[ST]
It is the bone of one of their enemies – cleansed and cleansed, strips of moldering flesh still clinging to the jointspaces – that Balance Without Fault holds in his hand. The Philodox snaps the crinos femur over his thigh, exposing the marrow, and holds the larger of the two jagged lengths up for the Garou to claim.
“It is time for the Sept’s business. Step forward and claim the bone if you wish to speak.”
[Fell-Keeper]
It’s tension. Moments of waiting. Hollow little awkwards that hang in the air like cigarette stench, leaving him peering around the numbers of this Sept with an air of regret. You’d have to be a dumbass not to see the reluctance in his features, lower jaw thrust forward and lips smacked with an annoying quality only found in ten year olds.
Barely out of his teens, with careful black eyes and a casualness bordering on lazy in his stance. His clothes are minimal, a black hoody with matching slacks and a pair of hard-toe boots outfitted with metal plating to make that curb-stomp all the sweeter. His hair bobs and his features, narrow-chinned and shifty eyed, slant towards the apathetic…
…Scratch that. It’s more an ‘I don’t really want to be here’ sort of grimace.
An elbow casts out, nudging sharply into the Hispo form by his side even as he steps into the bare minimum of the firelight, eyes lifting to dance from individual to indvidual, with the Grand Elder come first, his hand wrapping gingerly ’round the snapped femur.
“…Heya. From a Sept up in Alaska. Heard you folks could use some numbers or…” A low-breath murmur “something like that” Followed by a clearing of the throat “Anyway, We’re-” He pauses, turning ’round to hiss at the Large Hispo form and usher her forward “We’re here to offer help if can. If not, well we’re all for just sticking around. Seems like a nice enough place.”
Small talk with the Bone in hand. He nods and turns towards the new Hispo…only to wince and swivel back at the crowd.
“Yea’…Sorry. Fell~Keeper. Cliath. Theurge.” A pause with a deep breath. “Get of Fenris.” And the Bone’s thrust out towards the new Hispo, speaking out of the corner of his mouth in a low mutter”No…Yapping…”
Ewan
*If noone else steps forward, The bone spurred crinos does, (( AFTER THE GE IF HE NEEDS TO SPEAK FIRST))
Taking the bone in his hand he clenched it. The shards of white bones protruding from his knuckels and.. many other places, stand starkly aginst his jet black fur.
Taking a breath he spoke in the High Tongue*
~HT~ A small matter, but one that might hold importance to those that it involves.
I am Ewan Selwyn, Scratch-N-Sniff, Alpha of the Obsidian Data…. There are many new faces here and we welcome the aid in this ongoing war. *He nodded his great lupine head to a few of the newbies*
There have been a few new Glasswalkers to the sept in recent weeks, and… As the Alpha of the biggest Glasswalker pack not including the elders. *A deep respectful nod to the GE and is pack. After a beats pause he looks back* I would bid them step forward and introduce themselves.
Like wise there has been an influx of Kinfolk in town. While garou find packs as they are able and who meet their needs. In this time of war kinfolk sometimes cannot. Obsidian Data has taken Benjamin Monroe, Of our blood, Jacqueline De Moreno, Of our blood, and Cheyenne Reid of our blood, under our protection as claimed kinfolk and aid to the Obsidian data.
If any of these honorable Kin tresspass aginst you or yours. *He nods to the pack leaders* I would ask that you come to me.
If we or our kin can help any of yourselves. *he again nods to the garou* You’ve but to ask. One of our new kin is in the justice system, and while we cannot use his influence overmuch, it does exist, if the sept has need. Again, come to me, and I shall take the matters to him.
Obsidian Data still holds it’s old turf, The 5 block swath from the Mile to the edge of the park. You can find us in the Digital Eye store there.
*A beat and he shifted the bone to his other large claw*
I would like to personally honor those whom have fought in the recent ambush. Though our people did attend, ours were among a number that broke when a gift was emploeed aginst our forces.
*He hung his head and turned to decker* I apoligise for the Obsidian Data in that matter Silence. And honor yourself, and the others that did not subcum to this evil magic… and staid to fight. You show us what we strive to be.
*Another long beat as he kept his head bowed to Silence, then raised it* I leave the full telling of the battle to Galliards or somone better equipped. But those who stood their ground, deserve our honor.
*A firm nod, then he passed the bone back and slipped back to his place with his pack*
Howls-War-Fire
The large Hispo, this newcomer paired with the stutter-tongued Theurge that had just spoken, sat back on her haunches, tail brushing across the pavement on which she sat, ears in a rested position, her heavy head allowed to incline forward a little. Her posture was slouched, and to be perfectly honest she looked like the only way she could be more relaxed was if she was actually laying down.
Fell~Keeper nudged her and she grunted, but didn’t move. He spoke and glanced nervously/irritatedly back toward her, and she responded with the best smirk a giant dire wolf could pull off. It was only when he hissed, flinched, and introduced himself to the rest of the Sept that she rolled herself up to her feet, groaning quietly as though it were a task, reminding herself (and maybe a few others) of someone’s father as they rose from their favorite recliner at home.
As she walked out to meet Fell~Keeper she changed, and in the few steps it took for her to join his side she had made an easy transition between Hispo and Crinos. Now larger, bipedial, and with a pair of brown leather bracers visable on her wrists, she reached out to take the bone from the Homid beside her, grasping the relic in her large clawed hand. Straightening up a little, she spoke.
“Though Fell~Keeper didn’t articulate our introduction quite as well as others may have,” she rolled an eye down toward the man beside her, briefly glancing his way before returning her attention to those gathered. “…he spoke all there was to be said. I am Howls~War~Fire, Skald of Great Fenris’s tribe. We hail from Alaska, and have come to Chicago to offer our aid in your efforts. We would like to know more about what is happening here with the Wyrm, for all we have to go off of is rumors and words-of-tongue that have traveled a thousand or more miles to our ears. In ignorance we can be of no aid to you.”
Not too yappy, or at least she didn’t think so.
With a nod of her great long-jawed head, the bone was passed.
Kemp
Kemp sat there, leaning back with his long legs stretched out before him, crossed at the ankles. His weight was on his elbows, allowing him to watch and not be completely prone. He listened to the the introductions, turning his attention towards each as they spoke. For a long moment his attention rest on Ewan as he too spoke. Slowly he rolled to his long lanky height, holding his hand out for the bone before he cleared his throat and spoke.
“We all know who showed for the ambush. We all know that any one of us could of died. And we all took the same risk in showing. Not really a risk if ya ask me. It was a duty. An honor. Each showed pride and the willingness to put down his or her life for what we believe in. What we stand for. For each other.”
Emphazing words as he started to pace in thought with a hitch to his jeans. Head lowered in thought until he lifted it to speak again.
“Ain’t no shame in what happened. Ain’t no blame being pointed at no one. Gifts are tricky sumbitches at best of times. It was a gift used that caused some of the ranks to break. Could of happened to anyone. What matters is how ya handled yourself once your minds came back to ya.”
He was careful not to say Flee or Run when making his point.
His gaze leveling on Ewan as he stopped pacing. Voice lowering to a soft rumble.
“What happened, happened. Ain’t no blame being said here. Ain’t gonna listen to it either. We survived. We live to continue the fight. Take a look around.”
“We go on for Gaia, each and every one of us.”
Extending one arm in a sweep to encompass all there.
“That’s all I got ta say on that.”
Clearing his throat again with a sniff and swipe of one hand up over his forehead and through his hair, shoving it back before he continued.
“As for Red Laughing Shadow, known as John Smith ta some. He’s gone. I mean, gone. Not just left the city. Felt him wink out. Even when he was in the Hive, I could tell. There was always something there. That something was there even through the battle, even with distance until just a bit ago. Now it just poofed.”
Snapping his fingers.
“Gone, like him.”
Taking another look around before he started to sit with a few last words before passing off the bone.
“Don’t mean it’s over, never is over. Just means that particular one is gone. And ya can fuckin feel good for a bit. So smile, revel in life. Not in bullshit finger pointing and self blame.”
Baaku
As Truth~in~Frenzy finishes so to does the Circle of Silence hang heavy. It was easy enough to say. Easy enough to offer. A bone thrown to the meek and run on such a fateful day. Such a…Human sentiment at that. Forgive and forget.
“…And yet What if, Truth~Yuf?”
The Agony Thane steps forward rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest. His first appearance since the Ambush had happened, Caern-bound and performing of another duty. His packs is left behind him for a moment to regard the Rotagar, foil to the Trickster in the Judge and Condemner. The Bone is taken up, held firmly in his grasp, unrelinquished until his words are fully recited (Facedown challenge for any who might seek to take it earlier).
“…Do we rely on luck that none of our comrades fell in this battle? Accept our Failure-” Our. The word is in his Rage bleeding out and pushing against those of weaker wills, forcing them to grant him the room his slow stride demands, the Pure Breeding forcing his voice louder. Farther. Deeper. “-And go home to lick our wounds so?” Narrowed eyes of disbelief. Even disdain.
“I would not have you cheapen me to some Child who needs be coddled. I am no Human to be so patted on the Head or mollified with one of your patented ‘It Happens’.” A rolling growl, that leaps from the Rotagar to the surrounding assembled.
“I Will Use this. Like you I was among those that put to heel. My Rank. My Breeding. Demands more of me. Better of me and for this I have failed. For this I would seek atonement and in each of us there should hang such a thing. For each failure we encure, Gaia Suffers for it. For each mistake we make and brush aside it’s lesson, Gaia will Weep!”
A Rippling sneer is cast in the Metis’ direction.
“You that can sire no Child, who has only Battle to do Gaia’s cause. And you Ran.”
Swivelling towards the Fianna numbers.
“You that sing and howl the loudest, meant to inspire and push us. Further. Harder! Stronger then before!” A pause, his voice falling away, accusing and destructively quiet. “And you Ran.”
‘Round upon each of the faces, measuring some defiance to his words or acceptance of their shame.
“You Ran. You Ran. You Ran from Battle. It matters not that other Warriors were there to pick up your Mistake! It Matters not that the Battle was won! It Does Not Matter, That We are Born Human! Raised Human! That Humans are Accepting of their Mistakes!”
Crackling Thunder in that voice, throat and features rippling under some threat of the Warform, maintained only under that dread black gaze, the executioner seething beneath the flesh and thrumming with contained Rage. It would be at this point perhaps that some might lunge forward with accusations of their own. Fingers pointing as the Rotagar suggested. Murmurs of derision.
It is at this point at the Philodox’s ire bleeds away and leaves behind a furrowed brow and a clenching of his maw, left agape as if the sting of his next words were resisted with some level of feebleness.
“I am Executioner. I send the Wyrm’s Minions to their rightful and terrified demise, paid for their sins and degredations to Gaia. I am Shadowlord and Child to Grandfather Thunder. I that would be Leader in Moon. I that would be Judge.” The pause is longer, chin ascending that crucial few inches between suffering and penance.
“And I Ran.”
He allows them what snorts or growls they may have, allowing no tongues or lips or snarls to get beyond a half dozen words, before his voice booms into the assembly once again.
“I Ran and for that I will accept no Pitying nod” A snap of human jaws in Kemp’s direction, the bone creaking under a gloved grip “Nor face my error and failure like some whimpering pup needing the way pointed. In your Mistakes is your Learning. Your ’cause and answer. You cannot be taught every lesson you need to fight in this War! Each Gift used on you is an Experience you take with you to the next battle! Find their Weakness! Exploit it! Use their strengths against them! It is not enough for us to Simply Accept!”
The Flesh convulses, body shaking in place, as those eyes careen around the gathered.
“…You will not apologize. You will ensure it does not happen again and if it does and you find your ‘Luck keeping you alive, you will repay Gaia by finding what went wrong and getting. It. Right!”
The rapid ascension of Rage and Calm is unexpected, at least in the strange sway and drift of his movements. His fading words, a lingering echo from somewhere deep in the chest.
“I promise I shall when next the enemy comes…”
The bone is cast into the circle, for the next to move forward and pluck it up. The Philodox’s Rage bleeding beyond the borders of his restrained demeanour, a lapse in dominance. A Relinquished tether to the Beast.
Winter’s Sight
As her fellow tribemate speaks of his failure, Winters Sight respectfully takes the bone from him once he feels he is done. She stands in her human form now, a far cry different then the black furred Crinos that had joined her Sept mates the night the earth shook.
She steps forward and bows her head to the Sept leaders.
“I am Winters Sight, I arrived here shortly before the ambush. I am a waning crescent of the Shadowlord tribe here to serve the Sept”.
Another low bow to them before turning to look at all the Garou that have collected here on this most important night of the month.
“I did not run”.
The color of her eyes harden into silvery green gems.
“I was ordered to hold the door to the slaughter house. I performed my duty in battle”.
She turns the bone around in her hands, listening to whatever murmurs or jeers are to come after she says this.
“I have no scars to show for it”.
Her gaze now goes over to Agony for a moment before returning it to the rest of the Garou.
“But many of you do. We are all strong and weak depending on who our judge is. But does this mean we should not strive for perfection?”
Drawing in a breath the Shadowlord Theurge continues.
“I urge each and every one of you that when you run tonight you take a deep introspective look into yourselves and find your weakness. Then I ask that you sacrifice this weakness by confessing it to a pack, tribe, or sept mate”.
She takes a step back now, the color of her eyes beginning to soften ever so slightly again.
“Only then can you stop fooling yourselves and train so the weakness leaves you”.
Winters Sight now takes a step forward to the Garou, offering the bone to the next speaker.
Kemp
Truth in Frenzy stepped forward to take the bone again after Winter spoke.
“No disrepect meant here, but ain’t what was just done, confessing to the entire damned gathering? Admiting fault and disgrace? Don’t seem no urging is needed. There’s plenty of introspection whatever, going on right now before the run. Ain’t no self fooling going on.”
Snorting as he cocked his head studying the sharp ends of the bone. Lifting the shard to sniff at the marrow within as if considering it for the first time. The point of the shard pointed towards Agony he stared now in study of the Judge as if he had found another new fascinating thing.
“Now Thane, Yuf.”
His attention shifted from Winter to Agony. He could toss words back and forth with the best of them, it was the icing on his cake, but even his ire was just beneath the surface at the moment. Hiding behind a wicked smile.
“I gather from your words there that ya rather I point the finger at those that ran. At you who ran. Seems to me each and every one worth their salt here is doing enough of their own finger pointing. Don’t need me sneering down at ya. Don’t need me reminding ya who ran. I know the truth of the situation. I was there too. One of the ones NOT running. That make ya feel better now? I said it. I did NOT run. She did not run. He and she and he, did not run. I know who ran and I sure as fuck ain’t forgetting it or sweeping it under the run or putting a little bandage on it.”
Shaking his head slowly.
“Nope, not sure about you, but it don’t make me feel superior or much of anything besides disgust that I gotta point it out. Ya say ya don’t want my pity? I ain’t offering pity. I ain’t offering absolution. I ain’t a fucking priest. No, I’m accepting that shit happens and ya learn from it and improve or ya die. And ya take someone else with ya.”
