truemane
    UNDER A BLOOD RED MOON  
  Part One: Soon Comes the Storm   
 
 "Into this world we're thrown
Like a dog without a bone
The world on you depends
Our life will never end" 
-The Doors,  Riders on the Storm  
  Outskirts of Chicago
The Ring of the Raccoon
Late September, 1993  

In the beginning was the word, and the word was WAR.

The word drifted from the muted chaos of Chicago and found its way out into the world beyond. Passed from mouth to ear, called into the umbral void, screamed by spirits light and dark, sent on electric wires across vast distances, and whispered into the wind for any with an ear to hear.

 The leeches attacked , said the word.  They have allied with the Black Spiral Dancers.

The Fanum has fallen , said the word,  the Windcatchers have been scattered and the spirit world has been torn asunder.

A storm is coming , said the word,  a storm is coming the likes of which the modern world has never seen or imagined. If help does not come, both many and soon, all the worlds will be drowned beneath it. 

The word rippled out through the universe and, in its wake, the warriors started to arrive. Those with ears to hear, and legs to walk, and rage to burn set their spirits on the greenspace outside of Chicago, just south of Milwaukee and just west of Racine. Beneath the first full moon after the autumnal equinox, at the ancient Shadow Lord sept called the Ring of the Raccoon, the Muster of the Faithful would be held.

In the begining was the word, and the word was WAR. And the word spoke of a storm, and blood, and death. But would there be glory? Honour? Victory? To those questions the word had no answer.

 
 Spoiler: OOC 

Okay! After some ado, welcome to Under a Blood Red Moon! In your opening post, feel free to tell us how you heard about the situation in Chicago, what you left behind to come here, how you got here, and how you approach the sept.

If anyone has any questions, you know here to find me.

Let's  RAGE !
 
Kaworu
Samuel got the info about Chicago happenings just like the other werewolfs from far afar – by a mechanism that could be appropriatelly called in Polish " poczta pantoflowa ".

He felt he has a duty to do what he could in order to step in and help. Sure, he was leaving all he had known behind, and entering a new, big, alien city. But hey, it was not like it was forever, right? Plus he was doing some good deed!

He had secured some job in Chicago appropriate to his education, and then he just jumped on a plane and in a few hours was in the West.

Then, it was just a matter of finding other servants of Gaia and ask them directly about the things that were happening. To be truly honest, he had no idea what was happening – hey, he was a New Yorker! In Chicago! - at least beyond some rumours and general-level info, so of course the perspective of locals was crucial for him.

Entering the local sept, he brought a whole chocolate cake he had baked himself – maybe not an usual gift for a werewolf, but for sure a well-welcomed one, he believed. He could bring some red wine instead, but as he himself was not a drinker, and generally believed that alcohol was not so good for human health, he stood by his cake idea.
Kish
"Hello, Shreds-Leeches. I understand you've done very well for yourself since we parted." The voice on the other end of the phone call was one Meghan had hoped to never hear again, and while she had reluctantly gotten used to dealing with Garou who flatly refused to use her human name, a Shadow Lord Homid who already knew how she felt about it had no excuse. She grappled with herself to respond without snarling, and before she could, he continued, "I also understand you're currently between missions, which is fortunate because Gaia's defenders in Chicago  desperately  need your particular demonstrated expertise. The local vampires are helping the Black Spiral Dancers and the main caern has already fallen. Can you come help us take it back?"

There was no honorable way to refuse. Meghan had already been traveling since her previous pack fell apart, so it was a minimal change in plans to drive to Chicago. She extracted the location of the caern from Daryl before hanging up and starting on her way there. She approaches the sept respectfully with her best estimation of the precisely correct degree of formality, identifying her tribe and auspice and giving both her human and Garou names when challenged.
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 

Danica gripped the steering wheel of her car, the powerful engine beneath the hood announcing the Shadow Lords arrival like thunderheads in the sky. Where-ever the Sept was, that's where  Sings-the-Thunder  arrived, her vehicle growling along the forest-flanked pathway as a plume of dust billowed in its wake. Some other wolves might not approve of the employment of such a machine. Some wolves might frown and whisper to one another, their low-key hostilities aroused by the use of such a gas-guzzling engine to traverse the continental United States and its varies cities dotted within...

But Danica didn't care.

Practical and affordable and effective in its presentation. Those are the phrases that ran through the Galliards head as she parked her car and stepped out onto the ground with her heavy leather boots, slamming the door closed behind her as she peered out across the gathering, arms wide, grin apparent, tall and sculptured figure a visible edifice of the crown.

  "Fellows and kinfolk all!"  

It was half announcement, half greeting. Tall, athletic, a physique as if chiselled from marble,  Sings-the-Thunder  strode into the Sept as if she had always been a member. But not before grabbing her guitar and amp from the backseat of her car.

Offering polite and friendly nods to any who looked at her, smile and grin brandished across her surprisingly pleasant seeming face, the tall, statuesque blonde moved to where the focus of attention was centred, and there she would turn and jump so that her rump planted itself upon a rock or place of moderate consideration, that grin across her face and hands gripping her instrument that was plugged into the amp.

  "Fellow Garou of Chicago have called - and I,  Sings-the-Thunder  of the Sept of the Smiling Angel, have answered!"  
MrAbdiel
 {You must go back, Caliban.} 

The raccoon spirit had managed to get the drop on both the  metis  and his interlocuter - a bobbing spirit of cobra who was too busy ruminating on the werewolf's riddle to pay attention to its surroundings. With a warning hiss, it jerked and moved defensively. Caliban tracked it by the panicked rustle of grass, and the copper-blood scent of the reptile spirit. The poor cobra had probably never seen a raccoon before - no doubt imagining it some kind of civet here to make mischief. There were no raccoons in this part of the world, and so there were no raccoon spirits in this penumbral shadow of verdant lake Kodaya's surrounds, either.

Caliban, for that matter, had never seen a raccoon either. But he knew this one immediately - it carried not only its own musk, but the faint nose-curling burr of skunk, and the unmistakable scent of onion. The little raccoon was a long war from  shikaakwa .

First, though, the spirits - agitated, he consoled them both with a vouching gesture as they hunkered either side of where he sat. One claw he extended toward the raccoon, palm out, for it to sniff; the other behind him palm up for the cobra. The snake would not sniff, or nuzzle, but appreciated the expression of vulnerability at a short remove.

 {Why must I go back? I think it better to stay away. I had hoped to put my paws in the Nile again -}
 
 {You must go back because the Temple of Fanum has fallen. It's calamity, Caliban. It's the blood-drinkers. All are called; many hear; few go. You must go back!} 

At the moment the duty was announced, he was bound to follow it - but the ache of the decision flooded through him. He had wanted to go bathe in the Nile one more time - a dangerous past time for Silent Striders. But no one knew better than his tribe the abomination it was to lose ground to the leeches, and what followed when a cry for help was unspoken for pride's sake or unheeded for spite. Feeling the age in his bones ache, he unfolded the cross of his legs and began gathering his meagre trappings into his satchel. It was a long walk from here to the Purelands. He'd best start off right away.

 {Wait!} , the cobra spirit objected as he began to move. Obligingly, Caliban waited a moment. He turned his face toward the spirit in courtesy, as spirits, humans, and beasts alike preferred even the pantomime of eye contact over a deflected countenance.

 {Is the answer... a crow's foot?} 

The old metis smiled.  {No. You have two guesses left - keep them for when I return.} 

He heard the serpent give a sulky hiss, the closest to a farewell he was going to get; then he began to walk.

 * * * * * 
Danica's dynamic entry a perfect enough distraction for him to make his own entry. The galliard sounded as loud as he had wished to be subtle. He gave appropriate genuflection to Raccoon as he slunk in - a ropy, loping crinos figure whose furless paws protruded beneath a layering of draped cotton ponchos topped with an olive drab rainslicker, all scaled up to his frame by virtue of their dedication to him. A ratty old canvas satchel hung at his side. His hood was down for the moment, a slender muzzle poking out, but the edges of the scarring that lead up towards his eyes were visible to all but the most inattentive. An old wolf - older man most survive to be, though without the carried grace and nobility of an honored Elder. Caliban, sometimes called Finds-The-Narrow-Gate.

He drifted to the flat stone used as an offering table and set down a bag of graven soapstone talens - a gift from a caern in India to the Chigaco sept in crisis. He smelled... Fear, in this place. Trepidation. Uncertainty. Anger. Wounded lupine pride, and grief.

And chocolate cake. He hovered near it for a moment like he was going to seize it up himself, but instead tracked the scent of the flower and egg and tupperware plastics back to its baker and deliverer. It was a very  homid  gift. But almost all  homid  now, anyway. It made sense. Samuel, was this one; Sings-The-Thunder, the one with the fingertips clickety-clacking over some combination device of tense wires, acryllic, and electrics - an instrument, maybe. A very  homid  instrument, naturally. And another here, who had announced herself more subtley between the two - Meghan, called Shreds-Leeches. He had no hostility in him for homids - only wariness - but he appreciated subtelty. Maybe he would talk to that one...

 "A long drive...?" 

He moved up beside Shreds-Leeches, the question presented in a throaty rasp that is almost as harsh to hear as he is to look at. They were all strangers here - might as well break the ice.
truemane
It is not easy to find the Sept of the Raccoon. It's not even easy to say exactly where it is. The large pocket of rural area clustered around the outskirts of Milwaukee and Racine is mostly divided up into neat, clipped sheep pastures. But tucked within and between those straight-line fences and sturdy ranch-houses is a round cluster of dark, thick forest: the Ring of the Raccoon.

The Ring is an old place and a dangerous place. Deep in its depths is a particularly active and virulent Wyrmhole that, by oral tradition, has been spewing poison since well before the Newcomers' arrival. It was the Uktena who made the Ring, who enchanted it and wove rituals around it, to keep the Wyrmhole's evil in, and anyone else out.

And they established a Caern within its borders, so the watch would never fail (and, if rumours are to be believed, so the Uktena could studying and manipulating the Wyrmhole as well as contain it).

In modern days, the Uktena have mostly left the area in favour of the Fanum in Chicago and it is the Shadow Lords who rule the Caern. But the old magic remains, and finding one's way through the Ring to the Sept is difficult for anyone who has not been shown the way.

A single grassy, broken, gravel road leads through the Ring to the Sept, just wide enough to accommodate a single small vehicle. It is hard to find and hard to follow, but anyone who makes it through the pathless forest of the Ring seems to eventually eventually find their way to the road as it winds its final few meters between two massive, overhanging oaks and leads to the Sept beyond.

The Sept itself is strung out in a long wavering line nestled between hills. Small but well-built residences are scattered across its length, with a number of well-tended vegetable gardens at one end, the Vale of the Fallen in the centre, and a wide bowl-shaped depression at the far end holds the Caern and serves as a natural amphitheater and meeting area.

The Bawn is quite small for a wilderness Caern, extending barely past the hills that surround the Sept, but upon entering the Bawn from the deep, befuddling woods, the sense of revelation, of clarity, of arrival is immediate and powerful. No matter who you are, or where you're from, or how long you've been travelling, your first step into the Sept of the Raccoon always feels like coming home.

But, home or not, these are unusual times. Standing at the entrance, between the oaks, stands three people. Two of them (one man, one woman, both looking mid-20's) carry automatic weapons and are strung across the chest with grenades. The third holds no weapon and stands slightly away from the others.

"Halt!" calls the woman, "State your name, tribe, pack, and reason for entering."

 
 Spoiler: Everyone 

1. In your post, please briefly tell me either:
-A difficulty you faced finding your way through the Ring (and how you overcame it); OR
-Some knowledge or lore or assistance you received (and from where or whom) that meant you knew the way.

2. If you have an appropriate Gift or Background or Trait (lie Acute Senses), or succeed on Per+Alert, Diff 7:
-You can tell the two people with machine guns are Kinfolk. The third is Garou.

3. (OOC) You may recognize the third person/the Garou as Arthur Slips-the-Maw, an Athro Bone Gnawer Ragabash. He's a controversial figure, with a history of exploits that serve Gaia in ways most Garou find distasteful or suspicious (for example, he once spent a year dealing drugs full-time to fund an eco-terrorist cell's campaign against a Pentex waste dump). He's a wanderer and a meddler and is always showing up places he's not welcome and getting involved regardless of whether anyone wants him to.

In your post, tell me:
-Have you heard of Arthur? Is what you've heard good or bad?
-Have you met Arthur? Worked with him, even?
-If so, what's your opinion of him? What's his opinion of you?
-Do either of you owe the other a boon?
 
MrAbdiel
 *** Earlier...***
 
He was no more pretty as a wolf as it was in any other form, loping along in the wood's surrounding grasses in the likeness of an overlarge, wrinkly old pharoah; big radar dish ears swivelling, long snout poking about in the air in periscopic hunt for information. He might have emerged from the umbra in homid form instead, but the occasional curious human tended to be less interested in the doings of an ugly old dog than a shifty looking old man wandering about in the trees.

It would be very challenging even for a sighted creature to find the Ring, but Caliban had a confederate - the Raccoon spirit that had recruited him, the little jaggling expression of Raccoon's greater glory preceding him on the way he should follow into the trees. Out here, the gauntlet was so thin he could follow the spirit's scene as if he were still chasing it in the umbra.

He smelled and heard the trio standing sentinel before they saw him, too. They all carried their personal brand of the homid smell with its nebulous nose-tickling afterscent of chemicals in their sweat. Two younger, both deodorized (mild brands, probably on advice from their caernmates), both anxious, both trying to control their breathing. They'd oiled the firearms this morning - and a purpose driven synthetic lubricant too, not a household aerosol with its sky-killing toxins. The intermitant click of the weapon barrels against their bearer's chests suggested both that they were rifles and that the grenades were present. Armed to the teeth. But it was the other of the three that was the real weapon: the unmistakable bouquet of city-dirt, cigarette smoke, and ambient human urine that announced a Bone Gnawer... and a particular arrangement of levels suggesting one he had smelled before.

Caliban made an effort to wait for the wind to still so the crush of leaves under his paws would find the kinfolk's ears, and that he wouldn't be mistaken for trying to sneak up on them. At the challenge, he takes a few moments to give himself a mouth that can respond, his hairless form showing the disconcerting movement of bones and muscles more clearly as he stretched into his crinos form, draped in its poncho and rainslicker manifesting as bidden.

 "I am Caliban Finds-The-Narrow-Path,"  he rasps with effort and an audible click of his jaw,   "Silent Strider - without pack, this day. I come because I was summoned." 

Caliban can hear the scuffling of a raccoon in the roots of the oak nearby, poking its head out - the spirit, compelling its worldly counterpart to vouch for him with its presence.

He needed the vouching. Arthur Slips-The-Maw was something of a local legend across the state. He remembered the Ragabash from the Lake Peoria fiasco - the Bone Gnawer hadn't been present or involved, but he gave the remnants of Caliban's pack shelter when the news came through that the Silver Fangs were looking to find and kill the metis for the disaster. Arthur didn't know Caliban precisely - but a healthy dose of Ragabash scepticism of power and Bone Gnawer suspicion of the Silver Fangs earned a little mercy.  You can stay here one night,  he had said;  ... and then you're out of here. You don't smell like Wyrmspawn to me - you might be a good liar. But I wouldn't run from them, if I were you. 

It was good advice. Caliban had confronted the Fangs and earned a fair trial by his gesture of submission, ultimately convincing them of his perspective and shaming his accuser. It was a throwaway piece of advice from the Gnawer, but it constituted a significant boon yet unpaid. It was an awkward imbalance of power, given that they barely knew each other beyond reputation.
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 

The scent of oil hung in the 90 degree air of the discrete warehouse that was tucked away on the border of East LA and the Los Angeles National Forest. A relatively non-descript affair covering a few acres, to any passing observer it would look like any place of storage of industrial commerce. That's why it had been so well-hidden in plain sight...until the Garou had found them.

They had struck during the day when they knew the vampires would be drowsy and at their weakest, and what few junkie, gangster wannabe humans they had doing their menial labour hadn't even been speed-bumps. Claws and spirit-bound blades had made short work of the sleepy kings of the night and their pathetic henchmen, and Danica stood amidst the ash when they had cracked the shipping containers open wherein they found the relieved faces of their kidnapped kinfolk.

But something had felt off about it, something was just  wrong . The leaches rarely did this without outside cause, and the last time they had encountered such an operation, Pentex had been involved.

 "Hey Danny, check this out,"  Patricks voice caught the Galliards attention as she was helping the kinfolk into the car they'd brought.

Tilting her head up and moving over to her packmate, she saw that he had seated himself in the office space and had taken to going through the files and computers the leaches must have been using to catalogue their activity. Already, that was suspicious. The vampires had organization, but it wasn't the type to sign documents and fill procedures. This only expanded her growing suspicions.

 "Look at this cryptic crap the fangs were sending,"  he pointed to the large, beige-box monitor seated atop the prone computer tower that dominated the middle-management desk behind which her fellow Shadow Lord sat. Coming to stand behind him, Danica put a hand on the back of his chair and leaned over his shoulder to squint at the words on the unusual looking GUI.

  "That Windows NT or something? Didn't that just come out and they're using it already?"   she asked, to which her more tech-savvy pack-mate shook his head.

 "It's Linux. Custom operating system, real build it yourself stuff. Never seen these type of leaches use this stuff before, but check out this email,"  he tapped the back of a pen against the slight dome of the computer monitors screen.

Danny read it, line by line, her eyes narrowing into suspicious slits:

 In the city's veins, twilight's gift did flow,
Silent streets received the restless souls,
From distant paths, lost spirits did they tow,
To feed the hunger where night's black river rolls.

Chicago's maw has tasted their despair,
Empty echoes through the moonlit air,
Yet more are needed, the dark tide swells,
For a storm approaches, as our omen tells.

Send forth the wayward, the unseen, the stray,
In hidden lanes, let them find their way,
For when the hour strikes and shadows sway,
We rise together, in the midnight fray. 
  "Vamps are sending each other crappy poetry now?"  

Patrick bit his bottom lip briefly, before getting up from the chair and heading over to a pile of receipts that were kept in an inbox labelled  Reimbursement . Thumbing through the pile, he paused briefly at each slip of paper to read the bottom, until stopping on one in particular, holding it up for Danny to look at.

 "Mickeys Dine and Go - Illinois. They're talking to each other across the continent." 

Danny narrowed her eyes and went back to the computer screen.   "Silent streets received the restless souls...Chicago's maw has tasted their despair..."  

The Galliard's eyes then drifted from the screen to the window of the office, or rather what lay beyond it in the warehouse itself. Rows of shipping containers, most of them opened to reveal the grimy, stained mattresses within and buckets for personal relief of whatever unfortunate souls were shoved inside - like their kinfolk.

  "They're shipping'em to Chicago?"   Danny asked-announced, standing up from the desk and moving over to the windows and peering out of them as if she could bring herself closer to the truth. It made no sense. Danica knew there were factions within the vampires, but beyond that her knowledge was sadly rather thin. All she knew was how to put them down. She knew frightenedly little of their broader network of communication and logistics, but something about the idea that the leaches were organized and coordination not just within cities, but across entire continents, spooked her. Perhaps Danica had been thinking too locally this whole time, her attention focused more on Pentex and the Fomori, rather than the far more widely dispersed vampires, a supernatural group so synonymous with humanity's base impulses that they had infiltrated every layer of society and were riddled in of their cities.

  "Why the hell they sending'em there?"  
 oOo 
  Me and my big mouth  , Danica thought to herself as she hugged low on all fours, the brush and light shrubbery of the forest pressing against her muzzled face as she moved quietly through the surrounding natural maze of the Sept of the Racoon. The Shadow Lord had found the area easily enough, any map could have taken her that far. But discering where the  Sept  itself was, tucked away behind the natural barriers and spiritual magics? That was another. Thankfully, she had had some tips of her own back out West. Shadow Lords ran this Sept now, as grating as that might be to the "native" prior inhabitants. And so when Danica and her pack had reported the warehouse raid and the cross-country connection with Chicago, well, the elders had gotten that sagacious, knowing looking in their eyes.  That had meant only one thing: Danica was going on a road-trip!

Having parked her car a short distance away, the Galliard had then taken to the forest in her Lupus form, her magnificently dark, stormy coat on display and melting her into the shadows cast by the natural canopy of the woods. But it was the scent of the Sept's Kinfolk that finally alerted Danica that she was on the right track, and it wasn't long until her black-furred, hulking wolf form emerged into the clearance and spotted the two armed Sept members, a roguish looking swashbuckler if she'd ever seen one, and a Garou so old Danica thought that if she punctured him a gout of dust might fly out.

In the end, it had been the scent of gunpowder and weapon steel that had drawn the Shadow Lord in. It was a scent she had gotten very used to, coming from the gang capital of America, and the various shovel-heads and so-armed Famori she had had to contend with.

The black wolf that was Danica elongated and shifted, the form warping in upon itself and standing atop its hind legs before the homid image of the Galliard stood before them. Tall for a woman, her shoulders and arms thickly muscled with an athletic physique that was encased in a kevlar vest around her chest, her blonde, braided hair, shaved head along the side, and warlike appearance had gotten her mistaken for a Get of Fenris on more than one occasion. Her jeans moved down into her boots, and she stepped forward, a smile across her angular face as she nodded at the old man Caliban before turning her attention back to the trio before them. The angles to her face, the sleek athleticism to her physique. She was a daughter of Grandfather Thunder, that much could be seen, and she wore that stormy countenance on her features with intelligent eyes and a toothy grin.

  "Nice day for it fellas!"   she tilted her chin up in greeting, her Californian accent easily discernable as she spoke,   " Sings-the-Thunder  of the Shadow Lords out west, but you can call me Danny! 'fraid my pack couldn't make the trip, so I'm here solo."  

Drawing her hands down to her waist and tucking her thumbs into her pockets.

  "I heard through the grapevine that ya'll got some problems up here in the Prairie State!"  

Danica would turn her head to look at Caliban, the weathered, prune-like wolf.

  "Old timer,"   she greeted with a nod of her head.

If she knew who the Bonegnawer trouble-maker was, she wasn't showing it. But, given that her own history was from out West rather than the eastern seaboard, it was doubtful she knew who he was.
Kish
Meghan parks outside the forest and shifts into her dark-furred wolf form to venture in. Daryl would give her more specific directions if she called him from there, she's sure, but unwilling to do so, she ventures into the forest  and gets lost enough to start castigating herself for being too proud to ask for help before she realizes something.

 If it's built around a Wyrmhole...  Of course, the question is whether her ability to sense the Wyrm's influence will work through whatever the Uktena have done to contain it, but, her confidence buoyed by having a plan, she makes a more methodical search and picks up the scent and sound of humans and wolves well before she senses anything more supernatural.

The path seems to be trying to lose her.  Enchanted by those with very little trust, but I can trust...at least that we're ultimately on the same side. Not that the Uktena are the ones who mostly benefit...or suffer...from this effect now.  Following her ears and her nose rather than her eyes, she makes her way toward the Vale of the Fallen and those who reside there.

On being challenged by a woman who clearly knows she is more than just a wolf-- or maybe she just figures it's not going to matter if she says things to a strange wolf that the wolf can't understand anyway; no, she's Kinfolk --Meghan shifts to her homid form, her dedicated clothes reappearing as she does. She replies, trying to mirror the woman's volume, "Meghan Farbrace, of the Children of Gaia. I claim no pack. I heard that the caern here could use assistance."

 And hopefully that will be enough without her asking where or how I heard that. A Bone Gnawer and two human Kinfolk should be willing to accept my human name as the answer to that question, and if not I'm sure they'll let me know.  She remembers hearing some things about the Bone Gnawer, something about excessive willingness to inflict collateral damage, but little more than that.
truemane
The Kinfolk tense up as everyone introduces themselves. They then look back at the old Bonegnawer, as though asking for permission.

Old Slips-the-Maw takes a deep, deep, deep breath, holds it, and stares at each of the newcomers in turn. And as he does, they each have the disquieting sensation of something ruffling through their minds, like an old wolf snuffling about a random spill of junk looking for something specific.

As he does, any of the newcomers who have any highly emotional memories involving leeches feels the most powerful, the one with the highest emotion, pulled to the surface of their minds.

Eventually, the old Bonegnawer nods to the kinfolk, who stand aside and bid them enter.

As they pass by, Slips-the-Maw makes a sour face. "This one," he nods to Caliban, "There isn't enough left to save. But the rest of you best make 'ware. They're in there right now painting all the world in black and white, but Gaia's roads are seldom straight. Watch your sixes. Check your corners. And remember that every  must  hides a  maybe  someone doesn't want you to consider."

A pause. His look softens (a little).

"But we need you all the same. Thank you for answering the call. Best of luck to you all."


   INSIDE THE SEPT OF THE RACCOON   

The gate is about halfway along the long, narrow grounds of the Sept. Once through the gate, the Bawn covers everyone with a powerful feeling of  home , of  arriving , of  belonging .

Dead ahead is a narrow path between steep hills that leads to the Vale of the Fallen. To the right are mostly residences and utility buildings (warehouses, administration, etc). To the left the path leads past a number of neatly laid out fields and gardens, a number of small huts and stone circles made to appease or contact various kinds of spirits, and leads further down still to the natural amphitheatre where the Caern lies, and where the moot will be held.

The grounds are buzzing with activity. The Sept's usual population isn't well-known, but whatever it is, this is surely double or even triple. Homids and lupus and crinos walk, or sit, alone or in groups, talking or laughing or drinking or singing.

Among them:
 
 A famous pack of Black Furies known for hunting vampires, called the Sunshine Sirens. 
 Kelly Weaver-Friend, the leader of the Glass Walkers in Chicago. She is accompanied by a second Glass Walker and a Bonegnawer. 
 A group of three Garou, looking lost, with the smell of both the Uktena and 'town' on them. 
 A well-known pack of Fenrir called Bleak Hammer, who are known as much for the damage they cause in between fights with the Wyrm, as they for their fights with the Wyrm. 
 A lone man who smells of Red Talon and the country, wearing large wrap-around sunglasses, keeping his distance from the crowds. He matches the description of a Red Talon metis named Keeper, whose exploits are rumoured to have landed him on the FBI's Most Wanted list. 
 
And there are others as well, from various tribes and various places.

No one officially greets the newcomers as they enter.

 
 Spoiler: Everyone 

In your post, if you like, you may:
 
 Share your most emotional memory (good or bad) involving the Kindred. 
 Have an established relationship with any of the Garou mentioned above (or any of the Garou - mostly Shadow Lords - who are residents of the Sept). 
 Tell me about someone else who is here, and how you know them. 
 
 
MrAbdiel
 
 Originally Posted by Frightful Memory 
 I am nine years old. But walking the world in the ape-skin, I am supposed to tell those who ask I am seventeen years old. Seventeen is a more wholesome age for a young human to be walking the world, and if I tell them I am nine years old they will take me for a madman and seek to cage me. They may mean this cage for harm or for good, but I will be required to kill them and escape, and I do not like that. I was made to kill wyrmspawn, and killing humans distresses me. I am afraid their spirits will haunt me.

I am proud of myself. I wish I could see the world I have walked for these months, but the sounds and smells and textures alone are exciting. But I have delivered my message, and I have put to rest a wandering ghost, and now I am walking home. Baghdad is a busy city but I will be glad to be on the open road where I can run as a wolf again, instead of walking carefully on two feet fearful of tripping and falling. The animal spirits of this place are very talkative, and have prevented me from being lonely. Dog, Sparrow, and Rat all dwell with the humans and consider this normal. Dog is the strangest of all; he is born of man, and thinks of man like Garou think of Luna.

I am walking along a canal at night when fewer humans might get in my path, and I hear the approach of three from behind me. I hear three sets of light human feet, all running together without swinging their arms, so I know they have weapons. They mean to kill me, but I am Garou and they are humans, so I will kill them even though it distresses me. But Rat whispers his warning - not humans, these ones. Blood drinkers. Vampires. I have been taught much about them but never encountered them, and now I must fight three. I listen carefully for their approach so I may shift and strike, but they snatch the wind away  and there is no sound. I cannot hear their steps or mine, or the whispers of the spirits. I feel cold steel slash at my throat and the wound burns as I reel.

I am blind and deaf and bleeding in a world of vampires.

I take the warform and lay about in the silence but I cannot fight by scent only. I smell the canal, and my blood, and Dog and Rat and Sparrow, and I smell Wyrmspawn; but not swiftly enough to fight, and they slash me over and over. I am going to die, and they will take my Gauntlet Charm, and I will have failed my Rite and shamed my people.

I feel Dog nip at my heel and I jerk forward with instinct. I feel the rush of air as one of the leeches slides past me and fails to strike. The spirits have chosen to help me, and I need the help. I feel Sparrow’s wing grace my left claw and I lash out, feeling the ripping satisfaction of fabric and skin and a splash of cold blood. I smell Rat moving, desperately squirting his predator musk, and I know where to rush my enemies. They cut me, but their knives and venom are made to kill humans, and I am Garou. I hold my own. They fear death more than me, and the wind rushes back in as their sneak-trick falters. I hear them yelling and running, and I snatch out with all my fury just in time to catch the slowest of them. He sinks his teeth into my forearm and tries to steal my blood, but I grip his body with that arm and sink my claws in behind the ball of his shoulder with the other, and I rip him in half. 
 

Caliban shivers as a hundred year old memory is dredged up from his soul, and he feels the rippling waves of fear and pain and gruesome warrior satisfaction again. He doesn't like the intrusion, but he understands it.

He lets out a little grunt of minimal objection at the characterization laid upon him - but makes no challenge. Slips-The-Maw was honorable to him when he most desperately needed. He hasn't forgotten; and the slight vanishes into the width of that remembered debt. But he wastes no time in loping past the gateguards into the bawn of the sprawling sept, depositing his bag of talens as an offering to the Sept in need, and drew in a sharp breath through his nose to take a measure of those assembled.

The lone Talon intrigues him. He did not know him, but he would have to meet him. A Talon who took homid form at rest in a Caern was a strange creature indeed. But before that, he wandered toward the group of three with the Uktena tribe's brand of ritual smokes and tokens scented on them, amidst the town smell. He had reasonable relationships with the tribes of the Purelands, on account of not being one of the strictly European tribes himself.

 "Quite a gathering - quite an answer to the call. Have you travelled far, Uktena?" 
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 


Danica had had several run-ins with the leaches, and the mind-probing old man got to see one. Unlike some others, hers were not unpleasant: they were fun. People were often surprised at just how much land was covered by the Los Angeles National Forest, its greenery and rivers covering a massive swathe across the city's northern border. They might also be shocked to learn how many upstart vampire coteries thought they could use it to create back up hideouts, or as a screen for their more nefarious activities, in the case of the Sabbat. Some gangrel liked to fancy themselves as 'solitary predators stalking the forests', but such a concept was laughable at best. Even members of the various gangs within LA, or cartel entrepreneurs looking for places to conceal their drugs or guns, soon discovered the grievous error in their ways. But one particular recollection was rather enjoyable for the Shadow Lord: the pack she was in coming upon a large clearing by a river, sticking to the woods and watching as a car sat upon the banks, headlights on and scything through the night air, as four silver-pale figures stood around shouting a name into the shadow of the trees while another regularly sounded the horn. Doubtless they had some lost companion, but it didn't matter. Their concern for their wayward fellow lasted up until they heard the first baritone howl into the night, then it was panicked retreat back into the car, the growl of a gunned engine that swung around in a plume of dirt to barrel back down the road and towards the safety of the city, the shadows of monstrous wolves in the woods keeping pace along them.

Danica grinned. That had been a great night.

Let into the Sept with the others, Danica first looked back and forth between the other Garou at her side, the old man and the hippie. The Shadow Lord couldn't help but flash a toothy grin and chuckle. What were they getting themselves into, eh? A hobo, a peacenik and her, a comedic trilogy!

But as they moved through the sept itself, Danica found something else that caught her attention. It wasn't the Black Furies, though she smiled and gave a chin-up silent greeting to them, nor the Glass Walker and Co, the...Uktena? And the possible Unabomber. No, no. It was the Fenrir pack.

  "I'll see ya in a bit!"   she said to no one in particular, though only Caliban or Meghan could hear it.

Pivoting on the heel of her boot, Danica approached the group, looking as if she might fit in among them with her height and golden hair and aggressive dress. Instead, her intrusion provoked suspicious glares, upturned heads and attentive eyes as if she had walked into a wolfs den and the pack were beginning to form the instinctual semi-circle around before her. For her part, the Shadow Lord strode in, **** of the roost, both hands up and gripping the shoulder/collars of her kevlar vest.

  "Lost?"   the closest one asked in a voice of rasp and reed. Taller than her by an inch, a well-muscled swimmers physique with a tri-scar tissue gash across one side of his head that prevented hair growth, stubble and cold green eyes. He stepped forward, slinking, thick arms hanging at his side.

  "Yeah I am, as a matter of fact,"   Danny returned,   "I was on my way to find Chicago's toughest Garou, instead I got lost and found you."  

