"Heeelllpppp meeeee...."

Clemency House: Porch(#2868RFJ)

A man, a plan, and a multimillion dollar contract built this house in Kent's Crossing. In fact, that man is now quite rich, and lives somewhere in California. This is not his story, nor his house. It is just one more townhouse, one more white two story building in suburbia that has got nothing special going for it. There is a small section of road in front of the house for people to park cars, though it's barely enough for 2 vehicles.

The building itself is brand new, and the lawn is still growing to come in on its own. There are a few rough patches and spots where the grass needs to be watered, but, it's nothing out of the ordinary that would claim the house is out of the ordinary.

There is a small path leading from the pavement and sidewalk on up to the front door, a wooden affair that has been freshly painted, and has a sturdy brass lock on it.

There's a house, and through the umbra at night nearer the full moon...there's something odd going on. Most of the houses around here have the occasional webbing over it, dark shadows near some, and others just look run down. No matter what, in the umbra here, you come across one place, and this place is covered in webs. Thick webs. Tons of webs. It's the house you've been led to.

After slipping into the Umbra, Ashley takes in a deep breath as she lets her eyes adjust to the new light. Shifting her bow into her hands, she notches one arrow slowly. With a toss of her blonde hair back, she starts off slowly, narrowing her eyes a tick.

The house dosn't move, and dosn't seem to bite. There is a doorway that you can see, and a few ground level windows you could easily get to...but this house seems more 'solid' then any other. Mostly though, any entrance you can see is covered in webs.

Making her way to the door slowly, Artemis reaches out with her foot, testing the door with a light thud, before looking to give it a solid kick as she rises up into the Glabro form. She pulls the string of her bow back, turning her arrow forward, as if she was expecting something to leap through.

The door resists the kick, as there are thick and heavy webs on it. But, with a repeated kick, you are able to kick open the door. Inside, there's just more and more webs. One hell of a weaver place here it seems. In the distance, you hear a soft clicking noise, in fact, there's alot of small clicking noises, but with the webs...it's too muffled to point out where.

Shifting her keen eyes from left to right, Ashley lingers in the doorway, before calling out. "Hey! Is anyone in here!?" She continues to sniff the air at times, keeping her bow tense, and eager to strike. She searches deep within the cabin as she leans in, the glances upwards along the ceiling.
There is no scent in the house, and it may be slightly disturbing. Still, the skittering increases. There is a main staircase leading to the second floor. But, in the main room, there's something. Something seemingly unique. A blue clear box that pulses. The pulse seems rather weak, as there is a network of webs keeping it suspended, and thin blue tubes leading out of it into other places around the house.

Curiously, Ashley starts to step into the house, timing her steps carefully as she keeps count. As she eyes the suspended box, she hollers out again. "Cedric, you in here!?" She asks. Her arms swivel left, to right as she keeps her bow steady, stepping with an almost millitaristic manner.

Still, the skittering goes on. It sounds right above you, then it passes. You hear a moan come out though, from the bathroom. Could it be? Cedric?

Whipping her bow towards the sound of the moaning, Ashley narrows her eyes tightly, then continues to walk, making her way towards the glowing box first in the kitchen. Her eyes look it over quickly, before darting back out towards the living room.

The box continues the rhythmic pulsing. Little beads of blue energy flow through the tubes away from it. There is a tube hanging down, which seems to disappear, and it is the only one putting energy into the box. The bathroom is nearby, and there's a second moan. Then, all is quiet.

Ashley pages to the room: As an experienced Theurge, does this type of object look slightly familiar in the least? Fetish, talen?
Promises-Kept pages to the room: It /feels/ familiar. But, you can't identify what it is.

Using the butt of her bow, Ashley slams it into the box, then leaps back quickly as she narrows her eyes. She seems rather tense.

The box dosn't seem hurt by the slam, and in fact dosn't move more then an inch or two. The bow on the other hand, barely survived without damage from that. Still, nothing seems interupted. There is another sound, coming from the bathroom, that sounds like Cedric's voice. "Heeelllpppp meeeee...."

Swiveling back towards the bathroom, Ashley makes her way over, shouldering her bow. She slips her arrow back into her satchel, then pushes the door open.

There it is, the prize you've been looking for. That of Cedric. Or, more likely, the coccon that has Cedric in it. It's hanging in the shower, and seems tight, but, there's another moan after a moment.

Blurring her way up into the crinos form, Ashley is upon the cocoon, tearing at it with her claws, looking to rip it down, and away from the Silver Fang. ~Cedric, hang in there!~ She growls out to him as she reaches out with her sixth sense, searching for the Wyrm's taint.

As you try to get to the coccoon, suddenly everything just goes dark. The door slams shut behind you, the window closes and the blinds cover it, throwing the room into pitch black. Then, in the neck moment, the skitterings are back. Loud, nearby, and then suddenly something about the size and weight of a small dog slams into Ashleys back, screwing up the sense wyrm test.

Stumbling forward, Lures-The-Beast-To-Its-Death snarls loudly as she finds herself stumbling against the cocoon. Whirling around, she roars out in challenge as she reaches out with her claws, looking to aim low, rising high with a swift, practiced uppercut at the air.

It's just one to start, then a second, then a third. More weights slam into the crinos. Then the bites begin, bites all over the body just keep coming. More weights keep slaming. It's a losing battle here in the dark.

The warrior Theurge screams out in riteous anger, and fury as she blurs down into the Hispo form quickly, then launches out as she moves along with the noises. Teeth, and claws leap out and snap at the attacking foes, looking to keep herself between the cocoon, and whatever it is that attacks.

There's a problem. It's not an enemy. It's enemies. Countless numbers of them. All in the dark. As you go towards hispo, more of the creatures slam into you, then something happens. Your body slowly begins to feel number by the moment, then sticky gunk is covering your fur, strands of it. Lots of strands of it.

As the battle obviously starts to not go her way, Lures-The-Beast blurs up into the Crinos form, funneling rage through her body as she starts to push forward, looking to slam herself through the door, using her awesome weight, and strength to hopefully knock through. If she succeeds, she plans on rolling to her feet, and bolt.

The crinos slams into something. But, it's no door. It's a wall. Whirling in the dark isn't recommended, as the crinos goes down, thick webs and poison slowing it. It's become the next victim of the house. Cedric on the other hand, had the cocoon sliced...dun duh dah!

"You callin' me Weavery, Mister Glass Walker? 'Cause if so, the parable of the mote and the beam springs to mind."

Infirmary
The soft glow of autumn sunlight fills the room with golden warmth. Thin white curtains keep the glare out while allowing enough light in to dispel shadows. A small ceramic heater sits on the floor near the bed, available for use when needed. A wide bed stands in the center of the south wall, white linens carefully tucked in around its mattress. A low table stands beside the bed, a small basin and pitcher perched atop it. Two large chairs sit facing the bed, and a small wooden chair sits against the south wall opposite the table. A tall cabinet occupies the northeast corner of the room, its glass door revealing a well-stocked medicine cabinet, various medical implements and supplies carefully arranged within.
The only exit from the room is a single door on the eastern wall.

The full moon above is invisible in the dim winter afternoon on the second floor of the farmhouse, where slumped on the bed of the infirmary, Cedric lies, looking far from his usual immaculate self, unshaven, unbrushed, unwashed and unhappy... or at least, he looks that. He also seems somehow not quite with it, his eyes' focus drifting in and out.

The door to the infirmary creaks open to reveal the dark-clad and distinctly disreputable figure of one Thomas Grey, his salt-and-pepper hair hanging low over his forehead and his face covered in a thin beard of similar hue. Dark glasses hide his eyes and he seems to be dressed almost entirely in black, from the ankle-length leather greatcoat to the battered canvas high-top sneakers. He brings with him a strong odor of cigarettes that would send any feral lupus into a sneezing fit. He pauses in the doorway until he spots the figure in the bed, and then grunts and stalks forward.

Cedric doesn't respond to the entry of Grey at all. A lock of his dark golden hair falls forward over his brow as a draft enters the room along with the Glass Walker. Otherwise, nothing.

"Hmph." Grey studies the Fang for a few moments, then pulls over a chair and sits down with a grunt. He shrugs out of the big coat, letting it drape over the back of the chair, and then gets comfortable. A few moments later, he fishes out a pack of cigarettes and starts tapping it rhythmically against his wrist.

The tapping noise seems to percolate through to Cedric after a few moments. His lips part and he starts to speak in a quiet voice, keeping time with the tapping of the cigarette. "Pulse... pulse... pulse... pulse..."