“Now, ya die? I ain’t gonna pity your ass then either. It’s what we do. We fight for what we believe in. We die for the same damned thing. For each other and Gaia. I will honor your dead ass for standing up and fighting, though.”
“Ya want to beat yourself with a wet noodle? Go right ahead and beat away. It’s still a form of pouting, man. If it were me? Fuck yeah I would be upset. Fuck yeah I would be ashamed. Would others pointing fingers of disgust at me, help? Fuck no. I’m my own worse enemy. I can pout and beat myself with self-blame, better than the best of them. But what I do do is, I learn and move on or end up dying and taking others with me because I am lost in my own self shame and pity. Wallowing away in doubt and anger when my fucking mind should be on what I’m suppose to be doing. Not on how I failed before and might fail again.”
“I prefer the learning part myself. So if it helps ya to rant and feel rage, go right ahead man. If it helps ya to feel shame, go right ahead. If it helps ya improve and get over this shit, then good for you man. Please do. By all means, have at it. Cause I’m depending on it.”
His head cocked slightly to the side with a pursing of lips before they peeled back from the gleam of his teeth with the straightening of his head.
“But don’t ever doubt my thoughts and feelings on this shit man. I been there, done that. I got scars both visible and not. Just like everyone else. So if it helps ya feel better…or not…I really don’t care either way cause your feelings ain’t what concerns me. But fucking do like ya promise. Learn from it. When we stop learning, it’s time to die.”
Looking around with the quirk of a single brow.
“Now that this part of this particular little rant of mine is over for the moment. Who’s next? Come on, step up to the plate.”
Brandishing the bone with a look around at each face visible to him.
Baaku
He paces across the assembly, broad steps meant to force people back from the circle and grant the participants of this little ‘Debate’ their just room. He’s gathering together the air currents under the slow curling of clawed fingers. At some point in Kemp’s speech, the flesh had given way to fur and Crinos bulk, leaving the beast behind to stare across at the Rotagar with each new inch of evidence and rebuttle that emerged from his mouth.
In turn, as the Rotagar begins to wind down, so to does the Agony Thane straighten his stride and walk all fluctuating Rage and condemnation towards Kemp, a hand rising to take the Bone only as the last of his words drift off and he begins with the ever faithful ‘Who’s next-‘.
“…You gather Wrong, Rotagar.” Statement. Solid. Compounded by breeding.
“I’d hear it from the mouth of those who poke and prod my weakness. I’d hear it from the mouths of those meant to find how I would fall. I’d hear it from those looking for the flaws in how I Fight and Howl and Walk, because I am unable to find them so myself.” Else the ambush failure would not have happened.
“It matters little if it was a Gift. It matters greatly what happened during the seconds it took for rational minds to return.” He turned to the assembled, gathering his voice to the winds and air and shaking the Bone (Fire and Brimstone) in their direction.
“Matters greatly for the pain caused. The failure in our hearts that would fester like a seed. The one you” An eye back ’round on Kemp “Would seek to cover up with sentiments such as ‘It was an Honour, just to be a part of the Battle'” A pause to march towards Kemp, as if Rotagar and Philodox were the only two participants.
Indeed, by Auspice Roles, this is how such matters were settled. Judge and Devil’s Advocate. Tradition versus Modern Truth.
“You tip toe around failure and risk the next fight done with Half-hearted fervor. If we that put to Heel have not our courage to call upon in times of battle, then” And his eyes ratchet ’round the crowd “Let our Shame be the flag to War. Be our Rage against the enemy.”
And the Bone and his eyes, were cast back down towards Kemp, offered as if full expecting the Rotagar’s rebuttle.
Will
*Above, the raven watched. Back and forth. A bit miffed he’d missed the battle. Seriously wishing he knew what the heck they were talking about and meaning to ask one of the garou when they broke up for storytime. But before they did the revel. Curiosity was in the nature of the bird after all.
They sure did seem animated when they spoke of it. Well that black one did. Maybe they’d fight. He hadn’t seen a good garou brawl in a while. Not that William was one for blood sports but well you know. People watch NASCAR for the wrecks and slow down to look at traffic accidents. The rather non rar rar blood and guts raven wouldn’t mind seeing some scratches. It’d liven up the thing.*
Blast
Blast takes the bone, looks around.
“Tiburon’s Shadow has claimed for its protected kin, Reagan Gallagher. She’s pregnant by one of our pack. We could use someone with pregnant-chica training to take a look at her on a regular basis though. She’s not eating much.
She got friends among your kin and they want to see her, that’s ok long as she’s protected during– a garou watchign over her or a kin damned well trained in war. The baby has a good shot of being Trueborn, so we will be very protective of her. Perhaps you will call it overprotection but there IS a Hive out there.
Now, “and he switches gears, “What is known now about the fucking Spirals and that Elder killing aftermath? Anything else? Who’s reporting? What other threats do we have and WHAT the FUCK is going on in the Umbra these days, theurges? Getting in and out of the Umbra lately is like, Holy tittyfucks, Batman! With no lube!! What do we need to do about that?”
Kemp
Oh sure, he accepted the bone back with a dead straight look up at Agony Thane. Himself in homid compaired to the Crinos form before him.
“Ok, let me see if I get this straight. You find yourself perfect because you can’t see your own failures and flaws? That’s what ya just said? Ya need people to point a finger at ya. Point out where ya fuck up because you can’t see beyond the tip of your nose because in your eyes and mind, your shit don’t ever stink? I mean, I know you’ll correct me if I am wrong. Unless, oh shit, maybe I can’t be wrong cause I can’t see that possibility in myself either, just like ya said about yourself? Ya said you wait for others to point out your flaws because you are unable to see them in yourself. Yep, pretty much same as shit don’t stank unless fanned your way and pointed out.”
Rocking back and forth on his heels as he pursed his lips, cocking his head.
“If that’s what it takes man. Ya got it. Ya ran. Don’t matter why, don’t matter circumstances. Ya ran. There ya go. Wish granted.”
One curt nod of his head as he checked that off his list.
“Second? I ain’t trying to protect the one ya seem to think I am trying to protect. Nope, no more than I would seek to protect your little feelings.”
He smiled a shit eating smile so full of pleasure it fairly glowed from his soul.
“Obviously besides not being able to see your own failures and flaws as ya stated, needing someone else to point it out to you. You also seem to think my one single statement of general, shit happens, we managed to survive this total FUBAR, is meant as a blessing and hall pass for all fucks ups and it somehow carries great weight among us. Er, not. What you feel, your shame and guilt What he feels.”
A wave of the bone towards Ewan.
“What that one feels.”
Another wave of the bone towards one that ran.
“Shit what anyone feels, is completely up to them. I can’t control everyone’s feelings. I can’t control how they interpet anything I say. And I sure as fuck can’t be anyone’s father confessor, absolving them from guilt they feel. I ain’t that damned all powerful.”
The smile never leaving his face.
“I can however grant your desires and say. Oh man Agony Thane. Ya done fucked up and ran. How ya gonna fix that one now that it’s done happened and passed?”
Cocking his head with a lift of one brow.
“Ya see, I ain’t got no seed of nothing festering inside me. Only thing festering in me is what I last ate. And my reason for fighting, is sure not because of some shame, nor is it ever going to be. Frankly, I don’t want to depend on someone fighting only because they feel shame. Sorry man. I want more than that. I want, I expect, better than that from all of us.”
Holding the bone out again.
“Rebuttle?”
Lachlan
The bone is snatched up, but not by the Shadow Lord.
Lachlan had been a quiet, solemn figure through most of the moot, his first in attendance as a non-Sept member. He has not yet made any commitments to the Maelstrom and joined its ranks amongst the Garou of Chicago. He is still an outsider to their small numbers. The bone made a loud slapping sound as it met the palm of his hand, quickly exchanged from left to right hand as he held it up in front of the Shadow Lord called Agony Thane, his head turning briefly to cast an odd-colored eye towards his tribe mate, and then back to the Shadow Lord.
“Yer rebuttle kin wait a minute. Ye flappin’ yer maw like a cranky jackass anyhow, Agony Thane-yuf. So, ye ran. Yer weak-minded and shamed o’ tha disgrace ye now carry over said actions that weren’t yer own, induced by a gift that caused ye tae flee. Does this make ye feel better about yeself? Tae know that ye carry such a burden o’ shame? Will it make ye a better man in tha morning when ye wake, or a better fighter tha next time ye face off wi’ a minion o’ tha Wyrm? Will it, Agony Thane-yuf? I ask ye this, in yer moment o’ weakness when ye ran, did it make ye any less o’ a Garou? As for tha bloody outcome o’ tha battle, aye, we lost no numbers and it’s full of shite that the ones that stayed had tae carry tha weight of it, while others weren’t there. The Howl was not a calculated action we proposed would happen, none o’ us expected it, nor did we think on it to.”
The broad width of his shoulders roll back in a small shrug, head tilting down to look at the bone in his hand, eyebrows furrow over his one blue and one brown eyes, as if he could read something no one else could in that bone. A rush of air expels from his lungs, lifting his head up to shake back long shaggy hair from his face.
“I’ll take no shame for me actions. I was there. I was one o’ those that ran, yes, ran! And, unlike some I’m not about tae make a display weakness in front o’ me peers and banter about tha guilt eaten ye up inside o’ tha shame ye feel, Agony Thane. Aye, it went badly, but what’s done is done and we can’t change what happened, only learn from it. Ye say ye don’t want pity. Yer doin’ a foine job of self-pity all on yer own, mate.”
He gives a slow glance around to those in attendance, his eyes stopping on the Shadow Lord as he bounced the bone in his hand, “And, as tae introductions, I am the Eyes of Loki, Get of Fenris and No-Moon of Fostern rank, and I dinnae get tae where I am by feelin’ shame o’er me mistakes. I learned and moved on.”
The bone is extended towards the Shadow Lord, hand stretched out at arm’s length, “Yer rebuttle?”
Baaku
The Bone is taken up with a snap of the wrist, plucked from Lachlan’s hand with all the grace and counter attitude one of his nature is prone to take. Both No Moons are from the same tribe, one devoted to the nature of Battle, War and Rage. It is not without credit to consider them comfortable examples of Twin Warrior and Wise in the same sentence, with all the follies and strengths that unique perspective comes with.
“…How arrogant to think yourself so above the line of Corruption then, Rotagar.” A chop-licking bare of teeth directed down at Kemp.
“…We wander into a Battle against the enemy and do not know what tricks or magics they might employ on us, though they were once our Brothers against the Wyrm, many such tricks similar to our own. How ignorant of us then…Rotagar.” He side-longed a glance down at Lachlan, shaking the bone above their heads in some form of a ‘Tsk Tsk’.
The Bone raps gently against his own wrist and hand, producing a dry clack of sound at the reprimand.
“…How unprofessional-” The word sticks in his crinos maw, forcing the lips back and rolling the elongated tongue ’round it “-of me to voice the Guilt that seeds my thoughts to my fellows of the Sept. Would that I let it stay buried, would that I keep it close and stuff it deep below. Would that it beg Doubt to my mind for the next battle to come, a secret harboured and ignored.” As it has in countless Garou, fallen to the Wyrm. Broken by their own Pride and Combined shame. He did not need to bring that fact forward. The Pair of Ragabash. The Entire Sept, knew that such occurances were unpleasantly common.
Another two taps on his own Wrist. Bad Agony~Thane. Bad.
“…Your attempts at pointing out my Guilt and Shame are pathetic at best. You deride and make it mockery. Laughable and dismissed as no true issue. In the same breath, You mollify with Human Words and Sentiment, whilst assuring the Mule” A dierisve if brief glance is cast in Ewan’s direction “That no Shame, stands in his actions. Were those not your words, Rotagar?”
He pauses. Hardly long enough to get a word in, even if he’s still got the Bone gripped implacable in his hand.
“Ain’t no Shame in what happened. It was a Gift. Tricky sum…bitches” A hollow mockery of Kemp’s slanged human tongue, tripping and disjointed on the Crinos maw, cast out at the crowd, before returning to the First Rotagar.
“I’m sure any number of Cliath might rationalize that for their own minds. Perhaps even whine and yowl before a council when they fail a packmate or sept or tribe because of how the Spirals or Fomori or Bane affected them. When condemnation comes down from on high their only rebuttle…”
A pause, yawning maw widening to reveal the pink interior.
“It’s not my fault. It was a gift.”
He leans forward, Bone shaking infront of Kemp’s face, though it would be drawn back from his grasp were he to try and snatch it up.
“Did that sound as pathetic to you when I said it as it did to me when you spoke of it then, Truth~yuf? It sounded so.”
And then ’round on Lachlan, not near as used to the Thane’s chosen methods of interaction. Two steps infront of you, Bigger, Meaner and Bred for Greatness, pouring out all over the new Rotagar in that dread black gaze, the Bone waving idly infront of him, like some taunt for an attempt to take it, though he’d relinquish only as the loser to a Facedown. (Come along then, Loki. Take it. Try.), even as his words roll through the Garou Tongue.
“What’s done is done. We can’t change what happened. You’ll take no shame for your actions. You got to where you are today under such dictates” He lifts his eyes over the Rotagar’s head, snuffling at the air with black nostrils. “I smell no Pack brought with you. You, a Fostern. I see no deeds brought with you or spoken of your name. You a Fostern. I hear Introduction to Maelstrom’s grace and yet see no Recompense given. You. A Fostern.” It wasn’t a want for an account from the Rotagar. It was a challenge. Offer tribute. Again if you must. Or Shut up.
“How Telling of your word. How reassuring of your Standing. How” A Snort. Sharp and flecked with bits of mucus and spittle, cast down from Crinos high to Lachlan’s Homid low “Typical of your Moon.”
The Bone is shoved forcefully down at Kemp’s chest and arms, the Agony~Thane rumbling from deep within his chest, maw and teeth leaning inches close to Lachlan’s features, the lips vibrating under the tension of the noise. The Rage of the Shadowlord.
Jedi
Jedi Rayne, in all her black leathr and grace, sat there watching Thane through narrowed eyes. Slowly she got up and stretched then respectfully took the bone from Agony Thane.
“I am no Judge, but I believe this point is mute, Agony Thany-rhya. Many were affected by the gift. Many were sent fleeing. Yourself being one of them from what I understand. None of us are condemning you for it. My own alpha and packmate…” motioning to Ewan and Delia “were afflicted. Do I condemn them? Not at all. Nor do I condemn anyone else who was subjected to such a gift. It happens. No matter tribe or rank, it happens. You can not always know what gifts, what skills, what weapons, what anything might be used when going into such a difficult situation. Yes you might interrogate one enemy to learn this or that. But it doesn’t give you anything. And the wyrm is chaos. Things could change at a moment notice. So no one is to blame for what happened for something you could not control.”