Danica pivoted her torso to dodge the punch that was immediately swung, gripping the Get's arm around the wrist and slamming her closest fist into the Homid's side. The grunt of pain was the only warning she got as the Get yanked his arm inwards, towards his chest, bringing Danny within range of his other hand, which gripped her around the shoulder for the following headbutt that connected awkwardly with her mouth, the taste of metal immediately blasting down her throat as both combatants backed off for half second. Fists drawn up, circling, they were at it again, jabs, swings, dodges, the Gets fist connecting with Danny's orbital before she managed to hook her arm around his and bring herself about his body, her footwork joining with her upperbody to pivot the Fenrir around and allowing her to hoist him off the ground, up and over, feet in the air and slam him down into the earth at their side.

Eye already swelling and blood through her teeth, Danny acted first, rolling on top to straddle the Get and slam her fists down once, twice, three times into her stunned opponent, the dark red splattering from split wounds upon the features with each wet  Crack!  of knuckles against face,  before the Fenrir's boot-covered feet rose up from behind her at the end of those long, strong legs, wrapping around her torso and slamming her backwards against the ground. Bloodied, but not down, the Fenrir reseized the initiative and quickly dew himself about to Danny's left, snaking his arms around her neck and limbs and squeezing and pulling, the Shadow Lord gasping a red cough-splatter as she as new air intake was impossible and what was left in her lungs was quickly depleting. Those iron bonds coiled around her like a python, natural strength and leverage maintained the choking hold that was squeezing the function from her body, the world slowly darkening over.

The Shadow Lord tapped her free hand down on the ground. The grip ended.

Danica exhaled and coughed, the bubbly red foaming down her chin as she gulped in a lungful, those arms leaving her, her opponent recovering next to her as he wiped the blood from his eyes, his cheek puffed and purple and eye squeezed shut by a ring of dark, bloated tissue. Panting, sitting up, then onto her knee's in a half squat, swallowing, standing up, a little shakey, Danica grinned and laughed with her crimson-stained teeth and battered face.

  "Guess I found'em after all,"   she nodded with a smirk, a wink and a snicker, turning and stumbling off, her Garou regeneration recovering most of her injuries by the time she rejoined the others, where she rolled her shoulders and spat out a tooth - it too soon growing back inside her mouth. The crimson that caked her knuckles, though, would need to be washed off.

  "I grew up around Fenrir, out West,"   she explained, still snickering on the jitters of adrenaline.

  "They only respect those who ain't afraid of them."  

It was more than that - the other groups had immediately stopped what they were doing and had watched, whispering among themselves and eyes darting back between her and the Fenrir.

  "And now they,"   she gestured to the rest,   "think I'm nuts."  

The Shadow Lord let a pregnant pause linger in the air.

  "Ha ha ha!"   that toothy cackle.
Kish
Meghan winces as she finds herself reliving an exchange that seemed to be going well, which gradually got exceedingly creepy. The vampire, one of the earliest ones she had met in New York, had seemed surprisingly friendly, starting with "we who transcend humanity have no reason to fight, surely." As she continued to speak, Meghan had gradually been gripped by the bone-chilling realization that every word she was saying  was  completely sincere: she truly believed that it made no sense for any supernatural being to care in the slightest about what happened to humans. She was genuinely hurt and baffled that Meghan would not agree to simply stay out of each others' way.

She shuddered, coming back to the present.  Invasive, but I suppose from his perspective necessary. Huh, the loud Galliard seems perfectly happy with her memory. I wonder what he meant about the blind one. Prejudice against metis, or did he find something in his mind? 

As Danica heads off to challenge the Get--neither first nor last on Meghan's list of werewolves she'd like to spend much time around here--Meghan briefly considers the Uktena but, seeing Caliban approach them, opts to walk over to the Glass Walker.

"Hi. I'm Meghan Farbrace," she greets the other woman. "I hear things are bad here--well, that a caern fell already and we hope to reclaim it--but are there any other specifics you might be able to give me?"
Kaworu
Samuel went bravely into the unknown woods, chocolate cake still held in both arms of his. The trees were high, green and dense, but he worried not about them. Who would? It’s just trees, as a biologist, he saw a lot of them in his life.

Only after going in too deep did he realize that he (a) had no compass with him (it was probably left in his other packages back at his new home, that he did not unwrapped yet) and (a) trees were so dense, and the track he was following so uneven, that he did not know where he was.

- Hm… which way to the north…? - he asked himself, looking all around him. When he raised his gaze, he realized that he sees no sun, only some sunrays falling down through the ever-green leaves.

- Damn… - he stopped moving, suddenly unmotivated. He  could  transform into his wolf form, in order to save energy (and legs pain), but how would he then carry his cake? And all other form than a pure wolf and a pure human… it would suggest attacking other people. He could not do that.

- Daaaaaaaamn! - he said again. However, he had some solution for that.

He grabbed a stock, drawn a bow in the ground (on the side where shadow was falling) and put the stick in the ground, so the shadow had fallen on the bow drawn.

- Okay, now relax – he said to himself. He needed half an hour to know which direction was which.

After half an hour, he did know. So, then he moved in the direction he believed the Sept was located. He was sad because of being late by half an hours, but well, nothing to do about that.

About the Arthur guy, Samuel knew nothing. After all, this was a big world, and he just moved from the second end of the big country the USA was.

- Samuel Kowalski, a Glass Walker. A pleasure – he simply introduced himself.

He looked around after the introduction. It was quite crowded in here, and all the faces were unknown to him. Quite a lot of people to talk to, but he suddenly felt like his cake was too little to feed everyone. He hoped he did not broke any social conventions…

Suddenly…

- Samuel? - a familiar voice came from behind him. He turned to see…

- Alice! - he shouted. He looked at a tall, thin woman with long, straing golden hair, big glasses on her nose, blue eyes and hearth-shaped face.

Alice was a werewolf, but also an environmental scientist from Florida. They meet during his Msc Biology studies in New York – she was a visiting student from another state. He still remembered fondly sharing notes in Ecology &amp; Sozology and going to strawberry shakes after passing the examination. In years before WWW, they exchanged emails regularly, using their university email accounts. Just friendly gossip, nothing else, but Samuel valued a lot her friendship.

- So you are here too! - she shouted joyfully – Imagine! It seems like all the people from all of the States are here! Isn’t it wonderful? - she was positively… well, positive.

- Yeah – he admitted – Wish I could see you in better times, though…

- Hm… - her face lost light for a moment – It’s very sad what happened here.

- Do you… want a slice of chocolate cake? I also have some instant coffee in my backpack, we just need boiling water – he smiled kinda sheepishly.

- Oh, that would be wonderful! - Alice admitted, joy returning to her face – I just LOVE chocolate!

 
 Spoiler 


Introducing Alice, a Child of Gaia. Environmental scientist along the lines of Honey Lemon from Big Hero Six! ;-)
 
truemane
 CALIBAN AND THE UKTENA 

The trio is an odd assortment. Two men and a woman. One of the men, tall and dusty-blonde with a weather-worn face, has a face stamped with fury and impatience. He seems to be writhing in his own skin, keeping himself rooted to the spot only with effort. The other man, average height and build with long black hair and deep-set eyes, seems casually contemptuous of the Sept and everything in it. The woman, short and slight with a sharp gaze and a manner that suggests ease with authority, is clearly the Alpha.

The woman addresses Caliban. "Come far? No. Fallen far, maybe. We're from the Fanum. Were from the Fanum, I should say. Whatever happens, we'll never truly be rid of the pollution left by those filthy wyrm-spawn."

The black-haired man sneers. "Not that it's much better here. Shadow Lords aren't Black Spiral Dancers, but by Gaia sometimes you could be forgiven for making that mistake."

They introduce themselves: Anna Eyes-of-the-Sun (Elder Galliard), Torrance Green-Mage (black hair, Athro Philodox) and Clifford Son-of-Orion (dusty-blond, Adren Ahroun).


 MEGHAN AND THE GLASS WALKER 

The Glass Walker introduces herself as Kelly Weaver-Friend (Athro Theurge).

"Bad? The only thing worse than the way things are is the way things are going to be. You see that sky? Those clouds? That's Jupiter slipping free from the Fanum. If he gets out, or Gaia help us, is turned to the Wyrm, there won't be anything left around here to fight for. There's a storm coming, young Meghan. And I don't know if all of this..." she waves around the Sept, "Is enough to stop it."

The Bonegnawer (who doesn't intrcduce himself), speaks up, "And when they get you howling and raging and wind up all up and set you all lose, you remember whose fault all this is: the effing Sept of the effing Windcatchers. Fools and traitors, all. And the only thing in all this that gives me joy is that they'll feel the wrath of Jupiter first. And if I have to go to my grave, I'll go knowing those short-sighted, stiff-necked, dumb-as-rocks, charachikthya died first."


 DANICA AND THE SHADOW LORD 

As Danica finishes her toothy cackle, a tall, broad-shouldered, well-dressed, confident and good looking Garou walks over to her and introduces himself as Sebastian Kroyos, or Saint. He was the leader of the Sept of the Raccoon and he smelled of old money and good breeding and the kind of unquestioning confidence that comes from proving a lifetime's worth of naysayers wrong.

"That was quite a stunt with the Fenrir," he said, and his voice is a deep, smooth, well-played instrument, "And by the look of you it was stunt born of tactics and not pride. Your name's come to my ears more than once, Sings-the-Thunder. I was ready to be impressed and I'm happy to see I was right. We will need good soldiers, loyal soldiers, in the coming days. So tell me, where does your allegiance lie?"


 SAMUEL AND ALICE 

Alice was happy to see Samuel. It was clear that she felt a little alone, and a little out of her depth here in this strange place deep in the forest, surrounded by a mustering army on the cusp of war.

"It's very sad what happened here. And it's very sad what's about to happen here too. From what I hear, some of Chicago's Urrah are suspected to have been complicit with the Black Spiral Dancers. I'm afraid there will be Garou-on-Garou violence. And, if that happens, I'm afraid the vampires may prove victorious."
MrAbdiel
 
 Originally Posted by Anna Eyes-of-the-Sun 
  "Come far? No. Fallen far, maybe. We're from the Fanum. Were from the Fanum, I should say. Whatever happens, we'll never truly be rid of the pollution left by those filthy wyrm-spawn."  
 

Caliban releases a rattling, apologetic whimper from his scar-complicated throat - a lupine equivalent to 'my condolences' without the finality or whiff of pity that some contentious Garou take to be a challenge. Fortunately, Silent Strider that he is, he has some measure of affinity for Caern loss. It would be difficult to take his sympathy as fabricated.

 "It is a grievous affront - one that has earned the warriors assembling for this reprisal, and then some. I will not... bludgeon you with happy talk. What damage is done when the smoke is clear, perhaps these allies can help mitigate." 

He lets Torrance Green-Mage's comparison of Shadow Lords and Spirals go by without comment. It strikes Caliban as a dangerous statement to make in a moment when unity is required - but the Uktena is both in grief for his Caern and caernmates, and also his superior by rank in the nation. He would just have to make an effort not to invite the Shadow Lord he wandered in with to join the conversation.

He introduces himself, with both his given and deed name, but he throws in his tribal name,  Sahu , for good measure. It's not necessary, but there was an astronomical overlap between "Sahu" and "Orion" - both referring to the same constellation. The Ahroun Son-Of-Orion might not find that amusing, but Caliban does.

Still, this was not a social call...

 "...Can I ask you, avengers of Fanum, how this calamity came to pass? I have rumor and conjecture, and those are poor weapons for the deed yet to come." 
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 

 
 Originally Posted by truemane 
  DANICA AND THE SHADOW LORD 

As Danica finishes her toothy cackle, a tall, broad-shouldered, well-dressed, confident and good looking Garou walks over to her and introduces himself as Sebastian Kroyos, or Saint. He was the leader of the Sept of the Raccoon and he smelled of old money and good breeding and the kind of unquestioning confidence that comes from proving a lifetime's worth of naysayers wrong.

"That was quite a stunt with the Fenrir," he said, and his voice is a deep, smooth, well-played instrument, "And by the look of you it was stunt born of tactics and not pride. Your name's come to my ears more than once, Sings-the-Thunder. I was ready to be impressed and I'm happy to see I was right. We will need good soldiers, loyal soldiers, in the coming days. So tell me, where does your allegiance lie?" 
 



Danica turned about to face the newcomer, while the others drifted off to their own conversations. Like Sebastian, Danny had the look of the Shadow Lords in her, from her build, to her stormy countenance across her angular, appealing face. She squared her shoulders and bowing her head enough to show respectful greeting to the senior Lord, while keeping her eyes on him at all time. It was here that Danica demonstrated that she was a get of Grandfather Thunder, and wasn't just some flashy, loud punk-metal enthusiast. She understood and knew the unspoken body language and micro-ceremonies that played out in the apparatus of hierarchy and power that the tribe was known for. Show deference and respect, but do not be a doormat.

As if a better example was needed, Saint's question was just a multilayered: where does your allegiance lie?

 "To Gaia, and the Garou Nation." 

A simple and good enough answer on the surface. But the tone of her voice, subtle inflections in her delivery and the way she held his gaze, it was clear there was a deeper implication that met his unspoken understanding: she was a Shadow Lord, a daughter of Grandfather Thunder, and our tribe does what has to be done.
Kish
 
 Originally Posted by truemane 
  MEGHAN AND THE GLASS WALKER 

The Glass Walker introduces herself as Kelly Weaver-Friend (Athro Theurge).

"Bad? The only thing worse than the way things are is the way things are going to be. You see that sky? Those clouds? That's Jupiter slipping free from the Fanum. If he gets out, or Gaia help us, is turned to the Wyrm, there won't be anything left around here to fight for. There's a storm coming, young Meghan. And I don't know if all of this..." she waves around the Sept, "Is enough to stop it."

The Bonegnawer (who doesn't intrcduce himself), speaks up, "And when they get you howling and raging and wind up all up and set you all lose, you remember whose fault all this is: the effing Sept of the effing Windcatchers. Fools and traitors, all. And the only thing in all this that gives me joy is that they'll feel the wrath of Jupiter first. And if I have to go to my grave, I'll go knowing those short-sighted, stiff-necked, dumb-as-rocks, charachikthya died first." 
 

Meghan doesn't respond immediately, needing to think through her reactions.  Try not to sound trite. Definitely don't lecture. Don't encourage hostility toward the Uktena either.  "Whatever happened, we know where to find the enemy, right? We'll make sure the Wyrm's minions regret meeting us."  ...Adequate. 
truemane
 CALIBAN AND THE UKTENA 

Anna, the Alpha responds. Her anger and sadness fade from her face as she talks, falling behind the familiar rhythms of speech and story. She was clearly a highly-skilled storyteller, and would be a fierce ally (or rival) at Tribal Moot.

"What you must understand, Caliban Sahu," she says, "Is that the Fanum was safe. The ancient magics that bound Jupiter's incomprehensible power also defended the Caern from spiritual harm. The Garou who lived there were the most skilled, the most passionate, the most determined, and who defended the physical premises. And carefully constructed allegiances with the various powers of the city kept it safe from everything else. And yet."

A pause.

"And yet."

Another pause. Much longer.

"What we know is this: some Garou, we don't know which or who, but we have our suspicions, attacked one of the Leeches' places of power. The truce between them and us has lasted for long, fragile, careful decades. And in an instant, it was gone. In the wake of the attack, there were a number of coordinated attacks by the Leeches against the Nation. Our Kinfolk slain or taken. Our places shut down or purchased or profaned. All of that we endured. Foolishly thinking we were safe behind our walls. And yet."

A deep breath.

"Something slipped. There is no way the Black Spiral Dancers could have done what they did otherwise, even with the Leeches' help. I wasn't present when the attack happened. And by the time I arrived, it was too late. But I know they had help. Someone give them the keys. I don't know who. But if I find out, mark me well, Strider, they will not escape my vengeance, even should all the infinite hordes of the Wyrm stand between us."

Green-Mage remains silent long enough for the story to have its full dramatic impact. And then he clears his throat. "And as for that, I don't who or what slipped, but there is bad business here. I can feel it. The Uktena of old built this place and their works remain. And someone, something here, has truck with things best left along. the Wyrmhole, perhaps. Or worse."

He points out small Shadow Lord off to the side, passing into the Vale of Heroes, "That one has the stink about him of chained spirits. Oaths forced. And held. I will follow whoever I have to follow in order to regain the Fanum. But I will trust none of them."


 MEGHAN AND THE GLASS WALKER 

The Bonegnawer shakes his head and scoffs and wanders away (toward the kitchen). Kelly Weaver-Friend stares after him, her face sad.

"Do we know where to find the enemy? We know it was the Sept of the Windcatcher that first attacked the Leeches. And that was what caused them to break the peace and declare what they call a Blood Hunt against the Garou. The Bonegnawers suffered horribly as a result. And we were so weakened that the Fanum fell. So if I were you I would consider that we don't know where the enemy is.

She smiles a strained smile. Claps the Ahroun on his shoulder. "But all is not lost. We remain strong. We are warriors who will soon be an army. And, Gaia willing, we will make the agents of the Wyrm regret ever getting in our way."

A pause.

"You are a Child of Gaia? Why would you answer a call for war? What brings you here? Do you hope to broker a peaceful resolution?"


 DANICA AND THE SHADOW LORD 

Sebastian nods his head, slow and sage. His sharp eyes remain locked on Danica but the twitch of a smile and the slight narrowing of his eyes says that he understands the words beneath Danica's words.

"So do we all," he says, voice low, "But the Nation is often best served by that which it least desires. Mind me well, Athro, had the Shadow Lords ruled in Chicago, nor the Leeches nor the Black Spirals never ever have been allowed to become to bold. We would have never let the Fanum fall if it were ours. And so, when the war is won, it would be best for all concerned if that were amended."

He nods to the Glass Walkers and to the Uktena. "There is mistrust there. Dissent. Friction. I believe there is some suspicion that the Sept of the Windcatchers are involved somehow. Unity serves those who follow. But sometimes suspicion serves those who lead."

A long pause.

"If an opportunity arises for you to lead. To serve as we serve. Be swift and sure. And take it."
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 

 
 Originally Posted by truemane 
  DANICA AND THE SHADOW LORD 

Sebastian nods his head, slow and sage. His sharp eyes remain locked on Danica but the twitch of a smile and the slight narrowing of his eyes says that he understands the words beneath Danica's words.

"So do we all," he says, voice low, "But the Nation is often best served by that which it least desires. Mind me well, Athro, had the Shadow Lords ruled in Chicago, nor the Leeches nor the Black Spirals never ever have been allowed to become to bold. We would have never let the Fanum fall if it were ours. And so, when the war is won, it would be best for all concerned if that were amended."

He nods to the Glass Walkers and to the Uktena. "There is mistrust there. Dissent. Friction. I believe there is some suspicion that the Sept of the Windcatchers are involved somehow. Unity serves those who follow. But sometimes suspicion serves those who lead."

A long pause.

"If an opportunity arises for you to lead. To serve as we serve. Be swift and sure. And take it." 
 


The two Shadow Lords were off, but adjacent to the main gathering, Sebastian and Danica speaking in soft tones so that what they said was shared only between them. It seems she was barely in the Sept for 10 minutes yet she'd already gotten into one fight and was now wading into local Garou politics. People could say what they wanted about her - at least she wasn't boring.

However, despite this entertaining start, the truth was that Danica knew very little of the local situation. She was aware of a calamity that was befalling the Garou population and their kinfolk, she knew that the local vampires had gotten stirred up right nasty. But other than that she was as lost as last years Easter egg. But she could see what Sebastian was also playing at, putting one of 'his own' into a possible position of authority, shoring up his support.

To his words, Danica nodded slowly in accord.

  "Out West it was us and the Fenrir in Los Angeles National Forests. We keep it clean of leaches and loggers, and we help out Malibu when they needed it. People grumble, but no one can argue with results."  

The Shadow Lord then looked over her shoulder briefly, ensuring no one else was within earshot, before turning back to Sebastia. Leaning in, clearly curious,   "what happened up here? What  really  happened?"  
MrAbdiel
Caliban grimaced at the tale. It seems living witnesses of this atrocity were punishingly few - much of this mystery would need to be unravelled by contact with the spirits... the dead, and otherwise.

 "It makes no sense,"  he concurrs with the Elder's general sentiment of mournful bewilderment,  "for the leeches are, of all wyrmspawn, the ones least interested in making battle. They value their lives so much - surely they must know that the collapse of such an established truce will be as disastrous for whatever petty tyrants they have erected in the shadows of the city. Mrrr.."  He trails off into a clicky, disquieted growl at the intransigent facts, scraping his claws into the bawn's gentle earth in thought.

The war was coming. That would not stop without some measure of satisfaction - but it was immediately difficult to believe that the vault of Jupiter was just an accidental casualty of a fumbled, broken truce. Someone - Garou, Leech, or Otherwise - wanted access to the Fanum. And they'd gotten it.
 
 Originally Posted by Anna Eyes-Of-The-Sun 
 "But if I find out, mark me well, Strider, they will not escape my vengeance, even should all the infinite hordes of the Wyrm stand between us." 
 

 "I mark your oath, noble Eyes-Of-The-Sun. None could marshal a defence for such a treachery." 

 
 Originally Posted by Torrance Green-Mage 
 "That one has the stink about him of chained spirits. Oaths forced. And held. I will follow whoever I have to follow in order to regain the Fanum. But I will trust none of them." 
 

Again, Caliban is wise enough not to make a defense on behalf of the Shadowlord to this pack of survivors. He was already getting a sense of the tensions in this place - worse than they were when he was here last - and a feeling boiled in his gut that the proud and angry local packs may not be capable of seeing all that was to be seen in the matter.  He gave softened but generally agreeing grumble, and lapsed into thoughtful silence - hopefully moderating some of the Uktenas' sense of isolation here by simply hovering by them in solidarity, for the moment.

Who were those others who arrived with him, so fatefully, alone and packless? The Shadowlord  Sings-The-Thunder , who had antagonized the Fenrir on her arrival - perhaps a canny creature, as much as brash. A Child of Gaia also, calling herself  Meghan Farbrace  - a pup born to a tribe mocked sometimes for its reluctance to go to war. Yet here she was, answering a call to war - was she War-Moon? Caliban could sometimes tell auspice by scene, but not always. Still, a Child of Gaia was independent enough to keep their head in such a tangle of chaos. Both women were homid - but then they were nearly all homid, and the war was taking place on the weaver's domain anyway. Who else, perhaps? The lone Red Talon..? Alas, the Talons were great and terrible in war, but not so honed for investigation - and they hardly got along with the homids. Nearby, he could hear an introduction from a Glass Walker carrying what smelled like a patisserie item. A Glass-Walker companion may prove key, here - someone to navigate the weaver-webs where the leeches hid their knowledge. Many lone wolves would be welded into packs for this war. Perhaps, perhaps, his would be more concerned with wisdom, than honor or glory...

 "If you intend to  greet the sun  tomorrow, I would be honored to join you - though I understand if your pack chooses to circle. I think, merely, we will all need Helios' blazing blessing to scour the taint from the sacred places, in this war." 
 
 Spoiler: Caliban Calculating... 
 Greet The Sun  is a neat little minor rite that is used by Children of Gaia and "a few Uktena and Wendigo", according to the book. Caliban's betting that "Eyes-Of-The-Sun" is one of those few, and since that rite's purpose is to add  a little tiny bonus to detecting wyrm creatures, it's particularly relevant right now. If he can manage to get an invitation to learn that rite, he intends to use it later to help bond the new pack he expects to end up in. And equip them for what is to come.
 
Kish
 
 Originally Posted by truemane 
  MEGHAN AND THE GLASS WALKER 

The Bonegnawer shakes his head and scoffs and wanders away (toward the kitchen). Kelly Weaver-Friend stares after him, her face sad.

"Do we know where to find the enemy? We know it was the Sept of the Windcatcher that first attacked the Leeches. And that was what caused them to break the peace and declare what they call a Blood Hunt against the Garou. The Bonegnawers suffered horribly as a result. And we were so weakened that the Fanum fell. So if I were you I would consider that we don't know where the enemy is.

She smiles a strained smile. Claps the Ahroun on his shoulder. "But all is not lost. We remain strong. We are warriors who will soon be an army. And, Gaia willing, we will make the agents of the Wyrm regret ever getting in our way."

A pause.

"You are a Child of Gaia? Why would you answer a call for war? What brings you here? Do you hope to broker a peaceful resolution?" 
 

"Well." Megan pauses to consider. "From your description of events, that's worth considering if it can be done, is it not? To restore the peace with the Leeches? But whatever you may have heard about my tribe, I am still an Ahroun, and the Children of Gaia are still Gaia's warriors. If we can we'll try to resolve differences between all of Gaia's children peacefully. Even those heavily tainted by the Wyrm but not of the Wyrm can potentially be healed. But we know well that there's no peace with the Black Spiral Dancers."

"Did any of the Sept of the Windcatcher survive? They attacked the Leeches, the Leeches retaliated, the Black Spiral Dancers learned of vulnerability and swarmed over the Fanum?"
Kaworu
Samuel produced from within his backpack two paper plates, and with a kitchen knife has cut a piece of chocolate cake for Alice and second for himself. When Alice was speaking, he torn a piece of the cake and put it in his mouth. He considered for a long moment, his jaws working slowly, his eyes turned upward, in a deep contemplation.

- You see… - he began slowly, after both chewing and thinking – Actually, it is kinda hard for me to say something. As you know well, I also do not like violence. And what you are saying is very bothering and troublesome. Especially given the way Garou society works. I mean, you know, Black Spiral’s Dancers aren’t… good news. And while I do not like violence and drama, I fully understand the graveness of the news.

- But, you know… we are here, aren’t we? I… I would like to believe we have some potential of influencing the events, even if very brief and little. I quess… we should stay around and see what will happen? We could try to put a reasonable word there and here, and see where things will go from there.

- But, my dear, please, remember this – even if the worst will happen, it will not be your fault. Sometimes bad things just have to happen and we cannot reverse them, no matter how hard we are trying. It’s painful to watch, but it’s not our responsibility. You cannot save the world yourself, you know?

- Im sorry, it’s probably not something you wanted to hear, am I right? - he asked when trying to smile, which didn’t quite work.
truemane
 DANICA AND THE SHADOWLORD 

 
 Originally Posted by BananaPhone 
 The Shadow Lord then looked over her shoulder briefly, ensuring no one else was within earshot, before turning back to Sebastia. Leaning in, clearly curious,   "what happened up here? What  really  happened?"   
 

Sebastian frowned a small, controlled frown, with barely a furrow in his brow. "To be entirely candid, we do not have as many eyes in Chicago as we would like." His eyes flick toward a nearby Shadow Lord moving toward the Vale of Heroes, and then return to Danica. "We are working on it. But the work is slow and careful."

He takes a breath.

"We know some Garou attacked one of the Kindred's strongholds, a place called the Succubus Club. We don't for sure who it was, but those of Chicago's Urrah who have arrived here seem to think it was the Sept of the Windcatchers, who are, in case you are unaware, the second of the two major Caerns within Chicago. This seems implausible, but not inconceivable. There has always been tension between the two Septs, owing to rumours (mostly true, if my sources are correct) that the Fanum protects itself, in part, through formal allegiance with the various Kindred who rule over Chicago. The Windcatchers have, over the years, suffered several incursions at the hands of Kinfolk, or Garou, under some manner of thrall to those same Kindred."

He stops walking a moment and speaks as though marking a list.

"Also, one of the Sept's Elders, a particularly impulsive Fenrir named Gnuris One-Eye, has recently seen a rise in his status after some internal struggles and he could have mustered the clout to order such an attack. Also there are no other strong candidates. It was not us. Not the Fanum. No pack from beyond the city has claimed credit. And the Black Spiral Dancers were, are, and (again, if my sources are correct) remain, allied to the Kindred. So it could not have been them. And, in the wake of the attack on the Fanum, all of the Windcatchers have disappeared and the Sept itself is locked and barricaded from within and offered only silence in response to both inquiry and offer of help."

He shrugs.

"So the conclusion is reasonable. If perhaps not as certain as the Urrah would have us believe. However, the so-called Blood Hunt called by the Alpha Kindred is, if anything, even more perplexing than the attack on the Succubus Club. Reprisals might be expected, but such a unified and martial front is vastly out of character. Someone or something, external to the previously homeostatic system, seems to have their thumb on the scale."



 CALIBAN AND THE UKTENA 

 
 Originally Posted by MrAbdiel 
  "It makes no sense,"  he concurrs with the Elder's general sentiment of mournful bewilderment,  "for the leeches are, of all wyrmspawn, the ones least interested in making battle. They value their lives so much - surely they must know that the collapse of such an established truce will be as disastrous for whatever petty tyrants they have erected in the shadows of the city. Mrrr.."  He trails off into a clicky, disquieted growl at the intransigent facts, scraping his claws into the bawn's gentle earth in thought. 
 

The Uktena nods. "I agree. It is not like them. Horrid, tainted, polluted, parasitic scabs on the face of Gaia they may be, but they are creatures of habit and tradition, and can almost always be depended on to de-escalate. And even the most entrenched leaders are often reluctant to call a Blood Hunt on anything other than themselves. It is as much a mystery as why the Windcatchers attached in the first place.


 
 Originally Posted by MrAbdiel 
  "If you intend to  greet the sun  tomorrow, I would be honored to join you - though I understand if your pack chooses to circle. I think, merely, we will all need Helios' blazing blessing to scour the taint from the sacred places, in this war."  
 

She smiles a bright, open smile and sketches a small bow. "It would be my honour, Caliban Sahu. Surely the involvement of a Theurge of your skill and wisdom will ensure the favour of Helios in the trials to come."



 MEGHAN AND THE GLASS WALKER 

 
 Originally Posted by Kish 
 "Did any of the Sept of the Windcatcher survive? They attacked the Leeches, the Leeches retaliated, the Black Spiral Dancers learned of vulnerability and swarmed over the Fanum?" 
 

She nods. "Yes, that seems to be the chain of events. We attacked them, they declared war on us, we defended ourselves, the Dancers took advantage. And the Fanum is lost. And, in the wake, the Windcatchers have gone. Vanished. The Sept is closed. Anyone who sought refuge was refused. We have received no answer to any of our communications. They refused to help send out the call for help. And, in fact, it is possible they actively inhibited it. It seems that, after pouring gas on the cinders, they hid like cowards and left the rest of us to burn."



 SAMUEL AND ALICE 

 
 Originally Posted by Kaworu 
 - But, my dear, please, remember this – even if the worst will happen, it will not be your fault. Sometimes bad things just have to happen and we cannot reverse them, no matter how hard we are trying. It’s painful to watch, but it’s not our responsibility. You cannot save the world yourself, you know?

- Im sorry, it’s probably not something you wanted to hear, am I right? - he asked when trying to smile, which didn’t quite work. 
 

She shakes her head. "I'm afraid you're wrong, Samuel. If the worst happens and we fall in upon ourselves, bickering over nonsense while the Leeches laugh, and Jupiter escapes out into the world, it will be my fault. And yours. And his, and hers, and his. All of us. All our faults."

A pause. Her face sad.

"We are Gais's chosen. We are her warriors. Her defenders. If we fail, who else is there to blame but ourselves?"
MrAbdiel
 
 Originally Posted by Anna Eyes-Of-The-Sun 
 "It would be my honour, Caliban Sahu. Surely the involvement of a Theurge of your skill and wisdom will ensure the favour of Helios in the trials to come." 
 

Bowing to a blindman might be thought redundant in some cases, but the Elder is wise enough to trust that the old wolf has his ways, and by the shifting locus of her voice and even the subtle dip in the location of the heat radiating off her, Caliban perceives and matches the bow. The encounter had gone better than he could have imagined - the Uktena were a notoriously standoffish tribe, but by the grace of Gaia he had threaded the needle and won some positive initial perception. It had been some time since he had performed the rite to greet Helios's rise - he would have to let the Uktena set the cadence when it came, and fall into pattern.

He slipped away and left the Fanum refugees to their own counsel. He'd have to walk the bawn from end to end and cross-wise to get a sense of it - that and a few other things. But first, he drifted by an old battered wooden bench being used as an altar for offerings and followed the scent of the cacao, and the flour, and the sugar of the sweet corn until he loomed over the plate and carefully swept a claw on the edge of it to scoop some frosting and crumbs from the footprint where slices once stood. He touched it to his tongue and shivered - the flash of tremendous sweetness, as sweet as honey and then more. The texture spoke for itself - the whites beaten apart from the yolks, the glaze from the same batch as the cake itself. Murzynek, maybe? Something more European than American, but he could be wrong. He chided himself for losing the fidelity of memory to know it at once.

Then his body computed the flavour that his mind was considering, and took the presence on the tongue as a threat that he was going to eat more. His looming crinos form gave a brief ripple of a convulsion, and he slunk away from be bench to wipe his tongue on his tattered poncho. Only ten or twenty years ago, he could eat all the homid foods and only those most gratuitously stuffed with the poison of civilization turned his stomach. Now, in his later years, he could stomach meat and meat alone. There was something darkly amusing that his digestion was the part of him that was going to buckled under the weight of years first, after everything else he'd been through. Fate was a funny thing.