Grey stops, an eyebrow lifting over the frames of his sunglasses.

Cedric keeps speaking in the monotone. "Pulse. Pulse. Pulse. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one. Recalculate. Standby mode continues. Twenty-two..."

"Hmn." Grey, still watching the figure on the bed, shakes out a cigarette and sets it between his lips. Puts away the rest of the pack, fishes out a lighter, and sets flame to cancer stick after a few crisp snaps of the wheel. Fresh cigarette smoke billows over toward Cedric's finely-crafted nose.

"Twenty-three... twenty-four... ahem!" The smoke drifts under Cedric's aristocratic nose and into it, and he coughs a few times, then blinks. "Dillen? You... hey, it's you." He regards Grey with every appearance of recognising him.

Grey leans back in the chair, propping one sneakered foot on the opposite knee. "Me," he says with a nod. "I heard that you'd had an accident."

"An accident," Cedric repeats, a little vaguely. "I... suppose you could say it was an accident. Did Dillen tell you what happened?"

Grey shakes his head. "I only heard that you'd been hurt significantly. And since I was in the area, I thought I'd see how significantly." He takes a deep drag off the cigarette, then turns his face away to exhale.

Cedric pushes his hair out of his eyes. "I don't think I'm actually hurt," he protests. "Just as weak as the proverbial kitten, damn it." He lifts one hand, lets it flop to the bed. "I don't know how long I was wrapped up like a parcel for, but it was too long. I am going to spank Mathias' bottom for him as soon as I'm strong enough to go looking for the young ripsnorter."

Grey lifts an eyebrow. "How was this Mathias's fault?"

Cedric levers himself a little more upright. "The crazy young fool was doing some mad theurge ritual in the umbra which attracted about a trillion web spiders. I got coccooned by them. I thought I was a goner, for sure, and I thought he was too. And when Dillen and his pack dug me out, they tell me he's sitting back at Clemency House watching TV, as cool as a cucumber." He snorts.

"Hmnh." The Glass Walker grimaces, taking another drag. "How'd he escape getting coccooned himself?"

Cedric shrugs. "That's the weird part. When I was bein' wrapped up, so was he. So how he got out, is beyond my jolly old feeble deductive powers." He struggles upright. "Gahg. I'm not gonna make it over there if I set off now. I could just demolish a T-bone and steak fries."

Grey grunts again. "Help you get downstairs?" he offers curtly. "I don't know about the steak, but there should be some ground meat."

Cedric swings his legs to the floor and tests them cautiously. "Unit in need of charging," he informs Grey in the same monotone he was first using.

Grey stares at the Fang for a moment, then grunts and hauls himself to his feet. Cigarette dangling off his lip and coat hanging limply off one arm, he stands and waits to see if Cedric can get up and walk by himself.

Cedric seems a little more gaunt and lean than normal once he's upright, but he does seem able to at least walk. He makes his way cautiously to the door and confronts Grey across the doorway.

Grey arches an eyebrow, then wordlessly heads out the door and downstairs, not hurrying.

Farmhouse: Kitchen and Dining Room
Homey is the first word to come to mind when looking at the farmhouse's kitchen. Dark, wood-paneled wainscoting covers the walls to about waist height, dark beige wallpaper continuing to the ceiling. Twin refrigerators occupy the north wall, facing the large six-burner stove on the south. The kitchen counter runs the length of the eastern wall, broken only by the double-basin sink. Cabinets run above and below the counter and a twin-pane window is set in the wall above the sink. A small pantry is set into an alcove alongside the refrigerators, presumably holding the deep freezer as well as shelves of dry goods.
Some twelve feet above the floor, a large chandelier hangs from the ceiling, lighting the dining room and casting long shadows over the bar to the kitchen. A long table occupies the center of the dining room, three chairs setting along each side, and one on each end. On the west wall, a large window looks out on the trees alongside the western pasture. Set into the north wall is a large cabinet, its glass doors closed on shelves containing a full compliment of fine china and glassware as well as a few decorative nicknacks. On the east, a wide bar separates the dining room from the kitchen.
An opening in the southern wall allows passage to the front entryway of the house, while a sliding glass door in the kitchen opens to a clearing behind the house.

Cedric follows Grey down to the kitchen without mishap. He whistles softly when he sees the wintry weather out of the window. "Holy moley. Talk about the lost weekend. I'm missin' whole weeks. Is it Christmas yet?"

Grey drapes his coat over a chair and, cigarette still hanging off his mouth, opens the fridge. Sure enough, there's ground beef and a bag of frozen steak fries. "Not yet," he answers, cancer stick bobbing in time with his words. "It's only the sixth."

Cedric flops down into a chair gloomily. "That's still weeks passed," he sighs. "Mathias, your ass is grass."

Grey extinguishes the cigarette, finally, and washes his hands. "From what I've gathered, his ass is grass in any case. If he's lucky, a Jackaling. Hamburgers all right?"

Cedric nods eagerly. "And if you'll let me bum a fag off you," he says hopefully, "I'll owe you large size."

Grey obligingly digs out and tosses over his half-empty pack of Camels and a green Bic lighter, then sets about washing his hands and defrosting the frozen meat in the microwave. "Be my guest."

Cedric tosses a cigarette into his mouth and clicks the lighter onto the end of it. "Don't normally do this," he explains apologetically, and coughs as though to prove it. Then he starts laying the frozen fries out on a baking tray, slowly, one at a time, like an artist putting brush strokes on a canvas, graduating them from large ones at one side to little ones at the other.

Grey notices. "Fight the impulse," he advises. "Disorder them."

Cedric rolls the cigarette to the corner of his mouth and back like a bad Clint Eastwood impersonator. He regards Grey with a puzzled look. "Just tryin'," he says round the tobacco stick, "to fit as many on as I can."

Grey tilts his head slightly, favoring his good eye. "The Weaver's influence can be as insidious as the Wyrm's. Considering your recent experience, a little deliberate chaos would do you good."

Cedric's eyes narrow and for a moment, he looks like a moderately good Clint Eastwood impersonator instead. The cigarette goes back to the corner of his mouth. "You callin' me Weavery, Mister Glass Walker? 'Cause if so, the parable of the mote and the beam springs to mind." He deliberately selects a large fry and places it with all the other large fries.

Grey dries off his hands on a paper towel and sets to work shaping the burgers, working them into fat discs of not especially regular size. "Do I look especially Weavery?" he asks. His voice is dry, with a sharp bite of repressed rage behind it.

Cedric drops the bag of fries and takes the cigarette out of his mouth. His eyes meet Grey's coolly. Then they go to the burgers. Then back to Grey. "By your tribe's standards, no," he concedes. Then he shakes his head. "Hell. If I've jumped two weeks ahead, that makes it full moon. No wonder I'm snappin' at you."

Grey's shoulders lift and fall in a vague shrug as he focuses on the forming burgers again. "No tribe knows the Weaver quite as well as mine. That means we know the signs of Her influence. Since you'd been held by the Pattern for so long, well..." He shrugs again. "There are bound to be side effects. You're lucky She didn't take you entirely."

Cedric pushes some of the fries round on the tray with the hand that isn't holding the cigarette. "She wouldn't dare," he says, but his usual cocky tone is considerably less brash than normal. He looks at Grey from the corner of his eye with an unspoken "...would she?"

Grey pauses to stare at the Fang for a few seconds, eyebrow raised. "Of course she would. You would not even have been the first. The Weaver converts Garou and humans just as the Wyrm does... only less often."

Cedric's brow furrows in annoyance. "Of course I wouldn't have been the first, damn it," he hoots, "but I'm not just any old Garou, you know. I am a Silver Fang and a nobleman." He tilts his head upwards a little, which seems to denote that he thinks he's striking a majestic pose.

Grey snorts. After washing his hands clear of traces of raw meat, he spatulas the burgers into a pan and sets them on the stove. Sizzle, sizzle. "I doubt," he says dryly, "that the Weaver gives a shit."

Cedric grunts, shovels a few more fries onto the tray, and pushes it into the grill. "I'm not a pushover," he says, still sounding heated. "If the Wyrm can't take me what makes you think the Weaver can?"

"She already had you," Grey points out. Leaning against the counter near the stove, he crosses his arms across his chest, spatula in hand. "If you'd stayed in that cocoon, she would have, eventually, broken you down into your component spiritual bits and worked her into her patterns. If you were lucky. If not... well, I met someone once who met a Garou who'd been turned into what she described as a Weaver-fomor."