Ewan
*Scratch-n-Sniff, known to many of the human born simply as Ewan had stood silent since his own turn at the bone. His birth form a rock which his pack stood round in theirs. Well, perhaps a bone studded ediface.
He’d listened to the back and forth. He’d nodded to Kemps first time at the bone. But after that he’d just listened. An occasional flicker of ear was seen. A raise of a brow point.
If Bakku’s words stung him deep the fur and bone of his crinos form, his birth form, showed no indication. The reasoning for such were his own. For he didn’t rant and rail like a child. Maybe the Claith had grown up a little. Perhaps. Stranger things have happened.
After Rayne spoke, Ewan moved forward. Large clawd hand, studded with it’s own bony protrusions reached for the cerimonial bone. Taking it he turned to address the sept. Not Bakku and the two Get Raggies. While he held tremendous respect for Kemp, Ewan was not addressing their … debate.
His voice comes out in easy High Tongue, as unlike many, it was the language of his rearing.*
~HT~ “Blast raises interesting point. The umbra has been…. strange as of late. We in the city’s center have likewise noticed it’s difference. While I might not have discribed it with such colorful metafore, the fact remains. Something strange is going on.
It’s almost like the…. wyrm is pushing, not for the sake of pushing, but for the sake of illiciting a responce from the weaver. The spiders have been working overtime in the city. More and more webs are being spun. It’s come to light since the battle and I’ve put my two theurges on it *He pointed with the bone to Delia and Andy* We are a Cliath pack. We could use some more experienced garou to help us in our search for information.
Secondly… I would like to accknowledge Blast… and his brothern. They indeed have taken up the charge of protecting their kinfolk, most seriously.
*He nodded his Crinos head to blast* He had said he would… and they have. Overzealously some might say, but in these times it’s better to be overprotective of the next wave of Gaia’s warriors than under protective. I honor Blast… and the sharks for their efforts.
*The metis nodded to the elders in respect and passed the bone to whom ever wished it next*
Stormhelm
For most of the evening, Stormhelm had kept to his own council. There are no snipping remarks said privately or publicily. No games shared between he and his pack, to whom genuine affection was shown earlier. In the howling winds coming off the great lake, he remains stationary. His coat of fur so perfectly black that the night seems drawn to the darkness therein. It is in the form of the wolf that he attends the cracking of the bone, resting on his haunches. Wolf eyes move as the bone moves from hand to hand. Of the many tribes, this form does not inspire awe from the masses like the proud Silver Fangs, nor does the awesome feats of strength of the notable Get of Fenris, or the equally fashioed Talons and like tribes. His barrel-chest is made for hearty endurance. From the darkness, the tinyest amount of light can reveal more than one would ever hop[e or fear would come. For in this concert of shadow, to whom do the others attend when terrible deeds should be covered, or horrible deeds executed for the greater good?
The wolf moves forward the couple of feet from where his pack had assembled. Those steps passing by as the lupus gives way to the Crinos, and with expectancy, his clawed paw stretches forth for the bone. The bone of his enemy studied for a brief moment, and then placed at his ease to his side. His full moon brothers swell with rage, the tension heavy upon the air. Soon there would be NEED to Hunt lest violence break out among HER people.
“Those bound to Maelstrom, those gathered now under a pregnant moon, deserve the honor due each of them for whatever role they have played either in defense of this treasured land, or in the execution of our Wyrmfoe’s plan of attack”
His gaze levelling upon Silence a moment, and then a brief nod acknowledging some supposed respect the Shadow Lord has toward the elder of the Get gathered here in Chicago.
“I see those of mine own tribe who were attentive to the call of the Wyrmfoe. Who dutifully performed the duties expected of them. I see the No Moon Javier Jesus Aveita, Blast, who led Tiburon’s Shadow.with distinction.”
He does not turn to look at his brother though he knows he is there.
“I see the Eagles, I see Obsidian Data, I see those who still have no pack. Each came. And while some fell away when the gifts of the wyrm were used, let them stand firm here. For while I, and the others here, acknowledge their deeds, let those of great and low station learn what may be learned. Let not their pride be so rankled that they see not wisdom in the Thane’s words. The enemy has great, mysterious gifts that will cause all but the most fortified of will to falter. So while there may be shame, enough to bring you to acknowledge your failing, let it be couched in the terms of the honor you earned in joining your Wyrmfoe.”
He allows his words to trail off, looking around those gathered for their own outward response to his commentary. The bone tapped against his thigh for a count of ten. Then there is finalit clearly shown in his own appearance.
“There has been mention of the umbra proving difficult when we wish to pass through it. Matched with what we know of the Hive, or those who would seek to fill the void left there, there must be action taken.”
Some of you attended the service recognizing the vows I have taken with my wife. Since before then, I have been in conteact with a sept whose makeup is more closely associated with my own tribe. Since then, I have sought permission to ask that the RiteMistress pass on her knowledge to me. It has cost me time with my brothers and sister here who stand behind me. It has cost me time with my mate. It cost me time with my sept as it went to war. But I return with permission granted to learn a rite called Thunder’s Blessing[/B]”
((Caveat, I have the dots to buy the rite and should have it at this juncture…but I’m trying to be obscure in case I don’t get it as requested))
“It is a ritual passed down from generation to geeeration, age to age. This rite is used to draw Grandfather Thunder’s favor upon a particular caern, investing it with a portion of his great power. The rite allows ALL who are affliated with the caern to call down bolts of lightening upon their enemies, so long as they are within the confines of the caern.”
It is a brief introduction to the rite, sure there are bits left out that may grant even more blessing upon those among the shadow lord more gnosis when visiting the caern, but the mention of this would distract from the benefit mentioned.
“It is nothing new for battles to come and go, but with ever-increasing frequency, the apocalypse draws closw. Each of us have seen our brothers and sisters fall in defesne of our caern. I bring to the caern this gift, if we are able to perform the rite, that Thunder’s Blessing be performed here in our sept to aid to the defenses of the caern.”
His gaze moves from those among the Crescent Moon whose voice he had attentively listened to before, and finally resting upon the Rite-Mistress. He, however, does not relinguish the bone.
“Before I turn over the bone to whoever wishes to speak next, there are a couple additional items that I believe should be addressed now. First, in these times of great upheavel, we must allow the calm, guiding influence of our elders have sway. I would encourage the elders of each tribe to assemble and form a Council of Elders that might grant their wisdom to intra-tribal conflict as well as grant our Grand Elder a soundboard if he so desires to do so.”
A brief pause, but he continues before any might rashly interupt him.
“As has been done before, the Cresent Moons should hold their own meeting to discuss matters spiritual and mystical. And finally, I would ask that my fellow philodox do the same so that the business of the sept may be ironed out. We are at war my brothers and sisters and can hardly account for bickering or prejudice to distract our focus. Lastly, I wish to put forth my challenge for Truthcathcer for this sept.”
And this time he considers the philodoxes, and a moment later stratches his hand forward to offer the bone.
Silence
Much of the squabbling had been met with a careless sort of disregard from the Modi.
As Michael levels his gaze upon him, however — as he makes his claim, Those bound to Maelstrom, those gathered now under a pregnant moon, deserve the honor due each of them for whatever role they have played either in defense of this treasured land, or in the execution of our Wyrmfoe’s plan of attack —
The Modi’s lips peel back from lengthening teeth. In his human skin he had lounged, half-listening. In his warskin he now rises, seizing the bone.
Quiet:
“Enough.
“These are the wolves who came. Blast, Edwin, Winter’s-Sight, and Isaac of the Tiburon. Agony Thane of the Hounds. Caleb and Vast of Ares. Sticks’n’Stones of the Winds. Ewan and Delia of the Obsidian Data. Eyes of Loki, James, and Aodhan. Ruhiger, Kemp and Hyde of Eagle.
“These are the wolves who bore injury. Kemp and Ruhiger of Eagle, nearly dead in the front line. Edwin and Sticks’n’Stones, wounded.
“These are the wolves who ran like cubs in the face of a Gift so dread, so terrible that any new-forged Cliath could learn it.” A pause to let that sink in, and then the terrible litany of names, “Blast and Isaac. Agony-Thane. Eyes of Loki. Caleb. James. Aodhan. Ewan and Delia. Edwin.
“And these are the wolves who did not come, and offered no explanation.
“Marissa and Kendra of the Hounds.
“Jedi and Andy of the Data.
“Kathrin of the Eagles, my own packmate.
“Luis, Bai Chou, packless.
“There are others, but they have fled the Sept as well as the battle. I won’t even befilth my tongue with their names.
“But then there’s you, Michael Lennox, Stormhelm, Alpha of your pack. You were not there. You did not even come to run tail-tucked from the Wyrm. No, you hid. And now you come before us, singing your praises, demanding honor for all who defended this land. Who assisted my plan.
“You would ask honor, Stormhelm? For all, in the name of Maelstrom? For those who fled, and those who hid? For yourself, Alpha of the pack who did not fight?
“I don’t [fucking] think so.”
Kemp
Kemp snagged the bone when Agony Thane shoved it at him. The forced bone had the result of bringing a chuckle up from his chest as that shit eating grin flashed.
“Well how kind of you to offer the bone this time, rather than toss it on the ground again. Now, let’s get started here, cause I sure as hell am getting tired of this subject and quick. First, I’m sure ole Lachlan here can take up his own bone with ya. So I’ll leave his end up to him.”
Canting his head towards Lachlan before returning his attention to Agony Thane.
“Ok, I’m a trying really hard here to figure out when I said it wasn’t my fault, cause shit, I ain’t the one wanting everyone to snear at me for falling under the effects of a gift during battle. No, I was the dumb ass getting his spine torn out in battle. Silly me. And ya want to talk prepared? Take this for what it’s worth. We knew going in who would be there, at least the main body and that’s what showed. We knew we had to keep the Elder away from his Klaive or we were all gonna suffer more than we needed to. Some were suppose to force them through the building and out the other end. None of that shit happened. Ya want blame? Ya want prepared for something? We knew that much. We might not of known what gift might be used against us, but we knew that much and failed completely in that end of it, didn’t we?”
“I’m also trying to figure out also when I said I thought I was above the line of corruption and just when falling under a gift of fear, became corruption. Sure as hell don’t remember saying it. I am sure you can quote the exact words that said I was above corruption. Not knowing who is going to use what gift is not arrogance, duh. And cramming for every gift possible is not going to save your ass if your will doesn’t hold up against. But the real thing here is, ya want to suffer shame. Ya can’t take it that someone could forgive it. If there is any whining here, it’s you whining cause I can say I forgive ya, I forgave someone for falling under the momentary influence of a gift used against them. That I could forgive you, Agony Yuf, for having a moment of weakness. Oh yes, I said it. Weakness. A lack of will to withstand. I also said, if ya want me to deride you for it. If ya have to pout, stomp about, scowl and be blamed, well shit, I can do that too. But ya know what? I done changed my mind. Nope, I forgive ya. I think that’ll piss ya off more than saying, shit can and does happen, learn from it and move on.”
Shrugging as he held out the bone for the next to speak.
“Sorry man, I ain’t holding no grudges. And believe me, I can ride a grudge to the grave, but I accept what happened. I can’t change it, but I can not ride it to hell and back, holding on to it with the desperation of a lover. Live with it.”
Michael
Michael does not even flinch under the raw intensity of the Modi’s gaze nor his condemning words. Calmly he reaches out for the bone from the Adren’s muscled grip. While he is not backing down, nor seeming unfazed, he would appear respectful of the moody Modi.
“Big words sometimes…”
He trails off, not because he’s scared but because its unnecessary to continue.
“Regardless Silence-rhya, I’ve admitted my fault for not making myself available to this part of your plan. I admit being out of the city on business when the ambush took place. I admit these and ask for no honor for myself. I’ve asked that WE honor those who did come. Those you’ve mentioned. Obviously, sometimes there can be confusion over mere words. But test the veracity of my claims Silence-rhya.”
“I won’t waste the sept’s time. I’ve addressed where I was. I’ve brought forth a plan to strengthen the defenses of the caern. I encouraged the sept to form a council of elders. and I’ve challenged the philodoxes of the sept for Truthcatcher as a permenent position”
Returning his gaze to Silence.
“You’ve brought down the Hive’s elder. You’ve shown your prowess War-Leader. Now we prepare for the backlash.”
Silence
” ‘Big words sometimes…’, Stormhelm?”
The Council of Elders, redux: it does not interest him. This does, the bone cradled gently in his curving claws.
“Finish your thought. Big words sometimes, what?”
Blast
Blast listens to the debate with all the attentiveness of watching a tennis match. Back. Forth. Back. Forth. When the bone comes around, he decides to change games. Something bloodier, maybe.
Snagging that much coveted bone and blowing on it to cool it off, he opens his mouth. Again. Beware, right?
“Theurges, i been hit by two kinds of fear mojo shit in the past and both of them were different in effect. The one, you can’t attack but you can stand there and take bullets or claws for someone else, do other things. The other, was what happened when we all ran like we’d just been threatened with mass neutering. No choice, just running. It hit those who had lots of self control and those who didn’t. So..
I expect all the others will be working like hell on their self control just like I am, to keep that from happening again. It ain’t overnight though, and in the meantime, the fuckers are STILL out there and probably still gonna use that gift on us again. and maybe that Will be tomorrow when we are up against that again.
What is the defense against it? What gift can we learn to keep this from happening again, while we train ourselves tougher the hard way? Is there a rite or talen to be made? Something we can, those who fell to it, can do? You can call it penance or just what the fuck got to be done, i don’t really care at this point– point is,
We KNOW Its a weakness. And we cannot let it stand. So- spirit talkers, talk to us about this.”
Kendra
All this while Kendra sat quietly on the floor, tucked into the safety of the shadows, present amongst her pack. She never left her Crinos form, and she realized now that that was with good reason. She had judged, based on how the last Moot she attended had gone, that if she ever wanted to put in a word and be taken seriously, she would have to do so in her War Form. There would be too much bickering and insult-tossing for her words to be taken seriously otherwise. In Homid, at her mighty 4’11” height, she felt she would simply be overlooked. Especially at her rank.
So she remained in Crinos, concentrated on the conference occuring before her. Bitter comments flew back and forth, the bone tossed between only a few select hands, the hands of the irritable.
Then she rose. Still rather unimposing, hardly as tall as many other Crinos warriors shoulders, she didn’t make nearly as much of an impression as Agony Thane or Silence, Kemp or Micheal…. Hell, as any that have spoken so far. Yet she stepped forward and wrapped her claws about the bone when given an oppertunity.
The rune-licked femur, a relic of their society and tool of verbal priority, now rested in yet another irritable pair of hands.
“Seems the members of Maelstrom have picked up a habit.” Her first words were dripping with sardonicism. Her black lips were peeled back, showing ivory teeth in a sneer to match the tone of her voice. “That habit? Unproductive whining about things that no longer hold importance. Wasting the time of those gathered here with bitching and grab-assing, insult-flinging and dick-measuring.