But first, he reached into his satchel and felt about for the fistful of smooth stones he had put there. River rocks from the Bhadra river, from the basket of a local peddlar who ran them through a rock tumbler to make them shine and sold them to tourists as souvenirs. Caliban had traded for two fistfuls just before he returned to the Americas. You can never have too many shiny stones...

 
 Spoiler: OOC: Other Things Caliban Intends to Do 
In the 3 intervening hours or so, Caliban would like to...

- Meet Keeper, the Metis Red Talon. It's both a gesture of solidary from one Metis to another, but he expects the Talon will feel isolated and further isolate himself during the Moot, and Talons often have insights other clans miss, so he'd like to lay a groundwork of respectful exchange.
 If he has any insight he's going to offer on first blush about the situation, Caliban will take it; but it's mostly introduction and not seeking anything specific.

- Walk the Bawn (and the rest of the Caern where he is allowed). Between his keen senses and his eidetic memory, this is key to him getting a sense of the location he is in that can compensate for his blindness, so it's a habit he's developed. Having him wander around sniffing about with no specific destination may make some look at him with suspicion, but it is what it is!

- At moonrise, he's  Greet the Moon  with an exuberant throaty howl, as he always does. Lots of other Garou probably do the same since it's a minor rite, but perhaps howling at moonrise might be worked into the Moot in general, so whatever is most appropriate.

- Probably before that, Caliban is going to confer with the Caern's patron spirit. He's mostly trying to get the local spirits-eye-view on the disaster - no doubt fluttering fear of Jupiter is rippling about there as well. He has brought a bunch of mostly worthless but interesting shiny stones as chiminage for local raccoons to snatch up. This is also to break the ice because, perhaps after the Moot, he intends to try his luck petitioning extra aid from the Caern with the  Rite of the Opened Caern . Can't hurt to befriend the local incarnation of Raccoon first!
 
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 

 
 Originally Posted by truemane 
  DANICA AND THE SHADOWLORD 

Sebastian frowned a small, controlled frown, with barely a furrow in his brow. "To be entirely candid, we do not have as many eyes in Chicago as we would like." His eyes flick toward a nearby Shadow Lord moving toward the Vale of Heroes, and then return to Danica. "We are working on it. But the work is slow and careful."

He takes a breath.

"We know some Garou attacked one of the Kindred's strongholds, a place called the Succubus Club. We don't for sure who it was, but those of Chicago's Urrah who have arrived here seem to think it was the Sept of the Windcatchers, who are, in case you are unaware, the second of the two major Caerns within Chicago. This seems implausible, but not inconceivable. There has always been tension between the two Septs, owing to rumours (mostly true, if my sources are correct) that the Fanum protects itself, in part, through formal allegiance with the various Kindred who rule over Chicago. The Windcatchers have, over the years, suffered several incursions at the hands of Kinfolk, or Garou, under some manner of thrall to those same Kindred."

He stops walking a moment and speaks as though marking a list.

"Also, one of the Sept's Elders, a particularly impulsive Fenrir named Gnuris One-Eye, has recently seen a rise in his status after some internal struggles and he could have mustered the clout to order such an attack. Also there are no other strong candidates. It was not us. Not the Fanum. No pack from beyond the city has claimed credit. And the Black Spiral Dancers were, are, and (again, if my sources are correct) remain, allied to the Kindred. So it could not have been them. And, in the wake of the attack on the Fanum, all of the Windcatchers have disappeared and the Sept itself is locked and barricaded from within and offered only silence in response to both inquiry and offer of help."

He shrugs.

"So the conclusion is reasonable. If perhaps not as certain as the Urrah would have us believe. However, the so-called Blood Hunt called by the Alpha Kindred is, if anything, even more perplexing than the attack on the Succubus Club. Reprisals might be expected, but such a unified and martial front is vastly out of character. Someone or something, external to the previously homeostatic system, seems to have their thumb on the scale." 
 



Danica listened quietly, her brow furrowed and arms folded over her abdomen.

  "Whole thing sounds FUBAR..."   she uttered when Sebastian had finished, shaking her head and flicking her lips,   "cyka blyat..."   Still...something didn't sit right with her. The whole tale was just too convenient, and this scepticism was borne out across her features as she dwelled for a few moments on the new information.

  "What would the Sept of the Windcatchers have to gain by breaking their truce with the vampires?"   she asked, visibly puzzled.

  "They're in the vampires territory, surrounded by their power structures and human agents, they're protected by a treaty all parties have so far stuck to, and they decide to just...go nuts and attack the leaches? Why? What did they have to gain from it?

And they didn't even do some coordinated strike, you know, decapitate the leach leadership them mop up the rest. No, they just attack a night-club and hope for the best? That's what they gambled their plan on, eh? And these aren't a bunch of Bone Gnawer junkies sniffin' glue, these are supposed to be pretty cluey wolves."  

The more Danica spoke about it, the less it made sense to her. She was used to the leach-types back out West, and the ones that lasted were patient and careful. You needed to know where they were, who they could muster and what muscle they had on the payrole if you wanted to go against them. You couldn't just shout Oorah! and run in guns blazing hoping for the best. Either the Sept of the Windcatchers were the biggest pair of clown-shoes in the Garou Nation, or something else was going on.

  "This whole thing stinks..."   

Exhaling, nodding her head and pursing her lips, the younger Shadow Lord squared her shoulders.

  "When I was sent here I thought I was coming to some wild goose chase. Now? I'm glad I'm here. You're were right earlier..."  

She referred to when he mentioned that if the Shadow Lords held dominion, even unofficially, this entire pigs breakfast could have been avoided. Weak leadership bred dysfunction that got people killed and cost Gaia her spirit.

Danica and Sebastian parted with a mutual understanding and acknowledgement. It was clear that the younger Shadow Lord "trusted him", as far a such a concept could go in their tribe. More like, agreed to his conception: she knew her place and her duty, to Gaia, Nation and Tribe.

Next, the Galliard decided to go and chat with the Black Furies. Passing the group of Fenrir - looking over and giving them an acknowledging nod - Danica moved herself into the Daughters of Pegasus to introduce herself and chat. The topic of the day? What they thought happened, obviously. But also, about their experience hunting vampires, and whether they had experience dismantling entire organizations of them, rather than just small little coteries, and, if so, how they went about it.

Unsurprisingly, Danica had a few advantages in this situation. First of all, her tussle with the Fenrir marked her out as someone who had balls. Secondly, the pure lineage was strong in her features which combined with her natural charisma, helped ingratiate her into a group of tough women. Thirdly, she was a Galliard. Everyone wanted recognition -  everyone . And who pronounced it at the moots and gatherings? Galliards. They sung the tales and spun the yarns and she could help build their reputation or destroy it.

The newly arrived Shadow Lord used all of these to chat and shoot-the-**** with the Black Fury pack, until parting slaps on shoulders and nods were dispensed.

Then she would move and talk to the...Uktena, the remainders of the Sept of the Windchasers. A strange move, one might say, but Danica wore her lineage well, and when she flashed that smile and charisma, she was here as a newcomer to the region who wanted their side of the story, to know what  really  happened. She'd heard a bunch of stories and views, you see, but she wanted to hear it from the source.

Finally, she'd go and find out whatever happened to the other three arrivals, Meghan, Samuel and the Old Timer. Hopefully the latter hadn't fallen over and broken a hip or something.
Kaworu
Samuel blinked a few times, looking at Alice. Finally, he said.

- I… don’t share that perspective. But you, of course, can see the things that way. And, to be honest, I wouldn’t want to argue with you. Hm… more cake? - he send her a weak smile.

The thing was, he could said a lot. They were Garou. Thay had immense physical powers and some megical talents to support, but they certainly weren’t all-powerful. Neither they were errorless.

In fact, in this world, it had been said, Mages existed, and their powers were both mysterious and vast. The elder the vampire got, the more powerful his blood and training were. But, neither one of them were free of making mistakes. It was just how the things were in this world. Power does not necessarily equals competence, especially moral one. It just meant possibility – possibility to fail too, of course.

But, saying so outright could be treated as having an argument, and he simply did not want to offend a friendly face (and a lady, all the more!). But… having this outlook… this unbearable sense of resposibility and necessity to achieve success, always… it must have been really heavy on her conscience and mental health. He looked at her simpatically, feeling empathy for her and her struggles.

 Poor Alice...  – he thought to himself, considering how, if at all, he could have helped her.
truemane
 CALIBAN BEFORE THE MOOT 
  Keeper  

Keeper is curt and standoffish, even for a Red Talon, and does not warm to Caliban despite their shared social status (and despite the fact that Keeper has clearly heard tell of Caliban, even though he does not say so out loud). The only time he opens up, even a little, is when the conversation turns to past exploits and actions against the Wyrm. Keeper is interested to hear about direct attacks and clear victories, and less interested in intrigues or anything indirect. There is no obvious sign of his Metis deformity.

Keeper is good at hiding his true feelings, but Caliban is skilled at knowing things he should not, and is quite sure of a couple of things:
 
 Keeper has a great deal of contempt for the Shadow Lords (expected), and this entire enterprise (unexpected). He seems to have little interest in the upcoming war. 
 He is waiting for something. Or someone. He's not just  here , he's here plus something else. Caliban thinks maybe there's a pack of Red Talons on the way. Or perhaps even already here, lurking beyond the bawn. 
 
  Walking the Bawn  

Several local Garou and Kinfolk question him as he walks the bawn. A couple of them, as soon as they realize who he is, express submission and back away. But twice the challenge comes from someone of equal or higher Rank and the interaction is more tense. Seemingly, they don't want him too far into the residences and facilities at the east end, but everywhere else seems fine.

  Sacred Raccoon  

The Caern's Patron Spirit is strange to Caliban. Raccoon is usually a joyous spirit, a trickster and a vagabond willing to work as hard as he needs to in order to avoid working. But this Caern was founded to watch over the inky-black tunnel of filth that is the Wyrmhole to the north. And that, coupled with the spiritual ripples of Jupiter's impending escape, have made Raccoon a survivor here. Cagey, wary, with the sense that he is hoarding assistance and information as a he might food in the face of expected privation.

All the same, he manages to make contact. And Raccoon, of course, knows him well from prior experiences, is aware that he (Caliban) follows the forms. And he is delighted at shiny stone offered as payment ("It has been long, and long, and long again, since I've taken joy in a think for nothing more than the joy of the joy itself&gt;").

And so he whispers to Caliban, in a voice for him and him only: "The walls have been breached. The gate opened. Something crawls here, in this place... my place... that should not. Keep nose and ear sharp, little wolf."


 DANICA BEFORE THE MOOT 
  Sebastian's Farewell  

Sebastian agrees with Danica, both that this is all FUBAR, and that the actions of the Windcatchers don't make sense. "However," he adds before taking his leave, "It is important to be aware that not all the Nation thinks as we do. Sometimes the secret behind a perplexing plan is simply that someone felt like it. And did not think about the consequences."


  Danica and the Black Furies  

It's pretty clear to Danica right away that the Black Furies do not like Shadow Lords. At all. In fact, she suspects that it's only her own reputation as a vampire killer, coupled with her stunt with the Fenrir, that tipped their Alpha over into talking with her at all.

She is a tall, stunning Ahroun named Tearer-of-Veils with short-cropped black hair and almost statuesque facial features marked by one cheekbone that was once broken and poorly healed. It gives her smile a lopsided, disarming quality. She exudes the sort of rough and tumble joie de vivre that Danica does.

It seems their favoured tactic is to find and 'acquire' the Leeches' thralls first, whether bound by blood or blackmail or mind control, and then 'extract' information about their masters. Once one vessel is dry, they move on to the next.

"Sometimes it takes days, sometimes weeks, or even months! But if we're careful and quiet, we can usually a good enoguh sense of the outer edges of their ranks to start hitting them where it hurts. We find there's two kinds of Leeches: hornets and turtles. When the heat comes close, some start stinging whatever comes close, and some hide their heads. Either one only makes our job easier."

They do admit, though, that their tactics rarely penetrate to their deepest circles. "The really, really old ones are wily beyond all ken. The couple of times we actually dug one up and dragged it into the sun, I suspected that we were meant to find it. That maybe the others, the real Old Ones, left it out for us to out us off the mark."

And she smiles and laughs and claps Danica on the back.

"But every dead Leech is one more dead Leech, right? You don't stop swatting flies just because you never swat every fly!"

They are also interested in her stories as well. Their Theurge (Aileen "Truthclaw") seems very well-informed about Danica's explots.


  Danica and the Uktena  

She gets nowhere at all the Uktena. Their mistrust of the Shadow Lords runs deep. And they were not impressed by her antagonizing the Fenrir. They saw her talking Sebastian and are of the opinon that any friend of his is not a friend of theirs. They all proper deference, are almost rudely courteous, but tell her very little that everyone doesn't already know.


 MEGHAN BEFORE THE MOOT 
  Search for the Windcatchers  

Meghan is unable to locate a single Garou, or Kinfolk, from the Windcatcher Sept. At least, none that will admit it. The environment here is pretty hostile toward them. As she asks around, she gets the idea that not everyone is convinced the attack was their fault. Some people think it might have been something personal by a member of the Sept (which isn't the same). Some suspect a non-local pack came to town and did it (and there are more than a few side-ways glances at the Black Furies when this is suggested). Others think that maybe the whole thing is some kind of overly-complex scheme by the Kindred to winnow down their numbers. There isn't a lot of proof to do with any of this, but emotions are high and theories are common.


  Gathering Gossip  

While wandering and collecting gossip, she is accosted by the Fenrir. They call her a "Full-Moon Flower" and a "Sheep in Wolf's Clothing" and imply that perhaps her parentage is more Chihuahia or Pug than wolf. All of it a clear and obvious attempt to goad her into something, anything, that would start a fight.


  Shadow Lord's Request  

She is also approached by a Shadow Lord Philodox named Michael who introduces himself as the Sept's War Chief ("Which, 99 times out of 100, is closer to head of HR than anything else. But this is the 100."). He asks if Meghan wouldn't mind rounding up the others she came in with before the Moot. He was trying his best to form newcomers into packs, if they hadn't already. It was delicate work ("And the four of you weren't fighting anyway, which is more than I say for many of the others").


 SAMUEL BEFORE THE MOOT 
  The Chocolate Cake  

His chocolate cake is reasonably well-received. There's some grumbling about "Weaver Food" from the Lupus and some of the country wolves, but only a little. Samuel is able to get enough gossip to get the shape of what's happening: there was a Garou attack on a Vampire stronghold. In retaliation, the Vampires acted most out of character and started attacking Garou and their Kinfolk. In the chaos, Black Spiral Dancers breached the Fanum, which is the spiritual prison of an enormously powerful spirit called Jupiter. Everything is a mess and so it's time for war.


  Samuel and the Glass Walkers  

He does get some traction with the small group of Glass Walkers and Bone Gnawers who escaped Chicago. They have no trouble telling him who they think is responsible and why. And they have questions for him about how far he's come, how he got word, and about his own exploits, and those of Glass Walkers, where he's from.

In fact, they ask him if he would like to attend the moot with them and perhaps join them, as a pack, when it was time to head out into the city.


 THE MOOT 

Time passes. The sky darkens. Helios descends below the horizon and as Luna (Gibbous Waxing) shows her above the trees, a beautiful harmonious cacophony of howls fills the night sky. The passion and intensity of the sound is greater than any mere Rite. This is not marking time, or following instructions, or even a nightly greeting. These howls are born of despair and sorrow and they filled with barely restrained rage. All through the forest, prey animals stop in place and flee to the safest places they know. Far out past the outer edges of the forest, where humans, the wind carries the faintest echoes of the howling and every ear they touch shivers and runs to gooseflesh.

In answer, matching howls from the lupus Kinfolk in the forest join and, for several long moments, all of the Garou Nation are united and sing a single song in a single voice. And then the Garou start making their way across the bawn toward the amphitheatre at the far end.

The Moot is starting.

The four Garou who arrived together (perhaps gathered together by Meghan at the Shadow Lord's request, or perhaps finding themselves in the same place by coincidence), on their way to the Gathering, find themselves suddenly scenting something foul on the breeze. Like wet sewage. Rotted leaves. Overripe apples split open in the sun and covered with wasps.

It only takes them a few minutes to find the source: clinging to the back the young Glasswalker, Samuel, is a Gaffling. About three feet tall in a twisted humanoid's shape, with enormous bulging eyes and fingers and toes as long as its arms and legs. As soon as it sees that it has been spotted, it vanishes  and reappears about thirty feet away, at the edge of the bawn. It takes one long look at them and disappears into the darkness beneath the trees.

They are the closest Garou to its exit point.
Kaworu
Samuel was happy that his cake could feed a few mouths. It was a very simple task, baking it, but the small gesture could, he hoped, open up some hearts and make people more connected with him. Somethimes he felt like contacting and connecting with other people was kind of hard (he preferred much his lab work to parties), but he at least put some efforts. Plus, the people here could some day become close to him. This thought raised his spirits.

If only dealing with the Vampires would be as simple as baking a cake… He felt like there was blood to be shred and like nothing could make the attacks and violence go away. A kind of scary perspective, actually.

Still, the cake made him better understand what happened, even if he could not say why. Was there a reason why the "original" Garous attacked Vampires? Were they somehow provoked, or the provocators in here? What was their intention and justification?

He could not get answers to that, even though it was crucial to comprehend. Nibbing on his piece of chocolate cake, he felt flustrated by lack of knowledge he experienced.

Still, he found some friends in the werewolfes in here. They were interested in his wherabouts, so he explained about his dual degrees, native Polish-ness, New York City, and all other things that could be of meaning.

During the Moot, Samuel turned into a wolf and sang together with other of his kind. It was uplifting to be with others just like him, even though the times were dark and dangerous. The spirit of unity is what he and others needed the most, he surmised.

After the Moot, he got entangled – not even fully figuratively – with a Gaffling. He looked around himself, trying to see where the spirit was gonna take him.

- Hi, my little. Can I do something for you? - he said kindly, reaching his hand and making a few steps towards the creature.

- I think… they want to communicate us something? - he looked around his companions – Unless I am reading that wrong. Maybe… we should investigate? - he was not complately sure, but this seemed to be an obvious question to ask right now.
Kish
 
 Originally Posted by truemane 
  MEGHAN BEFORE THE MOOT 
  Search for the Windcatchers  

Meghan is unable to locate a single Garou, or Kinfolk, from the Windcatcher Sept. At least, none that will admit it. The environment here is pretty hostile toward them. As she asks around, she gets the idea that not everyone is convinced the attack was their fault. Some people think it might have been something personal by a member of the Sept (which isn't the same). Some suspect a non-local pack came to town and did it (and there are more than a few side-ways glances at the Black Furies when this is suggested). Others think that maybe the whole thing is some kind of overly-complex scheme by the Kindred to winnow down their numbers. There isn't a lot of proof to do with any of this, but emotions are high and theories are common. 
 

This fits perfectly into the direction Meghan's speculating, so she isn't surprised by any of it, though she does question those with ideas about vampires for why the vampires would want the Garou winnowed rather than simply gone entirely.

   Gathering Gossip  

While wandering and collecting gossip, she is accosted by the Fenrir. They call her a "Full-Moon Flower" and a "Sheep in Wolf's Clothing" and imply that perhaps her parentage is more Chihuahia or Pug than wolf. All of it a clear and obvious attempt to goad her into something, anything, that would start a fight. 

Meghan tries to seem simply unperturbed by the Fenrir's best efforts. If she has to choose between pushing back or seeming afraid, she errs in favor of the former. She thanks them for the "Full-Moon Flower" reference, affecting believing it's meant as a compliment; at "Sheep in Wolf's Clothing" she just scoffs slightly. "Chihuahua? Really? Do I seem that...unstable and aggressive?" She'll also ask the Fenrir if they have thoughts about what happened, if she gets a chance before overt hostilities break out. For each barb they throw at her, she'll respond to it but then try to question them as if they were having a perfectly friendly conversation.

   Shadow Lord's Request  

She is also approached by a Shadow Lord Philodox named Michael who introduces himself as the Sept's War Chief ("Which, 99 times out of 100, is closer to head of HR than anything else. But this is the 100."). He asks if Meghan wouldn't mind rounding up the others she came in with before the Moot. He was trying his best to form newcomers into packs, if they hadn't already. It was delicate work ("And the four of you weren't fighting anyway, which is more than I say for many of the others"). 

Meghan agrees to do that readily enough, trying to hide that she tensed at being approached by a Shadow Lord. She will actually try to bring the other three with her to the Moot.

  THE MOOT 

Time passes. The sky darkens. Helios descends below the horizon and as Luna (Gibbous Waxing) shows her above the trees, a beautiful harmonious cacophony of howls fills the night sky. The passion and intensity of the sound is greater than any mere Rite. This is not marking time, or following instructions, or even a nightly greeting. These howls are born of despair and sorrow and they filled with barely restrained rage. All through the forest, prey animals stop in place and flee to the safest places they know. Far out past the outer edges of the forest, where humans, the wind carries the faintest echoes of the howling and every ear they touch shivers and runs to gooseflesh.

In answer, matching howls from the lupus Kinfolk in the forest join and, for several long moments, all of the Garou Nation are united and sing a single song in a single voice. And then the Garou start making their way across the bawn toward the amphitheatre at the far end.

The Moot is starting.

The four Garou who arrived together (perhaps gathered together by Meghan at the Shadow Lord's request, or perhaps finding themselves in the same place by coincidence), on their way to the Gathering, find themselves suddenly scenting something foul on the breeze. Like wet sewage. Rotted leaves. Overripe apples split open in the sun and covered with wasps.

It only takes them a few minutes to find the source: clinging to the back the young Glasswalker, Samuel, is a Gaffling. About three feet tall in a twisted humanoid's shape, with enormous bulging eyes and fingers and toes as long as its arms and legs. As soon as it sees that it has been spotted, it vanishes  and reappears about thirty feet away, at the edge of the bawn. It takes one long look at them and disappears into the darkness beneath the trees.

They are the closest Garou to its exit point. 

Meghan shifts to Glabro form immediately on catching the smell. When the Glass Walker addresses the Gaffling in a friendly fashion, she hesitates briefly.  I might have misread...but this doesn't seem...  She tries to detect the Wyrm's presence, looking and scenting in the direction the Gaffling disappeared.

 
 Spoiler: OOC 
Meghan does have Sense Wyrm, and is activating it. Perception+Occult:  (5d10)[ 7 ][ 10 ][ 1 ][ 8 ][ 2 ](28) 
 
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 


Danica enjoyed her time ****-talking with the Black Fury's, her natural charisma and mixture of easy-going exterior and grinning zest for life allowing her to ingratiate herself among groups that otherwise would be deeply suspicious of her. Shadow Lords eh? We get all the blame and none of the credit!

Such as it was with the Uktena, which wasn't surprise. Disappointing, but not out of the ordinary. Danica  wanted  to say that they would get a lot further if they opened up just a little bit, and that at this critical moment they needed all the allies they could get - because a lot of Garou were now looking at them suspiciously. But, she did not. Instead, she took their contempt-disguised-as-passive-aggressive-politeness on the chin and wished them all a good Moot and best of luck. After all, a trio of wolves from a Sept that started this mess, who were now along amongst the Garou brought in to clean up their mess, needed all the luck they could get.


 
 Originally Posted by truemane 
  THE MOOT 

Time passes. The sky darkens. Helios descends below the horizon and as Luna (Gibbous Waxing) shows her above the trees, a beautiful harmonious cacophony of howls fills the night sky. The passion and intensity of the sound is greater than any mere Rite. This is not marking time, or following instructions, or even a nightly greeting. These howls are born of despair and sorrow and they filled with barely restrained rage. All through the forest, prey animals stop in place and flee to the safest places they know. Far out past the outer edges of the forest, where humans, the wind carries the faintest echoes of the howling and every ear they touch shivers and runs to gooseflesh.

In answer, matching howls from the lupus Kinfolk in the forest join and, for several long moments, all of the Garou Nation are united and sing a single song in a single voice. And then the Garou start making their way across the bawn toward the amphitheatre at the far end.

The Moot is starting. 
 


If there was something that Danica loved. Like,  really  loved, it was singing. She loved playing her guitar and headbanging too, of course, swinging her blonde braids and locks around in a golden helicopter. But to pour herself into her lungs and send it out into the night sky in a tapestry of audible harmony - that's what really made her smile.

This time, Danica did not live up to her Deed Name. No thunderheads were conjured above, no violent, auditory storms lashed out to smash the sky. Instead, the Shadow Lord had shifted into her lupus form, the deep chest and beautiful pitch-black fur of her form tipped with the golden discs of her iris's, as she sat upon a rock above all the others and poured into that night sky a voice that stood alone in its magnificence. Her pitch was perfect, not a deviation from an unwritten note or timbre out of place, as years of practice and Gaian-born innate talent weaved together a musical eloquence with its seams threaded from a part of her soul and projected across the forest canopy, past the bark of trees and through the landscape by powerful lungs that roused the spirit of every ally and warned every prey animal and foe like fingers across the spine.

Her anthem stretched beyond the physical reception of ears and sensations, it penetrated the barrier between flesh and spirit. Her allies did not just hear her nightsong, they  felt  it.



 The four Garou who arrived together (perhaps gathered together by Meghan at the Shadow Lord's request, or perhaps finding themselves in the same place by coincidence), on their way to the Gathering, find themselves suddenly scenting something foul on the breeze. Like wet sewage. Rotted leaves. Overripe apples split open in the sun and covered with wasps.

It only takes them a few minutes to find the source: clinging to the back the young Glasswalker, Samuel, is a Gaffling. About three feet tall in a twisted humanoid's shape, with enormous bulging eyes and fingers and toes as long as its arms and legs. As soon as it sees that it has been spotted, it vanishes  and reappears about thirty feet away, at the edge of the bawn. It takes one long look at them and disappears into the darkness beneath the trees.

They are the closest Garou to its exit point. 


Danica had been characteristically cordial and chatty with the others on the way to the Moot. Samuel seemed the gentlest of the four, while Meghan was a Child of Gaia Ahroun.

  "Didn't know the hippies had Ahrouns - you're teaching me stuff already! You know I was almost a Child of Gaia, out West, there's a commune of pot smokers and flower power hippies out in Malibu. They woulda called me  Wavy-Gravy !"   she'd snicker in clearly friendly jest.

But when the noxious, putrid fumes reached their senses, Danica's nose twitched and her face scrunched up in a vulgar look as if caught in an elevator that had just received the vaporous remains of someones lunch.

  "Pwah! Any of you lot chugging down protein shakes and blasting them out the back end, 'cos that is  rank! "  

Then she saw it.

The Shadow Lords eyes widened, her mouth parting as instinct took over. If that thing was a servant of the Wyld, then she was the Queen of England.

  "Warn the Sept - they know where we are!"   she barked and gestured to whoever was closest, not even looking around her as her tall, athletic figure leapt forward and shifted in midair, her dimensions extending, her head elongating as a beautiful, midnight black fur coat overtook her; massive jaws and protruding tusks led a sleek, mountain of muscle on four legs as Danny's Hispo form bolted forward like a freight train towards the Gaffling, those golden yellow eyes blazing in her skull.


 
 Spoiler: Hispo 
 
 
MrAbdiel
Caliban is glad for Meghan's rallying of the four of them. It saved him the effort - and he wasn't the most convincing bannerman to rally to, anyway. He had hoped for five, but the Red Talon had proven suspicious and testy - he was here, likely, because the other talons refused to be around such a crew of homid-heavy wolves. Best without him, and so he didn't suggest the addition as Meghan swept him up into their gathering. In the brief time they spent together as the moot begins, he tries to take the measure of them. It becomes apparent that sometimes the old wolf doesn't turn his face to whom he is speaking or listening, which is disorienting sometimes to engage with; but the pair of tall, jackal-like ears poking up through holes in the hood of his poncho are the key to tracking his attention. As a rule, his left ear shifts and inclines to 'face' whomever he is most listening to in a conversation. The right ear seems more passive, listening instead to the world around.

When it comes time to ring in the moot with howls, he tries easing his way into a little pedagogy. He has the weakest howl of them all, with his raising rasp adding a throaty gravel to the wolfsong because of his scarred throat. But in lupus form form, raggedy old hairless beast as he is, he engages in the howl with his body, too. He almost dances with energy, his backside staying low to the ground but bouncing up with his forepaws over and over, rocking about as he throws his head back. It would look silly to a human watching - but they weren't humans here, were they? If one could put away the human for a moment, the energy of it was almost infectious...

 
 Spoiler: OOC: 
Caliban is doing his best to teach his nascent pack the minor Rite  Greet The Moon , which won't yield its small but worthy benefits until it is practised religiously every moonrise... so we'd better get started :D
 

 * * * * * 
The old wolf's nose wrinkles as he catches the scent, and his head jerks when the source of the scent shifts from Samuel's back to the edge of the bawn, then starts to fade as it flees. A wyrm-thing. A Gaffling bane, here in the sept at the rising of the Moot - the gall of it alone was toxic.

As everyone begins to spring into action, he croaks to Samuel:  "Run with me, Samuel - it has touched you, blame may fall on you for the scene alone! We must catch it - alive if we can!" 

 
 Originally Posted by Danica Radec 
  "Warn the Sept - they know where we are!"  
 

 "No!" , he rasps as their formless pack lurches into uneven motion,  "they are primed to suspicion and accusation - this may be the Wyrm's plan itself, to drive another Caern to destruction!" 

The Galliard's clear call is for action and alarm; the Theurge's for quiet and cunning. Gaia has made the Ahroun for just such moments...

 
 Spoiler: OOC: 
There you go, Kish - an opportunity for Meghan to present some Alpha-cred, if she wants. She's already assembled the pack, now she gets to make her first split-second decision with enormous consequences in the balance.
 
Kish
"Running in here, grabbing one of us to make sure it's seen, and then running right back out? It's trying to draw us out," Meghan calls, pitching her voice so that any nearby werewolves, not just the four of us, can hear. "We shouldn't cross the Bawn. Brace yourselves for an assault." After she finishes speaking, she draws her fang dagger and shifts the rest of the way into Crinos form.

 
 Spoiler: OOC 
Initiative:  (1d10)[ 9 ] +7 if she's making this roll in Homid or Glabro form, or 8 if she's making it in Crinos form.
 
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 

 
 Originally Posted by MrAbdiel 
  "No!" , he rasps as their formless pack lurches into uneven motion,  "they are primed to suspicion and accusation - this may be the Wyrm's plan itself, to drive another Caern to destruction!"  
 



 
 Originally Posted by Kish 
 "Running in here, grabbing one of us to make sure it's seen, and then running right back out? It's trying to draw us out," Meghan calls, pitching her voice so that any nearby werewolves, not just the four of us, can hear. "We shouldn't cross the Bawn. Brace yourselves for an assault." After she finishes speaking, she draws her fang dagger and shifts the rest of the way into Crinos form. 
 

Danica surged forward like a pet puppy that had heard its Okay-signal word to begin eating the delicious bowl of food before it - only to realise the phrase had not been spoken, and so had to stifle themselves mid-initiation.

She pursed her lips, flicking them in annoyance as her head spun about, her blonde braid shimmying behind her head with each jerking movement as her eyes were bright and alert and the fire of the moment burned hotly within her chest.

  This is foolish  , she thought heatedly to herself,   sitting out here with our ***** in hand  waiting  for them to take the initiative?!  

But still, the Galliard stayed herself. Ahrouns were touched by Gaia for the fight, they felt the mothers rage and killer instincts better than anyone and they led during moments of violence, real or potential.

  "How long we gunna ****ing wait out here in the open like this?!"   she hiss-whispered, the lack of action and accepting the role of 'reactor' to whatever enemy was out there clearly not sitting well with the Shadow Lord - Danica's own figure twisting and morphing, her limbs growing thick and powerful, deep, midnight black fur covering her body and golden disc irises glaring about her as she took on her Crinos form, close to ten feet in height and like a black V8 engine on legs that blended in with the surrounding shadows.
MrAbdiel
 
 Spoiler: OOC: Rolls! 
Initiative  (9d10)[ 44 ] .
(Action) Sense Wyrm  (8d10)[ 36 ] . Perception is specialized in Spacial Awareness. Hoping to get a sense of where the spirit came from - particularly, if it came from the outside and rode Samuel's back in, or if it came from the  inside  and jumped on Samuel on his way  out. 
Recognizing Charms In Use: Perception+Enigmas  (9d10)[ 40 ] . Perception specialized in Spacial Awareness, Enigmas in Anticipating Behaviour. Looked to me like it snapped back into the Umbra for a second and then  Materialized  again, perhaps suspiciously quickly. Caliban is speculating that the Wyrmhole is materializing it, being the 'gate' that Raccoon mentioned.

Blech! A carcrash of fumbled rolls - check the OOC for clearer results.
 


Caliban skids to a halt with a strangled growl of disappointment. His ears swivel wildly as he hunkers low to the ground.  "Given a matter of several minutes I can summon it to return, I think - but I would not conjure a tainted spirit within the bounds of the Caern..." 
Kaworu
Samuel felt kinda stupid. Of course it was a spirit of Wyrm, what had he espected? Still, it was very unlikely for that kind of spirit to appear at Gaia’s holy site – especially since it was a really small spirit-ling, so to say.