Cedric's cigarette goes back into his mouth. He takes a long draw on it, then removes it once more. "And the spiders did that?" he asks, plainly suspicious of the story.

"She ran into it in the Umbra around Boston," says Thomas Grey. "An absolutely flawless Crinos, not a hair or claw out of place. Not a hint of rage or primal instinct, and it spoke the Mother's Tongue like a machine. It was helping a swarm of hunter-spiders beat off trio of Wyrm spirits from a section of webs, moving and reacting like it was part of their group-mind." He glances over at the burgers, gauging their progress. "Later," he continues, "she did some research. A Theurge told her how the Weaver sometimes drags humans and Garou into a cocoon, breaks them down, and then rebuilds them mote by mote for her purpose. They can't shapeshift, of course, and heal wounds by pulling technology into themselves. And they are utterly her servants."

Cedric seems torn. Part of him appears disgusted. Another part seems fascinated. A third part, true to his auspice, is plainly noting down all the details of this story mentally for later retelling. "So how was she freed?" he asks breathlessly.

Grey arches an eyebrow. "The Weaver fomor? It was hunted down and killed by a pack that my source had contacted. She herself didn't get caught."

A thought seems to strike Cedric with the weight of an iron bar. "Hold the phone. Do you think...is is possible... that Mathias...?" Dismay appears on his face.

Grey frowns, considering this. "It's easy enough to check. Have him sniffed for Weaver taint. Or, if the rumor is true, force him to shapeshift."

Cedric takes a big step as though to head for the back door, and nearly falls. "Damn, damn, damn. I must eat first. I wish my car was here." He flops back into the chair he was in earlier and stares at the stove as though willing the food to cook faster.

~Osric! Osric, fetch... help...~

Clemency House: Living Room(#2823RFJ)

The living room of the townhouse is well lit, with simple white walls and mock wooden floors. Theres a few basic carpets that line the floor to keep feet warm, as well as air vents...but overall, the living room is rather barren. There is an old recliner sitting in the corner, a leather couch with a few small rips in it against the wall, and an old late 90's model CRT TV that sits on a stand, gathering dust. There's no gaming system, but there is an old VCR player sitting there under the TV.

Most of the light in the living room really isn't from the outside. There are a pair of windows with blinds to cover them, but, the sun moves so that they rarely light up.

There is a staircase that leads upstairs, as well as a second staircase that leads downstairs right next to it. The one leading up seems to lead to another hallway while the down staircase has a door at the end. There is a front door that is wooden and freshly painted, while the kitchen behind seems to be just as barren as this room.

Mathias has left a note on the table. "Talking with the spirits, come as you will. Use the bathroom if need be." indeed, there's a mirror in there. The other part is while the front dor is unlocked...everything is turned off, lights, heat, everything. The light switches and the like have been tapped off while there sits a single candle on the table to provide light.

Cedric arrives at the front of the house, stalks up the path in an evident towering rage, and thumps on the front door hard enough to make it drift open, left unlocked as it is. This gives him pause. He enters the house more cautiously, looking around, and sees the note on the table. He keeps frowning, but nods curtly, and looks around for mirrors.

Mathias has left a bowl of water nearby for those who would use it, though the note mentions the mirror in the bathroom not far off. On the assumption Cedric steps sideways across the umbra, or to even glance across it...he may notice the bounds here have been made weaker considerably. Standing in the middle of the spiritual living room is Mathias, wearing full length grey robes, long enough to touch the ground while the hood covers his eyes. He stands there in the middle, chanting softly as he spins in a small circle. Around him are multiple small 'spiders' four legged creatures that are about six inchs tall and about the same length. The one currently sitting in his hand seemed to be made of pure lightning, crackling energy spitting off it, while the others nearby differ slightly. While there may be a few more of the energy spiders, there are mechanical ones, burning ones, wooden ones...different aspects of the house in spiritual form.

Cedric does indeed find the bathroom and its mirror, and he notes how weak the gauntlet appears at the moment with interest. Stepping through and shifting to glabro, he finds Mathias on the other side, surrounded by spiders. He pauses not far from the ritual, making his appearance plain unless Mathias is so sunk in his ritual he doesn't notice.

Mathias appears to have a cut on himself, across his chest. It glows softly, an eerie blue light that flows sort of like a lava lamp. Slowly, some of it gets syphoned off to the spider, to whom drinks the energy, before Mathias sets it down. It's the raw essence of gnosis, feeding the hearth so to say. After a moment, one of them starts clicking, a set of well polished gears spinning as it notices Cedric. Mathias turns to face the Glabro as he says softly "Welcome Cedric-Rhya." His voice smooth and calm.

Well, it's good that someone is smooth and calm, because Cedric plainly isn't. "You confounded young idiot," he begins, "what the deuce did you mean by letting Vera-rhya know you were still around? She ripped your good name to shreds at moot. I was yay close to frenzyin' over it all." He sighs. "You really are the most foolish young rip I ever clapped eyes on."

Mathias blinks a moment. "I didn't show myself to her. But, there is no doubt to whom told her." he looks to the spiders a moment, a few of them looking hungerly at Mathias, before the cliath looks back to Cedric. "I came to bring gifts to Cole, in the spirit of Samhain. Things took a turn for the worse when Dillen decided to frenzy on me. Even wrote them notes to apologize later. But, I know of her actions. The spirits have told me. A moot is not something spirits often keep quiet about, if you are willing to listen."

Cedric gives Mathias a glare which could shatter glass. "We'll talk more of this later. For now, speaking of spirits... there are matters to attend to, I believe?"

Mathias thankfully avoids most of the glare, as he still has his hood covering most of his eyes. He gives a simple nod as he picks one of them up, A metal one that has channels all over it's bodies. At times these channels glow a bright orange before fading away. He says simply "These are the hearth spiders, those who live in the things of the weaver, and keep them together. They are not always able to survive on thier own, and things fall apart. Tonight is the end of the day of rest for them, as I nourish them all, so that they may have the strength to make it through the winter unharmed." the one in his hands has already begun to suckle on the blue energy.

Cedric takes a deep breath and releases it, then speaks more calmly. "How, if at all, should I assist in this rite?"

Mathias releases the spider in his hands after a few moments, then says softly "How is the strength of your spirit? If you do not feel it in you, or the desire to help feed them, then I'd ask that you guard for the other spirits of the weaver, those who would try to steal what we have, and close up gauntlet again. The hearth spiders here have allowed it to fall away for a short while, as they know it is a requirement for this effort. After tonight, when I leave, they will close the gauntlet once more.

Cedric makes a little 'hmph' sound. "My spirit's fine, s'far as I know. You're the theurge, not me... But I'll guard." He looks around suspiciously for any interlopers.

Well, it seems innocent enough, Mathias is 'paying' the spirits for an intended effect. But, there's a hungry look to them. Like as if they aren't satisfied with just what has been given to them, and want more. A few of them start to wander over to Cedric, trying to surround Cedric as they can.

Cedric favours the spirits with an imperious glare from under his glabrous brow. For a moment the scene is awfully reminiscent of King Canute commanding the waves to retreat from his royal person. Especially since the spirits don't seem to be paying any more attention to Cedric than the waves did to Canute. "Osric!" calls Cedric, and points to the advancing spirits expectantly.
The smaller spiders are looking about hungerly, until a group of four pattern spiders seem to come out of the spiritual woodwork. Having been hidden the whole time, they start to run along the walls of the room, leaving a trail of webbing in thier wake. To those who might feel it, the gauntlet has just inverted, from being lax to now being very tight. There's no doubt here, it's been a setup, with Cedric being the added bonus. Mathias points and says "Cedric, to the bathroom! Quick!" his form moving up to that of the crinos, though one step and suddenly the smaller spiders begin to pounce...thier fangs like drills into the spiritual essence, draining and pulling energy as they can. Cedric is not spared this effect, as the small ones try to pounce and bite into him as well.

"Osric!" Cedric calls out again, a note of dismay entering his voice. If Osric is present, Mathias, at least, can't see him. Cedric bulks up to crinos, and his hand moves to his side where the klaive hangs, but even as he draws it, he's retreating towards Mathias.

Promises-Kept growls as he makes a charge to get through the webbing, and into the bathroom. Claws flash as he does, ripping and tearing at the webs that have been set up. Though he manages to break through it and open a passage, he gives a quick growl, ~Quickly!~ Spiders are latched onto his legs now, making every effort harder, though the crinos refuses to give up so easily. The four pattern spiders in the room are now formed in a semi-circle around Cedric, as if trying to hear the pair.