“I can understand that conflicts do arise, and know that it is the nature of our people to fight. Not just the Wyrm, but amongst each other. It establishes dominance and a hierarchy, this is why we have Ranks and why we submit to our elders. Yet, as of late, nearly all conflicts brought forward at our Moots, the occasional times that everyone is gathered, have been lacking in…. oh, say, relevence?” She half-snarled and tossed her head. Her moon hung in the sky, provoked Rage that she often tried to keep in check. However it seemed that her patience had been tried, and it was going to show.
She singled no one out, but addressed everyone, not willing to start a one-on-one debate with any Sept member herself and thereby contradict her own lecture. “The argument I hear most right now is one over running from battle. I hear talk about a gift causing everyone to flee, how it isn’t our fault, how we should be thankful to be alive. Then I hear another side, one where we should punish ourselves, make ourselves stronger and refuse to slack and say ‘Hey, it’s okay.'” Again, her teeth bared, and that sardonic tone and expression were heavy in her demeanor.
“What relevence is there in this argument? In either side? No matter what is said, everyone here will react precisely as they would like to, and no one can make them react otherwise. If someone wants to be grateful they survived, they will be, and they cannot be faulted or punished for this. If another wants to be harsh on himself and his own, then he can, and he cannot be faulted or punished either. If another wants to cram their goddamn thumb up their ass and whistle Yankee Doodle they motherfucking can!”
Flames of Rage roared to life in her eyes, passion of her tribe enhancing this, skill of her Auspice better communicating this into her words and expressions, so others can feel and understand where she’s coming from.
“I am sick and tired of all of this bullshitting! There are, once again, better things to be spoken of! The next person to take this bone from my hand had damn well better be speaking of the Umbra, or the growing number of packless in our city, or challenging for a position within this Sept, or proposing an ingenious plan to solve all of Gaia’s problems worldwide, or so help me there will be hell to pay!”
Her shoulders moved slowly up and down with her breaths, tearing at her throat and doing little to cool the burning fire of Rage within her chest. She had spoken her piece, and obviously had nothing more to say. Yet, the bone was held extended in one hand, waiting for the next person to take it. Whoever approached was met with a stare, be it of warning, suggestion, or even pleading (depending on their Rank and how she knew them).
Kemp
Well the way he saw it, someone had to do it. Shrugging as he stepped right up to the plate and snagged the bone from Kendra with a bow.
“Seems to me, there are habits. One of them being someone else at every moot that snags the bone, makes threats like they are everyone’s mother or father. That if we bad little children don’t behave, there will be Hell to pay or to shut up, much as a child shouts it. Seems to me, you were one of the ones that didn’t..”
Gasping.
“..show for the ambush. Didn’t even send a wire or nothing to say ya couldn’t make it, ya were getting your nails done or something. Heh. Gives ya a lot of room to tell everyone to shut up or mommy will spank us.”
Tucking the bone under his arm as he brought the fingers of both hands to his mouth to start chewing on his nails as fast as he could. Widening his eyes like he was scared to death as he quivered and shook.
“Ut oh, now I’m gonna get it. I gotta find payment for hell or something. I’m soooooo scared.”
Snorting as he passed off the bone.
Kathrin
Kathrin stood with the Eagles, by her brother’s side. Hearing Decker say her name, she cowered a bit. She was pretty sure a lecture or punishment was coming later for not being there.
**********************************
Rayne just folded her arms, and couldn’t care less that her name was called off by the Eagle Alpha. She had her reasons. Ewan knew her reasons, and was helping her with them. End story.
Winter’s Sight
Eve watches this, then just shakes her head and whispers something to Blast before grinning a bit and then whispering to Stormhelm. The smirk on her face doesn’t last long however as she tries to at least seem serious about the situation at hand.
Edwin
Once ‘gain, same ol’ saw. Reckon a part’ve me’d like ta point’n tell m’tribemates that I done tol’ ’em so. ‘Tleast, I done tol’ Blast, last time we’d talked.
Them other tribes’s so tore up ’bout pers’nal honor’n pissin’ contests, they lose sight’a whut’s important real quick-like.
But I don’t reckon I needs ta say much’a anythin’. Proofs’ in th’puddin’.
So, I sits quiet-like’n watches, hopin’ that fer once, folks’d wise up. Blast’d had a point, an’a good’ne. But since he’s a Shadow Lord, I don’t reckon I really ‘spect anybody ta listen right now. They’s too busy tryin’ ta cover up their shame b’takin’ on all comers.
Nevermin’ Blast’s right…
Still, ain’t like I don’t feel it too. Burns me up somethin’ awful thinkin’ ’bout how I tucked tail’n ran with th’lot’ve ’em. Burns me worse’t I got so sloppy ‘gainst that black spiral. Reckon I’s jes’ got bigger fish ta fry. Like findin’ ways not ta get mojoed out’a th’next fight. After all, it ain’t like th’Wyrm’s gonna call that’ne victory an’ quit while it’s ahead.
Mike
Through the course of time as bone is passed to and fro, it was again comes through Stormhelm’s hand now settled in homid….damn the cold….He looks down at the bone a moment and then to Silence.
A question is evident in his gaze, but he does not flinch away his attention like the cliaths would. For while respect and admiration is there, there is also the changing relationship as one moves up in rank. So Michael does not quite meet Silence’s eye, but its damn close.
His appearance does not reveal a prideful idiot, but one considering his words, his place, but one also comfortable in his environ. He looks at the others then
“There are matters brought before this gathering. Spiritual matters relating to the umbra, proposed defensive additions, formation of a council, etcetc. Let us discuss these and not waste our time. Even now the moon rises high in the sky….so unless there ”
And then back to Silence…
“So unless you wish to test my words as is custom, then please do so. Otherwise, rhya…we’d appreciate your counsel”
And he passes the bone to the next one in line …
Silence
“You started this, Stormhelm. Now finish it, or admit your cowardice.
“Big words sometimes, what?”
Mike
“I am no coward Silence.” Indignation at the Fenrir is as clear as the bright spring day soon to come.
“I’ve made my report as to what I was involved in. And have made an offer to the sept, as planned, to share this rite as a defense of the caern.”
He pauses considering his words while looking intently upon Silence.
“As for big words, Silence-rhya, they tend to confuse a situation where simplicity would be preferred.” Looking now to Silence. “Forgive me for clouding the previous discussion with big words. I’ll strive to simplify my statements in the future”
and just before he passes the bone….
“If you persist in labeling me rhya, I will recognize it as an affront and accept your challenge, rhya ” No condescension here. Just simple facts, perhaps even resigned to the outcome.
And the bone passes.
Caleb
The theurges were asked a question from Javier, and Caleb was one whom answered. The cajun swordsman was seated on a box or a crate or whatever was handy with his sword shifted just so, so that the hilt refrained from digging into his ribs.
Eventually the bone did come into his hands. Caleb considered his words for a moment, weighing the bone in his open palm. Then the Silver Fang rose.
“That we did run, dis is something that shames us. Yet, I cannot say that the way was not won. We did, in the end, by the heroics of those that did remain.” His eyes flicked around, and came to rest on Javier. Silver Fang to Shadow Lord.
“A gift, rite, or talen that can steel one’s resolve against such Gifts as to instill fear in us, I do not know of. That I can say would be better is that we each learn to better our own force of will so that such a thing does not happen again. Yet I cannot garauntee such a thing would work. Like all the Gifts Gaia has bestowed upon us, they in the end depend on what ability we ourselves have. A fetish, perhaps, could ward off such a thing. And if such a fetish existed, it perchance would be a rare one.”
Caleb paused, taking a moment to reflect. “Difficult to find and difficult to make, without the knowledge of the making itself. The World we live is strange; it is possible, Monsieur Avieta. Possible, but not probable.”
Silence
Stormhelm apologizes — for using words too big for a Fenrir to understand.
Stormhelm speaks in terms of respect and deference — while staring straight and fixed at the Modi.
Silence is Garou, born of Fenris. Words mean little to his ilk. Word-games, less. It’s what’s spoken between words that matters. What’s spoken by the body, the posture, the tone.
In Stormhelm, there is no true submission. No bowed head. No averted eyes. No hunched shoulders. And when the Shadow Lord finally attempts to spin the situation in his own favor, Silence’s temper is at an end. The Relentless drops into his hand. There is no other warning.
Agony Thane
The Agony Thane has stepped down from the debate, as Kemp’s arguement hangs in the currents and Kendra addresses the situation. The flesh ceases to ripple and the Bone begins to change hands, his eyes and features directed down at the Rotagar with all the composure and solidity a Judge might muster. Considerable, for the unempathic.
He crosses his arms over his chest as Kendra launches into Galliard passions and dictates, the thunder in her voice bringing about a vague flicker of a glance in his Beta’s position. She spoke with fire. With conviction.
…And when Truth~in~Frenzy challenges her claim, with accusation and finger pointing, he in turn lifts his chin enough and steps between the pair, watching the bridle and fluster of Rage that threatens to spike off Kendra’s brow, hidden in the Fianna’s eyes and beneath the surface. No doubt she had an answer. No doubt she had quite an answer for the Rotagar.
…A hand lashes out to stay across Kendra’s shoulder, eyes narrowed and head shaking, determined. An Order as much as a Reprimand. This was not the time.
He would reach for the Bone and allow it to be passed onto his Brother Philodox and Tribesmate to speak, the flickering of features on the alpha of the Hounds, suggestive of secret conversations, only in the intensity of his gaze on Kendra.
When at last that is settled, his attention turns in kind towards Stormhelm. He listens, intent and easing the muscles beneath the flesh to a calmer state, nodding towards Stormhelm as the mention of the Rite is offered, a flickering gaze aimed in Bleeding~Heart’s direction for potential thoughts from the Elder on the matter…
…When quite suddenly Silence steps forward to offer crackling words. The Judge’s eyes are ripped back ’round towards the Towering Modi, darting back and forth between Adren and Tribesmate with all the attentiveness of a tennis enthusiast. As tensions begin to rise and the Rage begins to flood throughout the assembled, the Agony Thane’s muscles tense up once more.
…Michael finishes his sentence. Silence’s hand shimmers and quite suddenly the gleaming blade is revealed once more, a sure and solid sign the Modi has opted against the Traditional combative measures and Baaku is in motion, slamming into Crinos with a snarled word on his lips.
“…NO!”
Evan
He stood there long enough as it seemed that the Moot continued to draw the Nation lower and lower into debase screaming and yelling. He called upon the spirit of his ancestors, the spirit of human speech and persuasion, and the spirits would answer. His silvery fur matted with spots of darker red and brown seemed to tell of his lineage, the kings of kings. But being of the Tribe of the Unifiers, he could no longer stay silent on these affairs.
His hand went back to subdue his packmate from making a very grave mistake, to attack another Garou outside of honorable challenge. It would be an afront that he would not wish to see happen again. This Moot has fallen to far already.
When he takes up the bone, he stands there, partly to allow the winds to carry his words on the enhanced edge of his gift. And more so seeming to wait for the garou to feel it, the spirit of his pack, Astraea, Honorable spirit of Judgement, to settle over the Gathering, to settle by his side. Gifting him with the powers of true leadership and expression, marking him. His words would seem more so to be honey sweet, a treasure to the ear.
“What are we becoming? Pickering and fighting amongst ourselves. Has not the lessons of the Hive and the conflict there shown us nothing? A divided Sept is only a target, as John Smith had pointed out. This Sept was able to take on the Hive, not by brute force along, but because of the division within their own ranks. A sept divided is only good for one thing, a target of the Wyrm.”
He shakes his head at he continues to move, his eyes falling upon Truth~In~Frenzy first.
“The point you make of Lil~Throat~Ripper and I not being at the attack is valid, we were not there. However we were sent on a mission by our pack alpha and Bleeding~Heart, to find aid within other Septs. We ventured to the Sept of the Homeguard, outside of Salt Lake City to make an attempt at aid, with them we left a Pathstone and our desire for alliegence. They shall send runners back of their decision. I wish to have returned with aid, but I cannot say for certain that we have.”
He seems content on that issue, if challenged, then so be it.
“However Truth~In~Frenzy~rhya, you are of the No-Moons, our questioners. It is among your duty to find the flaws in out beings, our weakness. Yet when one of our kind comes before us to suggest such a weakness, you rebuke him for it. Are you being serious are sarcasitic? I am not so sure, for that I commend your abilities, but please help us enlighten oursevles, aid ourselves. If no gift or rite or talon exists, then we must think of another way. Your auspice is good at thinking outside the parimeters of what is traditional done, please have your auspice come together and think of ways to counteract such a dangerous weapon. For next time the Sept may not be so lucky as to lose none of our own.”
It was amazing to find Evan apart of the same pack as Thane. Where Thane used Rage and ire, primed with it, Evan was calm and peaceful. But then again Astraea loved balance, maybe he was the balance to Thane.
“And what of the Umbral, I know little about it and have not been back long enough to know of hoiw thick the gauntlet has come. Has this problem been brought to our Theurges before? Have they come together to question the spirits about this? How can we work to save our spiritual sides from this danger? A problem indeed.”
Then he looks to Michael, pausing for a second to gather up his thoughts.
“You wish to challenge for Truthcatcher, for permanent position. Truthcatcher is the mark of the greatest Philodox here, one who can balance the Auspices of other, Keep the tribes together as well as find the truth through the lies. I myself am not perfect for this duty, I have drawn the ire of another Philodox, Sticks~N~Stones~Rhya, I hope to make amends and have send tokens of contrition since. But if none shall stand up to challenge, then I shall. This position is far to important to let go without such.”
And then Evan offers the bone up should any wish to continue.
Ruhiger
Ruhiger had not shifted back to homid after the howl, preferring this time in her birthskin. She stands, impassive, steadfast and silent near her pack, flanking Silence opposite Kemp. Pale eyes watch the arguing, bouncing back and forth between those who stand up and speak. Her gaze rests heavily on Micheal as he orates his thinly veiled insults, and an ear twitches as Silence replies. And again as Silence goes, well, silent, and Relentless shimmers into view.
Agony Thane is not the only who moves, though clearly they have different ideas. In fact, when Ruhiger steps forward, it is directly into the path of The Agony Thane with a turn to face him, gathering her will to resist pain as she moves. To get to her Alpha, Baaku will have to get through her first.
A brawl serves no purpose in a one on one challenge. This is not their fight.
Hyde
Hyde like wise was in his birth form. That of the massive Fenrir Crinos form, when the axe appeared. He’d been turning to watch the other lords at that instant so when AnneMarie moved he felt it more than saw it. Little scamp was faster off the draw than he.
But he tied Bakku and like wise moved to put his incredible mass between his alphas back and any and all commers. If any living soul wished to get to silence, not only would they have to rend the powerful speed bump that was AnneMarie in her birth form, but Hyde in his as well.
And those two speed bumps wern’t easily jumped.