He knew he should be shocked or disgusted, and maybe he was a little, but he could not help to feel pity towards this spirit. It was not a powerful creature that could destroy and kill, it was… not really that dangerous, he thought? Of course, it was still tainted by Wyrm, but… he felt a special kinda sadness when thinking about its pitiful existance.

Also, he got so many mutually exclusive orders from others, he didn’t know what do to. It was not something he was practiced with, as in NYC, they mostly had spirits of Weaver and Gaia (in Central Park). Also, he was afraid that if he will make a false step, he will feel the consequences of the mistake himself. Which he did not want to do – to screw it all.

Still, he turned into a wolf, sniffing and putting his sharp ears to use. Were there more spirits? Dancers of the Black Spiral? Vampires nearby? Getting this information was crucial as to what exactly he should do and what to focus on next.
truemane
Many things happen all at once  as the little gaffling runs off into the thick darkness beyond the bawn.

Danica changes to Hispo form, and then to Crinos. Mehgan changes to Glabro and Samuel changes to Lupus.

Danica is about to leap after it when Meghan (tacitly seizing the role of Alpha) tells them all to hold, expecting something to come at them from the trees.

Nothing does.

Which gives Danica a moment to sharpen her claws on the rocks at her feet (albeit reluctantly, and with some griping), and gives Caliban a chance to scent the air and try to figure out what is going on.

Caliban's senses are sharp, and his wisdom deep. The gaffling looked like a Scryer (a weak and ephemeral wyrm-thing made to spy from the Umbra), but to Caliban's eyes it wore the form of a Scryer like a child might be forced to wear hated clothing. Beneath its form, he (Caliban) sensed a different spirit, a gentler spirit, a spirit of curiosity and mystery.

He's sure this is a Curiosi, a curiosity spirit, which usually looks like endlessly nested concentric circles made of riddles. But this one has been bound and forced to assume this form (and presumably to perform this task), almost certainly because, since it is not a wyrm-thing in itself, it has a much easier time getting into and moving around the Caern.

And indeed it is using the power of the nearly Wyrmhole to blink in and out of the Umbra in a way it should not be able to. But the source of its binding and service is still unclear.

A long moment passes. The place it entered the trees still smells of whatever wyrm-taint lays upon it. But soon even that too will pass...
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 


Danica hated this. The moon and internal instincts told her to heed the words of the Ahroun in this moment, but her nerves were as jumpy as spit on a hot skillet. It wasn't just the creature itself, it was  who  had sent it, and  who  it had returned to, with information that it had gleaned from its surveillance. They were all in danger. The whole Sept was in danger.

  "Several minutes?!"   her massive form growled in Garou, her disbelief evident.

  "The things a spy and about to escape and we're standing around with our thumbs up our ass? Let's f*cking go!"   
MrAbdiel
Those painfully quiet moment slip by as they all brace for an attack and none comes - but it's enough for Caliban's mind to work, and his senses to draw in the wyrm-scent.... and what is under it. Suddenly, it all snaps into place.

 "...Samuel was right - not a wyrmspawn, a... an enigma spirit. Perhaps that's why it was drawn to Samuel - we must run it down and cleanse it! It shares eyes with the Wyrmhole like a..."  He scrambles for a metaphor that the homids around him would appreciate.  "...Like a witch's familiar. We may learn from it who twisted it for this use!" 

He agonizes visibly, wanting to run and rally the theurges of the Caern to attend the Wyrmhole. But for now, they had a chance to interrupt an enemy action. Their pause had given the twisted spirit a lead - but perhaps they could turn a quick-kill into a pursuit that rooted out a hidden enemy, too. Still, he remains rooted to the spot, his left ear swivelled toward Meghan with expectation.
Kish
"Not a trap. A prisoner? Let's go!" In Crinos form, Meghan charges out after the strange, disguised spirit.
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 

Like a dog given its Okay-phrase to eat dinner, Danica surged forward like a shadow.
Kaworu
Samuel, in his wolf form, was taking deep, calming breaths. Is the spirit was a spy… he dared not to think what would happen then. It was too scary to ertaintain this thought fully.

Suddenly, the biologist turned on his heels (as a wolf, he actually had none, but whatever) and ran towards all the other Garous gathered in here. They had to know what was happening. They needed to be prepared. Even if the attack would follow quick enough, even some seconds to be aware of what was going to happen could be a difference between life and death.
MrAbdiel
As Samuel darts off toward the Moot, Caliban almost calls to him - but that was the presumptive Alpha's job, if anyone's. Plus, there was wisdom in it: much as he feared some eruption of blame in the Moot, it was a horde of werewolves who would be ready to fall on any mischief the slowly loosing Wyrmhole might be expressing while they were chasing its minion. And having Samuel deliver the warning went some way to mitigate any accusation of his complicity that might be levelled on account of being the spirit's chosen 'piggyback'.

So instead, crooked old Finds-The-Narrow-Path fell in behind Shreds-Leeches and Sings-The-Thunder, his form shifting to the huge, wiry, hairless-black jackal-wolf form of his  hispo .

 
 Spoiler: OOC: 
Just posting Caliban getting into motion for completion's sake. 3 chasing, 1 warning. I have decided to be meditative and release my need to find the 'right' response to this scenario.

*Sound of controlled breathing.*
 
truemane
 SAMUEL WARNS THE SEPT 

Samuel runs toward the gathering place. Already the amphitheatre is filling up, but there are still any number of Garou loitering about, speaking in small groups, or making their way extra slowly.

His haste and near panic are noticed by a regal-looking Shadow Lord with sharp, patrician features and long, perfectly straight black hair tied back in a complicated braid.

"You are the young Glass Walker, yes?" His voice is rich and smooth and every word is crisp and clipped. "I'm sorry I cannot remember your name. I asked Shreds-Leeches to gather you and the others with whom you arrived, and come to the moot as a single pack. What has happened?"

As Samuel starts telling him the story, several other Garou wander over to hear what is happening. The Shadow Lord shows some irritation at this but seems to realize that trying to move out of the spotlight will only make things worse.

There is immediate anger and conflicting calls for action.

 "We must join them!"

"For gaia!"

"Find who summoned it!"

"Find the betrayer!"

"The Shadow Lords cannot defend the Sept!"

"The Uktena are up to their old tricks again!"

"The Urrah of the Fannum ally with the Wyrm!" 

The Shadow Lord (who turns out to be the Sept's War Chief), raises his voice and calls for everyone to calm down. His status, his voice, and his position manage to bring enough quiet tp speak a few words.

"There is no point in all of us following. The forest will impede us. For good or ill, it seems Gaia has chosen them to face this, as a pack, alone. Caliban is skilled in these matters. And Shreds-Leeches seemed to me both level-headed and practical." A pause and frown. "For a Child of Gaia."

The tallest member of the nearby Black Fury pack steps forward. "And Danica Sings-the-Thunder runs with them! Though she had the misfortune to be born a perfumed Shadow Puppet, I say she has the grit and heart of a Fury. I match her well against whatever they find there."

Michael nods and looks back and Samuel. "Young Samuel. Knowing the scent of your pack, and the scent of the spirit, you alone could perhaps find them through the forest's befuddlement. Would you like to catch up with them? Or stay here and help us search for more information?"

 
 Spoiler: Samuel 
If you want to catch-up, with everyone, let's just assume you do so in time for what I'm about to post for everyone else. And so you can feel free to put  yourself in the scene with everyone else. If you want to stay at the Sept and poke around, that's fine too. Just let me know what you get up to.
 

 THE RUNNING OF THE PACK  

Like the wind, like a storm, like thunder, like the very night itself, Danica and Meghan and Caliban run into the forest after the spirit.

The moment they cross out of the Bawn and under the trees the forest swallows them in shadow and foliage and confusion. The looming canopy of trees hides the stars and the moon. The ground is broken and uneven and choked with thorned bushes and thick copses of trees. Moving with any speed requires slipping and dogding around so many obstacles that, within moments, it is almost impossible to tell which direction they're travelling, or how far they've come.

The only thing that keeps them moving in the right direction is the specific scent of the spirit. Because of the wyrmhole, all of the forest bears a low undertone of wyrmscent. But this spirit is a tainted Curiosi. And that is just different enough from the background to follow the trail.

But it is not easy. The little spirit is moving quickly. And it moves in a straight line, shifting in and out of the Umbra to avoid physical obstacles the Garou must navigate on foot.

But the Garou are the warriors of Gaia and they are relentless when they have prey to hunt.

They run, hearts and breath pounding in their ears, mindless and heedless of anything save the rapidly fading scent of their quarry, when they come to a clearing in the forest. The clearing is round and about 20 feet across. The trees around its border seem especially close-set and dense. Except for what looks like a broken game trail leading off to one side. The scent of the spirit is straight ahead. The path leads to the left.

(The stars are visible above and, while it is hard to pinpoint an exact position, it does seem like the trail heads back toward the Sept.)

And then, everyone catches it... a second scent on the low cool breeze. Something foul enough to stand out against the fetid air. And not just a spiritual scent, a physical foulness as well. Smells like sickness. Like dying. Coming from the trail.

 OOC: Reminder to Samuel that, if you like, you can catch up to the pack right at this point. If so, you smell the gross smell too. 
 
 Spoiler: Meghan 
Everyone smells it, but to you it smells specifically like one or more Black Spiral Dancers passed through here. It's hard to say how long ago or how many.
 
Kish
"I smell Black Spiral Dancers." Meghan briefly wonders whether how much gruffer her voice sounds in Crinos form is an asset or a deficit at the moment, but there are much more important things to worry about. "Can't be sure how old, how near they are now. Be ready for an ambush." She points left toward the trail, but unless Black Spirals immediately show themselves, proceeds in the direction of the spirit.
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 


Danica's massive, sleakblack form burst through the foliage of the forest, her midnight-black fur half-melding her into the shadows that was her namesake. As she leapt over thick logs and ducked beneath branches, the Galliard's mind was focused don ensnaring and capturing that spy, the dirty, rotten little thing that had been corrupted by agents of the Wyrm to serve as their scout!

But it wasn't easy. The painfully indecisive nature of her new packmates had given the spirit a headstart that the group was finding difficult to bridge, a point of contention the Shadow Lor knew she would have to raise once this was all over.

Blasting into the clearing, Danica immediately took her nose to the air where she inhaled the rotten scent of the fallen Garou - the hated Black Spiral Dancers. Her muzzle sneered in disgust, as it seemed all to predictable that  they  were nearby and awaiting the return of their pet spy, just like she had anticipated.

But, all was not lost. They had not sprung their trap. It was likely they still believed that they held the surprise advantage, that the initiative was theirs as they pursued a plan of ambush against the hapless Gaians who knew no better. Well, time to throw a spanner into that confidence and throw them into disarray - let them know they weren't going to enjoy a surprise attack, but that they would be enclosing upon very alert and prepared wolves.

Turning her huge, muzzled head skywards,  Sings-the-Thunder  inhaled and howled out a simmering, aggressive bellow that filled her fellows with vigor and swiftness.


 OOC: 
See OOC, Danica is using Battle Cry gift, and the dice gods granted us 2 extra D10 to all initiative rolls.
Kaworu
After telling all the other Garous what did happen, Samuel did not fell that well. Other werwolves were accusing each other and falling into panic instead of doing something rational and focused. When given choice to follow his companions or staying, Samuel went back. It seemed to him that it was the best way he could do something meaningful.

When informed about the possibility of Black Spiral Dancers, he turned into Crinos form. The scientist seemed kinda akward in this form. He was not really a warrior, even if he took some martial arts lessons in the past. It was obvious that this was not the form he took that often and he did not know what to do with his oversized body or hands.

- Do you think… - he whispered to all the others – We should make our presence here known? Does not seem to me to be the best thing to do… but I could be wrong – he admitted. The uncertainty was slowly killing him.
MrAbdiel
As Samuel made his shift from wolf to warform, Caliban did likewise, and the hunkered old metis listened fretfully. The remarkably ugly, hairless, black-skinned Strider with its hooded, eyeless face and wealth of scars might have been inclined to agree with Samuel - for if there were enemies about, it was advantage to not be heard... Or he might prefer Sings-The-Thunder's boldness - for if there was a fight to be had, the ones who strike first are favoured to win. But in those short moments when the pack reunited and paused at the edge of the clearing, the blind old wolf sniffed at the air, and the grass; and his tall jackal-ears swivelled hunting for sounds.

 Did the Spirals go that way toward the sept just now? Then they ought to attack from behind as the sept met them infront.
Did they go that way some time ago? Then they ought to pursue the spirit, as the only link to them.
Were they lying in wait nearby to ambush their pack, lured out by the spirit? Then they ought to turn the trap into one of their own. Had they doubled-back on their path to meet the spirit across the clearing, and bamboozle any pursuers? Then they ought not to be snared. 

Wisdom for a hunting pack from such a complex intersection fanned out in his dark imagination like the branches of a great tree, with the fruit of every branch rotten except one - one known only the the keen, and the careful.

He listened. He smelled. He licked the grass and flattened his body against it, desperate for sign to reveal itself to him. Perhaps Sings-The-Thunder's echoing howl would be scattering the prey animals all through the woodland, but other predators may have scattered them already in one direction. Perhaps the wind would betray the spirals, and bring him just enough of the scent to point the way for these young pups. Perhaps, even, the passage of the mutilated spirit will have alarmed some of its neighbours, and their cries in the umbra would brush the tips of his ears just so... Anything, anything, to give his pack insight in the moment. To thwart the enemy...

To show his  value. 
 
 Spoiler: OOC: 
I'm assuming out of combat we're pretty free to shift forms and only when we're going turn-to-turn will we go in detail on all that. But Caliban is throwing himself on the mercy of his still functional senses to try to make sure their pack doesn't make a foolish decision and miss out on a hidden pack of Spirals or some similarly awful threat.

This, of course, might not actually be possible. There may simply be no useful sign that can be reasonably discovered to help at this point and they'll just have to choose - but it's worth a shot, and that's what Caliban would try, so here we are. Caliban has Acute Senses, (-2 Dif) with everything except sight, and he'll activate the Heightened Senses Gift for the scene as well for another -3, for a total of -5 Difficulty to sensory checks and, according to the gift...  "allowing sensory feats that border on precognition. Sudden loud noises, bright lights or overwhelming scents can be disorienting, however." 

That's a Gnosis to activate (down to 5/6 now) and, since this is so important to Caliban, he'll put a Willpower into it to secure at least a degree (4/5 Willpower left).

I'll do the roll in the OOC.

EDIT: Thanks Truemane, editing in Caliban's reaction now.
 
truemane
  Note:  this post happens prior to Caliban's post, above. 
 MOMENTS AGO, IN THE CLEARING 

Samuel catches up and quietly asks what they should do.

Meghan, it seems, has already made her decision and is about to start off after the spirit (ignoring, for the moment, the BSD scent trail).

Danica lets loose an ear-shattering Call to Arms. Around them, in the distance, come answering howls from the wolves who make their homes in the forest. All of the pack feel their hackles rise and their blood boil and their bodies respond to the sound.

Whatever happens next, they are ready.

Caliban (after Danica, thankfully) opens his sense, physical and metaphysical, as far as they can go, straining with all his skill and wisdom to understand the specifics of what is happening here, and help his pack make the right decision.

  This World...  
 The wolf-howls echo away in his mind. He sees them in his mind, reflected in the sounds they make. A large, tightly-knit family. Two lone males, driven from their home by humans, starving and furious. A once-proud pack dying almost gone now, dying of disease. A mother coyote and her five pups, joining the chorus of her cousins. A pack of Lupus Garou, five or six strong, deep in the forest. 
 Somewhere in the middle of all that (the path, seemingly leading back toward the Caern, is another one of Raccoon's tricks, it actually leads further into the trees), he can smell them clearly: two Black Spiral Dancers. A large one and a small one. As their scent touches Caliban, it seems their foulness is tinged with the acid-taste of fear. They are both still. As though waiting. They mutter to each other, but it is too low for even Caliban to hear. And then they start moving (hurrying) along their own backtrail toward something bathed in old, overlapping smells. Like a den or a meeting place of some kind. 
  The Other World...  
 The umbra here is tumultuous and dangerous. The wyrmhole taints everything with its foul emissions. The chaotic magic of the forest feeds, and is fed by, equal chaos of its spiritual reflection. And everything cast o'er with the deep, dark red of the storm clouds gathering over Chicago. 
 The spirit's trail through the trees is clear to Caliban, even though it moves through both worlds. The spirit seemed to be making a roundabout turn toward the Black Spiral Dancers. But something made it stop. It is now still, but not relaxed. To Caliban it feels like the little thing is trying to make a decision. 
MrAbdiel
 "Wait-!"  He hisses suddenly, hopefully arresting his pack's movement as his left ear swivels wildly and he stretches up to his full goliath height, spearing the air with his long snout to sniff straight up such that his hood falls back and shows in the light of the gibbous moon the old, long healed slash-scars over his eyesockets.

 "Wait...I have them..."  The revelations come in fitful little bursts between sniffs.

 "Spirals... just two. One, two. Not an ambush. With two? Against a sept in moot? No..."  He extends one ropey black arm and points a claw in the direction the distant spirals register to him, tracking their retreat with a speculative sweep of his digit.  "They run. To where? Can't say... But that way. And the gaffling... The gaffling..." 

Sniff, sniff, swivel. He adjusts his claw to point where the spirit has halted.

 "Had been seeking them... Stopped now. Collaboration? Wyrmhole and the Spirals? Yes... likely. Likely... But scattered now. The talons - the Red Talons are in the forest, too. Perhaps they will come to that howl, and we all give chase to the warped ones. But the storm... the storm... it's red..." 

A dreamy slur creeps into his growl there, as his senses start to focus on the umbral sensations. He seems to have completed his report, though there are endless things to smell and hear beyond the veil.
Kish
"GET THEM!" Meghan roars, charging in the direction of the Black Spiral scent which she now knows to have present and fleeing Black Spirals.
Kaworu
- We should attack the Black Spirals Dancers, if there are only two of them – said Samuel – There are more of us, and even more at the site. Shall we go?

He did not liked killing, but… you could not have an "agreemend" with the mdancers. They were twisted, dark and hateful beyond ability of everyone to help them. They were killing machines and servants to the greatest evil the world has seen. It was his duty – as much as he did not like that – to deal with them swiftly if only he had any possibility to.

It was not something he looked forward to, but it needed to be done.
MrAbdiel
Caliban flinches out of his reverie at the Ahroun's roar, raking through his gnosis-enhanced senses. The old wolf is the slowest off the blocks when the pack gets into motion again, but he doesn't need more encouragement - he leaves his spiritual musings behind for now to give chase with the rest!
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 


Danica, on the other hand, was very  much  looking forward to this - her image melting down into her massive hispo form as she bolted like a bat out of hell towards the Black Spiral Dancers. Four, powerful legs propelled her through the woodlands at a greater speed than two could carry her, and those sharp senses remained alert for spotting the wyrm-tainted traitors.
truemane
Decision made, the Garou turn toward and run full-speed down the path. With the scent of the Dancers in their noses, the magic of the forest is no impediment. Even as the path fades, or seems to lead off in another direction entirely, the pack keep the scent in front of them and, in only a couple of minutes, arrive at the bottom of a steep slope.

It is covered in soil and low brush, but the soul cover is thin, showing patches of the rock beneath.

The slope looks as though it has been split by some massive blunt force, leaving a long, wide crack in the stone, revealing a tunnel of sorts leading into the hill. Something about the smell of dirt and the look of the edges indicates this crack is recent.

From inside the narrow tunnel comes the sound of profane chanting, a rite of some kind in a language unknown to Gaian Garou.

And in front of the tunnel, blocking way, is a massive Black Spiral Dancer. His Homid form must be huge, because the black-furred Crinos standing in front them towers over all of them by at least six inches, and is so wide it's a wonder he ever made it through the tunnel.

The shape of a spiral has been burned into his chest. A number of thin lines cut through the spiral it in some indecipherable pattern. One of his ears looks like it was eaten away by a malignant disease. His teeth are black with rot (but still razor sharp). His mouth overflows with sickly green saliva.

In his hand he holds a whip. Anyone taking a close look sees that it appears to made of tightly braided veins or arteries. And the far end, which he is swinging back and forth at the ready, has a dozen of more large canine-teeth woven into it.

He snarls as they breach the clearing. And even the snarl sounds wet and phlegmy and ill.

The chanting rises in pitch.

 
 Spoiler: OOC 

 THE COUNT 
Danica - 27
Meghan - 25
Samuel - 25
Caliban - 19
BSD - 14

Go ahead and act in any order you like, but the first Garou to get within 15 feet of him (which is maybe half the distance between the tree line and the tunnel, is going to get hit with the following attack:

Gross Tooth Whip to the ankle, 3 successes to hit for 6 lethal damage and you are bound to the spot until you accumulate three successes on Str+Athletics (Diff 8).

How it looks: the whip wraps around your ankle and then one of the large teeth sink into your flesh while a second digs into the ground, the two connected by strings of tissue, while the whip pulls free.

Damage from the whip is partly physical, but also emotional, as you are made to feel the pain and sorrow of the Garou who died to provide the teeth (and who were informed of what use their teeth would be put to before they were killed).
 
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 


Danica's huge, midnight-black furred form was half crouched as she sniffed the air - the focus of her attention being the obviously imposing and sizeable Black Spiral Dancer blocking their path.

Having an instinctual sense that Meghan would assault from the front, Danny darted off to the side, her massive form attracting the  Whip-crack!  from the Black Spiral Dancers vicious weapon. The dread cord of fangs and claws snapped the air just inches from the Shadow Lords headd, her nervous system burning with a hot fury that such a loathsome creature could harvest, let alone use such a vile trinket.

They'd destroy it, she promised herself. When this traitor was torn asunder, they'd destroy and cleanse that weapon of his filth and release the spiritual motes bound within.

Flanking around the side and moving as swift as a shadow, Danny circled around the Black Spiral Dancer, working with Meghan from the front while she launched herself at its rear, her claws slashing out and sinking into black-furred flesh.
MrAbdiel
With the warrior-auspices launching at the monstrosity of a Garou standing in their way, Caliban's senses scream at him. The chanting, the spiritually offensive resonance of it, but perhaps most broadly and plainly, the radiating scent of the wet, torn earth coming from the tunnel...

The tunnel on a hill, near the woods, concealing a Caern, sealing up a Wyrmhole. They were trying to free the powerful summoner-spirit the ancient Uktena had locked away here - and 'they' included the collaborative Wyrmhole itself. Was that the Scryer's purpose? Teach the Spirals how to break the Uktena-forged chains? The idea filled him with fear, and that fear boiled in the furnace of his heart into rage. While Sings-the-Thunder and Shreds-Leeches fell into a weaving combat approach, dodging the blasphemous whipcrack, Caliban slipped around the outside of the combat. He felt a certain protectiveness for Samuel, but he could not direct the cub's moves - if there was any wolf in him, it would need to come to him now. As for the Theurge, his rage drove him from warform to wolf form in a stride, and  he let out a pitchy bark  as he went.

It was a lupine 'word' though words were not the best way to think about the wolf language. Wolves did not have language trees or conjugation clusters or even names strictly speaking - much of that was wrapped up in body language, and scent, and context. But they did have language, and Caliban's bark meant something like   I will skirmish  . In the context of a pack brawl, it suggested an intention to engage secondary combatants while the strongest fighters attacked their opposite numbers; a movement to catch enemy flankers and prevent them from turning the battle. Here, with the known value of one spiral here and another unseen, and the darkness ahead and the omens of calamity, it signalled his intention to bypass the defender whose obvious intention was to delay them to hunt the thing being protected - the dark ritual within the earthen wound...

 
 Spoiler: OOC: 
Caliban spends a point of rage to shift from Crinos immediately into Lupus. He uses his now doubled speed to race around the combat and into the protected passageway. I am not sure how deep that tunnel is or when there will be some kind of obstacle, but Caliban intends to revert to Crinos (his breed form, so a free action) if he encounters the other Spiral or some similar threat he can't just slip past.
 
Kish
As the toothy whip cracks at Danica and misses, Meghan closes the distance to the enemy with blinding speed, sinking her teeth into as close to his throat as she can reach.

 
 Spoiler 
Three bite attacks:  (8d10)[ 2 ][ 7 ][ 8 ][ 3 ][ 5 ][ 2 ][ 10 ][ 9 ](46)  Base damage:  (7d10)[ 6 ][ 6 ][ 9 ][ 10 ][ 3 ][ 7 ][ 9 ](50) 
 (8d10)[ 2 ][ 8 ][ 10 ][ 6 ][ 6 ][ 10 ][ 8 ][ 5 ](55)  Base damage:  (7d10)[ 5 ][ 4 ][ 5 ][ 6 ][ 2 ][ 7 ][ 10 ](39) 
 (8d10)[ 8 ][ 9 ][ 7 ][ 6 ][ 1 ][ 1 ][ 7 ][ 1 ](40)  Base damage:  (7d10)[ 10 ][ 2 ][ 6 ][ 8 ][ 2 ][ 8 ][ 5 ](41) 

and if anything attacks her before her last action, she'll dodge:  (7d10)[ 10 ][ 10 ][ 3 ][ 10 ][ 6 ][ 8 ][ 10 ](57) 
if not, she'll bite a fourth time:  (8d10)[ 4 ][ 3 ][ 5 ][ 7 ][ 7 ][ 1 ][ 9 ][ 4 ](40)  Base damage:  (7d10)[ 10 ][ 7 ][ 2 ][ 6 ][ 2 ][ 3 ][ 7 ](37) 

Do let me know if I'm getting anything wrong! I've played Werewolf fairly extensively but mostly in earlier editions than this one.
 
Kaworu
Rage was already burning in the soul of Samuel. When he had seen the enemy, he stopped for a moment, in order to try and rationalize his strategy and attacks, but after a brief pause, he let his werewolf rage to take control over him. He moved forward, his claws sharp as always.

Even though he wanted to strike, he was not just a fury-fueled war machine. He was striking at the hand of Black Spiral Dancer, the one in which he hold his weapon. His aim – he rationalized through the red mist filling his mind – was to make the enemy fight with claws and maw, not with a weapon, which was presumably more powerful and dangerous. So, as others focused on the enemy itself, Samuel wanted just to grab his whip and take is far, far away from him.
truemane
 THE CLEARING 

Danica and Meghan collide with the massive creature in a storm of tooth and claw.

Danica manages to evade the vile whip and close for a claw attack, but she is unable to piece the Dancer's strange, spongy flesh.

Mehgan fares better. If that is the word. She manages three vicious bites, each finding purchase. The first sinks deeply into its shoulder, causing it to roar in pain and anger. As her teeth sink in, her mouth fills with its strange, viscous green blood. Instantly her mouth and face and skin feel like they are on fire and pain and nausea fill her body.

Her second and third bites, it manages to get its free arm up and in between them. As she tears into its arm, she finds (to her horror) that it just falls from his body, seemingly harmlessly, like a lizard might drop its tail.

It continues to move and pulsate even when detached. Poison blood sprays from the wounds caused by her teeth.

Distracted, it does not even notice as Samuel hurls himself against it and takes hold of its remaining arm.


 THE CAVERN 

Meanwhile, Caliban slinks into the cavern. The air inside is thick and noxious. The stench clogs Caliban's nostrils and makes his head swim. He can sense a single form in the miasma: the remaining Black Spiral Dancer. It seems to be standing, facing a wall, chanting and moving its arms, drawing foul figures on the rock in front of it.

 
 Spoiler: Round One Summary 

Meghan:
-Dropping its arm like that prevented you from being in a position to make your fourth attack.
-Please roll three soak Rolls for its poisoned blood, once for each successful attack, each for three levels of Lethal damage. If you take any damage on any of them, you are nauseated until you regenerate one Health Level (+2 Difficulty to all actions).

Caliban:
-Luckily, because you are not using your eyes, you are relatively unaffected by the miasma in here. However, the stench is horrendous. Please roll Stamina, Difficulty 6. Failure means you start vomiting violently and take 1 level of Bashing Damage and +2 Difficulty to all actions.


 THE COUNT 
Danica - 27
Meghan - 25
Samuel - 25
Caliban - 19
BSD's - 14

 Declarations: 
 
 The Big One is going to drop the whip and try and throw Samuel off and attack the other two Gaians in an attempt to push them off, and retreat into the cavern. It will also put aside one action to Dodge. 
 The Small One will continue its ritual. That's all it can do this round. 
 
 
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 


Sings-the-Thunder could see what was happening - and smell it. When the putrescent green of the Black Spiral Dancers blood splattered out from hideous bite-wounds and one of its arms fell off like a detached lizards tail, the Galliard knew she had to buy her two comrades all the help they could get.

Not thinking twice about it and using her superior positioning, Sings-the-Thunder wrapped her big, thick arms up and under the Black Spiral Dancers shoulders and around the back of his neck, her advantageous leverage helping to grip the bigger opponent. She aimed to draw his arms up and above while holding him immobile - his soft belly utterly defenceless and exposed to the claws of her two packmates.

    "Die traitor!"     her Crinos wolfs-head snarled.


OOC:
 
 Spoiler 

Danica has performed a  Grapple  manoeuvre, as per page 297 of the book and rolled in  this  post.

She scored  5 Successes  in her effort. Unless I am mistaken, unless he uses his dodge and beats her roll, he's immobile.
 
MrAbdiel
The smell of decay and rot in the cleft was awful, almost disorienting - but there, among those roiling funks, the sound of the Spiral spiritist - the Banewhisperer, so antithetical to the Theurge that the old wolf's blood boiled. He could hear the Spiral's claws scraping over the walls of the cave - he couldn't  smell  or  hear  the signs being written, though he might puzzle them out with time to spare and his homid fingertips. But for now, he had no recourse to comprehend the ritual other than instinct. And his instinct told him that if he did not attack right now, he risked Raccoon's whole caern.

The Silent Striders were a subtle breed. The lupus-form paws made barely a whisper as he shot through the darkness like Luna's own javelin. Without a bark, he leapt into the air; and soaring, his form swelled and unfolded into his native crinos bulk, and he crashed into the Spiral's back, driving his claws hard into its diseased flank seeking to rip out a fistful of shredded kidney...

 
 Spoiler: OOC: 
Attack roll in the OOC. All of this is subject to the soak and the avoiding the stun and all that. Intending on spending a rage to attack again! Just let me know when I should do that in sequence, boss.
 
Kish
Nauseous, Meghan attempts to shake it off but finds the Wyrm-spawned poison predictably resistant to her healing. Furiously, she attempts to finish off the Black Spiral before he can escape or receive reinforcements.

 
 Spoiler 
Gain one Rage from being wounded (6/8), spend two Rage for extra attacks (4/8), and lunge toward him, using claws this time to avoid more poisoning--though that means difficulty 8. Also curious about how Grandmother's Touch will interact with having botched a regeneration roll, but that won't come up until next round.

 (8d10)[ 5 ][ 10 ][ 7 ][ 5 ][ 6 ][ 3 ][ 7 ][ 2 ](45)  Base damage:  (7d10)[ 8 ][ 8 ][ 8 ][ 1 ][ 2 ][ 3 ][ 10 ](40) 
 (8d10)[ 3 ][ 2 ][ 6 ][ 4 ][ 4 ][ 5 ][ 3 ][ 10 ](37)  Base damage:  (7d10)[ 8 ][ 4 ][ 10 ][ 6 ][ 7 ][ 6 ][ 8 ](49) 
 (8d10)[ 7 ][ 10 ][ 8 ][ 3 ][ 4 ][ 3 ][ 6 ][ 1 ](42)  Base damage:  (7d10)[ 4 ][ 4 ][ 8 ][ 2 ][ 4 ][ 9 ][ 4 ](35) 
 
truemane
 THE CLEARING 

Danica rushes around the massive black form and grabs hold. It tries to jerk out of her way and almost succeeds but the hold (however tenuous) that Samuel has on its remaining arm prevents it from moving freely and Danica manages to get a firm grasp on its neck and arm.

Which, in turn holds it in place, bucking and howling like a wounded fix as Meghan tears into its strange spongy flesh. One, two, three strikes across its exposed belly, each strike releasing a spray of the thick green bubbling poison, until the thing collapses onto the ground in a heap, losing some of its shape and form, as though its bones and muscles were being held up by its will alone.


 Samuel Only 
(3 successes on Perception + Alertness, Diff 7 instead of 8 because you're close to it)
As you struggle to keep hold of the massive arm, you notice out of the corner of your eye the Tooth Whip starts twitching and writhing like a serpent, and then actually slithers away, out of the clearing and into the forest.


 THE CAVERN 

Caliban cannot see, but he senses awareness and wariness in the Spiral Theurge at the very last moment as he attacks. But even with that, it does not turn from its Rite. Caliban strikes across the kidneys and spine and the small Spiral Dancer howls one long, thin, wheezing wavering cry and falls onto his face in the dirt, stunned.

