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Ravagers Epic, Act III: The Ravagers
Foreshadowing, July 20, 2003
The stillness of the cavern was unbroken by anything alive. Even the chest of the Devourer was still, for the ancient spirit had no need of breath. Which was fortunate, since there was only a tiny bit of oxygen. The cavern had constricted - it was now only the size of a walk-in closet, no pond to be seen. It was getting smaller, too, the Bane thought to itself, and would likely be fitting him like a second skin shortly.
And then, in an instant, he was no longer alone. She was standing next to him in the cramped space; a beautiful woman, so beautiful that to see her was to weep tears of joy, dressed in a long dress made of a gauzy material that shifted and flashed with all the colors of all the natural world. The woman leaned over the Devourer and gently kissed his forehead. She whispered in an ancient language unheard on Earth since before the Sundering. The words twisted around the Devourer's head as if they had physical weight behind them, and then slipped into his ears. Then the woman was gone, and the small space began to fill with pure, cold water. The Devourer didn't notice. He began to sob when he heard the woman's words, and didn't stop, even as the water rose over his head. He repeated them as he went under.
He said to himself, until the water filled his mouth and speech became impossible, "I still love you, my little one, and I always will. I forgive you, and I will see you again soon."
The Devourer was trapped in the small pocket of water. The spirit still waits there, in the cold and in the dark. Alone.
To Bed With Bitter Enemies, July 21, 2003
While the Devourer is once again confined in the city of Necropolis, hundreds of miles away in Detroit the Wyrm's servants sing a song of triumph. Supported by corrupted servants of the air, seeming to float on a giant cloud of smog, ~he~ watches the Web burn, the sickly green of Balefire dissolving the calcified strands and the servants of the Warden. He does not join in the howl his subordinates scream out to the heavens, he simply watches the destruction knowing that in a few weeks it will all be as it was. He spits to the side, his hand caressing the hilt of his recently created Baneklaive. A child's toy compared to the original it was based on, but his and not the leftovers from an obsolete age.
With a gesture of his scaled covered hands the spirits lower him to the rest of his troops, his reptilian eyes staring from the shadows of his hooded robe. "We have won another victory for the Father tonight, but it is only momentary. Our crusade continues as long as our Master is entombed within the stasis of the Warden. As long as He Who Brings Balance is incapacitated, we will burn the Warden's webs with our holy fires of darkness. Let us now ensure that the servants of the Calcifier know who defeated them this night! Let them forever fear the coming of the Ravagers!" This time he does join in the howl, and as it carries into the sky, the Banes of the city pick it up and carry it to every corner of Detroit's Umbrascape. Nightmares run rampant through the city that night in the minds of children and the few spiritually aware. Infants cry and the mothers awake in a cold sweat immediately fearing the worst.
Later at the Hive, the Alpha of the Ravagers, Rahzoreg, hangs up his robe and scratches irritably at the places where the scales on his arms give way to flesh just above the elbow. A quiet clearing of the throat interrupts him and he quickly puts the robe back on before speaking. "Enter." The newest member of the Ravagers approached the one who turned him and sank to one knee before speaking. "I've heard the order to prepare the pathstone for travel, master. Is it true then that the Ravagers are returning to Necropolis?" "Yes, brother we are. The tendrils of the Wyrm alert me to a weakness in their prison there, and we must capitalize on the advantage that is to come. To not do so would be a dishonor to our crusade." The young Dancer shifts uncomfortably at the news, "I am afraid master. Afraid that I am unworthy for that which you would have me do. The others will not understand." Lightly placing his scaled hand on top of the young man's head, Rahzoreg smiles gently. "They won't understand brother, but that does not make you unworthy. Do you not now carry the sign of Green Dragon's favor?" lightly tracing a talon-like nail over the scales on the young man's neck, "Do you not feel our holy fire within you ready to be expelled at your enemies? You are a Ravager now brother, and we would all die to protect you, and kill to avenge you. You will return to the place you called home proud, and leave in triumph." The words of the Theurge bolstering him, the young fallen Garou nods and stands. "Thank you master, I will return to my duties now." Nodding, Rahzoreg goes about packing his own things thinking of the irony. They return to the place of their greatest defeat, and plan to leave it with a victory that will be sung about for eons in the twists of the Black Spiral.
The Ravagers, greatest of all the Spirals, are returning to Necropolis. This time, their wrath will not be denied.
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