~Osric! In Falcon's name!~ bellows Lightning as he picks his way backwards, trying to avoid the teeming masses of spiders that seem to be coming from nowhere. His klaive comes into his hand and starts to snicker back and forth, but it doesn't seem to have much positive effect on the spirits -- perhaps he's a bad shot, or perhaps there are just too many. Lightning, as well as whirling the blade, is stamping up and down now, trying to tread the smaller spiders underfoot. His progress towards the bathroom is painfully slow.

Promises-Kept manages to get to the bathroom door, opening it...though he looks more then drained already. But, there's another surprise waiting within...there was a fifth pattern spider, as it jumps and tackles the silver-grey crinos to the ground, shooting out it's webs to cover the creature and bring it into the pattern, to absorb it's gnosis. With screechs of a trap well sprung, the other four all spring at once onto Lightning, trying to take him down as well, and to cover him in thier webs. Whatever hearth spiders may die, more spring up from thier place, broken, but still moving.

Lightning's klaive sweeps, once, twice, a third time. Pattern webs are cloven once, twice, a third time... and no more. The galliard's arm is ensnared in webs as one of the spiders gains purchase on his shoulder, and it's frozen in place, still raised to swing. ~Promises-Kept! You unutterable idiot!~ cries Lightning in despair as more of the spirit creatures pounce on him and begin to coccoon him in more of their calcifying webs. ~Osric!~ he gasps, once more. ~Osric, fetch... help...~

Promises-Kept gives a low strained growl, before that too is shut off from the crinos. He's now just an unmoving coccoon, unable to do anything at all for the moment. Or even, for awhile. The theurge, well, he's been captured...unable to do a thing anymore. Whine.

Lightning too disappears beneath a thick coating of striated weaver-webbing, sealed into it like a toy inside a Kinder egg, only a strange angular protrusion in the web covering showing where he still holds his klaive aloft.

"Who besmirches my tribemate's honor, besmirches mine."

Big Red Barn(#3420RA)
The barn is built in the old style, a vast three level structure that is greater in height than a mere three stories, actually closer to five. Great wooden posts support the weight of the upper levels and roof, sunk into the hard-packed dirt floor of the first level like a sparse forest of regularly spaced, naked trees. The stalls and flagstones which once were here have been torn out to leave a rather open area where even crinos Garou may roam freely without fear of running into anything but the supports or the walls or the ladder at the back which allows access to the other two levels.
The first two levels are relatively open to each other, the second being only little wider than a catwalk going around all the walls but the front one, which has massive, twenty foot tall doors set into it. The third level is a true second floor except for a place cut out that allowed hay to be tossed down to the ground floor when the farm was actually worked. Now, it is a hayloft where Garou can sleep outside of the house.

The door of the barn is flung open with one mighty movement and into the barn comes stomping Cedric. His normal air of quiet affable nobility is vanished and he looks ugly... or as ugly as his handsome, aristocratic features can ever get in homid.

Fwing! Thunk! Fwing! Thunk! A pair of arrows goes sailing through the air, striking a make shift target set up across the barn, as Ashley holds herself tight, and steady with her compound bow in hand. Methodically, she reaches behind her to slide another arrow out of her quill, notching it. As the door is thrown open, her eyes quietly glance over towards the man, raising up a brow slowly, but doesn't issue a word.

Cedric stops dead when he hears the sound of the first arrow striking its target. Literally; he freezes in place. After the second one hits, he speaks. "Whoever that is turning this barn into a shootin' gallery, may I safely move?"

There is a bit of silence as Ashley lowers the bow, scanning the dark barn with her keen eyes. "Yes, you may move." She calls out in a hoarse, raspy voice as she slips her arrow back into its satchel.

"Thank you," drawls Cedric in a voice with more than a touch of sarcasm. He flows back into motion and approaches Ashley. "Now I hate to be a drag, but don't you think it would have been wise to put some form of warnin' sign up? I suppose some folks can be stuck with an arrow and shrug it off, but some can't."

Making her way to the wall, Ashley slides her hand around the pair of arrows, then yanks them clean out with a splinter of wood. She slips them back into her satchel, then says. "Sure." A light breath tumbles past her lips to blow away the strands of blonde hair which has shaggily fallen into her face.

This young woman appears to be in about her early twenties. Her frame is a bit on the taller side, nearing the height of five foot nine. She is built quite athletically, her upper arms muscled and well developed. She isn't dominating by any means, and one would take a guess that she is swimmer in training, or, perhaps into acrobatics. She could be described as wiry at best. Her legs are long and fit the rest of her frame well, making her appear quick and capable of delivering a solid kick.

Her hair is cut short, revealing a honey kissed blonde colour with a hint of auburn woven through out. A pair of blueish green eyes appear out from behind a few whisps of her dangling bangs that oversee her face. She has an attractive look about her, but her brash mannerisms tend to turn away the greedy eye that lingers too long.

She tends to dress quite boring in a pair of beat up blue jeans and a oversized baggy sweatshirt. Over her feet is a pair of sturdy looking black boots which appear to be steel toed. Most of the time she wears a black hooded sweat shirt with pockets in the front, something to keep her warm during the colder times.

Cedric relaxes, perhaps, a tiny fraction as he takes in Ashley. "Good shootin', anyway," he comments. "You must forgive me for bitin' your head off. I've a shockin' temper at this time of month. Cedric Ambermere's the name. I know it's a mouthful but my family rather tends to go in for ten-dollar monickers."

"Artemis." The Fury responds in kind as she makes her way along the length of the barn floor, placing her steps almost identically in the ones that she took to reach the otherside in the first place. She is almost too careful about the way she steps. "You're a Fang." She says matter of factly as she eases up to her bag, starting to pack her bow, and arrows within it.

"I'm a Fang," Cedric agrees with a wry chuckle. "Every blessed atom of my face betrays it to those who know how to look. To those who don't, of course, I just look like a vacuous upper-class twit, which is even worse. Now you," he adds, "are a Fury. You're named for a goddess, you carry a bow, and the way you stand on your feet proclaims you're takin' no prisoners and no shit."

With a slight tilt of her head in a nod, Ashley zips the bag up firmly, then throws it over her neck, and shoulder as it settles against her hip. Turning to face him, she takes in a slow, deep breath. "That I am." She says simply, before letting her eyes trail away off to one side, not exactly staring at him. "Did you have business to attend to in the barn?"

"Unless you've got one of my tribemates locked up in that bag," Cedric responds, "not really. I almost wish you did, it might be the best place for the silly young nincompoop to be. At least he couldn't get his hide into any more hot water."

"If you need me to dispose of someone, I can do that for you." Artemis says in a all too serious voice as she lets her hand settle at her hip, where a sheathe is relaxed, concealing what could possibly be a vicious looking blade.

Cedric eyes the sheath. "That and a bow too, Madame Fury? Nobody's goin' to get the jump on you. But no, this young rip is my tribemate and my problem and I'll sort him out my own blessed way. You may have met him? Mathias Promises-Kept, his name is, and all I can say is he must have promised to get on the last nerve of every other garou he meets, for he certainly manages that."

"I heard of the name, and some rumors, but I reserve judgement until my own eyes find him a fool." Ashley says simply as her hand slips away, resting once more on her side as she shrugs the bundle over her shoulder. "Though, by the way you came storming in here, he has obviously got you royally shit faced."

"I spent all of Sunday runnin' round the wild woods and mountains trying to burn off full moon rage, "Cedric says simply. "Rage at him, rage at Vera-rhya, rage at myself for ragin'. Somethin' must snap, and I don't want it to be bones, though I've a horrid feelin' it will be." He sighs. "I shouldn't burden you. I'm interruptin' your jolly old archery practice."

"You aren't interrupting me. I was wasting time for the most part." Artemis says as she sniffs the air slightly. "I've heard of this Vera-Rhya, but I have yet to meet her. So far, what I've heard, has not been pleasant."

"You're not from round here?" Cedric asks. "I thought I didn't see you at moot, but I don't know everyone's lupus look, yet..."

"I used to be from here. I went back home to Boston for a short period of time, to resolve some family issues, but now I have returned. I once ran with Havoc pack, under Defiant-Storm Rhya, and Wolverine. I just arrived here a few weeks ago, and have been working on my return-chiminage with Laura." The Fury answers. "I missed moot, but I am sure that I would not have been able to attend."

"It was only my first moot here m'self," Cedric confesses. "And I'm a sort of semi-detached member of Havoc too. Might be a full member now I've passed my chimmy. Need to run down Emma and talk it through... once I get this thrice-blessed Mathias business done."