Caliban finishes off the unconscious creature with little trouble.

With the Rite interrupted, the foul sigils carved into the stone lose their sense of menace and fade and the air clears of its toxins.


 Caliban Only 
(5 successes in Int + Rituals, diff 7 instead of 9 due to specialization in Esoterica and Mystic)
Examination of the sigils reveals that it was a Travel Rite the BSD was enacting. This seems to be a Waystation of some sort for the BSD's, anchored by the sigils on the stone. Had he completed it, the stone would have opened a portal to Gaia Knows Where. The sigils are old, old, old but long-unused (there's moss and dust all over them, and even some water damage, indicating they haven't been kept up or maintained for a long time).

 OOC:  Combat over. We're out of initiative.
Kish
Gulping to prevent herself from retching, Meghan calls upon Unicorn to help her purge herself of the toxins.

 
 Spoiler 
Using Grandmother's Touch, which may not work:  (4d10)[ 10 ][ 6 ][ 9 ][ 3 ](28) 

Three successes. If Grandmother's Touch will currently work on her, she's healed of three levels of damage, which is two more than she took. But since she botched the combat regeneration roll, it may not.
 
MrAbdiel
When the tainted Theurge tips over, Caliban follows him to the ground. A couple of wild claw strikes carved into its befouled flesh - but unable to defend itself, its wretched spirit soon fled the form. Who had he been, before the Spirals got to him? A pup in one of this country's dwindling packs? A human child, with a family? Every Black Spiral Dancer was both an enemy, and an ally the Garou nation failed to shelter. He turned his senses away from the corpse.

He lets the warform bleed away into his homid shape, and brushes his fingertips across the sigils the enemy had sought to awaken. What had he been trying to do? Open a path to escape...? Maybe. But why would his defender have stood, prepared to fight and die, just for his packmate to flee? Spirals are not real Garou. They do not know loyalty and sacrifice. Perhaps they had sought top open the way for reinforcement - perhaps this was the appointed time for an attack to free the Wyrmhole.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Many miles of Perhapses. But, hearing the settling of the distant combat in the favour of his company, he concludes there is only one source of additional answers within grasp.

In dirty jeans, tattered poncho and badly worn sneakers, Caliban hops a sloppy circle in the cave. He drags one heel in the dirt to mark the path, then makes a smaller circle, counterwise, with the other foot. Then he reached into his swag-bag and produced the most battered, dropped-and-picked up tamborine in the world, and began to shake it, while dancing backward in the circular path between the two circles, heaving hyperventilated breaths as he went. He'd need the air, for the summon-call at the end of the rite.

 
 Spoiler: OOC: 
Caliban is performing the Rite of Summoning, trying to draw that rogue Curiosi/Scryer into his service. He suspects it was the theurge who summoned it before, so it may no longer be obligated to serve it anyway - but either way, it needs an interrogation! Rites take like ten minutes or so; but when his allies follow into the cave, he will invite them implicitly to join in, but as a Mystic Rite it's fair enough to perform alone.

First step is to pierce the gauntlet as if stepping sideways (Gnosis roll Difficulty of local gauntlet, which is extremely low)
  Gnosis  - (6d10)[ 10 ][ 5 ][ 7 ][ 10 ][ 7 ][ 9 ](48)  Difficulty Local Gauntlet
EDIT: Nailed it.
  WitsRituals  - (8d10)[ 4 ][ 9 ][ 1 ][ 4 ][ 6 ][ 4 ][ 3 ][ 6 ](37)  Difficulty 4 (Gaffling), modified however you like for the specific target spirit. Specialty in Mystic Rites applies. More successes means better spirit disposition on summon.
EDIT: If there's no elevation of difficulty, that's 5 successes -  Spirit comes immediately and is friendly . If it's boosted to, say, a Diff6 for the specific spirit, it's merely 2 successes -  Spirit manifests quickly, but it is still initially hostile .

But this ritual takes atleast 10 minutes to perform so there's plenty of time for allies to converse and act while Caliban is distracted.
 
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 


Danny held her thick, long arms around the Black Spiral Dancer, her physicality, enhanced in her Crinos form, combining with Samuels to inhibit and immobilise their vile foe and, better still, rendered him defenceless against Meghans claws. Having seen and smelt the effect of this creatures wicked blood upon the Child of Gaia, Danny restrained herself from biting at the back of the Spirals neck, instead opting to hold him so that he could receive the gutting he deserved.

   "Die with shame, traitor!"    the Shadow Lord bellowed in the guttural tongue of her Crinos form.

When it collapsed and sunk down into a flattened image upon the earth as if it were a cartoon character disposed of with a cement flattener, Danica turned her massive, wolfen head back at the cave.

The chanting had stopped. Was Caliban alive? Or was whatever sojourn occuring been halted by the practicioners need to defend himself? She couldn't hear any action.

Surging forward, Danny charged into the cave expecting the worst. Instead, she saw the old wolf in his, admittedly, pitiful human form. This halted her movement, her head darting about in search before settling upon the deceased Black Spiral.

   "What a waste..."    she uttered, more disgusted than sad, as her huge image shrunk down into her shorter, but still tall and physically imposing, blonde-braided one, before she set to searching the deceased Theurge for anything useful.

 "What was he doing?" 
MrAbdiel
Caliban was not much of a dancer. If he put on a show for entertaining, it would leave most audiences with the gut-turning discomfort of watching a performer who had never in their life had a friend brave enough to tell them they were bad at something they loved. But he does possess that kind of fearless avuncular grace that is impressive in some specific circumstances. Busting out the  funky chicken  at a niece's wedding is one of them; as is launching to one's feet and absolutely going for it when the eyes of the jumbo-tron are casting the performance for a bored half-time stadium to see. This is the kind of enthusiasm that is pleasing to many spirits, and his cartoonish, tambourine-jangling caper in between the circles he has drawn is drawn from the same family of physical expression. To mortal eyes, he might be a skinny, rumpled sixty six year old man in smudged aviator sunglasses with no hair or eyebrows, wheeling about with his tattered poncho flaring after him. To spirits - and perhaps to Garou who are attuned to their spirit nature - he is braiding pattern and chaos, Wyld and Weaver likeness, and fixing it into the circle beneath his feet.

For now, he seems able to converse, between heaving breaths loading his bloodstream up with oxygen.

 "Opening a door... Maybe to flee? Maybe to draw allies... Maybe our little spirit knows..." 
Kaworu
Samuel turned back into human form as fast as he could. Suddenly free of the red mist in his head, he looked at the dead body of Black Spiral Dancer. He was sad now that the person has died... but also fully understood that there was no other choice. He was of the Wyrm. He could not be saved.

-  Em...  - he begun - The whip, remember? It... got a life on its own and went away. Like a snake. I suppose it could ba dangerous in the future? Shall we try to find it?  - he then turned into a wolf, hoping he could smell the weapon and it's track.
truemane
 THE CLEARING 

Mehgan is relieved to see that her Gift is more than a match for the Black Spiral's poison. As soon as Gaia's healing energy washes over her, she feels cleansed of the toxin.

On all fours now, Samuel can (barely!) smell the horrid whip. But it smells like old musty animal crossed with wyrm-taint. Which is what most of the forest smells like. He could maybe track it, but it would be difficult.


 THE CAVERN 

Caliban completes his Rite and is pretty sure did what it was supposed to do. The spirit was harder to pull than he thought it would be (especially given the highly-charged nature of the forest and cavern). Not that it was resisting, but compared to other spirits he'd summoned, this one felt like it was being pulled through thick underbrush or something.

But it did arrive, all spindly and wide-eyed, blinking warily. Already it was losing its bipedal shape and collapsing into its natural shape: a seemingly infinite series of complex, tightly-nested spheres, brightly coloured and lit from within, interlocked and spinning against each other.

As it resumes its natural shape, it also seems anxious to leave and go about its regular business (which is flitting about the Umbra randomly). It is, however, clearly interested in Caliban (and Danica, who is nearby).
Kish
"Gurg," opines Meghan, then, with the gruff voice of her Crinos form, "If we can track it, we should. If it's going to other Black Spiral Dancers we want to catch them." She shifts to Lupus form and attempts to pick up the scent herself.

 
 Spoiler: OOC 
When last I played there was a roll involved in shifting to forms that aren't one's breed form but I can't find that section in the 20th Anniversary Edition book. Please let me know if it's still around and I'm missing it.

Rolling to track, Perception+Primal-Urge:  (8d10)[ 6 ][ 4 ][ 10 ][ 2 ][ 3 ][ 6 ][ 2 ][ 9 ](42)  Difficulty uncertain but, if I'm in Lupus form, reduced by 2 from whatever it is. Number of successes accordingly uncertain but if it started at 6 and I'm in Lupus form, then five successes.
 
MrAbdiel
His sensitive ears pick up the blurry echo of Shreds-Leeches and Samuel sniffing about outside - whatever they were set about, he trusted their instincts. Instinct had served their proto-pack very well in this last hour or so.

Caliban's scarred human throat lets out a rattling howl at the summit of the rite - like the dancing, it would not impress a wolf-pack but it contained the full-hearted summons that spirits understood. Then came the spirit, its imposed form melting away, its anxiety to be here radiating off its shifting elements. Speaking to spirits was as much a language as a supernatural event; and for Danica looking on, the exchange between Theurge and spirit must look and sound very bizarre indeed. It's a wealth of clicks and fluttering whistles and, for an enigma spirit, a surprising amount of Caliban making hand-signs behind his back, but pacing back and forth so the spirit is afforded glimpses of that hidden information. But it maths out to something comprehensible, in Spirit Speech.

 ~~"Hail to thee, little one. You rode my companion Samuel's back, and sought to flee, in service of strange masters - but Samuel detected your hidden nature even before I. For this reason, we did not chase you to do harm, but to set you free. Tell us the part you were forced to play between the Wyrmhole and the Black Spiral Dancers - what were you made to do here, in Raccoon's refuge? If you are open and helpful, I will give you a Rite of Cleansing, so that no Garou will smell the Wyrm on you and mistake you for enemy."~~ 
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 

Danica remained in her massive Crinos form, her midnight black fur helping her blend into the darker miasma of the cave network, like a titan in the dark. Her golden eyes watched with silent skeptecism as Caliban attempted to communicate with the small spirit, her nerves on a hair-trigger in case it tried anything...unwise.
truemane
 THE CLEARING 

Samuel and Meghan, together, just barely manage to track the rogue Fetish's path beneath the trees. The scent is faint, and it leaves no trace. Their only saving grave is that it didn't go far.

After only a few minutes of careful lupine snuffling, they find it at the bottom of a steep-sided depression beneath the roots of an ancient tree. The roots have grown around several large rocks and there is only one narrow way into the depression. Whether it sought the place as refuge or wandered in and couldn't get out is unclear. But either way, it is trapped. It is coiled up like a serpent, with the toothed-end vibrating, making a noise like an angry rattlesnake.

It doesn't seem actually aware of Samuel or Meghan's presence. It's just being angry and defensive in general. But with the rattling and general anger comes waves of sadness and confusion. Whatever it is that is animating this horrid Fetish is in a great deal of pain.

There's no way either of them could squeeze down in there with it. But MAYBE one of them could reach it. Maybe.


 THE CAVERN 

As Caliban speaks, the Curiosi grows brighter and its concentric, interlocking spheres spin faster and in more complex combinations.

 ~~ You know the words, Wiser, but not the music. Less Wise speaks less and sees more. I saw a tree walking through the woods. I watched the sun sitting on a rock. Have you stopped eating human flesh? Did you climb the mountain or bring food? If your questions are stones, what shall I build with such rough, misshapen things? A simple stack would fall. A house would collapse and kill any within.~~  

A pause.

 ~~ Still I am bound to try. Heed, and blame not the potter for the clay. Trace the lines as you like, I have never been between the Wyrmhole and the Black Spiral Dancers, and so your first does not stand. That which I was made to do, cannot said to have been done  here in Raccoon's refuge , and so your second tips and scatters. As for your third, shall I stack stones upon the sand? The foundation and the wall must both be solid. Else neither are.~~ 

Another pause.

 ~~ Have I solved your riddles, then? ~~ 

Its light fades back to normal. It does seem to keep spinning fast, though. Excited perhaps. Or annoyed. It's hard to tell.
MrAbdiel
Caliban broods. He had been too presumptuous, too eager to get to the heart of the mystery, and the nature of the Curiosi is to punish such inelegance with evasion. He wished the spirit would be more forthcoming - but he had once heard a human saying that  'if wishes were fishes we'd all swim in riches' . It was not the nature of an enigma spirit to be forthright. He needed to limit the scope of his questioning, and be content with small clues, not grand revelations.

 ~~"You have answered as best you can. I am bound to my word; you have earned your chiminage..."~~ 

Caliban begins the Rite of Cleansing, walking backwards around the circle and taking handfuls of chalk dust and sage ash from his swag, tossing it into the air with peculiar curls of the wrist that leave swirls of white eddying and circling in the air as he goes...

 ~~"I will cleanse the stain of what has been done to you. But perhaps, in good faith, you may say more not from obligation, but generosity. I do not bind you to do so - but perhaps you will be pleased to play a part in the grand unravelling of the mysteries happening here. What were you tasked to do, back when we discovered you and chased you?"~~ 

One question at a time. The Rite of Cleansing would take a few minutes, and the Curiosi may enjoy holding all the cards and having answers teased out in this more careful way. The time for haste had passed. Now was the time for cunning.
Kaworu
When Samuel, in his wolf form, sniffed together with his friend the whip, he turned back into human. He was scrathing his dead, wondering what to do now.

-  Hm... It's only a tool. It is not its fault what it is. And, even though dengerous ans angry, it is also scared. I... kinda feel sorry for it?  - he asked, more himself than his companion -  I suppose we shall destroy it, innit? It... it would be considered a mercy, maybe...  - another utterance more to himself.
Kish
 
 Spoiler: OOC 
Meghan shifts to Crinos form.

Shifting:  (11d10)[ 8 ][ 9 ][ 2 ][ 10 ][ 5 ][ 3 ][ 4 ][ 7 ][ 9 ][ 1 ][ 8 ](66) , difficulty 6 from starting in Lupus form. Five successes, shifts with no trouble.
 

"The peace of Gaia..." Meghan whispers, and then slightly louder, "Whatever is bound into it, it seems unlikely it could be anything but tortured as long as it is so bound. Is there any way you could free it less violently than tearing the whip apart? I don't really know whether that would make a difference." She measures her ability to reach into the depression and grab the fetish, but doesn't move yet, waiting for Samuel's reply.
Kaworu
-  I'm not really, you know... spiritual  - admitted Samuel -  I have scientific knowledge of biology and computers. It's a sure ground under your feet, so to speak. The same genetic sequence always has the same protein encoded. The source code always do what it does. But spirits? Magical weapons? Even the very concept of shapeshifting? This is something my PhD hadn't prapared me for analysis and encompassing with my mind. Scientists can't really understand mythology, spirituality and religion... even if I am myself a mythological creature. 
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 


The massive, black-furred Crinos form of the Shadow Lord lurked in the background, her golden-yellow eyes narrowed into suspicious slits as she watched the unfolding deliberations between the quasi-corrupted, tainted, umbral spirit and Caliban.

Personally, she had nothing to add. But, she knew the Theurge needed back up. To say that spirits could be enigmatic and capricious was an understatement, and, skilled and learned as he was in such matters, Caliban was not immune to falling prey to these arbitrary fluctuations of mood and activity...even from unlikely sources.
truemane
 THE FOREST 

As the two garou discuss what to do with the horrible thing, its snake-rattling slows and its air of menace and sadness fade. Within a minute or two, it lays inert on the grass. Still a horrid thing made of flesh and tooth, but no longer a live thing.

 
 Spoiler: Mehgan and Samuel 

Its 'activation' time has elapsed and now it's inert again. It won't harm anyone who picks it up (although it does remain VERY gross). The question becomes what to do with it.
 

 THE CAVERN 
As Caliban begins the Rite and asks his question, the curiosi spins faster and flashes patterns of light.

 ~~ That which I am, I must be. I may not be else. Your questions are what they are. They are not else. And so my answers must be in kind. I was not tasked with anything as a result of you discovering me, nor given any task in that precise moment. But that is not the question you believed you had asked. Perhaps... I... may... ~~ 

It suddenly emits a high, shrill whine (like a machine that has slipped a gear) and flits up, over, back, across, and then streaks to the very edge of the clearing (well outside the cleaning circle).

 ~~ It pains me deeply, but the answer to that which you wish to ask is this: these two Wyrm-Garou were told of this portal and came here to see what, if anything, the Gaians were planning to do about the Celstine Jupiter. Several Ritemasters of the Fanum, capable of undoing what they have done (and plan to do), are unaccounted for. I was tasked... long before you discovered me)...~~  

The shrill whine increases in volume and fills with jagged crackling.

 ~~...I was tasked with discovering who had sought refuge at the Ring of the Raccoon and what plans were being made there. I was bade keep my distance. But some Gaians call to us, to me, in a way that is difficult to ignore.~~ 

A pause. Its lights are now very dim and the various concentric circles spin awkwardly, out of sync. The shrill whine fades to a low rumbling.

 ~~ That is all I have the strength to relate. My being has been deeply damaged. ~~ 

And it flies off into the night sky and vanishes.


 BACK AT THE SEPT 

It was no easier to find their way back to the Sept this time than it was the last time. Harder, even, as they did not even have the dubious benefit of a broken road to guide them. The forest's enchantments don't seem to have any sense of gratitude for what was done, and inhibits their way the same as always.

Still, after a couple of false starts and frustrating circles, they find the way.

The scene at the Sept as they enter is tense. Most of the Garou are still clustered at the amphitheater, with that particular sharp, acidic sense of anticipation of a crowd waiting for a very late concert to start. Several sets of raised, angry voices could be heard.

The gate is blocked by Shadow Lords, including Sebastian Saint (the Sept Leader), the Black Fury pack, and a few others.

Torrence "Green Mage" Torrence (one of the Fanum Uktena) calls out as they approach. "They stink of the Wyrmhole! I told you!" And the Uktena step forward as though to bloclk their ingress.

Sebastian holds up one hand and they fall back.

"What happened?" he asks. He's asking all of them, but his focus is on Danica (to see her reaction to their story, if nothing else).
Kish
"Huh." Meghan sounds surprised, because she is; whatever the whip might do next, she wasn't expecting it to shut down. She attempts to measure the Wyrm's presence in the gruesome fetish.

 
 Spoiler 
Perception+Occult, difficulty dependent on strength of Wyrm taint:  (5d10)[ 10 ][ 4 ][ 5 ][ 8 ][ 5 ](32) That's going to be two successes unless the taint is very strong or very weak.
 
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 
  "What happened?"   Danica announced, rather than asked.

The tall, athletic blonde had that smattering of the wilderness across her, the dirt and grime that one would sport when they spent an extended period trudging around in the forest. But more than that, she had something else - two objects she had insisted that they bring.

  "How about you ask B1 and B2 here?"  

Ceremoniously, the Galliard had strode forward to make herself the centre of the groups face, from where she held up both hands - each one displaying the severed, wolfen heads of the Black Spiral Dancers in all their tongue-hanging-out, deceased glory.

  "This one had his guts clawed out!"   she shook the larger of the two heads, referring to the one that she had clawed and held, and that Meghan had torn to shreds at the front.

  "This one turned his back at the wrong time! Haha!"   she gestured to the smaller one, whom had fallen to Calibans low-blowing tactics in the cave system.

The Galliard moved forward while she spoke, her unnaturally captivating voice doing its thing as she seized the attention of all gathered, before directing it like a wave.

  "And Caliban here, has something to say about what this sneaky little bastard was up to..."  
MrAbdiel
 Outside the Cavern... 

Later, after Caliban has ruminated some on the gaffling's revelations, he meets Meghan and Samuel outside of the cavern.

 "It is a great crime that the Dancers are able to make fetishes like this one. Like all fetishes, it is made by binding a spirit to service. But unlike true Garou, the Dancers do not feel their obligation to treat kindly and fairly with spirits. More than likely, this weapon was bound to the anguished spirit of the Garou whose hide it was flayed from. But breaking the fetish frees the bound spirit - he or she goes to his ancestors now, whomever they were."  He turns his 'gaze' - the smudgey, polarized lenses of his homid form's aviator sunglasses, between Samuel and Meghan.  "No spirit should be made to suffer this way." 
 
 Spoiler: OOC: 
Weirdly, I don't think there's a Rite for the Dead for something like this - burying only scrap of the dead, particularly someone who was badly tormented. Caliban will hold onto those scraps of the destroyed fetish. Later on, during 'downtime' if we get any, he'll try to compose a new rite to appropriately honor the Garou slain for the fetish and previously bound into it. He'll probably use it as an opportunity to sneak in some tutelage of Samuel as well, since the lad is deeply uncertain about spiritual matters.

EDIT: Edited as per Truemane request.
 

 * * * * * 
 Back at the Sept...
 
Caliban is glad for the Galliard's response. As the oldest of their proto-pack, he feels a responsibility to speak for them - but frankly, he's not good at it. The Garou around him have every reason to be a little sceptical of him - he is  metis , and an old loner at that. He fits the profile for the kind of Garou that slips to the promises of corruption. But with a Galliard (and a very forthright one, like Sings-The-Thunder), that mistrust is greatly counteracted.

He shuffles a step to the fore when she invokes him, looking particularly unimpressive right now. He cannot pal around in his natural crinos form all the time; dwelling that way invites a welling of rage, and no one - even other werewolves - want to be around the killing machines they hide inside for terribly long. Not without a common enemy to point them at.

 "These Dancers came to spy on the Sept of Raccoon. They enslaved a Curiosi gaffling to do so, and sent it into the sept. We chased it, and interrogated it after killing the Dancers in their lair.  Its purpose was to learn this Sept's plans to respond to the fall of the Fanum ; and  especially to see who from the Fanum has taken refuge here . The Dancers seek to wipe out all the Ritemasters of the Fanum so that none remain who can undo whatever manner of desecration they are performing in that place." 

He lets that sit, for a moment. It's a heady revelation - and one that implies extra urgency for the Shadow Lords and the Uktena to form common cause.

 "It may have been spying for some time, and then when the moot was ready to begin, set about to deliver the information it had learned - our numbers, our intentions, and especially which of the Fanum ritemasters remain here. But it deviated from this task in two ways - one unexplained, one by nature. First,  the Curiosi spirit was in the form of a Scryer Bane  when it tried to make its escape. This is unusual - perhaps other Theurges can speak - but I can only suspect the Wyrmhole contained here is able to exert its influence enough to force that transmogrification for its own purposes. Perhaps it detected the Curiosi, and an opportunity to make contact with its Wyrm-tainted allies beyond - and did so this way. I can only speculate on this. But the second deviation is that  it yielded to its curious nature to draw close to Samuel, here . Because it did, Samuel first detected it before it fled. At first we braced fearing an immediate attack - but suspecting something more unusual, we gave chase. When we fell upon the Dancers,  they were trying to open a portal  embedded in a hidden cavern just north of the Sept's boundary - it is marked with old sigils, and they almost succeeded in opening it."  
  "If they had opened it, they might have fled... but more likely, they would have called their forces and fallen upon the sept seeking to assassinate the Fanum survivors."  

He wheezes a little after such a lungful of explanation, and then adds as an addendum:  "Perhaps the Red Talons lurking outside the Sept can lair in that cavern while they are in the area, to protect it from other Dancer excursions." 
Kaworu
 Forest 

-  I see...  - was all Samuel had to add. He closed his eyes and focused his efforts on turning into his Crinos form. As he was not speeding the process, after some short time it worked. Then, in his battle form, he procedes to destroying the whip.

It could free the spirit inside and that's more than okay, but also, it was to be sure that such a dangerous weapon won't be used another time against Garous. Two birds, one stone.

When he finished, he turned back into his natural, human form. He gathered what was left of the weapon.

-  We should bury the... remains...  - he announced.

 Sept 

Samuel was mostly silent, letting others speak for him. He was not sure if he liked the atmosphere here, but what could he do?

-  One of the Dancers had a weapon, a whip made out of body and spirit of another Garou  - he explained, showing the "remains" he carried with him -  I would like to pay my respect to what remains of the item. Could somebody proper lead the buriar ceremony?  - he asked simply.
truemane
 BACK AT THE THE SEPT 

The reaction to the story was both immediate and intense. Danica's powerful voice carries across the Sept, causing a larger crowd to gather. The Garou love a story and, even though Caliban is no performer, his age and reputation give weight to his words and his dry, factual accounting almost increases their impact.

As he suspected, hearing that the Dancers had wit and wisdom enough to specifically spy on the Caern for unaccounted for Utkena is Big News. Whatever everyone thought they were doing with/at/to the Fanum, it did not include this level of organziation.

But even Bigger News was that there was a pack of Red Talons in the forest. Based on individual reactions, Caliban and Danica (for different reasons) suspect that Sebastian Saint and Michael (the War Chief) already knew this, but it seems as though very few others did.

(Keeper, for the record, is not here among this particular crowd)

Sebastian Saint steps forward and raises his arms for silence. He gets it.

"You have done us all a great service, Sings-the-Thunder. Few among us would have had the speed of thought and claw to act so swiftly, so surely, and so effectively. I name you Friend of the Sept and Ally of the Ring. You and your pack (whoever they may be, now or in future) will always be welcome here."

A pause.

"But this night is about more than one wolf's glory. This is a night for the entire Nation. And we must commence. Come, Sings-the-Thunder. Attend the Moot by my side and tell the story to everyone assembled. Your subalterns may sit near you, if you wish it."

And with that he lets out an ear-splitting howl. It's not quite a howl of warning, or of celebration. It's a howl for seizing attention and authority. In human terms, it is like the banging of a judge's gavel to call a court to order. And, in answer, all over the Sept, there are a few scattered howls of acquiescence, and then a deep, powerful, oppressive silence.

The Moot is about to begin.


 CALIBAN AND THE RITEMASTER 

As they walk toward the amphitheater, under that velvet silence, a Garou in Homid form sidles up to Caliban. She is very thin, and quite short. Her arms are withered and twisted. She walks with a severe limp (though, for that, she seems capable of great speed).

"The Fetish, Sahu-Caliban, the scraps. You were right to bring them here." Her voice is thin and reedy. Her words are perfectly courteous and polite, but there is something... irreverent.. almost rebellious in the non-verbal signals that surround them.

She emitted a phlegmy, half-coughing laugh. "Apologies. I am called Sightless-Remains, somewhat ironically as I can see and you cannot. I have the honour to be one of the Adjunct-Ritemasters of the Sept. I believe I know of a Rite that will adequately tend to the spirit of this thing. If you like I would be pleased to take possession of it for you."

And she reaches out her hand, her head bowed in an appropriate gesture of humility and submission.


 DANICA AND THE SHADOW LORD, II 

As they walk, Sebastian stays near Danica.

"Excellent work, young Adren. Truly exceptional. Gaiai's own luck might have given you that opportunity, but you were wise to seize it with such ferocity. We can use this at Moot to put a number of highly-skilled, but unconvinced, warriors under your leadership. It would soothe my spirit to have such as them watched over closely by one such as you."


 MEGHAN AND THE WAR CHIEF 

As they walk, Michael falls in beside Mehgan.

"I see Lord Saint has chosen his favourite already," he says, gesturing toward Sebastian in close confererence with Danica. "I know that look well. It is very possible you might start thinking of finding a new pack. Given your skills, I would be happy to make suggestions. Old Slips-the-Maw has, quite visibly, stayed out of the Choosing. But I think he sees something worthy in you. To lead such a legend into battle might do you well for the future."
Kish
"I hadn't noticed him seeming particularly interested in me, but certainly worth considering,"  Meghan says to Michael's suggestion.  Danica, Caliban, and Samuel did seem interested in forming a pack, I thought. Is the War Chief trying to push me away from Danica now? Or is there such bad blood between him and...Lord Saint...that it overrides other considerations for him? 
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 


Danica took the praise in good, practiced stride. She made sure to be adjacent to her companions, ensuring they weren't left out of the recognition. That wouldn't be right. But that her out-going personality had driven her to take centre stage, well, she  was  a Shadow Lord.

Besides, as a visiting Galliard, it'd be her upon the stage at the Moot with instrument in hand and tale's from her lips. It would be her recollection of events that would be taken as the minutes of the events, and she could ensure credit was appropriately distributed.


 
 Originally Posted by truemane 
  DANICA AND THE SHADOW LORD, II 

As they walk, Sebastian stays near Danica.

"Excellent work, young Adren. Truly exceptional. Gaiai's own luck might have given you that opportunity, but you were wise to seize it with such ferocity. We can use this at Moot to put a number of highly-skilled, but unconvinced, warriors under your leadership. It would soothe my spirit to have such as them watched over closely by one such as you." 
 


Danica's smirk was subtle, but it was there. She nodded softly, looking over at Sebastian, before her eyes moved enough that she looked over her shoulder back towards Meghan, Caliban and Samuel.

  "It's an honour to even be considered,"   Danica said, her voice sincere and matter-of-factly, carefully riding that line between arrogance and obsequiousness.

  "But I'd be entering into it in a position of weakness; I'd have to prove myself to  them . Excellent warriors or not, no band works well if they're not all playing from the same music sheet."  

Besides, those warriors would already know each other. Danica would be the outsider, and she wasn't an Ahroun with the might to smack down the strongest among them if they challenged her. It was an unsure and unsecure footing that, given the task before them, was a liability.

But deeper than that, Danica  suspected  an ulterior purpose: one of those 'highly skilled warriors', at least, would be Sebastians man in her pack.

After all...it's what she'd do if she were in his position.

  "Under normal circumstances that's how it should be,"   she continued, making sure to pay homage to the underlying philosophy of the Shadow Lords, loyal betas staying vigilant for weakness in the leader,   "but too much is at stake to sacrifice sure footing for an uncertain advantage. All it takes is one hot-head getting ideas of his own, and we've lost Jupiter to the Wyrm forever. I think  we  did well together, and we weren't even a pack,"   she nods towards the other three - Meghan, Caliban and Samuel.
MrAbdiel
Caliban is pleased to meet another ritemaster, and he gives Sightless-Remains all his attention. He can tell by a subtle intersection of scent and sound that there is something off about her arms, and her limp is plain. The cough is pitiable, too - throatstruck and metis as he is, he feels at once a kindred spirit.

...Almost too much so. Though what right has he to be suspicious here, inside the moot?


  "...Watch your sixes. Check your corners. And remember that every  must  hides a  maybe  someone doesn't want you to consider." 
 "That one has the stink about him of chained spirits. Oaths forced. And held. I will follow whoever I have to follow in order to regain the Fanum. But I will trust none of them." 
 "You know the words, Wiser, but not the music. Less Wise speaks less and sees more." 
 "I was tasked... long before you discovered me..."  

A baseless suspicion. Still, he was fortuitously positioned to guard himself. He touched his swagbag with one hand, then inclined his head back toward the greater gathering in the amphitheatre as if looking that way.

 "You honor me with your offer, Sightless-Remains. The remnants are not with me, at the moment - another of my companions possesses them. But perhaps you would do me small boon of teaching me this ritual? There may be many occasions in the days to come to put to rest such tormented fetishes, many more conflicts with the Spirals - it would be well if I were able to manage the next occasion without disturbing you. I will gather the remnants, and meet you where you say. Is it a long rite? Will we wait till after the Moot?" 
 
 Spoiler: OOC: 
Big suspicious. Hmmmmm. Samuel probably still has the bundle (though he's on autopilot right now), but that's okay because Caliban would like to learn this rite if it's real. And if it's not... -_-

ALSO I just realised now that you said "pack of lupus garou" not "pack of red talons" and I just made that assumption about the pack in the woods. Erm... I hope I don't lose my butt over that leap of logic.
 
truemane
 DANICA AND THE SHADOW LORD, II 

Saint listens, and nods. His face is serious. Solemn, even. But all the same, Danica gets the sense that he is mildly amused. As though entertained that she thinks she even has the ability to say no to him, let alone the will.

"As you will," he says. "The bonds formed in the field are powerful, and emotional, and often logic and rationality cannot stand against them. Mind your own optimism, though..."

He gestures to his left, where Meghan and the War Chief are walking close together, walking away from the group.

"...the rest of your 'pack' may not feel as strongly about their bonds as you do."



 MEGHAN AND THE WAR CHIEF 

Michael smiles and claps Meghan on the shoulder. "Excellent choice, Shreds-Leeches. Excellent. I believe this the right path for you. Come, sit next to me at Moot. I will introduce you two."


 CALIBAN AND THE RITEMASTER 

Caliban can feel her curiosity and eagerness to hold the remains of the whip. Like a physical thing. Like a haze. Like a smell. Like a low buzzing in a crowded room.

"Where is it, then?" she asks, managing to keep most (but not all) of the hunger from her voice. She pauses.

"It is a long rite. And it can wait until after the Moot, if it must. And... even though it is technically not mine to decide, I will show you if you wish. It is a ritual of great power and versatility."

She ***** her ear to the side, as though listening for something. "After the moot, then, Sahu-Caliban. Find me and we will speak of many things."


