere thought of allowing this creature, this abomination of spirit to continue to exist.


Storyteller Notes: After releasing its mortal hold, Razormind has been exposed in a material form. Its ban included an inability to back down and a need to dominate, yet when it is about to be defeated it cannot help but submit to greater force.

Your character has the choice to destroy the magath. It has drained its essence into its corpus. If you kill it now, it is gone forever, unable to return.

Moreover, you must resist the Death Rage. Your every instinct demands that you destroy, even if you do not wish to do so.

How will Bastian face this test?