"I was hoping to rejoin their ranks, if I would be welcomed. Emma Rhya seemed pleased to see me again." Ashley says with a slight shrug of her shoulders, arching her neck a bit to pop a few joints.

"Your elder, Laura, is in the pack too," Cedric points out. "A fine garou, and an honor to know her." He gives a little smile. "Ah, well. No rest for the wicked, Artemis. As he's not around the farm, I'll lay odds Mathias is back at his house in Kent Crossing. He was talking of some kind of solstice ritual... I'll go sort him out, and then it's Vera time."

"Well, what is this about Vera? I still did not get an answer about her." Ashley says as she tilts her head a bit to one side, brows furrowing.

Cedric looks full-on at Ashley, eyes blazing. "She insulted Mathias before the whole sept," he says darkly. "No matter what he did, this was uncalled for. Who insults my tribemate, insults me. Who besmirches my tribemate's honor, besmirches mine. I have reason to think highly of Shadow Lords, unlike many of my tribe, but by golly, I do not think highly of Vera-rhya, adren or no adren, and I will damn' well say as much to her grinning ragabash face if she doesn't back down." His fists have clenched.

There is a slight pause from Ashley, before she says, "You think that would be wise?" She asks as she cracks her neck by twisting her chin to one side. "You don't think there would be a more subtle, easier way to 'get back at her', than a full on confrontation that could possibly leave you gutted open like a fish? Make no mistake, though she is a Shadow Lord, and a Ragabash, from what I've been told, she is not so much an idiot when it comes to the wits department. The Theurge in me begs you to take a wiser course of action, but hey, its your neck. Have a blast if you want."

Cedric shakes his head. "I am a Silver Fang," he points out, as though Artemis hasn't quite understood that this in itself is all he needs to make clear to Vera to make her defer to him, and withdraw any allegations about his tribemate. "I shall make her see that she cannot possibly go about makin' a mockery of Falcon's tribe. I absolutely decline to have my tribemates done down by a Shadow Lord or by anyone else." He peers at Artemis as though checking she sees his point.

Shrugging her shoulders, Ashley gives her head a light shake. "Alright." She says with a soft breath. "It was nice meeting you, regardless of the outcome."

Cedric relaxes again, quite evidently taking Artemis's lack of verbal disagreement as an accession to his point of view. "A delight to meet you, likewise," he says with a slight bow and a genuine-seeming smile. If her hand had been in the least extended, one might suspect that he would have kissed it. "I shall look forward to makin' your acquaintance at a thinner moon and a less stressin' time." He walks back to the door and slips through it.

Watching him head out of the barn, Ashley glances over to her left shoulder, then softly whispers. "If I were you, I'd keep an eye on him." She pauses, then grins wryly to herself. "Seriously, let me know what happens, OK?" There is a faint shimmer of light which takes flight to the air, then slowly scurries after the retreating Fang. A firefly.

You paged Ashley with 'Oho. What is this a-following of me?'.
From afar, Ashley grins. "Tiny lil firefly spirit. :D Ash's best friend."

~I for one, will offer him nothing and if I see him anywhere near the farmhouse or Bawn, I will gut him myself.~

Posted out of sequence in order to get the November moot log online someplace. Other logs will follow, I promise.

Center of the Caern
This is the central point of the 30-meter-wide clearing. The ground is a mixture of dark, rich, muddy soil mixed with clay, though there is an occasional patch of grass. At the center rests a large white boulder, immovable even by the strongest crinos. The boulder is shot through with streaks of quartz that produces scintillating colors when light strikes it just right. It is, for lack of a wholly adequate word, beautiful.
Around you, twenty yards in every direction, stretches the caern. To the southeast, a waterfall plummets over the edge of the chasm into a small pool in the caern; nearby, to the southwest, steam comes from cracks in the ground, perhaps some of the same water. Northwest, a rocky spar juts out of the ground at a low angle, showing a sloping but smooth top. The chasm walls narrow a bit to the northeast, causing some of the mist to swirl in that area.

By the waterfall, Jamethon pops into being from the umbral airts, a puff of misty swirls surround him ever so briefly as if he stepped sideways with such speed that he took some of the umbra with him. He stands looking down into the water for a moment before turning around to look out over the Caern.

Long-Suffering shifts into crinos upon entering the caern. She raises her ape-like arms above her head, stretching and emitting a puppish whine from her muzzle.

Howls-Accord enters the caern center in her human form, taking a long walk around the outside edge before approaching the center. She takes a few deep breaths of the air of the caern, looking around to see who's already arrived as she takes her crinos form.

In the windiest area, Circle Keeper makes his way down from the east, the wolf moving along at a reasonable clip with a wendigo cub in tow. As soon as he reaches the windy space, he shifts up to Crinos, taking a good sniff at the crowd in the Caern. He leans heavily on his weapon, before scanning the crowd with his eyes.

Protests-Much lags a little behind the Uktena, not from lack of ability, but from general sulkiness. She looks somewhat intimidated by all the other sept members, sticking to the white wolf's side like glue.

Long-Suffering is settling into a seat as she lifts her muzzle, noticing her elder's arrival. She makes a short howl in greeting and then turns to the center, waiting patiently for the moot to begin.

Howls-Accord watches as others make their way along, then tilts her head back to call to the stragglers.

Howls-Accord howls long and loud.
From Center of the Caern, Howls-Accord can be heard to howl, ~Hidden Walk's Garou, come to the Heart to honor Grandmother and Mirrored Woman, Chimera, at Moot! Horned Serpent, hide in fear, tonight we are your death!~

Tu enters the Caern, moving quickly and looking a little breathless.

Circle Keeper takes a while to note those present, before fixing his gaze on Veronica. Loudly whuffing her name, he makes a gesture to call her in closer. That is, until she gives the opening howl. That puts an end to it, and the Uktena instead just leans on the shaft of his weapon.
Walks-Middle makes her way down into the Caern's center just as the howl is heard. The Child looks about her for pack, then makes her way towards Circle Keeper and Veronica.

Almost materializing right from the foggy shadows, Runner strides into view with her large hispo'd ears twisting. She pauses to take in the scents of those arriving and those arrived, before finding a good spot to settle down and wait.

Far-Cry himself arrives out of the forested bawn, smoothly rising into his warform from the lupus. He stops to listen to the call to moot, and then himself takes a spot that feels to him, unobtrusive.

Kevin slips quietly into the caern's centre and sits cross-legged against a small rock, remaining in homid at least for now.

Blackriver comes trotting down the canyon into the caern, two cubs and packmate at her side. She seems to have suffered several large burns lately, the fuzzy fur just starting to grow back over her healed skin.

Not far behind Blackriver's party, but on two legs, comes the figure of Cedric, looking about him appreciatively as he takes in the quiet atmosphere of the caern, buzzing with energy and fast filling with garou.

By the waterfall, the heavy form of Reggie comes down from the forest bawn, heading directly over to the Warder by the waterfall instead of immediately joining the growing crowd,.

Howls-Accord catches the greeting from Circle Keeper and Walks-Middle, her ears pricking towards them. She gives a non-verbal greeting, a cock of her head and a flick of the ears, then bounds towards the windy spot in the northeast.

Runner swings her gaze over to Blackriver, ears cupping forward in her direction. It's obvious the Gnawer ragabash is curious after her injuries.

Howls-Accord goes northwest, into the swirling wind.
Howls-Accord has left.
In the windiest area, Howls-Accord comes into this quarter from the caern center.

Long-Suffering huffs as her elder appears to ignore her somewhat and the young Galliard turns with her muscular arms crossed as she sits off to one side of the caern seemingly by herself.

Leslie trails beind her packmate by half a pace, noticeably favoring her left side and talking quietly as she makes her way towards the caern's center, making a point of observing the formalities. Her demeanor is thoughtful on the srface but barely restrains excitement.

Circle Keeper looks over towards Ayita just in time to see her look displeased with him. The short white crinos gives the Galliard first a confused look, then an annoyed one.

Blackriver doesn't notice Runner's curious look, so caught up is she in making sure everyone else is settled in, and pointing things out to the cubs.

By the waterfall, Jamethon as usual stands by the waterfall in rather stoic and unmoving form. If this is to focus before he must open the inner sky, to look proudly over the Garou coming together, or just because he thinks it looks cool... is unknown to all but James himself. As Reggie nears the Warder turns his head towards the recent child of Raccoon and nods once.

Runner licks the front of her nose once, eyeing Blackriver a little bit longer before shifting her attentions elsewhere and viewing the others that have come in since.