 THE MOOT BEGINS 

With a cacophony of howls that rise to become a single, powerful note that fills the air and pulls on the spirits of all the Garou like a fish-hook of the soul, the Moot begins.

The Elders and Galliards of the Sept step to the center and thank those that have come far, and braved much, to join this perilous task. And there is the 'official' recounting of the events that lead everyone here (pointedly related by the Shadow Lords, and not any of the Urrah of Chicago):

 The foul, wyrm-bloated blood-clotted Leeches broke the long-held peace and attacked the Garou Nation. They attacked our cubs, slew our Kinfolk and polluted out places of power. In the chaos, the Black Spiral Dancers have managed to pierce the defenses of the Fanum, risking the release of Jupiter.

The cause is clear: make the Leeches pay for their betratyal. Destroy the Black Spirals wherever they are found and wherever they nest. And seize the Fanum back and re-bind Jupiter within its walls. 

As the Moot continues, many stand to speak. Some tell of why they've come. Some tell of what they hope to do once they are here. Some speak of their experiences in Chicago in the final chaotic days before they fled.

After speeches, the Moot broke up into smaller groups, packs and tribes and Auspices and Breeds. Stories are shared and legends told. Old stories with lessons that applied to the current situation. Stories of Chicago and its long, strange history.

Several hours of this, both celebratory and serious, leading up to the War Council, when packs would be formed and marching orders issued.

And after the War Council, the Wyld Hunt, into the human lands surrounding the forest and their many (many) sheep.
MrAbdiel
 With the Ritemaster... 

Caliban, though in homid form, bobs his head and shoulders a little in a somewhat more lupine gesture of agreement.  "As you say, then. I will be pleased to learn, Sightless-Remains. I will find which of my companions has stewardship of the fetish, so that after the moot, we may put it to rest with proper ceremony." 

He gives a little bow. It's a generalized sentiment of respect, but it also buys him a moment to listens intently for  whatever  she  was listening for . The odd shuffle from impatience to smooth concession, interrupted by an adjustment of posture, suggests new information was received. From where? From whom? He strained his ears to hear the whisper, or chime, or susurrus that might be available to him from the other side of the gauntlet... and which even an Adjunct-Ritemaster might be forgiven for forgetting is not their own exclusive domain. But then he is off, making his way carefully through the gathering in his peculiar stop-go motion, travelling by memory of the location recently acquired interrupted by dynamic movements of fellow Garou who sometimes avoided him on principle, sometimes paused to give him the old atta-boy for vanquishing a Black Spiral Dancer a little earlier.

He knows Samuel has the fetish remnants, but he takes the opportunity to drift about the caern to Meghan and Danica first. This brings him all over the place, but several times causes him to cross paths with other Garou including perhaps Slips-The-Maw, and especially the Uktena to whom he is recently acquainted - and recently endeared, hopefully. Wherever he is well received, he asks with the benign curiosity of the outsider:    Who is Sightless-Remains? What are her deeds? Does Raccoon hold her in high esteem?   

Perhaps he is being clouded by just the suspicion the Dancers intended to sow. But a great call to war like this is the idea cover for malign strangers to wander into the sept with some cover, and the Adjunct-Ritemaster's salivation over the corrupt fetish had put him ill at ease. Perhaps she was simply the kind of Theurge for whom dabbling with dangerous spirits was  that  kind of interesting. Perhaps he was feeling jealous because, if any clan's Theurges should have a rite to deal with the ill-treated dead, it should be the Silent Striders, to whom the Realm of Death is a tertiary domain; and his ill-equippedness in that regard jabbed at the healed old scar about his exclusion even from circles within his tribe.

Or perhaps Sightless-Remains was not who she said she was, and the Wyrm's interference had not finished for the evening. He took custody of the fetish remnants from Samuel, and stowed them in his dedicated swag-bag for safe keeping.

 Are these Keeper's Brothers? 

Beginning to doubt himself about declaring the Garou pack in the forest to be Red Talons, Caliban seeks out Keeper (if he is to be found) to speak about his presumption. Does he have a pack quartered outside the city? All-Lupus packs are very rare otherwise, and only Talons would likely be so repulsed by the gathering of homids as to refuse to take part in the moot entirely. But he has been wrong before, and he cannot afford to be wrong; and from one metis to another, he has some base level of commonality with Keeper than his proto-packmates cannot approach.

 Looking after Samuel 

In Caliban's opinion, Samuel needs packmates to ward him in this dangerous web of violence and spirit politics that is Garou. He seems to have been well enough respected by the Glasswalkers to have gained their approval and rank benefits, but the Glasswalkers have a tertiary domain which Caliban cannot grasp at all - corporate war, green-tech, Weaver-wrangling. All these things are impenetrable mysteries to the old wolf, but to his best judgement, Samuel is more gentle-souled and innocent than this life tends to permit. He may not know exactly what to do with himself during the Hunt, when the sept's many warriors will rave about the lands surrounding the caern, uprooting every belligerent spirit and wyrm-tainted creature and putting them to claw (along with some wealth of prey animals to be dragged back to feast). So the old wolf gives Samuel an opportunity - when the hunt begins, he tries if he might to lead the young Glass Walker to one of few tasks that might be considered important enough to bypass the hunt without shame - seeking the welfare of wolves. If his young ally is willing to take up that task, it would set the old wolf's mind at easy about two of the many troubles presently afoot in the Sept of Raccoon.

 The Speeches 

Caliban listens extraordinarily carefully. Less than useful in visual situations, he has lived his whole life by mastering of scent and sound and mind; and he is very interested in both what all the disparate factions have to say, and what the murmuring crowd have to say about them. He is not much of a speaker, but when given an opportunity, he does stand to relate a short message of unity as only an outsider can. After burning through some of his recent windfall of Spiral-slayer goodwill on a rambling preamble, he offers some words that hopefully justify the rest.

 "...Garou  have  tribes but they  are  nation. We undertake this matter in absence of Brother Bunyip because, in times past, pride of Tribe has stood over Nation. You know the travails of my tribe - at the zenith of our glory, our hero Shu-Horus made war by the Nile against the Leeches. He made powerful coalitions with the Bastet and Mokolé, and together Wolf and Cat and Crocodile turned fangs on the fanged foe; and even the archleech Sutehk was struck down. For this act, my people have been cursed - separated from our homeland, and our caerns. And the hubris that killed Brother Bunyip held the tongues of so many of my ancestors, so that there was not a great call to the Nation to go into those caerns where we could not, and scour old Khem of Sutehk's brood. If there was, we may remember it as a painful victory instead of a galling defeat. I cannot ask my ancestors why they did such glories but failed in such a crucial way. I can only stand here and speak to living Garou, and hope that my Nation goes to war today; not merely a gathering of tribes." 
 The Tales 

Caliban is the only representative of his tribe at the moot, so he hovers in the midst of the Theurges for the most part. He's deeply interested in spirit matters, and always interested in learning new Rites. He knows many; he is good at them; but isolated as he often he, he is often not afforded the opportunity to learn as a Theurge in a stable caern and pack and sept hierarchy might. He's especially interested to listen to Sightless-Remains, if she has deigned to attend this sub-gathering.

Beyond that, he spends a little time with the handful of present metis. The homids don't need to declare a homid group - the lupus merely sniff each other out and group off to one side, and the metis awkwardly array themselves on a cluster on the fringe too - those metis who are not so disgusted by their own nature they are still in that juvenile state of trying to conceal their breed. A Garou can be adopted by a new tribe, and powerful rites can even change one's stars such that the moon calls to a Garou soul as a new auspice; but there is no changing breed. Breed  is . To the metis, he is patient. The younger ones throw themselves into auspice and tribe duties to try to drown their shame. The older ones find even in these spaces they are in some ways outsiders because Gaia has marked them so, and they wrestle with that burden. And the oldest, of which there are so few Caliban is often the only member, have lived long enough to see that being outside of a structure prevents one from falling victim to some of its illusions. He tries to be grandfatherly, and meet the metis where they are in their struggles.

 The Hunt 

To no one's surprise, Caliban is not the most dynamic hunter. He has engaged gnosis to overcome the shortfalls of blindness when Spirals were involved, but running with a sept to raid the lands around, he contributes most by smelling trails and cluing other packs into worthy pursuits.

He does, however, try to find a wyrm spirit or two to himself. The Wyrmhole's incarceration here must attract tainted spirits, and even such warped creatures have their purposes. If he can run a few of them down and vanquish them quietly, he might be able to furnish his allies with valuable Talens...

 
 Spoiler: OOC: Talen Time 
During the Hunt, Caliban is going to try to snag one or more Wyrm gafflings to forcefully bind into Wyrm Scales (p229w20). Even one would be a significant boon in this shadow-war, but as the hunt scares up the local spirits to flee, he'll try to get more than one if he can.
 
Kish
Far too far away from Saint to realize what he's saying, Meghan opts to stay diplomatic for now. Being introduced to Slips-the-Maw certainly sounds worthwhile anyway.

At the Moot, she does not volunteer to speak publicly and tries to focus on listening for undercurrents: who seems to put more of the blame on the vampires, the Black Spiral dancers, or other Gaian garou, and whether anyone seems to be taking jabs at anyone else here. If Michael gets more overt about manipulating her, she'll push back while trying to stay polite, excuse herself, and seek out what's currently going on with the Black Fury pack.
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 


This was a Moot - that meant that Danica was in her prime.

The tall, physical, blonde-braided Shadow Lord had finished her understanding-spoken-words with Sebastian and moved onto her role in the collective gathering. They were both children of Grandfather Thunder, after all, both had that edge of distrust and suspicion about each other. But when the rest of the world came knocking? Well, then they lock-shields and formed a unified front.

And so, the newest Galliard to the Sept had taken centre stage when it came time to tell stories, her tall, fit figure atop what passed for a stage moving back and forth with a naturalness that suited a born show-woman.

    "Yeah - her right there?  Shreds-Leeches ? Took him from the front - the front! Charged right at him!"  she expounded, gesturing to Meghann in the crowd while her face grinned at the gathered crowd.  "******* bled all over her with some acid blood straight outta Alien or something, I dunno - and what did she do? She clawed his f***ing face off! Haha! Can you imagine? Bleeding over some Ahroun thinkin' it's gunna save ya, instead she smacks ya head off"      
    "...you wouldn't think he would, you know...Glass Walker and all...a bit too friendly sometimes...!"  she laughed, smile bright,  "But he did! He saw the rest of us go in, he said his prayer to Gaia, and he threw himself at one of the biggest bastards I've ever seen! And  then  he goes sniffing for its weapon - turns out it was made from the remains of  our  kind...can you believe that?  Our kind ! And  he  made sure they'd be brought back here to receive the Kiss of the Earth Mother and the send off they deserve!"    
    "...who knows how many of the dirty, rat-f!ck bastards coulda been in there - he ploughed in there anyway, hell or high water! He made himself the breaching shield and he ran in there headfirst, he f****ing did it! Maybe there were a hundred cultists with guns and silver ammo - maybe there was an even bigger sommamabich than the one we faced; maybe there was some trap waiting for him, he braved it all anyway! He went in there and took down the rotten, no-good snake in the grass that caused this whole mess, by himself!"
    


Danica moved  back and forth like a comedian at a comedy festival, but her voice - that  voice  of hers! Something about it suited whatever occasion she found herself in. There was something about it that captured the attention, and the Shadow Lords ability to hold a crowds attention that spoke to Gaia's wisdom in granting her membership into the Galliard luna cycle. It could incite comedy, passion, rage or a sorrowful lamentation. She doubtlessly had a gift, and today, at this moment, she was directing it towards puffing up the three Garou with whom she'd protected the Sept from a possible Black Spiral sneak attack.
truemane
 CALIBAN 
 Am I my Keeper's brother? 

Keeper (still wearing his sunglasses, even as night falls) is not at all pleased that Caliban revealed the presence of the Red Talon pack to the Sept at large. But he does admit they are his people.

"They detest the Shadow Lords. They detest the Urrah. They detest the Wyrmhole. They detest this Sept. They believe it all stinks of the Wyrm." A rueful smile. "Which makes this the perfect job for me."

He is cagey about their exact plans, but indicates they are here for the same reason as everyone else: to aid the Nation in its hour of need.


 Samuel 

The young Garou seems to have been taken aside and is rendering some assistance to one of the officers of the Sept. He is present at the Moot, but generally occupied. He does hand over the remains of the fetish, however.

OOC: I'm sort of vaguely taking Samuel out of the story while his player is unavailable.


 Sightless-Remains 

He is unable to corner Slips-the-Maw on this topic. He seems to have the Shadow Lord War Chief attached to his side (to his obvious chagrin) and is being shepharded around to various Garou (including Meghan, interestingly).

Other Shadow Lords show immediate distaste when her name is mentioned. But it's hard to discern whether that distate comes from her, or her Breed. They speak well of her service to the Sept, and admit her knowledge of, and skill with, Rites is second-to-none. But no one seems to like her. Or really trust her. There's a sense that she's intentionally avoided joining a pack.

The Uktena of Chicago, however, react strongly to her name. They speak well of her skills, say that her understanding of the Wyrmhole and the Forest are deep and profound. But her intentions are... unseemly. There's an air of the aloof academic to her. A sense that the services she renders are not so much for the benefit of the Nation as they are a change for her to see what happens.

After this, however, an Uktena Philodox (Osmane "Riddle Prey"), who answered the Call from northern Alaska, finds Caliban.

"I have reason to believe that the spirit bound to that fetish is an Uktena of my lineage. A number of our people have dedicated themselves to finding these foul things. Would you give it to me? That I might take it the Theurges of my Sept to know for sure? I can offer you nothing for it but my gratitude. And the gratitude of my people."


 MEGHAN 
 Slips-the-Maw 

The old Bone Gnawer is just as critchety and disagreeable at the Moot as he was at the gate. He seems aware that it's best he find a pack before going to war in the City, but he doesn't seem too excited about the options.

Oddly, Michael seems to be correct that the old wolf does think well of Meghan. "I like a Garou who sticks to their guns and does what they know is right, even if it ticks off everyone they like and everyone they don't like, too."

However, he senses pretty quick that Meghan isn't interested in joining up with him. "Pack or no pack, you're half a pack already. One thing I know is not to mess with Gaia's will when it's clear as piss on the floor."


 Black Furies 

The Black Furies might dislike Shadow Lords, but it looks like they love Moots. From first howl to last, they are always enjoying the heck out of themselves. They cheer the most (and the loudest) and get themselves involved in whatever they can. Riddles, athletics, sparring, trading lore, whatever's happening, they're into it.

Their Alpha, a tall and regal and imposing woman (who introduces herself as Anjela) is instantly excited to talk to her. "LIke me, you don't use your Deed Name much, but did Danica say it was Shreds-Leeches? How many leeches are we talking about? How much shredding? That's sort of our family business, you know."


 DANICA 

Danica couldn't ask for a better audience. This wasn't just a Moot, it was THE Moot. A gathering of Garou from across the Nation, brought together to discharge their sacred duty to Gaia. Having so many of the People in one place, with stakes this high, and the air just sizzled with anticipation and emotion that just needed a focal point to rest on.

Danica gave them that.

They hung on her every word. They cheered for every exploit. They gasped at every twist. She had them wrapped around her littlest claw and they followed wherever she lead them.

When speeches were done, she was pulled in every direction, with requests (demands) to sit and have a drink, to tell the story (that story, another story, any story) again and again. Even the Fenrir grudgingly smile and nod when she passes by. The Black Furies give her enthusiastic fist pumps whenever she passes by them (which happens a lot, they seem to move around quite a bit).

Sebastian doesn't interfere, but she can feel his attention. Both on her, and on the other (currently disparate) members of their little proto-pack.
MrAbdiel
 Sightless Remains vs Riddle Prey 

Caliban tells Riddle Prey he'll take that petition into consideration; and he does just that, checking in with the Uktena of Chicago first to ensure they have a positive sense of their Alaskan tribemate. He'd ask the Philodox also what  are  these means to believe the fetish was made from one of his kinsmen. If Riddle Prey passes the 'sniff test' for Garou authenticity, Caliban finds it difficult to deny the request. The severance of tribes from their fallen sons and daughters affects him deeply as a Silent Strider, and despite Sightless Remain's offer of rite tutelage, he would ultimately decide in favor of the Alaskan Uktena.

 "If this thing was indeed done to your kinsman, I would be doing a great evil to prevent you from a chance to be their redeemer. I give this to you on one condition, lawkeeper - that you give your word as a half-moon that, if it should turn out that your Theurges investigate and find no such connection as you have suspected, that you will return these fragments to me so that I might see to their restoration in another way. Your promise is your chiminage; I ask no more than that." 

With the fetish's remnants yielded to the Philodox, all that remains is an attempted peacemaking with Sightless Remains - though Caliban is not outrageously hopeful, as she did not seem a kind used to being ultimately denied. He explains that another Garou claimed recognition of the remains, and he ultimately felt it necessary to yield it to them rather than keep them for a local rite.

 "I have bound him by his word that, if the recognition proves false, the fetish remnants will come back to me and then I will see you out again, if you are still willing to aid in the matter. But for now, it seems an opportunity availed to see them delivered where they might settle most righteously. Alas - I had looked forward to learning from you. Our people speak highly of your wisdom."
 
 Through to the Keeper 

Caliban is less than pleased with the Talons' sour distance from the Moot - but he is at least glad his assumption was correct. It would have been embarrassing to learn it was simply an all-Lupus pack of another tribe. So neither Metis is particularly pleased with the other, but at least they have an understanding.

 "So they send you in to tacitly participate and report back to them, rather than come in themselves. Well... I should prefer peace with them, not conflict. There is no shortage of wyrmspawn in Chicago, and a great trouble yet to come. I hope your kin will consider taking domain in the cavern where the Spirals attempted to do their work. They may send more scouts, or more spirits, and try the same matter again - since your pack will not den here, perhaps they will den where the Wyrm will be most vexed to find them." 
Kish
 
 Originally Posted by truemane 
  MEGHAN 
 Slips-the-Maw 

The old Bone Gnawer is just as critchety and disagreeable at the Moot as he was at the gate. He seems aware that it's best he find a pack before going to war in the City, but he doesn't seem too excited about the options.

Oddly, Michael seems to be correct that the old wolf does think well of Meghan. "I like a Garou who sticks to their guns and does what they know is right, even if it ticks off everyone they like and everyone they don't like, too."

However, he senses pretty quick that Meghan isn't interested in joining up with him. "Pack or no pack, you're half a pack already. One thing I know is not to mess with Gaia's will when it's clear as piss on the floor." 
 

"I thought so, as well," Meghan tells him. "But there are many ways to battle the Wyrm where it breeds."

When Danica speaks, she nods in appreciation.  It seems the War Chief's concern was invalid. Now the question is why he--and Saint--would want to push us in different directions. 

  Black Furies 

The Black Furies might dislike Shadow Lords, but it looks like they love Moots. From first howl to last, they are always enjoying the heck out of themselves. They cheer the most (and the loudest) and get themselves involved in whatever they can. Riddles, athletics, sparring, trading lore, whatever's happening, they're into it.

Their Alpha, a tall and regal and imposing woman (who introduces herself as Anjela) is instantly excited to talk to her. "LIke me, you don't use your Deed Name much, but did Danica say it was Shreds-Leeches? How many leeches are we talking about? How much shredding? That's sort of our family business, you know." 

"Several. It was in New York. Once battle broke out they didn't try to retreat." She tries to sound enthusiastic about this; Anjela clearly wants the warrior, not the diplomat. "But I regret I don't know, no. Tell me about your family history with leeches?"
truemane
 MEHGAN 

One of the other members of the pack, a petite matronly looking woman with a Mediterranean complexion, laughs at Meghan's question. "You take a great risk asking the Sunshine Sirens to regale you of our encounters with the Kindred. You might as well ask the ocean for some water!"

They all laugh in response.

And then, for however much time Meghan feels like enduring it, the Black Furies share stories about hunting vampires, finding vampires, tracking vampires, killing vampires. They are also very interested in hearing any stories Meghan has to share as well.

If she does share anything about her desire for diplomacy, they are interested in the specifics of negotiating with the Leeches, but dismissive of overall attempts at co-existence. "If you had the power to end them all, you would, wouldn't you? And so if we have the power to end some, why feel differently?"

If Meghan does stay and join in the storytelling, and generally comports herself as someone worthy of trust and inclusion, after some the pack pauses and shares a heavy look. There is a feeling of consensus, and Anjela leans over to Mehgan.

"Tell me, Child of Gaia, have you ever heard tell of an  Abomination ? A Garou who has allowed itself to be turned into one of the undead? Foul, horrid, hateful, disgusting, dangerous creatures. While we are happy to aid the Nation in its hour of need, the reason we are here is that we have heard tell there is such a thing in Chicago. And it is our intention that, whatever else may befall, we will destroy it."

 
 Spoiler: OOC 
You can decide whether or not Meghan knows what an Abomination is, and/or what she knows about them.
 

 CALIBAN 

Riddle Prey bows as he accepts the bundle. "Thank you, Caliban. It is said that my ancestors once shared land, blood and kin with the Silent Striders of Northern Africa. Some of the branches of my family tree touch some of the branches of yours. I am grateful for the change to renew those bonds. You have my word that, should I be wrong, I will do everything in my power to return the remains to you."

As he expected, Sightless-Remains is NOT happy. She accepts his word with the proper posture of acceptance and submission (he is higher Rank than she), but it doesn't take Caliban's advanced senses to feel the anger and hear her long, low hiss of frustration.

Keeper accepts Caliban's words with the same sullen equanimity that he's accepted everything else so far. In response, he smiles a tight, rueful smile and removes his sunglasses. Caliban cannot see Keeper's face, but he notices right away that Keeper does not blink. The sense of Keeper's direct gaze does not feel like a Garou. Or a wolf. Or even a human. The only similar feeling in his experience is a reptile's cold, steady, patient focus.

If he had to guess, Caliban would guess that Keeper has the eyes of a serpent.

"Don't presume to tell my people their duty, Metis. Your pack will do their job. Mine will do theirs. They know the Wyrm when they see it, even if no one else seems to."


 COUNCIL OF WAR 

After some time spent in loose community, the Garou are called back to the Moot by the howl of Michael 'Herocaller' the Sept's War Chief. This is the final phase of the Moot, the War Council.

"We will divide our forces into two teams. Team Alpha and Team Silver. Where once we had planned to send Team Alpha to free the Fanum and Team Silver to strike at the strongholds of the Kindred, recent events have forced us to revise our intentions."

He doesn't specifically point out the Garou whose discovery caused this revision (they aren't a pack yet so it would be slightly improper), but the entire gathering gives them a moment of grateful silence all the same.

"Team Alpha will now march on the Wyrmhole and both destroy the recently-revealed portal cavern, and ensure there are no other similar places for the Black Spiral Dancers to travel here and strike at our vulnerable flank. When their task is done, they will then go into Chicago to free the Fanum, or at the very least prevent the escape of Jupiter. Team Silver will proceed directly to Chicago to strike at the kindred wherever they may."

And then comes the Calling  of the Packs. One at a time established packs stand and volunteer (or, in some cases, are assigned) for a tyeam.

Keeper volunteers the Pureclaws for Team Alpha. Bleak Hammer (the Fenrir) do as well. The Sunshine Sisters volunteer for Team Silver.

Those who arrived in small groups are grouped and their packs called, Named, and sealed with a Totem by one of the Sept's Ritemasters.

Then the time comes for Mehgan, Danica, Caliban and Samuel to be Called. They stand and declare themselves a Pack. And, when the Ritemaster asks what Totem they wish to watch over them, there's a burst of light and suddenly the ghostly form of a Garou stands in the ring of the Caern. His clothing and accessories look ancient and exotic.

 "Once, in the mists of days before my people crossed the Bridge of Ice to this land and became the Uktena, I was named  He Who Dares the Burning Sands . I was captured and slain by servants of the Wyrm and the teeth of my Crinos form woven into that weapon. For thousands of years, I have been forced to stand witness as pieces of my own body were used to harm and kill my own brethren."

"Until today. Until these four released me."

"But more remain. Many of the Wyrmwolves who oppose you are armed with weapons wound with the teeth of Gaia's chosen. I ask these four, if they are willing, to continue their work and hunt for these weapons, reclaim the teeth woven into them, and return them to the tribe of my blood. If they will render this service to me, to my kin, to the Nation, in return I will offer the patronage of the Totem I served, and who protected me, in all the days of my so very life long ago." 

And behind him rises a towering, awe-inspiring avatar of Elephant who raises his trunk and blasts an ear-splitting trumpets into the night-sky.
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 

  DANICA
 
Danica couldn't ask for a better audience. This wasn't just a Moot, it was THE Moot. A gathering of Garou from across the Nation, brought together to discharge their sacred duty to Gaia. Having so many of the People in one place, with stakes this high, and the air just sizzled with anticipation and emotion that just needed a focal point to rest on.

Danica gave them that.

They hung on her every word. They cheered for every exploit. They gasped at every twist. She had them wrapped around her littlest claw and they followed wherever she lead them.

When speeches were done, she was pulled in every direction, with requests (demands) to sit and have a drink, to tell the story (that story, another story, any story) again and again. Even the Fenrir grudgingly smile and nod when she passes by. The Black Furies give her enthusiastic fist pumps whenever she passes by them (which happens a lot, they seem to move around quite a bit).

Sebastian doesn't interfere, but she can feel his attention. Both on her, and on the other (currently disparate) members of their little proto-pack. 


Danica thrived in this environment. Growing up in the Angeles National Forest adjacent to LA, in a sept dominated by Shadow Lords and Get of Fenris,  while  indulging her passion for music creation and ice hockey, this was a scene where she felt right at home. The palpable energy in the air was an intoxicant to the Galliard, as she filtered between groups with the enviable ease of a social butterfly who knew what to say to whom while always remaining herself. She shared drinks with those who wanted them, but not for too long that she became attached - often a few sips, pats on the shoulders and exchanges of a few minutes, before the next one drew her away and the process restarted. The Black Fury's, the Get of Fenris, even less-boisterous wolves could and would gain her attention, and it was always positive.

And that was perhaps a key to her strategy, for though she moved from group to group, beckoned and welcomed over, she never had anything negative to say. It was all positive. A congratulation, and great short tale, a high-water remark; she drew attention to the best that others did, what made them worthy of Gaians favour, and she did it with an eerily easy diplomacy-deflection conversational grace that kept her in demand.

But, soon it came time to form a pack - to choose!


 Then the time comes for Mehgan, Danica, Caliban and Samuel to be Called. They stand and declare themselves a Pack. And, when the Ritemaster asks what Totem they wish to watch over them, there's a burst of light and suddenly the ghostly form of a Garou stands in the ring of the Caern. His clothing and accessories look ancient and exotic.

"Once, in the mists of days before my people crossed the Bridge of Ice to this land and became the Uktena, I was named He Who Dares the Burning Sands. I was captured and slain by servants of the Wyrm and the teeth of my Crinos form woven into that weapon. For thousands of years, I have been forced to stand witness as pieces of my own body were used to harm and kill my own brethren."

"Until today. Until these four released me."

"But more remain. Many of the Wyrmwolves who oppose you are armed with weapons wound with the teeth of Gaia's chosen. I ask these four, if they are willing, to continue their work and hunt for these weapons, reclaim the teeth woven into them, and return them to the tribe of my blood. If they will render this service to me, to my kin, to the Nation, in return I will offer the patronage of the Totem I served, and who protected me, in all the days of my so very life long ago."

And behind him rises a towering, awe-inspiring avatar of Elephant who raises his trunk and blasts an ear-splitting trumpets into the night-sky. 


Danica stood, eyes wide, but smile present and grinning, enjoying every moment as she stood with the others and beheld the visitation of the elder spirit and the blasting thunder from the risen Elephant spirit that heralded the return of He Who Dares the Burning Sands.

Of course, she wasn't so reckless as to actually  speak  at this time; she knew that was not her place. The Ritemaster was the 'leader' in this situation, it was from their words and directions that things would unfold. But that didn't mean she couldn't look like she was having the time of her life.
Kaworu
Samuel also stood up, looking with awe at the spirit of Garou and the Elephant totem spirit behind him. He did not want to intrude with his voice, but he nodded his head energetically, giving signs that it would be his greatest honor to liberate other spirits bound to Shadow Dancer's totems, and to form a pack under the titelage of Elephant. Nobody should ever suffer so much and for so long. To offer salvation to other troubled souls... this was a calling of great moral value. He would be so grateful to be able to dedicate himself for something so noble. A beautiful thing in his very eyes.
Kish
 
 Originally Posted by truemane 
  MEHGAN 

One of the other members of the pack, a petite matronly looking woman with a Mediterranean complexion, laughs at Meghan's question. "You take a great risk asking the Sunshine Sirens to regale you of our encounters with the Kindred. You might as well ask the ocean for some water!"

They all laugh in response.

And then, for however much time Meghan feels like enduring it, the Black Furies share stories about hunting vampires, finding vampires, tracking vampires, killing vampires. They are also very interested in hearing any stories Meghan has to share as well.

If she does share anything about her desire for diplomacy, they are interested in the specifics of negotiating with the Leeches, but dismissive of overall attempts at co-existence. "If you had the power to end them all, you would, wouldn't you? And so if we have the power to end some, why feel differently?"

If Meghan does stay and join in the storytelling, and generally comports herself as someone worthy of trust and inclusion, after some the pack pauses and shares a heavy look. There is a feeling of consensus, and Anjela leans over to Mehgan.

"Tell me, Child of Gaia, have you ever heard tell of an  Abomination ? A Garou who has allowed itself to be turned into one of the undead? Foul, horrid, hateful, disgusting, dangerous creatures. While we are happy to aid the Nation in its hour of need, the reason we are here is that we have heard tell there is such a thing in Chicago. And it is our intention that, whatever else may befall, we will destroy it."

 
 Spoiler: OOC 
You can decide whether or not Meghan knows what an Abomination is, and/or what she knows about them.
 
 
 

Meghan participates freely in exchanging stories, and doesn't try to sway the Furies from their view on vampires, though they can certainly tell that she regrets the failure of her diplomatic attempts, and still shudders at the memory of the one extended conversation she had with a vampire who seemed, even when battle began, both intelligent and friendly to Meghan--and utterly dismissive toward humans.

When the Fury tells her of an Abomination, she raises an eyebrow. "I am surprised that such a thing is possible....I suppose that since it can be done, it makes sense that some among the Black Spirals would seek it out."

 Then the time comes for Mehgan, Danica, Caliban and Samuel to be Called. They stand and declare themselves a Pack. And, when the Ritemaster asks what Totem they wish to watch over them, there's a burst of light and suddenly the ghostly form of a Garou stands in the ring of the Caern. His clothing and accessories look ancient and exotic.

 "Once, in the mists of days before my people crossed the Bridge of Ice to this land and became the Uktena, I was named  He Who Dares the Burning Sands . I was captured and slain by servants of the Wyrm and the teeth of my Crinos form woven into that weapon. For thousands of years, I have been forced to stand witness as pieces of my own body were used to harm and kill my own brethren."

"Until today. Until these four released me."

"But more remain. Many of the Wyrmwolves who oppose you are armed with weapons wound with the teeth of Gaia's chosen. I ask these four, if they are willing, to continue their work and hunt for these weapons, reclaim the teeth woven into them, and return them to the tribe of my blood. If they will render this service to me, to my kin, to the Nation, in return I will offer the patronage of the Totem I served, and who protected me, in all the days of my so very life long ago." 

And behind him rises a towering, awe-inspiring avatar of Elephant who raises his trunk and blasts an ear-splitting trumpets into the night-sky. 

Meghan gasps and bows her head. "We would be honored to accept this charge, noble He Who Dares The Burning Sands."
MrAbdiel
 KEEPER 

Caliban bristles (or would if he had hair to bristle) at Keeper's rebuke. He had borne Sightless-Remain's displeasure and sullen disposition after depriving her of a chance to fiddle with the Spiral fetish, and having a  second  Metis deny what he felt was the implicit kinship of their breed to guard themselves stuck in him like a splinter.

He ought not to have expected much with Keeper. Caliban had some positive interactions with Red Talons in his life, but never this close to a city. And there had been plenty of less positive interactions, with the wolf-bound tribe unable or unwilling to accept the responsibility they had to Gaia's upright children. He had hoped Keeper would be different, possessed of an ecumenical wisdom given by his breed.. but he was a Talon, and Talons are not a friendly bunch. The reptile stillness of the gaze upon him is unpleasant, and with the decay of diplomacy, he lets his own smile fade to a disappointed grimace.

 "As long as your pack's  job  is in concert with the Nation's movements here, and not a flight of Griffon's fancy, there will be no problem. I hope they are as clever as you believe them to be." 
 ELEPHANT'S ELECTION 

Caliban senses  He Who Dares The Burning Sands  movement in the penumbra a moment before his great arrival. An ancient Uktena ancestor, one who predates even their tribal adoption of that spirit! the old wolf shivers once with the validation of his decision to give the remnants to the Alaskan Uktena - it seems to be proving out.