Ears flip back tight aginst his skull and his head lowered. No… “overt” hostlle moves, but it was clear. To get to his packmate, he’s going to be in the grave.*
Kathrin
Kathrin was still in hispo. She waited til AM and her brother Hyde moved into their position. The Eagles were forming the blockade to protect their Alpha. And Kat was no different. The Hispo moved to a couple of feet of Hyde’s side, rounding out the semicircle. Her ears flat, she was down and ready, growling low in warning.
Kemp
At the moment the shit started to hit the fan, Kemp was still in homid, in the midst of pointing out just how rediculas and arrogant it was for Kendra to make threats and dictates as to who could speak about what at the Cracking of the Bone.
ST
In two seconds, the world inverts – turning itself inside out, and back again.
Everything happens all at once. Silence stands – Crinos – and the Relentless appears in his hand, the firelight a hot contrast to the cool gleam of the full moon along the well-honed edge of the fabled blade.
“STOP!” shouts Stormhelm.
“No!” shouts the Agony Thane.
“My honor. MINE.” Silence snarls, feral in the Garou tongue, heaving the blade back.
The scene seems to stop, the air feels jellied and second stretch like taffy – but no, that is only an after effect, the mind’s attempt to pose order on a situation of wild disorder. Silence moves faster than most of the Sept can dream of moving. Before most have realized his intent, he has loosed the massive blade. It flies across the assembly area directly at Stormhelm, but does not more than clip him – passingly – in the shoulder.
As soon as Silence lets the blade loose, however – others join in. Recognizing the Modi’s ill-intent, Stormhelm and The Agony Thane shift reflexively – hispo and crinos beasts where mere men stood before. The former attempts to dodge the blade and succeeds in some small measure, ducking a blow aimed for the head and taking it on the shoulder instead. The latter jumps into Silence’s direct path for his tribesmate – but is met by Ruhiger, Hyde Three-Fingered, and Baneslayer. Ruhiger opens a minor score down the Thane’s flank, and Hyde and Kathrin both pile on – grappling to prevent the Thane from impeding their Alpha’s progress.
Despite their combined might, Hyde and Kathrin are unable to pin the Thane; the Shadow Lord holds his own against their combined strength – but they have succeeded in their mission. Silence is already past the knot of struggle – gray and terrible and unforgiving, bearing down on Stormhelm furiously, and without a single sound.
Stormhelm rolls over, showing throat and belly, whimpering his submission to the Adren as Silence eviscerates him – literally disemboweling the groveling Shadow Lord with a single bite. Michael is insulated from the pain by his gift, but he can feel his steaming intestines unraveling, the perforated stomach collapsing, the crushed spleen, the sudden loss of muscle control in his hindquarters as the Modi bites right through to the spine, jaws closing over the lumbar vertebra, clearly prepared to tear Stormhelm – quite literally – in half, when he stops, pulling the otherwise deadly blow while Stormhelm clings to consciousness below him.
[Baaku has 2 aggravated damage from Ruhiger. Hyde and Kathrin grappled him, but he resisted their combined strength and remains able to move next round. Silence pulls the first bite, leaving Michael with six aggravated damage. Silence has 2 rage actions left, and the thread remains closed pending Damon’s decision regarding Silence’s rage actions. At that point, I will reopen the thread unless we are going into another combat round. Thanks!]
Silence
The monstrous war-wolf pauses, more red than grey. Its maw is full of blood, full of teeth, full of the foul biles and bloods and contents of stomachs and spleens crushed in a single terrible bite. It closes its terrible claws around the Shadow Lord’s throat, choking off whatever protests or excuses might come.
“Look at you,” it snarls, soft as velvet, “I can smell your fear.
“You were nothing but defiance when you thought yourself safe behind your smirking words. You don’t submit for respect or honor, or even for shame. You grovel like a worm to save your own life. Just as you hid like a worm to save your own life when the battle was joined.
“Yours is the worst form of cowardice. It is a wholly selfish cowardice. You would abandon anyone, anything, to save yourself. Your fancy words cannot hide that. Your promises and excuses cannot hide that. I see you for what you are. So does everyone else.
“Look around you, Stormfool. Whatever they may say or do when this is done, where is your pack now? Are their claws at my back? Are their teeth in my throat? Did they help you? Did a single one of them even think to help?
“You could be dead already. They would have let you die. And why not? You would have let them die.”
Silence lifts his head to address the Grand Elder and the Ritesmistress, the Warder and the Beta of the Sharks.
“Why should I let him live? What use is he to you?”
Winter’s Sight
As Silence looks towards Javier and to the Elders, Winters Sight catches his gaze for a mere moment before looking to the fallen alpha of Tiburon’s Shadow. The way he had shown his throat and belly…again her gaze turns away to look upon Javier. Stormhelm had been foolish enough to try and challenge during such a raw time for a position in the Sept.
A position that he was now going to be denied.
She remains in her human form, but rises between the drawn out pause. And in that elongated pause…the crescent moon speaks.
“As one of Tiburon’s Shadow and loyal Cliath of the Sept, I move for Stormhelm to be removed from the position of Alpha. In turn, I nominate Blast our pack Beta to take leadership of Tiburon’s Shadow”.
The Theurge then lowers her head and steps back behind Javier to his right, allowing her fellow packmates to show their allegiance to Javier by following her stead.
This statement may night be for the Sept, as it is for her pack. However, distinction needs to be made here and now in order to preserve whatever is left of the pack’s dignity.
Will
*Above in the rafters the Mighty raven watched. He listened. He watched.
HOLY FUCKING SHIT FLYING AXE!!!!!!!
CAW!!! The bird almost fell off the rafter.
He ‘whited’ a bit and thankfully it only landed near Danny, not on her. Craning down he hopped off his rafter and spiraled down to land inbetween, the Twister and Obsidian Data pack. Looking at each to make sure noone was going to try and pluck him he hoped a few times and watched. Ohhhh there’s the Silence he knew and feared. Oh shit…. ouch! A wing was brought up to cover hs eyes, but just for a milisecond as the lord was ripped open. Then he’s watching again…
The movement stopped and he looks around. Silence spoke and then that new girl Lord stands up. The raven looked to her and his beek cracked open in shock as the new girl TOTALLY PLUTOED Mikie.. A shake of his birdy head and he gapes.
A flicker of wings and he’s back up into the rafters, regaining his seat. Holy shit! Stunned bird*
Blast
Eve rises and as she takes a breath to inhale, her Beta’s gaze is on her. That gaze narrows– and perhaps the gathered sept will think she changed her mind about speaking.
The Columbian-now-Crinos’ voice carries as far as it does; Blast makes no attempt to woo or sway. His eyes are Shark-cold, and filled with rage, fury, from watching– and watching without any interference at the same time.
“Stormhelm-rhya is Fostern. He is Philodox. He has earned respect from caerns all over through his negotiating skills.
He is also Shadowlord, a grandson of Thunder himself. As such, he knows how much we value weakness, which is– nada. Zip.
He knows the value of words and inflection and shit i can’t even pronounce. He knows what a challenge is, and how to punish one of lesser rank who offers provocation with or without wisdom–with claws, and fang. The strongest survive. The strongest lead. This is the lesson he has taught to Tiburon’s Shadow.
He made his challenge and his choice. We did not interfere. IF he had triumphed, we would respect his strength.
That he failed, we don’t respect weakness. Blood in the water.
What use he is though is a garou to defend the Caern should he learn from this lesson, should you spare his life and allow him to live- he has surrendered, after all. However– Tiburon’s Shadow will not be following a weak leader.
We– smell blood.”
ST
The Grand Elder remains in homid; as Silence looks to him and to his companions, the philodox begins to speak, almost in time with the Ritemistress. It is her voice that wins out, then. Balance Without Fault shoots the wraiththin theurge a glance, wordless and shuttered as her packmates give way so that she may step forward.
“Silence-yuf,” she begins, pale eyes briefly affixed on the bloodied Modi before they drop to the philodox laying prone beneath him. “The Wyrm kills enough of our number; this you know. The Wyrm kills enough of our number – and we should not aid the enemy by doing its work. You know this. You know that this is what I will say. And – I think – you know that this is true.”
The theurge is a compelling figure, tall and sharp, fragible, her skin worn thin, her eyes bruised, her mouth twisted. Breathless from pain so unremitting she cannot remember its absence, the wasted woman watches the pair of them, pale eyes brimming with the strangest, long-seeing compassion.
“Whatever his faults, he has prostrated himself before you and it is the duty of another moon to judge him now. Still, Silence-yuf, when you take his measure, remember that he fought for us before, when the packs gathered at your command to destroy the enemy’s pack within the slums of the city. I have heard the story, and the Shadow Lord did not stand in the back then. He led once, and with more than smirking words, but by deed.”
Slowly she closes the distance, until she comes to a rivulet of blood, trickling slowly across the uneven ground. The theurge then sinks to a low crouch, stippling her fingertips in Stormhelm’s blood and painting it across the bare, frozen earth. The woman’s knees are forward, her stick-like arms slack at her side, her chin aslant, her eyes cast down, now, halflidded as she studies the patterns she paints so haphazardly on the once-barren soil.
“When you stand over Stormhelm in place of the halfmoon, Silence-yuf, I ask you to remember the deeds he has done, and not simply those he failed to do.
“We fight a failing war, Silence-yuf, to heal our broken mother. Her warriors are few, and passing, as you most certainly know. Stormhelm will not soon forget the lessons he has learned to know, and I must trust that he will emerge refined by this fire – if not now, then someday. Let him live, to prove himself again in her service. Let him live – if not for him, if not for you, then for her.
“I beg you to stand down, Silence. Let those who would tend him, tend him. Let those who would judge him, judge him. Let us relish this moment – our passing victory – without another death on our hands, or in our midst.
“Please Silence. Free him, and let the moot continue in peace.”
Bleeding Heart looks up then, at last, leveling her silver-gilt gaze on the terrible warbeast before her.
Silence
The Crinos face of Silence is even more inscrutable than the Homid. It is impossible to tell what it is he thinks, nor what goes on behind his fierce eyes. All they can see for certain is that his claws have gathered a metallic gleam in the firelight.
When he moves it’s too sudden to stop. And really, who was left to stop him? Baaku had been restrained; the Sharks had renounced their allegiance.
Silver burns, but not to kill. Michael Lennox will wear a brand now, bold across his back so that he will never want to turn it to his allies again: a single glyph like a scarlet letter all his own.
Cowardice, it reads.
Leaving the Shadow Lord where he lay, Silence straightens to a bipedal stance. He picks up the Bone in his bloodied claws, weighing it in his hands.
“It’s no mercy to let him live. It’s a bitter path you ask for him, Bleeding-Heart. Remember that should he stray further still. Remember that when he fails you again.”
Silence passes the bone on, resuming his usual reticience.
Luis
~~Luis~~
he watches as this cluster-fuck of bickering breaks out yet again amongst the non-urban ones. he watched as others bit at each other’s backs, sniped, rebuked, accused, and very near ready to rip each other to shreds. he glanced over to danny to read her expression on all of this nonsense. then over twords ewan and just grunted. ‘huh’
this was more then he cared to endure. yet silent the raggy stayed. he wasn’t present, and that would no doubt be pointed out if he did speak up in any type of manner to disarm the situation. so the two urrah packs in a former urrah city controlled by the Wise Guys. yet they sit in silence to watch the others go for bloody broke.
~~Wes~~
The lone wolf stands in the back ground watching the others with an amused smirk. yet with nothing to say.
Baaku
…And it abates. It dies. The Adrens speak and the world returns to it’s quasi-comfort. Leaving Baaku…
…Standing amidst the Triplet of Eagles, blood running hot down the length of his left flank where claws scoured by the silent Ahroun fell. His breathing is vaguely laboured, the push and attempted restrain from the Metis and his Sister providing ample pressure, enough to force sharp whuffs of breath from his maw. The pain is familiar but not entirely common. He wears it with a narrowed grimace, half-scowl and half-snarl chops licked in quick succession, whilst the ballet between Modi and Theurge continues on around them.
…And when Silence bends to ‘Punish’ one of his own, there is a surge of Rage and a near renewed sense to continue the push forward, surpressed under the standing presence of the frail Ritemistress. Muscles shake and hackles rise, the spine bending outward in tensed constraint the heated exhale of a yawning maw turning the air white around his jaws.
The jaws ratchet outwards, clapping hard in the air at the Modi’s Judgement. When the Bone leaves his grasp it makes it’s way ’round, gripped and cracking under the pressure, gaze levelling not on the Modi but on the three before him, walking away or still standing.
“…Mooncalves and Children of Sin. Ruled by Tyranny and Terror for your skins.”
A rolling growl, that makes it’s way across what eyes and faces might still be facing him, or across the distance between Eagle turf and his current standing. Those eyes find Anne Marie, a clawed limb touching to the blood at his flank.
“…When next you strike me Mule, it will be under proper conduct. You may consider yourself challenged, for the idiocy of this…”
And then ’round on Kathrin and Hyde.
“…And you pair as well. Since your Alpha seems the only one with voice and courage enough to speak of his Challenges, A Shadowlord will have to see to your learning true ’cause and Justice…”
And then ’round finally, towards Balance~Without~Fault.
“…I ask the Master of Challenges to preside. Let these proceedings continue and the Wisdom of the Elders decide the time and place for these Challenges to be enacted…”
A pause, turning to glance over black furred shoulder at the Trio.
“…Unless of course, they need permission…”
Luis
‘God Damn!’ Luis voice pours out finally. It’s not one of irritation but of one of pure astonishment. His eyes are alight and he’s now on his feet excited. This moot was finally starting to shape out to be halfway decent and the raggabash licked his lips as words already raced through his mind. Though unlike last time. he waited for the bone, but as he waited he paced back and forth excitement rolling off of him.. so much so he shivers up to his war form. watching and waiting like a dog waits for it’s meal.
Ruhiger
Need Permission? No.
She is Fenrir.
She is Modi.
It is a full moon.
And she has been insulted by this… thing… long enough. Too often.
Baaku traces his blood with a claw, and with a slow smirk over crinos lips, she lifts her own claws, still red and dripping with Shadow Lord blood, and sends it flying back at him with a flick of wrist. Then, still silent, her chin lifts.
Challenge accepted.
She will draw his blood again.
Across Eagles wings to her pack. In case he is too stupid and wrapped up in his own self-righteous agony to understand, would one of you clarify that his challenge is accepted.
Danny
Danny glances toward Luis. A look, a quirk of a brow, and lazy gaze is back on the action. Silent conversations ensue, as told only by the smirk that touches her lips. Otherwise, she remains silent and still.
Luis
Luis glanced over to danny as his eyes started to distance. a few moments later.. he reclaims his cool and shifts back down to homid. flopping back onto his butt, and just watches.