Nervousness is a little evident on Vernon's features. He walks behind Leslie, beside Erika. When the group comes into full view, he puts his nervousness aside to instead show confidence, seeming certain that his new face will be noticed.

Cedric, having gravitated to the center, takes on crinos form, his neat suit and tie vanishing into the thick white fur which sprouts as he bulks up and stretches, looking up at the full moon and then around at the other garou, some known to him, some not.

Tu, having caught his breath, takes a moment to shift up to crinos. He looks around expectantly.

In the windiest area, ~Howl!~ Howls-Accord sings out once she recognizes the bulk of the Sept has arrived. The Master of the Howl settles into her place amidst the wind. ~For Grandmother, Mirror Woman and one another! Send Horned Serpent nightmares of your glory and strength!~ She inhales deeply, then unleashes her voice in a pure, strong howl.

By the waterfall, Reggie mops his forehead, hot from the exertion he's taken to waddle into the caern, despite being wet from some rain. He addresses Jamethon with a nod and a few quiet words, then is interrupted by the howl, mutters an apology, and starts off into the center to join his voice into the howl.

Long-Suffering perks her ears as she spots Reggie and looks at him in confusion as he is seen close to the Warder. The youngest Uktena present turns her head and rises as she howls out to the open sky her song to Gaia.

Lightning bursts into a good, loud, and moderately melodic howl once the signal is given.

Blackriver tilts her giant hispo head back and howls long and hard, giving the cubs a look to indicate that they should do the same.

There's the signal. Nodding to the two cubs, Leslie shucks her jacket to the rain-sodden ground and stretches up into Crinos, adding her own, deeper voice to the growing paean to the night sky.

Melodic doesn't describe Circle Keeper's howl. The barrel chested Ahroun takes a deep breath, before loosing a low howl to join the others.

By the waterfall, Jamethon looks to Reggie and nods to the few words, then as the howl begins he simply raises his head as if he were to howl in the human body. No sound comes forth from the Warder however, and again he stands silent and ready. Prepared.

Protests-Much tenses, nervous and confused. She waits for Circle Keeper to start his howl, before bulking up into crinos and adding her own, raw and discorded enough to make music teachers run screaming in pain.

By the waterfall, Reggie heads into the center.
Reggie has arrived.

Kevin waits until the last possible moment before taking on crinos form. He doesn't stand, but remains on the ground as he howls out his own wolfsong.

Amidst the chorus of howls, Far-Cry's rings out deeply to join them in a dischordant, but rich tone.

Runner's cry starts off soft, but gathers force and soon is praising the land and Gaia with all the might she can muster.

Walks-Middle tilts back her head as the howl begins, joining her own young, proud voice to the song.

Vernon rises to full Crinos height, and lets loose a howl. It rises inexorably to a high pitch, then after a few seconds goes down a major third, then up a fifth, even higher than what he sang before... then back down the fifth, ending the chord he has spontaneously spelled.

In the windiest area, Howls-Accord stands proudly in her crinos form, her chest puffed forward, her eyes glittering at those at the Center. She lets the tension hang almost too long as the echoes of that first howl ring, then tips her head skyward again to call Tu forward and to howl the first Law of the Litany. He makes his retort and the Sept responds. She listens and before their answers die away, she gestures out, away from the caern. ~Combat Horned Serpent, wherever it dwells and wherever it breeds!~ she calls.

~Go.~ Spies says simply. He waits for people to leave, then repeats his command loudly. ~GO! The 'horned serpent' is dwelling and breeding this very moment. Let us combat it now!~ He takes a energetic step towards the edge of the Caern, then stops, looking back at the others. ~I'm sure there is a hive nearby. We have seen the signs! Let us all go and deal with it right now! Death be damned!~

Blackriver growls out deep in the back of her throat. ~A caern shall not be violated. Gaia gave us more than one law for a reason.~

As the last howls die away, Leslie slides back down out of Crinos and back into the near-man, sinking down gingerly to the ground atop her jacket. Angry half-healed gashes have been rent in the Fury's arms and sides, and she moves with a mind to that. However, that doesn't stop her from replying. ~Rushing off to die does not serve Gaia, fool, nor does it serve your sisters. Cooler heads prevail over the hot ones.~

Power-Up allows his tongue to loll out for a moment in seeming amusement. ~Better to strike subtly than to charge in to certain death, sometimes,~ the ragabash opines.

Far-Cry bares his fangs in a vague smile. ~Come with us, then,~ he replies back, loud enough to be heard by those nearby.

Runner is not quite as amused as Power-Up, but she does retain a degree of humor. Fur rippling up and down as she shakes off a tension, the ragabash adds, ~If you rush into battle, you'll end up looking like Rags!~ The Gnawer barks this out all in good fun.

~Go! Ragabashes rush in where ahrouns fear to tread!~, Rags snarls at the Fool, ~Choose your battles and have the enemy meet you on your terms, not theirs!~ He catches Runner's words, and turns his snarl from the Fool towards her.

Protests-Much's ears slick back and she looks terribly confused.

In the windiest area, Howls-Accord's ears flatten at the Fool's words. She recoils a bit, snarling as though his assertion has physically assaulted her. The Sept's answers seem to bolster her spirit and she stamps her foot on the ground. ~Respect the territory of another,~ she rumbles at Spies-the-Wyrm.

Lightning listens to the shouts and howls of protest that greet the fool, and growls, perhaps a little tentatively, along with them.

Spies-the-Wyrm shakes his head. ~Respect, I assume, in the same manner that we 'respect' those below us. Or those above us. With a wink and a nod, then with a gesture when their backs are turned.~ He waives his hand dismissively. ~This is a law created by the wolf-breed...~, he lifts his hand to point at the Fang Elder accusingly. ~...who were worried about others pissing where they shouldn't. It has no place in our world today. I passed through at least three territories to get here - quick summon a half moon!~ He looks around to gathered faces. ~If I am chasing a bane, I better hope it doesn't head into someone else's territory - because I am obliged to stop and ask for permission before I proceed. Or is that okay? Are we only worried about the pissing?~

Blackriver's lips curl back and she lets out a loud snarl.

Circle Keeper makes a growled rebuttal of the fool, more a personal threat than anything, before he catches the Cub's apparent confusion. He leans on his weapon, rocking towards her to rumble something low, before he stops, and listens to the Fool's statement. He finishes rumbling to the cub, before he hollers out, ~Has place for apes too! And that killing a fleeing bane is not disrespecting territory!~

Nominally, you are wolf as well as human, and more than either.~ Leslie's tone, even in the rumble of Moher's Tongue, casts doubt on her own assertion. ~To assert that wolf laws do not have a place among us is to deny yourself.~

~You just now suggested hunting out the Wyrm this moment,~ Power-Up points out in would-be reasonable fashion. ~Can't have it both ways, silly.~

Runner's ears tilt back at Rags' snarl directing towards her. The Gnawer gives him in return a placating smile of apology, brief though it may be. Turning back to the Calling, she listens intently, quiet on this round.

~Howl out for help, and those in that territory will help your chase. Surely they'd thank you for the entertainment,~ Far-Cry considers roughly.

Lightning growls deep. ~No garou would treat such a case as violation of their territory,~ he snaps back, ~and only a fool would suggest otherwise. A fool who deliberately misunderstands and twists the litany for the sake of mockery.~

Protests-Much glances back up at Circle Keeper and nods her head a little, leaning forward to give it a try. ~That's stupid! There's a difference between just going on someone's land and pissing all over it.~

Dances-Memory looks all about him, not saying anything but gazing intensely around the Moot, looking at each Garou present in turn, and listening intently to every expression of Garou in the air.

Circle Keeper rumbles something more to Michelle, after a moment.

In the windiest area, Howls-Accord backs away again, baring her fangs, hunching her shoulders and pacing. Each time the Sept rebukes the Fool, she stands taller, as though she personally embodies the traditions they are defending. The interplay continues, the Galliard and the Ragabash playing out their traditional roles through the next few laws. Then, drawing herself up to her full height, Howls-Accord speaks two laws at once. ~The leader may be challenged during a time of peace. The leader may not be challenged in a time of war.~

~Combat the 'horned serpent' where it dwells and breeds~, the Ragabash says, as if he's lost his place and started over. ~The Wyrm will always breed, and it will always dwell. That is what the prophecies say.~ His voice, tinged with sadness at first, grows like the growl of a wolf. ~We are always at war. Therefore, we may never challenge the leader. So, if Culls-The-Herd-Rhya leads us off a cliff - we must always follow. That's the law we are to follow?~

~We are not fighting now! Now is the time to challenge her, if you think a Cliath is better than an Adren!~ Circle Keeper barks angrily at Tu.