The spirit's tale fascinates him. Such an ancient time dwarfs the Strider's clan history, whose ancient days refer to the Nile kingdoms many many thousands of years past the time when the Pure Ones migrated to the Americas. What spirit was their patron, before Uktena took them in? Who was Older Brother's keeper, in an age when humanity was such a small and fragile feature of the world that the Garou protected them - before even the Impergium had become instituted, and all the things that would follow. Long before the White Howlers became the Black Spiral Dancers, when it was impossible to imagine an entire tribe of Garou would be lost, let alone lost to the Wyrm. But the Wyrm had always been working, even in those times; and the fallen packs and individuals were capable of making such blasphemies. But to have one's spirit bound, trapped, for so long as the Wyrm gained strength and the Weaver went mad and the tribes began to kill each other and dwindle in power...

He cannot imagine a fate worse.

Now, they were free. Freeing  He Who Dares the Burning Sands  had been their chiminage, and the favor of ancient Elephant, whose furred and towering ancestors had braced that Great Winter also, was reward.

 "You honor us, ancient one. We accept; let Elephant's strength and wisdom lift and guide is in the war to come." 
truemane
 THE MOOT 

With no small amount of wonder and elation (and some trepidation, and maybe even a little jealousy), the four are bound into a back under the stewardship of Elephant.

The War Council continues, with packs being assigned to their teams and given their direction.

The Stormwardens (as the pack came to be named, at the suggestion of the Ritemaster) are assigned to Team Silver, and will be charged with entering the city and striking at the kindred in their havens.

"You will enter the city and go to the Lincoln Park Zoo. There you will meet with one of our Kinfolk, Susan. She will lead you to a safehouse you can use as a base of operations while you are in Chicago."

"We have made contact with a Glass Walker still in the city, named Kelly Patterson. She will provide some information to you about the resting place of several Leeches. You must strike them swiftly and surely, after dawn. You must stake them and cut off their heads and burn the corpses."

"Team Alpha will join you when you have completed your task, (and, hopefully, haver completed theirs). And then, as one force, in one voice, in one strike, we will march on the Fanum, free it from the grasp of the Black Spiral Dancers, and re-bind Jupiter."

A long pause.

"You must take extreme care not to be seen by the enemy, or the enemies agents. If any word was given to the Leeches about the locations or identities of our remaining Kinfolk, or the safehouse, the results would be disastrous."

And with that, the Moot was ended and the Revel begun. And dozens of Garou sprinted out into the forest to hunt spirits and animals. And there were farms all around the forest, filled with fat and complacent sheep.


 THE NEUTRAL 

Hours later, as the Revel was winding down, and the Garou were starting to drift back to the Sept to rest before their missions, the Stormwardens were walking along the forest road toward the gates, when a massive black wolf shambled toward them from the trees.

Several yards away, it paused and transformed into a man. The transformation did not look at all when a Garou does it. When a Garou transforms, it looks natural and gradual. Almost as though the lupus and homid were the same thing viewed from different angles. But this looked like wax melting and reforming. It looked unnatural.

"My name is Antius. I am the spokesman for Clan Gangrel of Chicago. I need safe passage to your caern and to speak to your leaders immediately."
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 

Danica was in a visibly good mood, her smile broad, a skip in her step as she spoke to the others in quiet, excited tones. Like the others, she felt the rush of spiritual power course through her body when great Elephant had bound a sliver of itself to them, body and soul, and joined them as a pack.

  "Elephant - a ****ing elephant! Je n'en reviens pas! Haha!"   

But her mood quickly shifted when the... thing  emerged in the distance, it's shapeshifting being that of a wyrm-tainted mockery of the true, Gaian method of shifting forms. It was hardly surrpising then that it revealed itself to be one of the most numerous, but powerful of the Wyrms minions, direct or otherwise: a vampire. Immediately, Danny's mood changed, her eyes giving a sweep of the surrounding trees. So the vampires knew where their Caern was?

  "Cyka Blyat..."  

 "My name is Antius. I am the spokesman for Clan Gangrel of Chicago. I need safe passage to your caern and to speak to your leaders immediately." 

Danica stepped forward, rolling her shoulders once.

  "Get lost on your way to your next rave, fangling? Might have escaped your notice but we're not exactly on speaking terms these days!"   she yelled out to him, ensuring her voice was heard.

  "Tell you what, mon ami, you tell us what's got your panties in a twist...and if we like your story, you can wait here with us while we send for one of them, and we  don't  wish-bone you into five different pieces and leave you out for the sun - how about that?"  
MrAbdiel
 
 Spoiler: OOC: 
I'm still sweating about those sick wolves, but at this point insisting on dealing with that feels like I'm dragging my heels and stopping the story from advancing; so Truemane, if you're happy to say we give those wolves some food and medicine and let someone who dwells in the Caern know to check up on them, I'm happy to consider that responsibility discharged and we can leave it behind!
 


Caliban worries at the idea of the Get and the Talons going on operation together - two violent clans with no moderating force - but they are best directed there, rather than into Chicago. It's the second part of the plan, when everyone is going into Chicago proper, that some extra concern must be given for the collateral damage. One thing at a time. Going into battle with the Black Furies would be another thing again.

He wonders, somewhat irrationally, if he is related to any of the Sunshine Sisters. His mother had gone on to have legitimate children after she had left; when he reconciled to her, she was very maternally proud and able for the first time to extend some of that pride to him. Perhaps some of those kinfolk-children had children, and those children (or grandchildren) bore true Garou. The Black Furies had asked him not to seek those connections, and he had honoured the request.

But he wondered, from time to time.

Then came Antius, with his bid for unusual diplomacy. Did he know - of all the packs he might have ever encountered - this one was the one he was most likely to stumble into for a fair hearing? Did he know if he had come any earlier in the evening he would have interrupted the Great Hunt and certainly been killed?

Like all Garou, his first instinct scenting the wyrmspawn vampire was murderous, and the rage the bubbled up (especially in the Crinos form he had adopted during the hunt) to facilitate the act... But the Theurge was a creature of patterns.

Antius - the vampire said it with the latin  -ius  like a Roman name, but the sound rounded similarly enough to Antaeus, the mighty-man, demigod who was the son of Poseidon and Gaea, ultimately slain by Heracles, son of Zeus.

Son of Gaea, Son of Zeus... of Jupiter. Fanum. Wyrm. Red Storm. The elements whirled in his head, circumstance and pattern colliding and undulating, without revealing their purpose. Ultimately, he did not know if the name was a sign by which to know something.

But the sheer brass on the vampire for wandering up this way was worthy of at least a small measure of regard.

Caliban listens - but he turns his attention outward, to the surrounds. This is a matter of diplomacy between two worlds for which Shreds-Leeches was ideally equipped; with Samuel to advise toward hope and restraint and Danica to advise towards action and decision. The old wolf's senses were best turned to the trees, and the umbra echo of them, for sound and sign of the vampire's packmates, if any - or else Garou who might see this entente and make accusations.
Kish
"Our leaders..." Meghan pauses, "are currently uninclined to speak to any vampires. If you know something that might change that, you should tell us. I'm sure you'll understand that taking you into the caern and taking responsibility for your behavior there will take more than your say-so." She looks around for any other vampires.

 
 Spoiler: OOC 
Upon reflection, the results of using Sense Wyrm will only affect Meghan's tone.
 
Kaworu
Samuel sighed deeply. Personally, he was all in for diplomacy, but relations between vampires and Garou were always… complicated. Right now even more so.

- Please, listen – he waved his hands in front of him in a non-agressive gesture – Vampires, your folks, just attacked us. Right now, our possibility of friendly cooperation is even lesser than in times or normalcy – and even then it would be almost impossible. You certainly cannot get to the other Garous… werewolves? - he asked, not sure if the vampire knew the term – It would certainly kill you. What others are saying is basically right – give us all the information you wanna pass to our kind, and we will do what we can. But getting there personally? It’s a total death wish. No offense – he put a weak smile on his face.

- Does that solution satisfy you? - he asked, wondering what information pieces and needs the vampire had.
truemane
Antius seems slightly taken aback at the responses to his request. He shies back a half-step from Danica and pulls his jacket tighter around himself, almost defensively. His expression sours. He's clearly used to being the scary one in any given gathering.

"I know we're not speaking at the moment. That's why I'm here. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't need safe passage. Or ask for it from Lupines I don't recognize. But the situation is... perilous at the moment." He gestures, broadly indicating an entire forest filled with angry, hyped-up Garou on the hunt.

He pauses. It's the kind of pause that would probably be a sigh for someone with lungs.

"You understand hierarchy, right? Chain of Command? My 'Alpha' has ordered me to deliver an extremely important message to yours. Well, not  yours , maybe, but your Caern's. If you are all planning to enter the city (and that is certainly what it looks like) then delivering or not delivering the message could save lives, and possibly mean the difference between success and failure. For you."

Another would-be-a-sigh pause.

"I can't say more. Not to you. I need to speak to Sebastian. If you won't help me I'll have to find another pack that will."

His face shows clearly what he thinks of his odds of success there.
Kaworu
Samuel sighed again.

- I... really dunno about that - he commented - Is there a place where you could wait till we will present your offer to other Garous... em, Lupines? - he asked - Listen, we want to talk with you. Other of our kind? Not so. Certainly. I believe what you say is of importance and you should be presented to our leaders... but I also believe they will kill you on the spot, given the chance.

Another sigh.

- Do you have any smart idea about what do to in this situation? Or you simply hadn't anticipated that possibility? - he looked at the vampire with mixture of sadness and pity.
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 

Danica's grin was bright, broad and predatory. She showed teeth and brought her hands to her hips, stepping forward and keeping her eyes on the vampire, trusting her companions to spot any ambushers that may be lurking in the surrounding woods.

  "Your 'Alpha' ?"   she repeated, clearly entertained by the Vampires attempt at reducing his language to a level her lowly wolf brain could understand.

  "Sebastian huh?"   The words rolling out of Danica's mouth with a menacing ambiguity as to whether she liked or distrusted his individually see such an person.   "About yay tall,"   she held her right hand out to her side to Sebastians height,   "dark and stormy countenance?"   she smirked,   "Yeah I know him. You understand, spiritual families, yes?"   she asked, her tone clearly replicating the vampire's attempt to inquire if she knew about 'hierarchies' and the chain of command.

  "He is my 'clanmate'",   she kept that grin, using Antuis' tone.

  "And he didn't get to where he is by trusting random vampires that walked in off the street during war time. Feel me?"  

She allowed a pause to linger in the air, tilting her head back and to the side slightly, eyes fixed on the Gangrel, before flicking her pink lips.

  "Tell you what, Antius. You've bought our attention - for now. Here's what's gunna happen: one of us is going to go and tell Sebastian about this offer. The rest of us will stay with you. Trust me when I say that's for your own good. Any other wolves that come across us here, we can set them straight. But you wander in there and they don't like what you have to say...well...you'll look nice on the mantle in an urn at least..hah hah hah..."   she laughed darkly.

Turning her head to look over at the other three, she spoke at a normal tone,   "who wants to go and get Sebastian? Tell him I'm here with the leach; Antuis is his name, they're anticipating moves and could have important info that could prevent a lot of us and them getting killed, but they'll only speak to Sebastian. Samuel - think you're up for it?"  
Kaworu
-  I could  - Samuel confirmed. There was not much more he could say.
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 

 
 Originally Posted by Kaworu 
 -  I could  - Samuel confirmed. There was not much more he could say. 
 


Danny nodded, her lips pursed in away that denoted appreciation.

  "Be as quick as you can."  
Kaworu
-  Of course  - he said, then turned into a wolf and went back, really fast.
Kish
The others already doing what she would have advised, Meghan decides that her best approach is to let the vampire decide whether her remaining silent denotes that she's detached or stupid. She keeps her face as expressionless as possible.
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 

Danny watched as Samuel took off, shifting down into his swifter lupus form to retrieve Sebastian as quick as he could.

Sneaking a look over at Meghan and then at Caliban, ensuring they were on the level, the Shadow Lord noted the Child of Gaia's dispassionate countenance, taking it as a sign of approval or acceptance of the tactic employed.

  "So, Antuis,"   Danny spoke, turning back to face the leach, her Cali accent evident,   "U tebya yest' yaytsa, brat! How's Fangland in the Windy City? Been thinking about hitting up some bars to throw down a few gigs—know any spots worth checking out?  

She was gambling that if she could keep him talking, the time would seem go faster.
MrAbdiel
Caliban grumbled, a rattle sound from his scarred throat, and paced off his idle energy nearby. He did not care to share words with the vampire, and it seemed the decision to parley in some form had been landed on by the pack. He respected it - suspected it was the right decision. But he wouldn't do it himself, if he could help it. Instead, he paced, and kept watch... and committed to memory the particular signature of scene this Gangrel, this corpse-wolf imposter, carried with him so he could recognise it and track it back the way it came, as required.
truemane
Antius shuffles in place, looking uncomfortable.

"Might not be the best time to look for work in Chicago. Not the best environment for Lupines." A rueful chuckle. "Or Kindred."

His gaze rests on Caliban for a long, pregnant moment. His face shows nothing but his eyes widen a bit. Interest? Disgust? Surprise? Hard to say.

Just then there are footsteps to one side and four large, shaggy, grey-white Crinos lope into the clearing. It is the Fenrir pack, Bleak Hammer. All of them bear scars on their chests and limbs (quite a few of which appear ceremonial). And all of them sport numerous gold and silver decorative pieces.

The Alpha steps out and his lip curls back in a snarl and a low, hostile growl leaks from his throat.

"So," he says, voice low and slow, his Crinos form struggling to form the thoughts and words. "We were right about you. You fooled the rest of them. Maybe sorcery. Maybe lies. Or maybe your friend here helped with his filthy leech Charms. But you did not fool us. Gaia's pure soldiers see clear. Bleak Hammer sees clear."

His hand drops down to the sheathed Klaive at his waist.

"Move from the Leech. Or you will be moved."
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 

Danica's perked an eyebrow at the vampires words, giving a faint and subtle nod in recognition of his little joke under the circumstances. But there was a hint at something else there, his mention that the bars weren't safe 'for kindred either'. What did he mean by that?

When the Fenrir arrived, however, the Shadow Lords eyes swiveled in her sockets to behold them, before turning her head. On their own, they were a magnificent sight; massive, sleek, muscled and powerful, their deep grey coats marking them apart from the common ruddy, brown fur of most Garou, and giving them a distinct and menacing appearance, like giant wolves from the ice age made manifest.

Much like the midnight black of the Shadow Lords.

But, having grown up around Fenrir, Danica knew it'd be suicide to act surprised and falter or get defensive, as that would only enflame their suspicious and bolster their accusations.

So instead, she played along.

  "About time you lot made yourself useful!"   Danica spoke, taking a step towards the pack of hulking Get of Fenris.

  "This leach 'ere says he has something important to say to Sebastian that could prevent a bunch of us and them getting killed for no glory or reason. So Samuel, you know the soft kid with us? We sent him to go fetch him and bring him back.

If Sebastian doesn't like what he has to say, he's all yours. Chase'im down and tie'im spread eagled before an incoming Mack truck for all I ****in' care.

But if he does...well, there's no glory or honour in depriving the Sept Leader of due reconnaissance, is there?"  

She then visibly looked at the Klaives and blades they were slowly withdrawing from scabbards, nodding in approval.

  "Good. Keep those out just in case."  

Turning back to look at Antuis.

  "Know who these fellas are? You better be tellin' the truth, because gettin' out of here alive means keeping them happy,"   she motions to the Get of Fenris.

  "And they're happy if Sebastians happy. Ain't that right?"   the Shadow Lord turned her head to face the Get of Fenris, the implication clear as day in her words: Sebastian wants every advantage he can get, leave judgement of this one up to him, or he'll have your hides.
MrAbdiel
Caliban heard the Get approaching early, but not early enough to do anything about it. Making a big show of reacting would only insinuate guilt - and they had done nothing wrong.

But the old wolf straightened up visibly when the Get Alpha began making his comments about having “fooled” people, with the aid of “sorcery”. The unexplicated fullness of this suggestion was that they - the Thunder Wardens, minted with an ancient totem in the eyes of Sept and visitor with the praise of the living and the dead - were Wyrm collaborators. Rage flashed in his heart, and he almost let slip what he wanted to say - that the Get should make his accusations with a full throat instead of coy palaver.

But Danica stepped in, and just as well. He heard the Get’s arm slide toward his klaive.

Would he really draw silver on Garou, on such a flimsy suspicion - and on the sacred night of the Moot, no less?

Caliban restrained himself… and let Danica, and Meghan, talk. Insulted as he was, he had no desire to draw the lunatic blows of the Get.
Kish
"You are free to wait with us, if you think that is the best use of your time," Meghan follows up. "Should he prove hostile I think all of us would be overkill for one Leech." She considers, and discards, shifting to Glabro; sending a message that she's even noticed the Fenrir's threat seems unwise.
truemane
The large, grey Crinos pauses for a long moment after Danica finishes speaking. His wolf's eyes move back and forth, cold and considering.

"Reconnaissance," he says in a voice dripping with contempt. "A  monkey  word for a  monkey  tribe who bends ears to Leeches. A true Garou would die clean before living dirty."

Another long pause.

"But not all hold the Ways as the Get do. And for good or ill, the Monkeys rule here."


 "You are free to wait with us, if you think that is the best use of your time.." 

He looks over at Meghan and back to Antius.

"We will not interfere. But we will have none of it. Make 'ware, Leech. The next time we meet I will not be stayed by words."

And with that he stalks away and the others follow.

A moment or two later, Samuel arrives with Sebastian (looking very uncomfortable). It is clear the two have met before but neither seems anxious to say that out loud.

Antius (thoroughly over this entire situation), tells him. "I just came to tell you that the Kindred of Chicago have thoroughly lost their minds over all this. Whoever orchestrated the attack on the Succubus Club, I know it wasn't you."

"My Clan has not taken part in the attacks. We had nothing to do with the Fanum. And we will not take part in the war to come. We will defend ourselves if necessary, but we will not help either side in any way. The Kindred of my Clan will make this sign..."

He holds his arms over his head, left hand grasping his right wrist.

"...to indicate our neutrality. And we will mark ourselves and our havens with that sign to mark ourselves as Clan Gangrel. If you keep the peace, so will we."

He looks from Garou to Garou and looks once in the direction the Get exited.

"Will you all hold the line? I am trusting you. And my people are in danger if that trust is misplaced."
Kish
"Wait, someone attacked your...Succubus Club? Some elaboration is required." Meghan's voice ripples a little when she says "Succubus Club" as she stops herself from laughing.  A vampire hangout called the Succubus Club? Isn't that a little too on-the-nose? Do we have a restaurant called Riding Hood's Diner which I'm unaware of? 
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 


Danica watched quietly as the Get alpha had to get his last few words of insult in. As a Shadow Lord, and a Galliard, she knew all about it; he had to save face. He couldn't openly accept her position, he had to mock it and leave be in order to maintain his position and not look weak before his pack, while not escalating the situation and stepping on the toes of the Caern leader.

But that didn't mean Danny didn't internally sigh in relief when they departed. Of  all  the current packs on the roster, it had to be  that one  that came across - just her luck! The Fenrir were fantastic warriors of Gaia, they had no equal, but Danica knew they had to be handled, and guided, with great care to optimise their impact. Furthermore, they were nowhere near as simple and blunt as many thought them to be, and as one of the most cosmopolitan oc the tribes, they had a longer reach than most knew. Danica always kept this in mind when dealing with them.

But, still, they were leaving. That was enough for now.

And then Sebastian rocked up and Antuis spoke further.

Once again, Danny remained quiet. Tribal decorum mandated that she remain so while the leader, Sebastian, was spoken to, so that they could provide a united front as him wielding the authority of alpha and she a loyal adherent. However, she was fascinated.

  So there  was  dissent among the ranks,   she thought to herself. Assuming, of course, we can buy his story and this isn't just a big misinformation ploy.

Though, given how close Antuis had just come to ending up as Vampire sushi, a pretty risky one.

So while Antuis and Sebastian spoke, Danica played her role in the Shadow Lord hierarchy and remained quiet by Sebastians side, watching the vampire, then swiveling her eyes towards Sebastian to see what his reaction would be.
MrAbdiel
 "An attack on a vampire shelter and a Garou Caern in the same span, leaving only mystery to the motives of the attackers, in realm where a long and uneasy truce has held between both sides..? One must immediately imagine a third party seeks to profit from a war. Some... coaltion between the Spirals and vampire renegades who seek to throw down the local domain?" 
 Domain  is about as technical a word from the vampire lexicon as Caliban knows (and he's using it imperfectly as is), but he has a decent idea of the way the leeches operate within cities. They have their packs and their tribes and their alphas, and their domain-ruling potentates. And they more fractious and disparate in ideology than the Garou, bickering and warring between tribes and coalitions of tribes. Pieces of the puzzle clicked gently into place in his mind. The theurge suspends his discomfort long enough to ask his questions.

 "This... club. Your kindred were attacked. Was the club lost to your enemies? Does it house something... important? Powerful? Something worth protecting?" 
truemane
 "Wait, someone attacked your...Succubus Club? Some elaboration is required." 

His mouth quivers in a half-smile, half-frown. "Yes, it's stupid. I didn't name it. For immortal masters of intrigue, Kindred can sometimes be astoundingly obtuse."

Antius' gaze flits to Caliban as he speaks.

"I don't know how well you understand Kindred, and this isn't the time or place for a tutorial. But my people will still have to live in Chicago when this over. We can just about manage that, having bowed out of the war. But not if I help you with it."

A pause.

"I agree with you...  wolf . Lupines struck first, but the response on our part was, and is, absolute insanity. Both from those who ordered it and those who followed. There's talk that it stems from a.... division... at the top level of our power structure. But that doesn't ring true to me. Kindred power structures are always divided. I can't imagine the power play that profits from all this. So there must be something else at work here. An external influence. I just can't imagine what. Or who."

He takes a couple of steps back toward the trees.

"That's why we're sitting this one out. The Gangrel won't be prey or catspaws. We will honour the truce, even if no one else will. And by my count, we make up roughly half the Kindred in Chicago. With us out of the way, your path to the rest is clearer."

And with that, his humanoid form turns ghostly and whispy and transforms into a thick, green-tinged mist and drifts up into the air and out of sight.


 THE MOOT REDUX 

Sebastian and the Shadow Lords re-convene the Nation and tell them what Antius said. There was a great deal of shouting and argument and debate about what it could mean and what they should do. There was a lot of passive-aggressive digs at the seeming alliance between the Sept and the Leeches, and a few thinly-veiled accusations of collaboration.

Bleak Hammer lurked at the very edges of the moot, silent.

Eventually Sebastian's word carried the day. "For no reason except that it can potentially save Garou lives and allow us a better chance of ending the conflict and regaining the Fanum, we will respect the Leeches' offer. No Garou will strike a Leech making, or bearing, the sign of neutrality. But all Garou may defend themselves if attacked."

Just as the Moot was about to be closed, the Alpha of the Fenrir stood to be recognized.

"We accept the will of the Council and the Nation. But we believe there is something dark here. Something foul and rotten. If it be Gaia's will that we cleanse her of Leeches, so be it. If it be her will that we cleanse her of Black Spiral Dancers, so be it. And if it be her will that we cleanse her of those who pollute her in secret, then so be it. Bleak Hammer will not seek the Wyrmhole. We will leave that to the Shadow Lords, who clearly already know it so well."

"Bleak Hammer will enter the city. We will strike at the the enemy wherever it lives and breeds. And we will not shy away from taking the fight to any who get in our way."


   END OF PART ONE   
MrAbdiel
   Interlude   

Back at the Sept, as each pack gathers its members to itself to sleep away the early morning hours and then get about the work of defending Gaia, Caliban finds opportunity to speak with each of his new packmates alone.

 With Samuel... 

While Meghan and Danica are otherwise engaged, the old Strider works to speak with the young Glasswalker. Both Garou are positive by nature, but the cultural gulf between them is massive. Soon, they will be fighting and bleeding for each other again - and the old Strider can't shake the feeling he has something more important to pass to Samuel, before this is over.

 "I... have been to your homeland, once."  He offers, his homid voice a rough croak as always, and he coughs into his hand in fruitless effort to clear it.  "Or... Maybe not. Before the great war, it was. Before the reconstitution, and the borders." 

He halts after that, uncertain of whether or not it is polite to speak of such a time. He tries again.

 "The corrupted fetish - you were very concerned about doing right by the dead. There are many dead, in Poland. Many wars and empires in the soil. Is it important to the people there, to honor the dead? Even today?" 
 With Meghan... 

He catches their Alpha's attention in a moment while the others are at their own tasks. Garou follow their leader - yet they know so little of each other that instinct has had to substitute for trust. It may not always be enough.

 "You did well to hold your ground, against the Get. They have no respect for you - you know that, certainly. And we are fortunate to have a Galliard of such glibness as Danica. When they were reaching for their silver, I had a mind to provoke their leader's pride - not to attack, but to duel you, rather than us all go pack-to-pack."  He pauses, shuffling on the log beside the campfire; takes out a crackled old white plastic pill bottle, shakes it. With no rattle, he feels on the ground by his feet for a pebble, pops it into the bottle, shakes it. Rattle rattle. Tips what is now a little round white pill from the bottle to his palm, and dry swallows it.

 "Do you think you could have taken their Alpha, fang to fang? I would have made the argument that weapons would dishonor the moot, to keep the silver out of it. But we may have a conflict very similar with the Bleak Hammer again, in the city. Do you think you could prevail, against him?" 
 With Danica... 

While Meghan and Samuel are elsewise occupied, Caliban hunkers near the Galliard. He had hovered in her vicinity earlier in the moot when she had occasion to play her instrument for the homids. At the time, he had lingered at the periphery with an expression on his face like an optimistic old man at in an unfamiliar place. He had grown up in a time and a place where music came only when, by fortune, a musician wandered by the Caern, or a man played a flute in a market unaccompanied for coins. Music had a rareness to it that made it seem like a transcendent wealth and historical treasure together. He'd fancied his voice fair enough, before he'd lost his throat at Beersheeba. Now he could whistle to birds, but the closest and most common thing to music he knew was the tambourine he used in ritual, and that was more ecstatic than melodic. As Danica's amp had growled out its wild modern sounds, Caliban's old hands had flinched more than once toward his swagbag as if he would grab the tambourine and try to figure some kind of accompaniment. But it was not his gift, so he listened, instead, to the incomprehensible sounds of the electric guitar and tried to square them, however abstractly, to his memories of music heard throughout his long and varied life.

 "Did you teach yourself to play the instrument...? Or did you attend a school for music?" 
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 

 
 Originally Posted by MrAbdiel 
  With Danica... 

While Meghan and Samuel are elsewise occupied, Caliban hunkers near the Galliard. He had hovered in her vicinity earlier in the moot when she had occasion to play her instrument for the homids. At the time, he had lingered at the periphery with an expression on his face like an optimistic old man at in an unfamiliar place. He had grown up in a time and a place where music came only when, by fortune, a musician wandered by the Caern, or a man played a flute in a market unaccompanied for coins. Music had a rareness to it that made it seem like a transcendent wealth and historical treasure together. He'd fancied his voice fair enough, before he'd lost his throat at Beersheeba. Now he could whistle to birds, but the closest and most common thing to music he knew was the tambourine he used in ritual, and that was more ecstatic than melodic. As Danica's amp had growled out its wild modern sounds, Caliban's old hands had flinched more than once toward his swagbag as if he would grab the tambourine and try to figure some kind of accompaniment. But it was not his gift, so he listened, instead, to the incomprehensible sounds of the electric guitar and tried to square them, however abstractly, to his memories of music heard throughout his long and varied life.

 "Did you teach yourself to play the instrument...? Or did you attend a school for music?"  
 



Danica had been packing her guitar up when the eldest member of her new pack approached her, his question surprisingly mundane, in the grand scheme of things.

With a slight sheen of sweat across her bare, well-muscled shoulders, Danica turned to face him, her smile broad and inviting in that casual way she had. She wore her yellowed blonde hair up in a pair of thick braids that hung from the side of her head, while the opposite side was shaved, accentuating her angular face.

  
"The school of hard knocks, maybe? Hah hah hah"   she chuckled at her own dad joke.

  "Picked up my first guitar when I was nine years old, and I've rarely put'em down since. Guitar, bass, drums - I've dabbled in keyboards a bit too; there's some electronic stuff that was hitting the scene back in LA the past few years I was getting into. That and running my ice hockey team back home got me a scholarship offer to UCLA - but...this comes first,"   she gestured to the Cearn around them, and the social and spiritual fabric of the Garou Nation and the Gaian Earth Mother as a whole.

  "What about you, old timer?"   she asked, reaching back to pick up her portable amp and guitar,   "Bet you've picked some stories up over the years! What are you, fifty or something?"  

Such questions could be sharply rude under other circumstances, but the matter-of-factly way she asked and the tone of her voice suggested no such intention to wound. Instead, she seemed merely curious, as she moved to the back of her car and popped the trunk of the large, clearly customised and heavily modified car:

 
 Spoiler 
  
 (minus the cop lights of course hehehe) 
 
 


The vehicle was a bit longer than most of its kind, likely owing to the backseats that had been installed. If Caliban dared to wonder why, it was likely that Danica had used this vehicle as a 'pack bus' before, needing the extra space to carry a few other pack-mates with her where-ever she went. This gave the vehicle a more heavyset, menacing appearance, its rear almost forming a thick pair of shoulders on a heavyweight boxer. Closer inspection would reveal the presence of a sub-woofer installed where the centre back-seat would usually be.

  "Yeah...guess I'm pack taxi huh? Hah hah hah!"   she laugehd again,   "unless you've got a drivers license and your 1990 Mazda hatchback parked nearby somewhere?"   she grinned in clear tease.
MrAbdiel
 Caliban Chats With Danica... 

Caliban tries to keep up with Danica's mile-a minute personality and reel of homid-life jokes. He's lived a long and varied life, so he's not totally left behind, and he laughs croakilly when he can - the paused, good natured laugh of a grandparent who  sort of  understands what a grandchild is jabbering about, and between that sort-of understanding and a general infusion of good will, is driven to laugh. But humans seem to change so rapidly from generation to generation. He had known wolves separated by a dozen generations and they lived and thought the same, with some variance for something like lupine personality. But humans changed so rapidly they seemed to practically go to war with their elders in some human tribes. That was much of the unease in the Garou nation - the strain of shifting, convulsing human dynamicism colliding with lupine simplicity and Garou tradition. Like many things, this, Caliban had pondered at length. In the end, he decided it was good that there was something about humans that was more 'Wyld' - shifting, fluid, adaptive - and something about wolves that was 'Weaver' - rigid, reliable, patterned. If it were another way, the two species might just fly off in opposite directions entirely.

But "are you fifty or something" makes him cough.

 "Hah. No, no. I have not been fifty since... fifty years, or so. Stories though - yes, these I have. Though most in other places - in lands now under the crown of Saud, and Arab-speaking places. The Greek Kingdom. Hungary. I was by the waters of lake Kodaya before the summons to this moot came. Lake Kodaya - India, I should say. Hrmm... The moonbridges take me where I need to go." 

He puts out a hand to the side of Danica's car, and rubs its passenger door as one might stroke an animal whose temperament they did not yet know.  "Hah... No, I have no automobile. The spirits have helped me master many things that are done by sight - navigating the world, fighting the wyrm - by scent and sound instead. But one can only drive by two senses - by sight, or by touch. And the first is much preferred, I think..." 

He lets that joke sit for a moment, supported by his awkward smile. It seems important to him that she finds it funny, so that he has given her back one of his jokes in exchange for hers. But it also seems that he is working up to something, which he gets around to.

 "You know... much music? I mean... Do you know only young human music, or older music? I was in the city London, in 1920. Spirits were murmuring - I worried a work of the Wyrm was taking place, and I was frustrated investigating. There was a... musical performance to be played at the Queen's Hall. I could not pass for a noble of the land, so I hid close by the building by craft, and listened through the wall. I came back many years later to the same place, hoping to hear it again - but by then the Hall was gone, burned up by German bombs."  He seems aware at how rambly the request is, and the old man rubs helplessly at his bald head.  "Do you... know any London music, from that year?" 
Kaworu
 Speaking with Caliban 

Samuel kinda didn’t know what to answer. He supposed he should tell the truth, but what it was?

-  Yes, dead are important for the Polish people. Some call it martydom, I dunno if I agree. But… we don’t really celebrate Halloween, you know? This is a very American tradition. In Poland, we have… hm… literal translation would be "Eve of All Saints". We visit then graves and light candles at the graves our of family members. And yes, Poland experienced a lot of suffering in recent years. Now that the CCCP has fallen and there is a talk of joining United Europe, I hope for a better future for my copatriots. 