Howls
Before the battle broke out, Kendra seemed set on starting one of her own. A Crinos warbeast of minute size, but of Rage and strength equal to many of her brothers, she had her hackles lifted and her black lips peeled back, revealing ivory fangs in a vicious snarl aimed toward the Eagles’ Rotagar. She spoke impassioned words blazing with Rage and conviction, made a threat to any who go against what she said, and immediately after the words left her mouth Kemp danced up to her, snatched the bone, mocked her with a bow, and smeared her statement in the dirt.
Such as Ragabash do.
Didn’t mean she liked it though.
Kemp left his statement open, his questioning of her honor and courage ringing in her ears along with the blood that sang through them as well.
“Why you little…”
She took a step forward toward Kemp, claws flexing, but stopped when a bulk larger than her own, a pelt darker than her own, and a presence more frightening than her own stepped in her way. Pale yellow eyes turned up to meet those of her Alpha, and she curled her lip a little further when he laid a restraining hand on her shoulder. This wasn’t a snarl of defiance or a threat for him to move, but rather a sign of irritation. Then a hand landed on her other shoulder, and her head turned to find Evan on her other side, helping to restrain her– not physically, but with the simple suggestion of a bracing touch on the shoulder.
After a moment she let out a low growl, one of reluctant compliance, and moved to take a step back and relax.
But then Hell’s gates flew open and out from their depths came a new brand of Chaos. There were a series of shouts (MINE! No!) and her Alpha lept away from her, joining into a fray that suddenly errupted before her. Then it stopped, just as suddenly as it had begun. Lennox lay on the ground, guts laying on the floor in front of him, and she felt her stomach lurch. She didn’t like the guy, not one bit, but this was… well, uncalled for. Her eyes danced from Lennox’s fallen form to Silence, who stood over him covered in the Shadow Lord’s blood, snarling and panting. She looked to the Ritemistress, walking toward the scene, trying to calm the tense situation.
Then her eyes raked toward her Alpha and found the gashes on his side. For the third time her lips peeled back and a defensive snarl left her lips. She took a half of a step forward, as though prepared to throw all rules of conduct to the wind just as everyone else had a moment ago, but then common sense won out and stopped her short. So, rather than rain fury down on the Mule Modi’s head like her Rage-flamed heart wanted, she braced herself against Evan’s side and rumbled a nigh-silent growl in her chest.
Isaac
The flurry of fur and fangs had been watched with quiet detachment, a slow sense of knowing the outcome before it had even begun, and when his Alpha is flung to the floor and gutted before the gathered Garou, Isaac brings his hand to his brow, groans quietly. There had been no motion to aid him, and there would be no motion to avenge him.
As Blast spoke, it become clear why this had not occurred. Theirs was not a tribe in which person weakness would be tolerated, let alone defended.
His hand returns to his side, and with one last glance at the bloody mess before them, Isaac takes a few steps sideways and falls in beside Eve.
Kemp
Kemp waited for the bone after the swift judgement given on Michael.
“First, even a blind man could see that coming. Second..”
He bowed towards Agony Thane with a flourish of the bone in salute.
“..Ruhiger asks that you be told, she accepts your challenge. Of course I am waiting to see this lesson taught on striking under proper conduct, because I am sure I must of blinked and missed the shining example set forth when ya started your own charge. Oh snap! Now I am bored with this.”
Sniffing as he handed off the bone.
Hyde
*Hyde took the bone from his packmate. Nodding to Kemps words, he eyed the bone in his hand a bit and looked up slowly.*
~HT~ My packmate speaks truth…. what are you laying your challenge based on Bakku? AnneMare.. she nicked you a little when you tried to jump our alpha.. I could understand maybe.. maybe being embarrased about that.
But before I accept a challenge I wish to know why you’re laying it. If it’s because we wouldn’t let you jump our alpha, you can fuck off. That’s a dishonorable challenge.
If you have reason…then I might accept.
Baaku
“…Jump? Reasons?”
The snarl is practiced. Easy and quick, as Kemp and Hyde both step full blow into it, the bone plucked up in the Agony Thane’s hand, without so much as a by your leave. The massive crinos steps inside the Metis’ Hyde’s range, glaring down at the Metis with
“…A Garou that draws a Weapon on another, is seeking more then a simple issue of Dominance. This is twice now I have witnessed your Alpha draw forth a Fetish weapon where his claws and teeth have sufficed in the past, a weapon I and you both have no doubt seen put to many an enemy. Yet he would draw it against Gaian Garou, one who possesses no such weapon and let fly with Rage and a lack of control displayed on countless occasions. This particular matter has been settled by the Ritemistress. However, it does not fit the proper edicts of a Justified and Honourable Challenge when an Ahroun steps forward to protect his honour with needless slaughter and Posturing…”
He turns then towards the Rotagar, snuffling a spittle flecked response.
“…None of you in the Eagles have displayed any guidance or attempt at Restraint, though it stands under the Duties of the Philodox” A hard glance cast down at little Baneslayer “To remind us of true Tradition. Of proper measure.”
He steps forward again, muzzle to muzzle with the Fenrir Godi, lips peeling back in a rippling growl.
“…Thus you and the rest of the Eagles, unable, I performed my duty. Your Alpha would come under no harm from me” Let Truth of Gaia for any willing, tell of his conviction “Simply the restraint that is required for ALL Ahrouns.”
The blood continues to leak down his side, unheeded and filling the air with the musk and copper of the Thane, snuffling beneath the nostrils.
“…And what do I find in my efforts? Not one but three of your number stepping in my path, when no others were within reach but attempt to halt Silence~rhya. Not only were you three blocking my way and my duties, but during your restraint taking a…”
A hand roams down to his side to flick some of his own blood down at Kemp’s feet, eyes travelling towards the Fostern No Moon, narrowed and struggling with a particular concept.
“…What is the phrase then Rotagar? A ‘Cheap…Shot?”
And back ’round on Hyde.
“…How Petty. How Pathetic. I will not fall to the pitiful attempts of three who cannot abide by Honour’s dictates. Refuse my challenge like the whimpering little Coward you are. I’ve met better Battle stains that were once True Fenrir, then what stands before me…”
And he turns and walks back before the Elders, Bone in hand. There would be no taking it from the Thane this time. No twisting words. No semantics. No turning it on it’s head. Did any but the Elders, seek the Bone they’d be put to a Facedown. Challenges had been issued. It was no time for discussion.
Kemp
Try as he may, he couldn’t recall using the words Cheap shot when speaking to ole Bluster just now. Cocking his head as he considered it before covering a yawn. Turning away.
“Whatever.”
Blast
Changing of the guard.
Eve stands behind Javier.
Isaac moves to stand beside Eve. Behind Javier.
Edwin will pick his side as well. But for now, there’s a fostern, however disgraced, who will soon bleed to death from his wounds if not treated. More importantly, that’s a packmate, however carved upon he might be.
They go back farther than Blast can remember. Literally.
There’s no love or caring in the body language of this battlescarred, Crinos body. strides forward where Stormhelm lies with now additional Silver damage, and leans down as if to offer a hand to the fallen man, studies Mikey there, keeps the raggie’s balance ready for whatever comes. Even a fallen Shadowlord can be deadly dangerous.
Looks Stormhelm dead fucking straight in the eyes, too. And he doesn’t look away, not this time.
The totemphone comes to life, the communication echoing perhaps as if underwater, felt as much as heard between all the Shark-bonded present.
You came for me all this way to Chicago. Now i am coming for you, for the same reasons. Funny that. Eve’s waiting to patch you up. I’ll show you how to redeem yourself– if anyone knows how to burn off shame in blood and ritual, its me.
Now.
YIELD, Stormhelm. Weakness and shame will not lead the war pack of Shark, nor any Shadowlord. Clear your name with the blood of the Wyrm. Yield, Mikey.
The rest of the garou present can see the challenge, if not hear the words. Those who know of Blast’s notoriety in South America might guess at what is being said. The sense of irony among those few must surely be intense. Yet another moment of life or death among the Sharks.
Drama Queens.
Hyde
*The massive godi that Bakku didn’t have a chance in hell of looking down on, unless he climbed up onto something listens. The theatrics of Bakku’s explination being explained.
To Hyde he heard “Decker did this….” and “AnneMarie scratched me” So he shook his head and turned his back on Bakku* I decline your dishonorable challenge. If you wish to challenge me formally. Find an honorable way.
*He then walked with Kemp back to the Eagles place in the moot.*
Silence
There’s a strange sound from the now-(once-)quiescent Modi. None of them have heard it before.
Silence laughs, low and terrible.
And, laughing, he rises to all fours, until it’s not a laugh anymore but a snarl that curdles the blood and flays shivers down the spine.
First, to Hyde, a growl low in his chest: “Accept his challenge. He has named you petty and pathetic. He has insulted your name. He has called you coward and spat upon your birth. The reasons he has given are no just cause for a challenge to you, but his insults are reason to rend him limb from limb. So DO IT, or his lies become truth.”
And then, to Baaku:
“I thought you better than your coward of a tribesman, Agony-Thane. But you are a greater coward than he. You would rail against me while you challenge my weakest packmates.
“You think it dishonorable that I use my fetish weapon? You think my tooth and claw the weaker of my weapons? You dare call me dishonorable and rash, whilst you hide behind challenges to the younglings of my pack? You think to escape me?
“Once again you have challenged me, Agony Thane. Once again you have spat venom upon my name and cast stones upon my honor. Once again you have not done so honorably.
“You were warned last time. I suppose you’re just too [fucking] stupid to remember.”
A pause.
“When Hyde finishes with you, when Anne Marie finishes with you, I ask that Bleeding-Heart restore your body and mind. Make your peace with Gaia then. Beg her forgiveness for the foolish, overproud, honorless rag of a Philodox you have become.
“And then you will face me.
“Tooth and claw, as you ask.
“And you will not survive.”
Hyde
*Hyde didn’t really give two shits what Bakku said, but he did care what decker said. He nodded* Yes sir.
*Looking to Bakku* Accepted then.
Baaku
Silence laughs. And speaks. The assembly hushes and waits until he is finished. Baaku doesn’t turn from the Elders, Bone still in hand, inspecting the broken length with narrowed eyes. A useless trinket more and more, as the Fenrir belch and bellow. When at last Silence finishes, the Agony~Thane turns, though not in the Eagle Alpha’s direction.
A click of his tongue at Hyde then as the Mule speaks up, the Hounds alpha pants and lolls his tongue briefly in Hyde’s direction. Then…
“…Permission granted then. Good boy.”
And then ‘Round, a glance unwavering somewhere ’round the Modi’s neck and shoulders before returning his attention to the Elders.
“…I ask that those Philodox” A glance at his Packmates in the Hounds and then ’round at Balance~rhya “considered worthy of their word, speak of the truth of my own as I address Silence~Rhya in this. Let their Honour prove to him and the assembly what the Fenrir seem unwilling to accept from Shadowlord mouth…”
And then ’round fully on Silence. The distance is hard to decipher, but his eyes are firmly measured on the large Modi’s framework.
“…Bleeding~Heart stepped forward to address what you have done Silence. Her wisdom was and stands as reason enough for me to keep from Challenging You. To do so, would be to claim her words false. That I will not do….
‘Trust in those who see Lies or Truth in my Words, that had Higher Ranked Wisdom not spoken where Law and Tradition normally stand, I would have Corrected you. Without hesitation.” A Rolling growl off his lips.
“…I have also had enough of you and your Eagles deciphering insult from every word that escapes Shadowlord mouth. Someone speaks and you feel insulted to your honour. A Joke is made and your hackles raise. A Dog pisses somewhere in Egypt and you feel slighted.”
The Snarl is loud. Straight-forward and punctuating.
“Do I wish to insult you or any other I will do so to your face as I have done to the Mules in your company, deserving of such. I retracted my words of ill worth against your name already and I will stand by that. With you Silence~rhya I’ve no issue that has not been taken care of. Thus, there is no challenge.”
A step forward, teeth vanishing beneath the uncurling lips and the Bone held out towards the Elders for their decree.
“Now if you wish me to stay out of your Challenges. Then you would do well to stay out of mine.”
Kemp
Yet again, Kemp covered a yawn before fishing in his pocket to offer his nail clippers, file extended from it, to Silence. Next came a long tangled string of green, mint flavored no doubt, floss.
“In case you are impressed by the constant twisting tongue as I am.”
Lachlan
Not since the beginning of the Cracking of the Bone has Lachlan reached for the much used femur to retort back to the Agony Thane. His jaw set into a line of tension, his odd-colored eyes flickered back and forth amongst the speakers, attempting to decipher the muted coloration of fur patterns and homid clothing, of each individual speaker. The bone’s bouncing from person to person snapping his attention as he watched and listened.
Politics.
The word is a silent snort cuffed through his nostrils and mouth, exhaling a hot rush of air as the procession of events unfolds in a violent spree of bloodlust and rage, the electric crackle of emotions running high, makes his spine stiffen, broad shoulders straight and taut with awareness as he prepared himself for the onslaught.
His face is expressionless to the disembowelment of Michael, if there was any shock as Lachlan watched it is hidden from the eyes of the others. He only looks on to the others of his tribe, Chicago’s Fenrir, and lets out a soft snort. His tongue held firmly in check for the moments, whatever thoughts he had on the situation are his own.
Winter’s
As Blast talks to Stormhelm across their totem, Eve remains behind the current pack Beta…but far enough back to show that she follows his orders and not those of the disemboweled alpha.
She wants to tell Michael to submit, to pass the challenge and allow Javier to take the reigns of the pack. It is for the best.
Winters Sight then looks to the RiteMistress. She is kind to have spoken up for Stormhelm in his hour of need. The RiteMistress has the power to do this, she does not rely on Stormhelm for survival. Eve’s hand goes to touch Isaac’s shoulder as he falls into place behind their tribal brother Blast. The Shark Pack does indeed need a trustworthy alpha for survival both outside and inside Caern matters.
Still, she lowers her head to the frail Theurge of whom she admires deeply.
While the others speak of challenges and honor, she looks to the fallen Shadowlord. She cares for him like the rest of her fellow Lords, but his foolishness could not be overlooked this time. Call it cold if you will, but please remember that such unemotional and unattached movements often keep a Garou from dying needlessly.
The Shadowlord Theurge waits for Stormhelm’s response and Blasts order.
Edwin
Well, now, reckon some a dem folk look a might surprised’t Eve’s initiative. Don’t reckon it much surprised me though; I come ta ‘spect dat sort’a thing from ‘er. Gal’s got no fear, I give ‘er that. Least, not ’bout things like leadership’n pack politics.
Anywho, reckon’s time I made m’decision. Ain’t like it’s any big surprise. Michael done been routed in th’field, an’ pissed off Silence somethin’ fierce as well. Don’t reckon that much pumps th’rep a Shark or Grandfather Thunder much. An’ I don’t reckon irritatin’ yer totem’s terr’ble smart when it’s one a them two.
Reckon it got worse when he done got branded. Now, call me crazy, but I don’t see’s how a feller can be pack alpha with that word branded on ‘is back. So, fer all them reasons’n’ others I won’t mention, I decides ta throw in with Blast.