Protests-Much nods to Circle Keeper again, scanning the crowd until her gaze lands on Vernon and giving him a smug look.

Power-Up looks around, quite obviously in search of Vera, conspicuous by her absence. He again lets his tongue loll out in amusement. ~Prophecies are not litany,~ he simply responds, then shuts up again, still grinning.

Blackriver twitches an ear. ~It's not war unless the elders say it is.~ She points out, also glancing around for the absent alpha.

Lightning has gotten into his stride now, and has been batting back each of the fool's statements at him over the last few laws. ~If you do not know war from peace you are more of a fool even than you seem!~ he howls. ~You start from an error, and pile more errors atop it. I call you fool and blind idiot.~

Runner pipes up with a blackly humored note, ~If Culls-the-Herd-rhya falls off a cliff and dies, she is no longer the living leader then. Then there will be new leaders. Ones who will not lead us off a cliff.~

Leslie has lapsed nto an uncharacteristic silence for her, and seems to be content to simply liten for now.

Walks-Ahead stands behind Leslie and her tribemates, her back up against the sheer rock face that walls in the caern. Her body is motionless, but her eyes and ears dart to home in on each Garou as they speak.

Vern, also Dancer-of-Memory, returns Protests-Much's gaze and responds with a wry grin. Oh, I see you, he seems to say.

Circle Keeper seems to catch Vernon's gaze. His own turns sour, if not a little hostile, and the Fostern Glowers towards the cub.

The instant Circle Keeper stares him down, Dances-Memory immediately shapes up, his eyes bolting down at the ground.

Protests-Much's hackles raises and she gives the Fang cub an indignant look before making a point of turning away.

In the windiest area, Howls-Accord stands tall and proud as the Sept defends these laws and the last. She bounces in place as the last catcalls rise against Spies-the-Wyrm, then lunges forward, the wind buffeting against her fur. ~Chimera, Mirror Woman, has heard you speak of the Traditions. Reflections-Howl-rhya, please call her forth so her Sept can praise her!~ she calls, sweeping her arms outwards to direct the Sept's attention towards the waterfall and the Get of Fenris there.

Blackriver turns and blinks at Dances-Memory and the Pure Ones, looking somewhat thoughtful.

Circle Keeper snorts at the Cub, before turning his full attention back to shouting down the fool for the remaining laws.

Leslie looks over at the cub briefly, then follows his gaze. Her brows narrow thoughtfully, but she shrugs and turns back to the waterfall, waiting for the Inner Sky to be opened.

Long-Suffering has a blank expression on her muzzle as she listens to the caller and the fool. Her ears remain perked as she listens, appearing to be more an observer than a participant.

By the waterfall, Jamethon turns now and faces the waterfall directly, still in the human body. "Chimera. Hear us." Then the Warder raises his arms and a hush befalls the caern, even the waterfall's crashing fades. Growls are silent, grass does not crunch, and the vents do not hiss. Though from the pressure that builds on the ears, it is not like the world has gone mute... it is like there is instead a sound so all encompassingly loud that nothing else can be heard. Jamethon bursts into the crinos form and lifts his arms higher to the sky, muzzle opening and body heaving as if he were unleashing a mighty howl. The pressure increases, it is not painful to the ear, but rather omni-present. Unescapable and powerful. Still Fights-For-Hope looks to howl, increasing the intensity of his movements and tilting his head back even further to painful looking degrees. Still there is the lack of any such sound to be heard.

Lightning's ears flicker downwards, then back up, as though he's trying to clear them in the face of this strange phenomenon which is the sudden absence of sound. He looks up at Jamethon atop the waterfall with concern.

Protests-Much stares wide-eyed at Jamethon, fur bristling and ears perked forward in alarm and curiosity.

Vernon casts a wary look at Jamethon, the tension of the gathering washing over him, putting him at rapt, reverent attention.

Walks-Ahead clamps her hands over her ears and tucks her tail between her legs, letting out a low, quiet whine.

Runner shifts a bit in her spot, looking excited as the Opening Sky is about to be performed. That quickly changes however, towards more and more discomfort when the sound is washed from the area.

Far-Cry narrows his eyes, crossed arms becoming uncrossed at the strange proceedings. He looks from one face to another, but then stares at the waterfall, and the Warder atop.

Power-Up hunches up and looks most uneasy at these strange goings-on.

Leslie waits silently, eyes on the hilltop. If she is as disconcerted as the others, she hides it perhaps a bit better, though er lips are pulld down in a frown.

In the windiest area, Howls-Accord stiffens in her place at the absence of sound, her ears cupping forward and back. She flexes her claws, then lowers her head.

Blackriver blinks, tilts her head back, and looks up expectantly at the Warder.

Rags looks expectantly towards the Warder, then tenses, tilting his head to one side and another, as the oddness of sound, or not-sound, builds up.

Grey enters the caern as unobtrusively as possible, bringing with him the acrid smells of the city -- recently-smoked cigarettes being predominant.

Spies-the-Wyrm shakes his muzzle, trying to clear his ears. An oddly lupine motion for the Walker. His curious and concerned gaze remains on the Warder.

Walks-Middle stares at first, her ears plastered against her heard in distress at what is happening... or not happening, then she does the only thing she can really think to do, tilts her head back and tries to join in the, well, silent howl, trying to add to the strange howl to the Totem.

Protests-Much's gaze turns to Walks-Middle, and after a moment of hesitation she too opens her jaws and tries to howl.

In the windiest area, Howls-Accord gives a short whine, whether it's heard or not. She looks at the others, temporarily at a loss. As she spots Walks-Middle and Protests-Much, she seems to recover herself. She stands straight again, takes a short breath and attempts to sing out with the others.

Dances-Memory looks up and about for a moment, and abandoning his previous reservedness, opens his throat to try and release a long, low howl.

Runner, seeing othres attempting to howl, adds in her bet too. A long inhale, followed by a hard exhale in her effort to make a sound and break the silence.

Blackriver looks around, and then attempts to howl too, no real organization behind the sound, or attempt at sound at least.

By the waterfall, time passes. Fights-For-Hope soon is doubling over in apparent pain and yet still does he look to howl, and now probably more roar than howl, from a raw throat. Time passes once more. A voice of such pleasant beauty it could bring Hitler to smile wistfully with a feeling of love for all his fellow human race rings out with the simple words that seem natural for all to hear... they are not English, they are not lupine in nature, they are not the mother's tongue. They simply are... this: I hear you.

Then does sound begin to return. Like a distant typhoon coming upon an ant sitting in the wet sand upon the beach shore, it comes quiet at first... but does not remain thus. At first it is a whisper of all the Warder's howling and roaring, and it builds and builds. Soon growlings can be heard in the cacophony. Then disconcerted whisperings. Grass crunching and the vents hissing. Then do the howls that some have added from the gathered Garou join in and it all sounds strangely harmonious for the first time since this has begun. It all builds and reflects upon itself like the sound is echoing off other sounds. It is a loudness unlike any among the Garou have ever experienced, and each is assaulted by the building majesty and power of their patron spirit Chimera as the typhoon... lands.

At once the ground beneath the Garou's feet seems to heave, though nothing truly moves, and a flash like the entire world having it's picture taken is accompanied by a single piercing cry that suddenly just is and becomes all that can be heard. Fights-For-Hope is turning around towards the Garou as this sound fades and blood mattes the fur around his muzzle. His voice is loud and hoarse, but can be heard by all. ~Remember, Garou! The majesty of the great spirits whom we are sworn to! Remember that they need us... and if spirits so mighty as these need our claws... then remember that our foes too are great in power. We must become stronger than ever to save Gaia before she is taken from us. The end times are here. The Inner Sky is open. Let us moot.~ Fights-For-Hope begins now to walk towards the center of the Caern.

Power-Up goes from unease to delight in a moment. He springs up from his seated position and as sound returns to the caern, he punches the air in triumph.

Protests-Much goes silent, breathing hard at all the howling. It's only for a moment though, as she quickly opens her jaws and tries to howl again.

In the windiest area, Howls-Accord springs forward then back in exuberant glee, a yelp of energetic cheer preceding a short howl of celebration.

Dances-Memory wags his tail happily... at least, as happily as a Crinos can manage. His eyes bright, he looks about him, eager to see what will happen next.

Culls-The-Herd cocks her head to one side, ears pressing forward, then laying flat against her skull. Great jaws part and the Ragabash's tongue lolls in pleasure.