-  But I cannot say completely that I behaved the way because of cultural differences. It simply seemed to be… apropriate actions to be taken? 
Kish
Rather than quickly seeking out someone to talk to or heading elsewhere when the Moot ends, Meghan ponders the Get's departure. In retrospect, it's not surprising, and probably the best feasible outcome that they leave rather than actually attacking anyone or explicitly saying they won't obey the judgment. Sebastian's position seems to have long been much more precarious than he appears to realize even now, but perhaps affecting total confidence is how he deals with that. She considers whether there was anything she might have said to the Fenrir that would have gotten a different result, but concludes that while there might be someone somewhere in the world who could convince them people who were not telling them what they wanted to hear weren't traitors, it's not anyone at the Moot.

 He catches their Alpha's attention in a moment while the others are at their own tasks. Garou follow their leader - yet they know so little of each other that instinct has had to substitute for trust. It may not always be enough.

"You did well to hold your ground, against the Get. They have no respect for you - you know that, certainly. And we are fortunate to have a Galliard of such glibness as Danica. When they were reaching for their silver, I had a mind to provoke their leader's pride - not to attack, but to duel you, rather than us all go pack-to-pack." He pauses, shuffling on the log beside the campfire; takes out a crackled old white plastic pill bottle, shakes it. With no rattle, he feels on the ground by his feet for a pebble, pops it into the bottle, shakes it. Rattle rattle. Tips what is now a little round white pill from the bottle to his palm, and dry swallows it.

"Do you think you could have taken their Alpha, fang to fang? I would have made the argument that weapons would dishonor the moot, to keep the silver out of it. But we may have a conflict very similar with the Bleak Hammer again, in the city. Do you think you could prevail, against him?" 

"It would certainly be worth trying for a duel, if they wouldn't back down," Meghan says. "I...hm. I honestly don't know. I haven't seen him fight. There are certain tactical advantages I could guess at from just the way he acts, but either one of us could quickly prove to simply be stronger and faster, if it came to that."
 
Not that she would have said this in the Fenrir's earshot; she reflects wryly one of those "certain tactical advantages" is that they would certainly interpret what she's saying as "I know I wouldn't have a chance." 
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 

 
 Originally Posted by MrAbdiel 
  Caliban Chats With Danica... 

Caliban tries to keep up with Danica's mile-a minute personality and reel of homid-life jokes. He's lived a long and varied life, so he's not totally left behind, and he laughs croakilly when he can - the paused, good natured laugh of a grandparent who  sort of  understands what a grandchild is jabbering about, and between that sort-of understanding and a general infusion of good will, is driven to laugh. But humans seem to change so rapidly from generation to generation. He had known wolves separated by a dozen generations and they lived and thought the same, with some variance for something like lupine personality. But humans changed so rapidly they seemed to practically go to war with their elders in some human tribes. That was much of the unease in the Garou nation - the strain of shifting, convulsing human dynamicism colliding with lupine simplicity and Garou tradition. Like many things, this, Caliban had pondered at length. In the end, he decided it was good that there was something about humans that was more 'Wyld' - shifting, fluid, adaptive - and something about wolves that was 'Weaver' - rigid, reliable, patterned. If it were another way, the two species might just fly off in opposite directions entirely.

But "are you fifty or something" makes him cough.

 "Hah. No, no. I have not been fifty since... fifty years, or so. Stories though - yes, these I have. Though most in other places - in lands now under the crown of Saud, and Arab-speaking places. The Greek Kingdom. Hungary. I was by the waters of lake Kodaya before the summons to this moot came. Lake Kodaya - India, I should say. Hrmm... The moonbridges take me where I need to go." 

He puts out a hand to the side of Danica's car, and rubs its passenger door as one might stroke an animal whose temperament they did not yet know.  "Hah... No, I have no automobile. The spirits have helped me master many things that are done by sight - navigating the world, fighting the wyrm - by scent and sound instead. But one can only drive by two senses - by sight, or by touch. And the first is much preferred, I think..." 

He lets that joke sit for a moment, supported by his awkward smile. It seems important to him that she finds it funny, so that he has given her back one of his jokes in exchange for hers. But it also seems that he is working up to something, which he gets around to.

 "You know... much music? I mean... Do you know only young human music, or older music? I was in the city London, in 1920. Spirits were murmuring - I worried a work of the Wyrm was taking place, and I was frustrated investigating. There was a... musical performance to be played at the Queen's Hall. I could not pass for a noble of the land, so I hid close by the building by craft, and listened through the wall. I came back many years later to the same place, hoping to hear it again - but by then the Hall was gone, burned up by German bombs."  He seems aware at how rambly the request is, and the old man rubs helplessly at his bald head.  "Do you... know any London music, from that year?"  
 


Danica's mouth gaped a little, her eyes widening a touch as she paused mid-packing.

  "Get...the **** out of here!"   she balked,   " you're  over a Century old? Whoa...that's pretty gnarly, dude. I don't even think I'll get to thirty, and you're here spitting the decades out like it's nothing special!"   she laughed in disbelief.

  "Wow...a hundred years old...that's some Mr Burns type **** right there!"   she uttered to herself as she finished managing her cars inventory, before Caliban reached out to drape his hand tentatively across the passenger side door of her car,   "hah, dude even sounds like it; an 'automobile'"  , Danica snickered, elocuting the word out deliberately, clearly in playful jest.

Her eyes suddenly snapped open as she turned to look at him,   "Dude is it true that like, you could buy a train ride, a pie, a cup of coffee, some cheesecake and have change left over from a nickel back in your day?"   she asked with hushed, excited reverence, as if Caliban were about to reveal some great secret to life, before gasping again softly,   "did you wear a monocle?"   she asked, seemingly serious.

  "Man...you're thinking about the Jazz Age..."   she trailed off and grinned, as much, much, much older wolf spoke about his time in the theatre. Or adjacent to it, at least.

  "'Queens Hall' sounds like some fancy English stuff; and at that time? Post WW1? Dozens of millions had just been slaughtered in trenches and even more died during the Spanish Flu, so people were kinda in the tubes you know? Bummer huh? So music shifted a lot towards Jazz, stuff that made people wanna move; something more optimistic and upbeat. If you heard it at a fancy hall with like...aristocrats and stuff in attendance?"   she snickered,   "probably something classical then, with a full on orchestra, my man."  

She then paused. Thinking.

  "Do I know anything from then..."   she trailed off.

The galliards eyes lit up.

Reaching back into the trunk of her car, she withdrew her guitar and plugged it back into the amp, before turning and sitting her rump into the storage compartment; legs out the back, feet dangling above the ground.

Looking at Caliban, she rested her instrument in her lap and slowly took her hands along the neck and  started to pluck some strings ...
MrAbdiel
 Caliban chats with Samuel... 

The old metis listens intently as Samuel indulges his question. It's not a trick question, of course. It's simply the nature of the Theurge to probe about matters spiritual in the lives of other Garou, and encourage such meditation ongoing.  "I know this day, yes. The Copts, with whom I have kinfolk, hold to it on a different day; similar traditions I expect, though there is much variety in the Nations. Perhaps, if we discover more relics from the Black Spiral Dancers, and we are not visited so fortuitously by their ancient spirit, we shall... take time to light candles for them, then." 

Caliban is a little clumsy in his efforts to connect with the young Garou, but he seems sincere all the same.

 "Here - will you help me with this...?"  He asks, feeling around with his foot by a great pile of branches set aside for the various packs to take to their bonfires. If Samuel is willing, he enlists the Glass Walker's help in picking the longest and least broken of the branches and sticks from the heap, and then to begin the puzzling task of trying to form some kind of shelter out of them. With just dry sticks and mats of long grass ripped from the ground, the process seems likely to be fruitless - but the old wolf is determined to try. As he continues to dragoon the youngster's help, he continues his queries.

 "I wonder... I heard it said that you were a very clever fellow; a man of natural sciences. Is it true...? I know at many schools and academies, the humans have great telescopes that permit them to see not only great distances, but also bodies beyond the dark of the sky. Do you know much... about Jupiter? Could you tell me?" 
 Caliban chats with Meghan... 

The old wolf nods, at the noncommittal answer. He might have preferred prideful certainty if it could be proven true later - but discretion was an unappreciated virtue by the Garou. A Get-Of-Fenris Ahroun, and a leader of a known pack, must necessarily be an extraordinarily dangerous foe.

 "Hnn. Well. You threw yourself at the Spiral champion with much valor, and suffered injury to deliver wrath. It does not strike me that it is in your nature, Meghan -"  he pauses slightly as he calls her by her human name rather than her deed name, having picked up that she does not seem to revel in the title,  "to seek to prove yourself to others. But if it were, you would already have done so. All the same... I wonder if it might not be wise for us, if there is time, to cast about a little about the Bleak Hammer, and their deeds, and the reputation of their Alpha." 

The old Strider shuffles a little on the log again; clearly less comfortable in homid form than in either lupus or metis, but requiring now the man-shape to speak, and to listen. He seems to be working up to something, but he isn't there yet; and he asks another question that is near, but not at, his point.

 "Which warrior taught you to fight?" 
 Caliban chats with Danica 

Caliban gives a faint smile at the Shadow Lord's amazement at his age - it's not unamazing, though he has found as much scorn for it as he has appreciation. How, after all, can a blind old wolf live so long except to have refused some of the dangers that claim better, younger, sighted Theurges all the time? How is he not, even as a metis, an elder in a sept by this time? He much prefers a reaction like Danica's. Though, of course, the Simpson's references are lost on him. He tries to answer her questions with full sincerity.

 "So many things, for such a small sum of money..? I do not know. I confess, my grasp of bargaining is not strong. And I grew up in Arab lands, in the Sept of Sweet Waters, near to Riyahd. There were fewer trains in such a place than in other nations. When I was still quite young, an Iron Rider passing through my Sept took me to ride the Hijazi train from Al-Madina to Al-Ula, but I found it... Ah... Very frightening. Loud, and fast, and disorienting. Iron Riders - that is what the Glass Walkers called themselves, at the time. But, ah... A monocle? No, no."  He taps his smudged sunglasses with his fingertips.  "I lost my eyes when I was five. I used to wear a blindfold, before I was given a pair of these." 

It occurs to Caliban that, through all this, Danica might not have noticed he was blind at all. Even in his war-form, he made an effort to hide the scars over his eyes; much of their brief adventures had been in cover of relative dark, and whenever he was walking as a man he had his sunglasses. Either way, she knew now, whatever she would make of it.

When she plays the guitar for him however, he becomes completely still and focused, head tilted slightly to put his left ear toward the amp. He doesn't dance - but his body does seem to react to the song with a shot of stirring energy like a dog gets when it perceives a sudden movement and suspects the time has come to play. He holds his clenched hands by his sternum, bobbing rhythmlessly at the shoulders and a knees, as the Shadow Lord noodles through the Charleston. When it is over, he puffs a wheezy little laugh.  "That isn't it, but I know that one, yes - I know its tune. It's in ... a film.."  His brow furrows, and he croaks under his breath like an incantation to stir his own memory.

   "Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, the big Charleston contest. The prize, a gen-u-ine loving cup. Those not tapped by the judges will remain on the floor. Let's go. I'm not very good at this. Neither am I. Okay, what can we lose? Hey, you're wonderful. What's the matter Othello? Jealous? Did you know there's a swimming pool under this floor? And did you know that button behind you causes this floor to open up? And did you further know that George Bailey is dancing right over that crack? I've got the key. They're cheering us, we must be good. Get out of there. What in - oh, well."   

He surfaces from his meditation.  "A very joyful song, I think. Thank you. But no, no - the one from the Queen's Hall is a work by a man called Holst. Devoted to Jupiter, you see? The song, I mean. I mean to continue to meditate on Jupiter, considering our charge. And there is something in that song that... Speak. But I suppose there are many thousands of songs - it may have been remarkable if you had known it, heh." 
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 

 
 Originally Posted by MrAbdiel 
  Caliban chats with Danica 

Caliban gives a faint smile at the Shadow Lord's amazement at his age - it's not unamazing, though he has found as much scorn for it as he has appreciation. How, after all, can a blind old wolf live so long except to have refused some of the dangers that claim better, younger, sighted Theurges all the time? How is he not, even as a metis, an elder in a sept by this time? He much prefers a reaction like Danica's. Though, of course, the Simpson's references are lost on him. He tries to answer her questions with full sincerity.

 "So many things, for such a small sum of money..? I do not know. I confess, my grasp of bargaining is not strong. And I grew up in Arab lands, in the Sept of Sweet Waters, near to Riyahd. There were fewer trains in such a place than in other nations. When I was still quite young, an Iron Rider passing through my Sept took me to ride the Hijazi train from Al-Madina to Al-Ula, but I found it... Ah... Very frightening. Loud, and fast, and disorienting. Iron Riders - that is what the Glass Walkers called themselves, at the time. But, ah... A monocle? No, no."  He taps his smudged sunglasses with his fingertips.  "I lost my eyes when I was five. I used to wear a blindfold, before I was given a pair of these." 

It occurs to Caliban that, through all this, Danica might not have noticed he was blind at all. Even in his war-form, he made an effort to hide the scars over his eyes; much of their brief adventures had been in cover of relative dark, and whenever he was walking as a man he had his sunglasses. Either way, she knew now, whatever she would make of it.

When she plays the guitar for him however, he becomes completely still and focused, head tilted slightly to put his left ear toward the amp. He doesn't dance - but his body does seem to react to the song with a shot of stirring energy like a dog gets when it perceives a sudden movement and suspects the time has come to play. He holds his clenched hands by his sternum, bobbing rhythmlessly at the shoulders and a knees, as the Shadow Lord noodles through the Charleston. When it is over, he puffs a wheezy little laugh.  "That isn't it, but I know that one, yes - I know its tune. It's in ... a film.."  His brow furrows, and he croaks under his breath like an incantation to stir his own memory.

   "Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, the big Charleston contest. The prize, a gen-u-ine loving cup. Those not tapped by the judges will remain on the floor. Let's go. I'm not very good at this. Neither am I. Okay, what can we lose? Hey, you're wonderful. What's the matter Othello? Jealous? Did you know there's a swimming pool under this floor? And did you know that button behind you causes this floor to open up? And did you further know that George Bailey is dancing right over that crack? I've got the key. They're cheering us, we must be good. Get out of there. What in - oh, well."   

He surfaces from his meditation.  "A very joyful song, I think. Thank you. But no, no - the one from the Queen's Hall is a work by a man called Holst. Devoted to Jupiter, you see? The song, I mean. I mean to continue to meditate on Jupiter, considering our charge. And there is something in that song that... Speak. But I suppose there are many thousands of songs - it may have been remarkable if you had known it, heh."  
 



The Shadow Lord sat in the back of her cars trunk, booted feet hanging out the back as she leaned into the trunk and looked up at Caliban, gripping her guitar against her.

  "Just...whoa, haha!"   she grinned and laughed.

  "Over a hundred years old   and  blind for most of them?"   she balked again, looking like a kid who had just been told Santa Claus was personally coming to dinner.

  "Just...how?"   Danica sighed, shaking her head again, before gesturing to Caliban with a shaking finger in a tell-you-what! gesture.   "You know, I read in a magazine, humans have among the  best  overall eyesight of any animal on earth? Amazing huh?

There's some grub in the ocean called a...what's it...some type of shrimp. It can snap its claws shut - "   she made the  Snap!  motion with her own to simulate it   "with such speed it's like getting shot by a rifle! It's got these crazy funk eyes that can see in like...ultraviolt light! But their eyes suck for actual  details  and long-range seeing stuff. Where-as things like eagles and hawks have the greatest visual  actuity . They can see the hair off your nuts from miles away, but they can't see many colors. But humans? Not as good as either one, but when it comes to the mixture of visual acuity, color perception and detail resolution? We have ever animal on this planet  beat !"   she hit her palm gently against her car in a signal of excitement.

  "When ya shift down into lupus you can smell everything, you can hear everything. But they've only got blue and yellow color receptors But the lupus I've been there to hear from, first time they take on homid form? They can  see  everything; it's like cataract surgery! Haha.  But!  They also have to get used to a slightly narrower field of vision!"  

The Shadow Lord trailed off, exhaling, looking at the much, much older wolf-man before her, shaking her head in sympathetic pity.

  "Dude....bummer."  
Kish
 Meghan and Caliban 

"Knowledge of the Bleak Hammer would certainly be worth gathering," Meghan agrees. "I wonder, though, about those whose agendas are not quite so obvious. The Shadow Lords hopefully Danica can learn about. The Silent Striders and the Uktena are unlikely to rush to unburden themselves to any of us."

"My combat teacher?" she repeats, clearly unprepared for this question. "Hm...I've had quite a few since my First Change actually. Most of them Children of Gaia. Why do you ask?"

She does not mention that she is pretty sure her combat ability now exceeds any of her former teachers.
Kaworu
 Talking with Caliban 

- Actually – added Samuel – these aren’t candles. The Polish name is "znicz". These are… hm… candle-like core inside of colorful plastic "cage", so to speak. This give the light various colors – green or red, per instance – and protect the "candle" inside from rain and wind. When the "znicze" burn at night at the cementery on the Eve of All Saints, the picture is really pretty. No such visual experience in US, though…

Samuel gently helped however he could, but was much more focused on talking.

- Jupiter? - he asked – Hm… I believe there are at least three different perspectives we could look at it – mythological, astronomical and astrological. None of it is my specialisation, but…

- Jupiter as a god was hold in high position in ancient Rome. I believe he was the local version of Zeus, but I can be wrong, I’m more familiar with Greek mythology than its Rome’s equivalent. You know, an old, bearded dude in the sky who was throwing lightning bolts? Father of Atena, husband of Hera?

- We can also talk of the planet Jupiter, the biggest gas giant in our Solar System. I do not think such perspective adds much, and besides, I am not a planetary scientist.

- There’s also Jupiter in astrology… you know, the belief that movements of stars and planets influence our future, personalities, behaviour etc. I think the spirit of Jupiter was called like that because of that perspective. I dunno much about that… but I believe that when Jupiter meets Saturn in the night sky, a great disaster will come. It… uh… apperently was like that during the Black Death in Europe? You know, a few centuries ago?

- I might search the Internet for Jupiter and astrology and tell you what is it meaning and symbolism. It could help us a little, I believe, but… I think the name is only symbolic. The spirit of Jupiter, however appopriatelly named, is NOT the planet, god or anything else. It is its own being on its own rights. Etymology only can take us so far, you know?
MrAbdiel
 Caliban Chats with Danica... 

Caliban listens to Danica's wandering lesson about the relative sight of creatures. It's funny - he has never had wolf's eyes, so he doesn't infact know have the point of comparison, and he files this extra flake of knowledge in his catalogue of various wisdoms. He seems to appreciate that she rambles, though his rambles have the momentum of a fragile cliffside prone to rockslides prompted by gravity, and hers are a hyperactive jet bursting up from the earth.  Geezer, and geyzer  he thinks.

Perhaps they will have a chance to chase the Jupiter song in the city, he decides. It was a long shot that it would be in the young galliard's repertoire. But something she does say makes his head tilt slightly; and when she trails off, he cautiously corrects her, listening intently to her response.

 "...You mean...  they  have every animal on the planet beat.  They  do; the humans. Because you are not one of them, Sings-The-Thunder; not a human who walks with wolves. You are Garou, who walks with wolves, and with humans."  He does not seem spiteful, saying these things; not especially scornful of humans, or homids. Just wary of the imbalance of the homid preponderance in the Nation; the kind of thing that makes the Red Talons lurking in the woods near by so bitter and dangerous, and the Bleak Hammer so dismissive of 'monkeys'. Caliban raises a hand, and points unerringly in the direction of Chicago.  "That... is  They ."  And then moves his gesture to the bawn, and the camps of Garou and kinfolk settling for the evening.  "This... is  We ." 
 Caliban chats with Meghan 

Caliban nods, attentively. This is good. Shreds-Leeches deed name suggested she might be a fangs-first-nose-last leader, but she has proven to be wise and thoughtful so far. There have been packs in the past where he has been chagrined to have to play  vizier  and functionally lead when an alpha proved too immature or headstrong. Shreds-Leeches - Meghan - seemed to have her head on straight.

 "The Uktena may surprise you - we did liberate their fetish-bound ancestor, and uncover an explicit plot to assassinate their survivors, whom we know are critical to this endeavour now. I will continue to pay respect to them, and hope they return it. Anna Eyes-Of-The-Sun is going to teach me a sun greeting ritual - one their tribe, and your tribe sometimes use. If we are cautious and wise, we may spread ourselves in many directions for diffuse favours; if we can maintain our pack as above reproach, and no one's catspaw." 

When Meghan interrogates his reason for asking about her combat teachers, he gives a diplomatic pause and then, with an abundance of caution, responds.

 "We have only fought together briefly, and we were quickly separated. As I have said - you have nothing to prove. But I wonder, if when we have spent a little more time fighting as a pack, if I were to come to you and suggest I may have something to teach you... would you take that in a spirit of collaboration, and not challenge?" 
 Chatting with Samuel 

Caliban is genuinely interested, and seems so, as Samuel explains the death rituals of his homid kinfolk. Death and its rituals are a particular domain of Silent Striders, and the passage of spirits human and Garou to the land of the dead, and the way humans unknowingly maintenance that balance of realms, is endlessly interesting to him. But he is also glad when Samuel takes to the topic of Jupiter with such robust interest of his own.

 "Yes, yes - indeed, many aspects. And all interconnected, because of the way of spirits. Jupiter, Zeus, Jove - different by name and detail, but fundamentally similar in their mystical identities. The Black Furies may have more wisdom on this aspect - their rites include respect and invocation to the old gods of the Greeks. And the astrological significance is worth knowing as well. When you search, anything you find is worth collating - there is much mystery to come. But - here, friend Samuel." 

The old Garou's demeanour shifts a little, out of the casual, and carefully into the teacherly. They have known each other less than a day, but the urgency of the war at hand drives him to hope more that Samuel has willingness to hear him out that he might have earned.

 "Do not be so quick to dismiss the astronomical angle you mentioned. No planetary scientist you may be; but you alone are positioned to play the role in our pack, if it is needed. And spirits are not simple beings that can be categorized and divided easily. Spirits are not independent beings, exactly; they are highly dependant, even defined by, many things." 

Caliban touches his own chest.  "My tribe's Incarna totem is Owl. Owl is as much a reflection of the creatures in the world, but also of this history of my tribe, and also the politics of spirits that reflect the world's own workings. Owl is a totem of wisdom because humans have regarded them as wise; and humans regard owls as wise because Owl is wise. Interconnection. But if all the owls in the world were to be wiped out, Owl would cease to exist." 

Caliban points elsewhere in the camp, where Meghan is speaking with Danica.  "Meghan's tribal totem is Unicorn. Danica's is Greatfather thunder. Neither of these are animal spirits like Owl, but they have their own dependencies, vulnerabilities, desires..." 
 "And Jupiter..."  He turns his face, sightless as it is, in the direction of Chicago. "Jupiter must be an Incarna - a spirit of comparable power those these totems. Not quite a Celestine, like Luna." He gestures to the moon then, once again able to apparently reference it without seeing it.  "But the moon you see in the sky is not distinct from the spirit, Luna, who answers our rituals and who fills you and I with the  gnosis  to perform our gifts. It is merely how she presents herself in the dance of planets and stars. Jupiter cannot be as powerful as she - but he  must  have great power. And there must have been a reason to confine him, in as much as is possible, in the Fanum. Jupiter, two thousand years ago, enjoyed the praises of one of the most powerful empires the world has ever known. Men looked to the sky, and saw that star, and said 'ah, the king of the heavens stirs'. And how galling it must have been, for that worship to dry up... I wonder what he did, in the spirit realm, when the followers of the carpenter-god were convincing their neighbours to melt down their idols. But I have rambled... Forgive me." 

He smiles with a little self reproach, and reaches over to give Samuel an awkward pat on the shoulder.  "What I mean to say is that the spirit called Jupiter is, necessarily, the intersection of all of these domains - astronomical, astrological, historical-theological, mythological... We must be open to understanding by all these means. Does this makes sense to you, Samuel..?" 
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 

 
 Originally Posted by MrAbdiel 
  Caliban Chats with Danica... 

Caliban listens to Danica's wandering lesson about the relative sight of creatures. It's funny - he has never had wolf's eyes, so he doesn't infact know have the point of comparison, and he files this extra flake of knowledge in his catalogue of various wisdoms. He seems to appreciate that she rambles, though his rambles have the momentum of a fragile cliffside prone to rockslides prompted by gravity, and hers are a hyperactive jet bursting up from the earth.  Geezer, and geyzer  he thinks.

Perhaps they will have a chance to chase the Jupiter song in the city, he decides. It was a long shot that it would be in the young galliard's repertoire. But something she does say makes his head tilt slightly; and when she trails off, he cautiously corrects her, listening intently to her response.

 "...You mean...  they  have every animal on the planet beat.  They  do; the humans. Because you are not one of them, Sings-The-Thunder; not a human who walks with wolves. You are Garou, who walks with wolves, and with humans."  He does not seem spiteful, saying these things; not especially scornful of humans, or homids. Just wary of the imbalance of the homid preponderance in the Nation; the kind of thing that makes the Red Talons lurking in the woods near by so bitter and dangerous, and the Bleak Hammer so dismissive of 'monkeys'. Caliban raises a hand, and points unerringly in the direction of Chicago.  "That... is  They ."  And then moves his gesture to the bawn, and the camps of Garou and kinfolk settling for the evening.  "This... is  We ."  
 



Danica's face is a passive stare for a couple of seconds.

Then she slowly smiles. It was the type of smirk one gave when they realised they had been caught at something, as she raised her right hand to softly gesture her index finger up and down twice, as if she appreciated the technical correction. Because she did.

  "Even you saw that coming, huh?"   she asked with a clearly mischievous grin at the little tease. Given her visual image, Danica barely looked mid-way into her 20s. Her first change wouldn't even have been ten years ago. Fortunately for her, she had grown up in the Nation.

  "Let me take you back!"   she suddenly announced, leaning back into the trunk of her car and drawing her guitar back upon her lap - hand out upon the neck as she started to slowly  pluck the strings  in a gentle, soft melodic mix from an unplugged electric guitar.

  "What are you thinking?"   she asked, this time her voice was softer, more soothing, like the beginning of a lullaby.

  "Where does that memory of yours go...remember something...anything..."  
Kaworu
Samuel was listening closely to Caliban. Actually, considering all the aspect of Jupiter as one being was mind-opening for him.  Ah, so Jupiter is the astrological spirit of the planet, who’s also was a god in ancient times! Oh, finally, it all makes sense!  he thought to himself, finally understanding better what was happening in here.

- Yes, now I think it makes sense to me – Samuel admitted – I will then search from many angles, looking at all the things related to Jupiter, whether a planet in sciences, astrological phenomenum or god of the ancient times. I shall share with you my discoveries.

- Actually, do you think I should go to my flat now and start searching? I fell like there is a lot to discover, and I will probably spend a lot of time on gathering and compiling the information pieces. I do not actually feel like the best person to do so, cause my scientific specialization is very different to the research I am gonna uptake, but at least I am proficient with computers. Still, I wish I had been an astronomist or religious studies graduate. I feel kinda… insufficient, if I need to be honest? - he asked with a crooked smile.
MrAbdiel
 Caliban Chats with Danica... 

Danica had taken correction in the spirit it was intended - a mild correction, but received without even the illusion of mild derision. This, more than anything else in the conversation, seems to unburden the old Garou. His shoulders visibly settle; he gives a little smile.

He was in a pack, again. People could hear him, again. Not just as a voice crying in the wilderness, as a strange outsider to be registered with caution, but as part of a group that not only permits him to offer the wisdom of his years, but  demands  it of him for it to perform in the sight of Luna. It felt good.

 Thank you, Elephant , thinks one wrinkled old forgotten spirit to another.

When Danica invites a suggestion from him -  something, anything  - he takes the offer. He had never had occasion to own a gramophone or a tape deck or to spend much time in concerts (except for the odd occasion listening to one from the outside, marvelling, wondering), but he had not gone unexposed to music in its moments through his life. Sometimes, even, he would have an occasion to learn a song's name. And those, he remembers. He listens to the pluck and strum of the guitar strings, and thinks - a song old, but not so old as to be fantastically unlikely for Danica to know it.

 "Do you know the music called  Classical Gas ?" 

Then, content, he shifts - out of the rumpled hairless man-form, through the rugose Anubis-form crinos to which he had been born, all the way down to the bony, black-skinned jackal-wolf with scars for eyes, but big listening ears swivelling like satellite dishes. He settles his chin on his forepaws, and turns all his attention to the music; a thin cord of a tail whipping in lazy appreciation side to side in the dust.




 Chatting with Samuel... 

Samuel heard him, too. Having the same validation of purpose he had taken from speaking with Danica renewed, there is something visibly heartened in him. He considers Samuel's words - and the lad's enthusiasm for the task.

 "Mrr... I think we will do well to do any research we can; but we are committed now also to go into the city tomorrow and expect opposition. I did not know you had a home to dwell, within the city Chicago. We must see, tomorrow, if our leader thinks we have the affordance. I should like, at least, to go by a city library and take books about Jupiter from the shelves. But first things will come first. We go to the city, and keep our eyes open; for now we know this is no simple battle of two sides, but of four." 

He raises a hand and lifts fingers, one at a time, as he counts off the four sides he reckons are in the contest to come.

 "We have a  false foes  - the local vampires who once upheld a truce with the Shadow Lords and the Urrah, the urban Garou. They will see us as agents of oathbreakers just as we were led to believe they were oath-breakers first, and they will oppose us."

"We have  true foes  - the Spirals perhaps, and whatever strange alliance has organized to strike both the Succubus Club and the Fanum and shatter the local peace. They seek to free, destroy, or corrupt Jupiter - but we do not know why, or how, or even who they really are."

"We have  false friends  - the Bleak Hammer pack will not see matters with the wisdom we are trying to wield, and though we are ostensibly allies, we must be wary that they may once again round on us, as they did earlier. And while they will be excellent allies against our true foes, they will be liabilities whenever we try to negotiate with our false foes."

"And then we have our  true friends  - each other, our pack, with Elephant guiding us on our way. And we may yet find that, however insufficient we all feel, we may indeed have been guided together to be perfectly sufficient for this very purpose." 

As he finishes his point, he hands Samuel a long leafy stick to place on top of the cruddy, ramshackle shelter he has enlisted him to help building. Except now, somehow in spite of its own poor materials, the cluster of sticks and bark has managed to form a remarkable little construction; sturdy, insulated from the cold and rain that may come, and reasonably comfortable as camp shelters go. It's not clear how such poor materials could make such a shelter, or where during their half-hearted building project it became a respectable result. Some Theurge trick or gift is at play, here. Whatever the source, the old Garou plonks himself down into the shelter, brimming with contentment.

 "I am very glad you are in this pack, Samuel. I have a feeling in my bones that you will prove to have be a very important agent of Gaia indeed." 
 
 Spoiler: Rite of the Cardboard Palace 
It's a level 1 Rite that allows you to make a good quality shelter our of literal garbage and debris if required; and a few sticks and shingles of bark will do. Rolled in my roller thread, got me 1 success which is enough.

I imagine the kinfolk who dwell in the Caern here have indoor sleeping arrangements for the homid Garou, and this old wolf prefers to sleep outdoors... but he's got no fur, so he gets chilly. So he needs his little hut.
 
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 


Danica grins. Resting back into the trunk of her car, booted legs hanging out of its back, guitar in her lap and arms, the Shadow Lord's smile is toothy and amused. In a friendly way, of course.

 "Nah my man, you're not getting me, hehe,"  she chuckled, and started to strum her strings just a little bit louder to send the slow, melancholy, soulful slow-burn stream-of-conscious playing to her pack mates ears.

 "Just listen... hear  it..."  she encouraged, that voice of hers soothing as she watched the towering, Crinos-born metis before her, unspooked by his disquieting image, the easy listening strings she played wafting up for him to hear.

 "... feel  it..."  she beckoned, voice softer,  "close your eyes, hear nothing but the jam, let it in you...let it find something in you...like fingers across the rows of books where you store those one hundred years..." 
MrAbdiel
 Jamming with Danica... 

Settled low in crinos, shifting further wolfward without haste, Caliban listens. Music is often a novelty, but meditation is something he is good at.

 "Nnn... The tree..." , he murmurs, as his form shrinks into the bulky proto-wolf of hispo. That creature has barely enough throat to articulate itself in any language; and the damaged throat of the old metis barely permits even the Garou tongue in fragments. A rumbling, contemplative growl goes through him as he relaxes further, chin on his paws.

 "Alder... Bole..."  He manages before speaking is gone from him entirely, compact in his wiry lupus shape, yeilding to rest in his old bones in the strumming serenade, tale flicking side to side peacefully. Wherever he has gone, he seems to be content there.
BananaPhone
   Danica Radec 

Danica reclined back into the trunk a little further, saying nothing as she just let her hands move slowly along the neck and front of her guitar, plucking strings and opening the passage between her spirit and the music it produced through an instrument with which she was harmoniously familiar with.

The Galliard continued, watching as the Silent Strider allowed the notes to draw up memories from deep within and allowed them to take hold over his faculties, blurring the line between the present and recollection. He shrank down into a four-legged form, visibly both at peace but also stirred by whatever it was that animated his reminiscence....