Di’n’t say nuthin’. Don’t reckon I needed ta do so. Proof’s in th’puddin’, right? ‘Thout a word I took m’spot ta stand, arms crossed, with Blast, Eve, an’ Isaac, watchin’ ta see whut’d come next.
Danny
Danny may not seem as she’s paying attention. In fact, she seems rather bored by it all, being as she’s an outsider for the moment. But then Baaku starts in, and Fuckoo starts a blustering, and she arches a brow, slight. She sits up straighter.
And she starts to laugh.
Low, soft, and hidden behind her hand. Even when he has the all fire nerve to add an insult to her with the bunch of the Eagles.
At that point, she stands, and moves over toward Kemp. Mirth dances in her gaze, and she hooks her arm around his, and winks up at him.
Stage whispered. “Well, since he done chose to insult me too with the rest of ya’ll, figured I’d better come stand over here.” She pulls out a couple of Tootsie pops from her pocket, cherry for herself, of course, and a blueberry one offered to Kemp. A third – rootbeer – tossed over her shoulder to Luis with a grin. Hand full of others offered to the rest of the Eagles as well.
Then she unwraps hers, and plops the candy goodness in her mouth. Brows furrow slightly as she ponders something, then she shrugs, again leaning up to stage whisper to Kemp. “I’d challenge him too for his insults, and maybe orate reasons why I think he’s wrong?, but not only would it take the rest of my life, figure won’t be enough let to pick my teeth with after ya’ll’re done.”
She grins, and resorts to sucking on her tootsie pop, her lips turning candy red.
—
As for AnneMarie, she nods to both Hyde and Kemp for translating her words, and then stands, crinose arms crossed loose over her chest, waiting for the Philodox to quit orating, the foolishness to end, and the circle to be drawn.
ST
“That is enough.” Crinos now, Balance Without Fault stalks forward and takes the bone from the Agony Thane’s clawed handpaw, black lips peeling back from his fangs as he chuffs out the words accompanied by a non-verbal snarl. “That is enough.”
The Glass Walker philodox – warformed now – stands in the middle of the bare assembly area and turns around in a slow circle, taking in the Sept’s assembled warriors, the broken femur dwarfed. “Agony Thane, it is not your place to refuse the bone to another. Do not presume to do so again.”
Next, he turns to Ruhiger. “The Agony Thane challenges you; you have wounded him, when he sought to bar your alpha from committing violence at the moot. You have honorably accepted the Agony Thane’s challenge; as the challenged, you will chose the means of the challenge. I will preside over it as Master of the Challenge two nights from now.”
Next, he turns to Hyde Three Fingered. “It is not your place, Hyde Three Fingered, to announce that a challenge offered you is dishonorable. Do not presume to take the place of Philodox. Accept the challenge, or do not accept the challenge, but do not play human games with the terms. If you truly believe a challenge has been made for less than honorable reasons, seek the advice of a Philodox, or bring the matter to the Master of the Challenge. In case you have forgotten, I am the Master of the Challenge of this Sept.
“The Agony Thane has challenge you; he says that you have failed in your duty to advise your Alpha, to offer the wisdom of restraint, and that you hindered him when he attempted to stop your Alpha from engaging at the moot. I judge the challenge honorable. Accept the challenge, or do not, as you will.”
“Baneslayer,” The Philodox shifts position minutely, to address Kathrin. “When your pack was called to battle, you did not join them. You have lost honor in the eyes of the Nation, honor which you could not afford to lose. You remain a cub until that honor is restored; and, as such, you cannot accept the challenge offered by the Agony Thane. It would be dishonorable. Agony Thane, I have no doubt but that you will rescind your challenge, under the circumstances.”
“Silence-yuf.” The Grand Elder lifts his chin and his ears swivel minutely as he focuses on the Modi. “I am the Grand Elder of this Sept. I am the Master of the Challenge. If you wish to challenge me, challenge me. Until you do, my word is the final authority. It is for me to determine if a challenge is honorable, and it is my duty to set the terms, and to enforce them. If you wish to challenge the Agony Thane for words he has retracted, challenge him. I will tell you now that it will not be a challenge to the death. I will not allow the strength of this Sept to be spent so frivolously.”
“Agony Thane,” Balance Without Fault turns ninety degrees, to face the raging Shadow Lord. “You retract your words; and yet, the whole of the Sept heard them. As Philodox, you must choose your words more carefully. We are not simply the nation’s judges, we are its diplomats. The next time you wish to speak immoderately, cultivate restraint.”
“Sticks-n-Stones,” the Grand Elder continues, with a flare of rage, snapping toward the Bone Gnawer as she slides around the circle to tuck her arm through the Rotagar’s arm, “this is a moot; it is not the high school cafeteria. And you – you are a Philodox; not a Ragabash. Endeavor to remember that the next time we gather beneath the warrior’s moon, to honor the Maelstrom and our mother.”
ST
Bleeding Heart then steps forward, again into the firelight, her agonizing loveliness heightened by the play of shadow and flame over her features. She remains in homid, frail as ever, requests and accepts the bone from Balance Without Fault.
With the bone in hand, Bleeding Heart turns to Silence. Her sharp features are still, her pale eyes fixed upon him; the shadows of her skull are visible through her close-shorn skull.
“Silence-yuf, in asking me to heal so that you may kill, you have dishonored me. You have dishonored me, and the totem spirit who joins me to my pack. For this dishonor, I chal – ” before the theurge has fully spoken the word, her packmates are already bristling. The Ragabash mutters something that sounds suspiciously like Jesus Christ beneath his breath. Balance Without Fault stalks closer, as if he means to take the bone from her before she can speak it fully. She firms her grip on the bone, glancing but once at the Glass Walker before her attention returns to the Modi. ” – lenge you.”
The theurge then surrenders the bone to whomsoever wants it, and steps back to stand with her pack, pausing once to lock eyes with the Grand Elder, and then to do the same with her male packmate. She never loses her aura of serene otherworldliness that always lives beneath the constant strain of her broken body, her twisted, malfunctioning nerves.
Baaku
…And a very rare sight indeed. He’d been reaching to take up the Bone, though what words would emerge would go unheard and unknown, in favour of the actuality of what Bleeding~Heart has done.
Baaku’s jaw drops, the Philodox standing in mute…something at this unexpected turn of events. It lasts for a few moments only, clapping shut with a resounding
Clack
Before he eyes the Bone and shakes his head, turning instead to rejoin his pack, the flood of fur and claws, turning into the standing framework of the Agony Thane once again. Arms crossed, eyes to the ground and brows furrowed in…concentrated wonder.
Danny
Danny lifts a hand and waits for the bone, mirth hidden beneath a flash of rage. Given it or not – ah, the painfully lovely Bleeding Heart offers it to any who would take it – which Danny does. Lickity-split.. with a soft “Thank ya, rhya.” Then she turns toward Balance without Fault. Again.
“Actually” she pauses and pulls the lollipop from her mouth with a *pop* “according to you, and Baaku who would also insult me – Philodox who are true to their word indeed – I am not anything in this circle. Or Sept. Or city. Hell, I’m surprised you remember that I exist at all, for all that I was one who came when called and fought again and again for a sept that would consistently silence me, while protecting one who believes that his interpretation of tradition trumps those who actually live it, who forces HIS will on all, with your pat on the back.”
“As I am forbidden to do anything according to my moon until you feel justified that I’ve been well punished for saying what is true and right when others haven’t the balls to do so, what other Philodox will not say, likely because they are kiss ass lords, or packmates of the same. ”
“Until I have freedom of Philodox words again – which’ll be only after I admit to an fault in your eyes, that does not reside in mine, nor those I’ve spoken with since then – until then, I will remain as I am. Silently judging and remembering all. And snarky upon occasion, because that is who I am.”
“I am a Philodox – raised by Ragabash. When one is taken from me, what do you expect me to rely on? You’ve all but stripped my birth from me, Far from Faultless, what’s next – name, rank serial number? Be my guest. I hear Florida is nice this time of year, anyway.”
A pause. A smirk.
“And, as for High School.” A gesture around to all those of the sept. “If the pompoms fit, -rhya. Wanna wear my letter jacket? Might help you regain your Balance.”
With that, she offers the bone back to any who want it. When it is taken, she grabs her backpack off the ground and shoulders it again, fully ready to take her leave should it be demanded while she plops her cherry candy goodness back into her mouth.
Silence
Silence, briefly, is uncontrollable, the promise of violence that would take half this fucking sept to cool. He is instantly in his direwolf form, his teeth still red and slavering; he is two steps toward Balance-without-Fault before an iron will controls it. The beast leashed by his own hand, he quivers with strain and fury. It is only the most immense of efforts that holds back the frenzy-rage.
No matter what the urrah and the weaklings think they know of rage, no matter how they groan and whine about laboring beneath the burden of their rage, no matter how they boast of it —
they have never known rage like his. They do not know what it is to bear his beast of rage. They have never felt RAGE like this, scorching the air ten feet in all directions.
It is hard to think when Silence looks upon you with murder in his eyes.
It is hard to breathe.
“Weaklings,” silky-soft. For a long time there is nothing else.
And then, a deluge of curses rain down; the repressed snarls of years and years of disgust, hatred, anger, fury.
“A Sept of weaklings,” he snarls, “a Sept of fools, would-be-humans, lawyers, quibblers, wordslingers, honorless dogs that yap and yap with no regard for honor, no fear of retribution. A Sept of unworthy, halfbred mongrels that run for cover when the Wyrm rears his head. A Sept that will crawl to Malfeas on its belly, spitting their excuses and pleas and human arguments all the [fucking] way.”
He turns on the Grand Elder:
“A Fenrir’s word is his honor, Balance-without-Fault. A Fenrir does not speak and retract in the next breath. A Fenrir who fights with insults is no different from a Fenrir who fights with teeth. An insult is a challenge to a Fenrir. But you are not Fenrir, and neither is your Sept. You would not have lasted your Rite of Passage under Fenris. And so I will play by your rules for a little longer.
“You would not have a Sept to rule without me. You would not have survived the first onslaught. You would be dead and forgotten, and Gaia would not miss you.”
Briefly, his voice had escalated into a coughing, bileous roar of a snarl. And then it is quiet again.
“I am through with you, Balance-without-Fault. I am through with this Sept that you lead. I am through giving strength and blood and direction to a rabble of pups and would-be elders. I am through leading them by the nose. I am through with the whining and the sniveling and the whimpering and the pissing.
“We are finished. I have no need of your weakness. But you will know your need of my strength when the Wyrm next comes to your door.”
Every hair on the Modi’s magnificent grey coat stands on end. His forepaws are planted firmly, his tail straight out in aggression, his head held fierce and high: the very image of an Adren, an Alpha, a Modi of Fenris. He turns to go — the Ritesmistress speaks.
And Silence pauses. He looks briefly to Bleeding-Heart. There is nothing but disgust in his eyes.
“Why should a true son of Great Fenris honor the challenge of a weak, stumbling whelp of Unicorn?” he sneers. “Why should I bother with one who cannot fight, cannot hunt, cannot run? Why should I waste my time on one who should have died, but for the mercy of her tribesmates?
“Crawl back to your pack, sickly thing. Live by the pity of others. Stammer your pleas for peace and love and the lives of useless things. Continue your own meager, senseless, pathetic little life, hiding in this Caern I raised for you. You are unworthy of a death by my claws.”
And to Agony-Thane:
“I will be waiting for you. The next you cross my path, your heart is mine to devour.”
Silence looks at no one now; he looks to the faraway rise of Maelstrom’s mount, where the great and inscrutable totem continues it ceaseless churn — implacable, uncaring. For a long time he looks, and he seems to empty of rage, of hate, until he is left drained and hollowed out.
“You don’t know what I’ve sacrificed for this Sept.” It is quiet as falling snow. “We are even now.”
Turning, the great grey beast moves out through the gathered garou, the rank and file of Maelstrom’s faithful. The Eagles are left to follow or stay as they choose.
Hyde
*Hyde listens. Braces, for in those long seconds, Silence could have snapped. Could have been pushed too far then it would be true war the likes of wich most here had not seen.
But he reigned it in. How, Hyde wasn’t quite sure. Hyde was only cursed with half the rage of his alpha and he barely controls his own. The Will of silence astounds him.
But the violence is contained. Fenris was not unleashed here.
Hyde snorts at the rest and turns. The great Godi, following his alpha.
Following?
YA GOD DAMNED RIGHT.
He was an Eagle. Eagle till death. They flew alone, but they flew as One. There was no question in Hydes mind. No question in his heart. None what so ever.
Decker could walk into hell and Hyde would be right there, at his side, with no fear, only joy in his heart for standing beside and with his pack.
And if he were to die for it. Hyde would dye HAPPY. Knowing he died with his pack.
All 11 feet and 1875 pounds of massive Fenrir moved after Silence. Frosty Nordic blue eyes hard.
If anyone came for his alpha now… they would face the united front of the Fenrir pack. And there would be NO QUARTER given. Not now.
AM
There is no hesitation.
None.
The silent Modi turns, half a step behind her Alpha, turning her back on the Sept alongside the Alpha of her Pack.
She fought for months to become Eagle. She has stood as Second for Silence when there was a council. She has done all she can do for the Sept every time it was asked of her, and many more times when it was not. She has shown honor to the honorless.
Now, she claims the honor of following the most worthy Fenrir, the most worthy Garou she has ever known.
Till death, she is Fenrir.
Till death, she is Eagle.
Kemp
Kemp heaved a sigh as he ran his hand down over his face after the fury had scorched along his skin like being flayed by the sun. And the rage hadn’t even been directed at him. Muttering as he turned to follow his Alpha.
“Ya know, this just makes them think they are right. Woohoo, they won the brass ring or something.”
Kathrin
Baneslayer had said nothing. All she did was follow her pack to safeguard her Alpha. The hispo formed stands on all fours and sneezes dirt out her nose. She listened to the judgement handed down. She didn’t say a word, merely glanced at the others present who also did not go into battle like she and were not being called out. She turned and scampered over to stand beside Decker. Where he and the Eagles went, she would follow, be she a cub or cliath.
Lachlan
Lachlan watched, one by one, as the Eagles begin to depart. He brings a hand up to run along the trimmed growth of beard graces his jaw, thoughtful and silent, his eyes cast to the others to see their reactions, pausing on the two newer Fenrir, the siblings, that had introduced themselves at the beginning. His nostrils flare, crossing his arms over his chest and waits.
Howls
Silence was the name she’d heard this Adren Modi go by, yet she found that out of all those gathered, save for the bald-headed desert Lord and the curly-haired Rotagar punk, he flapped his jaws the most out of all of those gathered.
Maybe we should trade names, she found herself thinking.
She offered no words beyond her initial introduction, but merely watched as insults exploded into attacks, as a man was falled there in the middle of the moot, untouched and left to bleed. Her eyes trailed toward the pack, watching and waiting for their healer to rush to his aid. They said he was their Alpha, after all. But, regardless of what that pack of Shadow Lords did, she looked back to the pack of Fenrir, where all of her tribemates seemed to be gathered under a single totem and Alpha.
Her head tilted to the side a little as she watched the Adren Modi snort and snarl, shake his head and slap his chops and tongue together in growls and lancing words. He stood in defiance to the Grand Elder of the Sept, then turned and walked away.
Renounced the Sept and walked away.
Or at least that’s what she heard.
She stood still, having returned to Homid at some point during the ceremony. In Homid she stood at roughly 5’5″, an average height, and was visibly unremarkable. Short dishwater blond hair, a gray hoodie and blue jeans, and a round face that distinguished her age as anywhere between fifteen and twenty four– young features, mature eyes and expressions.
Then, clearing her throat a little, she looked from the retreating Fenrir to the Grand Elder to see how he would react. As she did so, she reached into her hoodie pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, retrieved one from its box, and held it as well as a lighter to her brother in offer. Knowing him, he was probably about to go into a nervous attack of asthma from the sheer shock of everything that just happened, and a cigarette was just what he could use to soothe him. And she certainly couldn’t imagine them being told not to smoke, for there was a Gnawer sucking on a lolipop, a Corax in the rafters, and a nigh-dead Fostern on the floor.
Evan
He comes to take up the bone as it seems to be forgotten. This Sept would fall to the wayside should the division and squabble strike at them as it has that of the Hive. And what could he possibly do, what could he possibly say that may change this.
You are born of the true lineage, King of Kings. A right that flows through your veins Evan. And ou are also a child of Gaia, a unifier of tribes, healers of the Nations. You cannot stand back.
With the bone he picks up anything close enough that ahs enough wait to throw. And with a silent prayer to whomever would listen he lets go rubble in Silence’s direction and some willpower to activate his resistance to pain, should it become necessary. His skills with throwing anything is worthless, and it is doubtful to come close to its mark, but it is more a statement than anything else. And when Kendra struggles with him to not throw the rubble, he tries his best, finding it fall not far from the Hounds place.
“Is that all it takes Silence~rhya? A few words you do not like and you turn away from everything you have fought for? Then I pray to Gaia that the Wyrm does not learn to speak without a foul tongue. Do you wish to turn your back upon this Sept, the Nation for you feel your pride has been hurt?”
His words are not filled with malious, without rage, without ire. He is calm, he is poised, he is a half-moon. His words still hold sway, marked with the gift of Persuasion and the amplified with the Spirit of Justice by his side.
“Silence~rhya I fear for your offspring. For shall you too abandon them when they speak ill of you? I fear for any future Sept you make take as your own, for shall you wish ill of them all and call them weak when they do not bend to your will? I fear for the greatness of the fernir tribe if you walk away from everything that you have bleed for, just because your feelings were hurt, because your pride was wounded?”
If Silence does not respond, then so be it.
Fell-Keeper
Fell~Keeper. Lanky, slim and draped in drab clothes pulled from some Fashion cast off. An attempt at rebelliousness, with only a half-hearted effort. His hair hangs it doesn’t droop. His mouth widens, crooked to one side, the air of black behind those lips containing no words or even the flash of a moving tongue trying desperately to form them.
He simply stands, watching mutely as the Moot’s Bone Cracking finally comes to a shrieking and stunned moment of…
…Well, Silence.
The moment is expectant. Perfectly abrupt and if the Apocalypse were to come about at any particular time, well one would half be expecting the skies to turn red and coruscating flames to sudden leap to the forefront and suddenly spell out ‘Eureka!’ in bold Wyrmish Letters.
…But they don’t. And he suddenly finds a cigarette in his peripheral view. He turns his head minutely to look at his Sister, a hand rising to pluck the cancer stick from her fingertips, mouth still agape, eyes a little wider then normal and hair dangling in his features. Nothing changes as the cigarette simply touches to the corner of his lips and hangs there under the adhesive power of a bit of spittle.
He sorta blinks a few times, eyes narrowing and voice creeping out in a low murmur inaudible beneath the fires and the yowling thrum of the Garou in the assembly.
“…It’s like Alaska on Pay Per view…”
Kendra
Kendra watched in a stunned haze as Silence turned his back on the Grand Elder, on the entire Sept, and walked away, followed at the heels by that appeared to be the rest of his pack.
No fuckin’ way.
Baaku had returned to stand with her and the rest of their pack, and that was the last movement she had noticed. Then the bone circulated its way in her direction, and part of her realized that it landed in the silvery-white hands of her Fang-bred packmate. She saw him change his posture a little, lean down and scoop something off the ground. Her eyes swiveled to land fully upon Evan, giving him her complete attention, and giving her the oppertunity to see and understand the motion his arm was making.
He was winding up for a pitch, and the target was obvious.
“Damnit, no!”
Words that were half-barked, half-growled came from her maw, and she snapped an arm out in lightning speed and precision that would remind a few present of the day that Tiburon’s Shadow met with the Coons, when Coll threw a spear and she snagged it from the air using that exact same motion. Except rather than curling about the sturdy base of a spear, her clawed fingers caught about Evan’s wrist and part of his fist as well. Her arm muscles braced, barring Evan from pushing his arm any further forward.
The rubble still fell from his hand, with a bit of momentum behind it, but rather than flying toward the back of Silence’s head it instead clattered to the ground a few feet in front of the Hound’s Coggie Philodox. Kendra kept her hand about his wrist, braced there as she set him with a glare that read quite blantantly: Don’t do something stupid.
Baaku
…The Hounds of Judgement suddenly erupt in a flurry of movement. Silence’s tirade launches fresh movement into the Pack of Justice, as Evan steps forward, words on on Noble lips and intentions, a piece of rubble in hand to draw the Beast in this direction.
The chunk of debris leaves Evan’s hand and plops several feet infront of the Philodox, as Kendra lunges into motion with a snarl. Simultaneously, the pair are enveloped by the Agony Thane’s shadow, stepping forward to narrow his eyes across his shoulder and rumble from within a human throat before Evan’s words make it to his lips.
“Not the time. Not the place. He has his pack with him.” That would have to be enough.
The Thane holds his hand out for the Bone from Evan, a nod of assurance drifting over those features. If/when received, it would be returned to the Elders, that this situation be resolved by their Wisdom.
Bai Chou
Bai stands aside, watching the events unfold….he does not stir…he does not speak, just observes. The Eagles had no effect on him beyond sharing borders with Chinatown. The Fenrir were not his concern and Silence’s choices were not something for him to dictate or debate.
He just feels the fall-out of the bomb that was dropped and he slowly steps forward, bending down to pick up the bone and speak.
“…I would like to form a pack. Too long in this city, do I walk the lone path. I have no kin to me here…no brothers or sisters. And its…tiring. I have lost one family already and its taken its toll on myself. More and more, I’m not around for the moments that I am needed and I would like to say it was simply just apathy. But…I think its part of the emptiness of being one of Gaia’s chosen. Those who walk alone, feel alone, seperated from this world around them. So…I ask…are those here who have not found a pack…willing to join me in one?”
He pauses.
“…I would like to find a pack guided by wisdom…not by the hands of war. So…talk to me..find me…for those wishing to find a similar path.”
He holds out the bone for any who wish to take it.
Mike
He had not answered Blast or the other sharks. Instead he had laid there. Waiting. Waiting. And then it was done. Silence withdrawn. A momentary look to the Thane and then he looks back to Javier…..it is indeed a hard look. And though he lays ruined, he begins to rise, of course failing. but he feels nothing.
Blast
The warform of the Shadowlord stands there, close to the fallen, stubborn Stormhelm. No hand is offered, and he does not appear to look like he will allow anyone to approach the fallen fostern.
It’s a death vigil, now.
As for the Eagles, well.
Looks like they flew the coop.
Winter’s
As the Eagles retreat from the Sept, Winters Sight watches a moment or two before her gaze returns the scene playing out in front of Tiburon’s Shadow. She hears nothing across the Totem, or even spoken words between Stormhelm and Blast.
As no hand is offered, Winters Sight remains where she stands. Her eyes can only watch the fallen alpha now with no visible emotion to speak of upon her face.
To do otherwise would be of disrespect to Shark.
She stands with Edwin and Isaac, confident that neither of the no moon’s will flinch in their resolve to do what Shark demands of them.
The pack totem remains quiet for the time being as they watch and wait.
James
The Sandman was present and accounted for during the Cracking, despite his silence at the proceedings. Strange that he was quiet, as the boisterous Galliard was usually not shutting up.
That Decker turned his back on the sept troubled him. The man was a standing icon, indeed. Passionate as Fianna are, he tended to lean towards agreeing with Silence-rhya’s words.
Bai Chou speaks, and the Fianna’s lupus ears perk up. In the Garou tongue, James spoke. “I have no pack as well.”
Lachlan
Lachlan felt his tongue clack against the roof of his mouth; it felt heavy and immobile, as he had not once spoke since the ordeal. He merely watched those of his tribe make their exit.
Bai Chou and James, the Fianna, make their stance on a desire for pack; the Rotagar watches them with a scrutinizing gaze. He takes several steps back, placing himself on the outer edge of the gathering of Garou, arms folded across his chest.
His head bows, dropping his gaze to the Shadow Lord, Stormhelm, smirking darkly and bides his time.
ST
Such things are always surprising. In the face of Silence’s unendurable rage – faced with the pure fury of a pure bred Get of Fenris – the Grand Elder flinches. Balance Without Fault’s mouth narrows, his worn brow furrows as he sees his death in Silence’s eyes. His death, and the death of the Caern the raging Modi helped to raise. The Grand Elder stands and watches as the Eagles march out as one, his own rage rumbling deep in his gut, mingled with a deepseated fear – not of depth, nor even personal humiliation, but fundamentally, failure – the loss of the place wrenched from nothing, and bought so dearly.
“Bar Silence from the Caern until he offer contrition to Maelstrom, or willingly submit to the leadership of the Sept. Inform the Guardians. If Silence will not lead,” This to the Warder, a controlled glance as the Grand Elder reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose before lifting his chin to address those remaining in the Sept, when the Eagles have gone. ” – will not challenge to lead, and will not submit himself to judgment of the Sept, we are stronger without him. At the least, there will be no more murders at our moots. Inform me if any of the rest of them return; if they wish the benefits of the Caern, they will submit to its leadership”
His nostrils flare as he turns back to those remaining in the Sept. “In case it is not clear to you who remain, we have just lost the greatest part of our martial power. As such, our unity is even more important. Silence led the Sept to what victory it can claim over the Hive; none of the rest of you stood to lead. Still, strength is more than mere martial prowess, no matter what the Fenrir believe. For the Sept to survive, we require strength, wisdom, and honor in all things.
“Stormhelm,” the Grand Elder turns and stares down at the prone Philodox, dark eyes drilling into the ruined creature. “You are not blameless in this. Do not allow the Ahroun’s importunate actions to eclipse your fault. You are Philodox, for whom honor above all is the most important watchword, and Alpha. Yet you abandoned your pack in a time of war, to seek ‘permission’ from some distant tribesmate to learn a rite that you have not discussed with our ritemistress. It is dishonorable to abandon your pack; and you dishonor your elder, our ritemistress, in failing to consult with her regarding the rite before you announce your ‘permission’ to perform it to all and sundry. You spoke dishonorably to Silence, precipitating the incidents of tonight with your ill-considered words.”
“Sticks-n-Stones,” the Glass Walker turns with a snort to level his attention upon the Bone Gnawer, “I have trouble determining whether you or Stormhelm is the greater fool. You were barred from speaking as a judge until you told the Sept a story of your own failure; that does not give you leave to behave like a nitwit. As the Sept has yet to hear your story, the prohibition remains. I assure you, your fate is entirely within your own hands, and is meant to demonstrate that the truly strong know their own weaknesses. If you persist, it will be the Rite of the Jackal for you until you learn to speak with wisdom and honor. As it stands, when you play the fool as you have tonight, you destroy only your own good name.”
—
By strange and sharp contrast, the frail ritemistress bears the blast of the great Modi’s rage – and the depths of his contempt – without flinching. She remains terribly equanimous – infuriatingly serene beneath the weight of the Modi’s contempt. The Caern is astonishingly quiet, as the Modi rage; the constant buzz of the Caern’s spiritlife silenced, as the many of the spirits swell the ranks of the gathered Garou. Those warspirits usually found gathered around the Wyrmpole flare with the pulse of the Modi’s rage, while most of the rest are watchful, silent, some cowering, scattering ahead of the Fenrir as they storm away.
She remains where she stands as Balance Without Fault speaks to the Sept; then turns and slowly approaches Stormhelm, where he sprawls broken on the ground, sinks to her haunches, and stretches out her hand. The broken spinal cord reknits itself; it is not much – but it is enough that he can now rise. [1 agg healed]
When the Grand Elder finishes, Bleeding Heart takes the bone from his hand and turns to the Sept. “Silence placed the matter of the baneklaive in my hand. At the moment, Balance Without Fault’s packmate guards the weapon. It cannot be redeemed, and must be destroyed. The Agony Thane has offered to take the weapon to the deep umbra and dispose of it there. Under the circumstances, I believe that this plan is no longer appropriate; we require our strength here. I considered sending the weapon to Knows-No-End, a theurge of some note among the Uktena, but cannot now spare my packmates.
“We will destroy the blade here. I can force the spirit from the blade, but we must have something to contain the weapon as it shatters, and Garou to subdue the spirit as it emerges. Webrunner has recommended a box of strong metal, or tempered glass, strengthened by elementals tied to the material itself, to contain the klaive as it shatters, but I will consider any of your suggestions. When the barrier has been finished, we will gather to destroy the blade.”
There is still business to discuss; there is still Wyrm – after all – in the world.
Danny
She wraps her hands around the straps of her backpack. Listens. Then? She snorts. She has something to say, but in the end, all the comes out is. “And I’m the fuckin’ nitwit.”
A shake of her head, and she turns on a heel, and walks away.
Mike
The spinal cord reknit. The Pain still pushed far from him. In one fluid movement, he is upright. Enough so that he looks to Balance and nods. Accepting the comments.
When the bone nears…
“If I may, I’d like to offer Bleeding Heart my contrition as she determines later.”
Nothing else outloud….for now. For he turns, and his gaze shows all the emotion that a shark can fully express with the raw menace that a true predator.
((The Rest in totemlink))
“You wish to challenge me No Moon?”
“You pack of falls. Do you attack without my guidance? Did I ask for your aid?”
And his attention levels on the No Moon. Unflenching. Seeminging unbreakable ((hahah)). It is not a look of contempt but of impending violence. His RAGE burns. His massive, hispo jaws mimicking a cruel smile…
Evan
Once again Evan takes the bone. Business still needed to be attended too after all.
“I still stand as one to challenge Stormhelm as Truthcatcher of the Sept. I wish to seek the guidance of the Master of Challenges for such a challenge.”