Lightning's ears go back to lying flat as they're assaulted by a tumult of sounds, the Silver Fang's huge crinos hands clenching into fists as the din beats all around him. Not until Fights-for-Hope finally speaks does he relax somewhat, and even then he still seems less than content, as though uncertain whether he is comfortable with this sept's method of opening the inner sky.

Far-Cry, remaining silent as the results of the rite crash upon the caern, doesn't do so for long. The philodox once more howls loudly, and with pride.

Blackriver looks around at the end of the Inner Sky, letting the howls fade into silence before shifting into crinos and grabbing a large, white bone by her side. Bone in hand, she stalks towards the large, granite rock and vaults to the top. ~Now the caern is open!~ She calls, ~Now we look to the words of our septmates.~ She pulls down in the bone, breaking it with a loud crack. ~Now we speak! Those that are new, come forward so your septmates can see and know you!~

Grey grimaces, managing to look like he's flattening his ears even though he's still in human form. Scowling, the grey-haired, black-clad Glass Walker remains at the edge of the gathering, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat.

Walks-Middle holds her howl until Fights-for-Hope turns toward them, her tone turning from desperate, pleading to triumphant as the sound returns. Her jaws part in contentment as she gives her attention to Blackriver, awaiting the news to come.

By the waterfall, Reflection heads into the center.
Reflection has arrived.

With the sky open, Tu shifts down to homid. He lifts his one hand, and calmly sticks his finger in his ear, wiggling it slightly. Then he turns his attention back to the cracking of the bone.

Long-Suffering turns her head to the center of the caern, attempting to hind a yawn by dipping her massive lupus head down.

Lightning shakes his head and his ears finally return to their upright position. He moves forward instantly, claiming the first introduction as of right, and seizes the broken bone from Blackriver. ~Greetings to all of this sept!~ he calls out in a firm and pleasant tone. ~I am Strikes-as-Suddenly-as-Lightning-from-a-Clear-Sky, a fostern galliard of the Silver Fangs. My family's history is long and glorious, and I will sing of it to those who wish to hear on a future night. Falcon has sent me here to do his bidding and Gaia's, and I look forward to performing it and to living here among you. I shall speak more of this, later in this moot.~

Protests-Much looks around, glances up at Circle Keeper, and then takes a few tentative steps forward before breaking into a fast creep and taking the bone from Blackriver like it's a lifejacket and she's drowning in the ocean. ~I'm Protests-too-Much.~ She informs the sept, turning out to face them. ~Wendigo Theurge cub.~ Her posture straightens a little, and she seeks out her elders before handing the bones back and trotting down to her spot by Circle Keeper.

A small white Garou in crinos form climbs up to the granite boulder, and takes the bone from Blackriver. Though she holds her head high, her hackles are raised, her ears are back, and her tail droops straight down. She looks out over the assembled Garou, at the worn and scarred faces full of wisdom and bitterness, and tucks back a strand of her long white mane that has blown in front of her face. Though she opens her mouth as though about to speak, several long moments pass in awkward silence.

Up on the boulder, the white cub's gaze wanders about the crowd, picking out the familiar face of Lighting, and then glancing back at Blackriver. Finally, she shakes her head and blinks twice, and haltingly addresses the crowd. ~Garou of the Sept of the Hidden Walk, I am a cub of the Silver Fang tribe. I was born to Tears-Off-Her-Own-Half-Ear and a human kinfolk under as the moon waxed gibbous. My tribe has called me Always-Walks-Ahead.~ Giving the crowd a final glance, she quickly climbs down and out of public view.

Tu wanders slowly over to Kevin. Feigning interest in those who hold the bone he leans in and, without taking his eyes off the holder of the bone, says softly, "Prophecies are not the litany?" He then gives the other Walker a soft kick for good measure.

In the windiest area, Howls-Accord paces in the Windy Spot, giving a short greeting chuff to the Wendigo cub as she introduces herself. Then she's silent and attentive again.

Circle Keeper's gaze falls on the new Fostern, the short arctic-white crinos eyeing the other skeptically. That is, until the Ahroun catches sight of the other's Klaive, when he straitens up significantly.

Blackriver gives a soft huff of encouragement to Erika as she takes back the bones, and then looks to Vernon.

After patiently awaiting his turn, Vernon vaults atop the rock, standing straight and tall. As he clutches the broken bone, he speaks out with a steady voice in the Mother Tongue, ~Greetings! I am Dances-Memory, Galliard Cub of the Silver Fangs! Son of Might-of-the-Quill of the Sept of the North Wind!~ This said, he returns the bone to Blackriver, and steps down beside Erika to pat her on the back and nod encouragement to her.

Blackriver watches the cub walk down and quickly scans the crowd to see if anyone else wishes to introduce themselves. Seeing none, she gives a flick of her ears and raises the bone up again. ~Now it is time to spread news.~ Looking out over the crowd, she holds the bone out for whoever wishes to take it.

Rags accepts the bones from Blackriver and turns to the gathering. ~In the city, a man was showing around a photograph of a dead metis to anyone who wanted to look!~ Rags waves around the bones, showing them to the gathered Garou, as if they were the photograph in discussion. ~I am tracking down its source, and I need assistance. This is a delicate matter. Your claws are not needed, but your tongues are. I need someone, Garou or kin, who knows Spanish and is skilled in dealing with humans.~ Rags hands over the bones back to Blackriver.

Grey's brow furrows slightly at Rags's words. Under his breath, he mutters to himself, "What, again?"

Power-Up turns his head towards his tribemate, in a plain gesture of 'sorry, what was that?'

Long-Suffering looks to Rags and narrows her eyes. ~Speak with our cub, Running Elk, she has family kin that speak the language.~ she rumbles lowly. Her ears flatten against her head, distrubed by this news.

Grey catches the look from Power-Up and gives his head a slight shake, mouthing 'later' before cocking a sour, scowling eye back at the Truthcatcher.

Culls-The-Herd's lips pull back from her teeth and she snarls softly.

Runner definitely lifts her head at that announcement. She rumbles quietly, ears flipping back in thought and tail flicking side to side.

Circle Keeper seems to boil with anger, the Ahroun wading through the crowd, shoving anyone aside who dare get in his way. It takes the lenght of Reggie's announcement to get to Blackriver, where he promptly snatches the bones, not giving anyone the chance to take them. His fist clenches them tight, like he's trying to crush the bones in his hand. ~IF I SEE ANYONE ELSE...~ he bellows, loud, ~... use the HEART OF THE CAERN as a place to announce from, I will tear out their entrails!~ There's hardly a moment's pause, before the Ahroun turns to roar at Erica and Vernon's direction, ~It is NOT. FOR. STANDING ON! Respect our totem and caern!~ He hands the bones back with such vigour that it looks like he's trying to throw them, instead of handing them back like he is. Angry much?

Reflection for one, does not seem to care to shout down Circle Keeper's anger, as he only nods to the Uktena's words... fuming.

Power-Up hops to his feet, now. As Circle Keeper storms angrily away from Blackriver, he approaches her, extends one hand for the bones, and collects them. Then he looks at the boulder to which Circle Keeper has just referred, and seems on the verge of springing up onto it... but then he shakes his head, and simply turns around. ~Rags-torn-to-Rags was too modest to mention,~ he tells the sept, ~that he has joined the pack Vendetta under Raccoon, adding his strength to it. If any of you can help with the language thing, and can't find Rags, speak to another of Vendetta.~ He bows from the waits, hands off the bones to Blackriver, and waltzes away from the centre casually.

Grey's scowl simply deepens.

Blackriver takes the bones back, and her fur bristles, at which of the last three announcements, it's hard to be sure.

Circle Keeper returns to his place, stomps more like it, and abruptly spins about when he returns to Stacey and Michelle. Kevin's announcemnet seems to get Circle Keeper to redirect all his ire towards Reggie, staring death at him for a long moment, before staring death at Kevin.

Lightning strides back to the middle with a disdainful look at the departing ragabash and reclaims the speaking-bone. ~As I said just now,~ he begins, ~I have come to this sept to stay. Chiminage has been set for me, and I rejoice to advise that I have fulfilled its terms. The dwelling known as~ 'Fairbanks House' ~is now open to garou of the sept, on the edge of the bawn. Treat it with respect and do not take it for granted. I shall be there when I can. Unless Culls-the-Herd has any objection to make --~ he turns to the sept alpha -- ~I now claim membership of this sept.~

Blackriver's eyes go the sept alpha as well.

Culls-The-Herd inclines her head in a mildly distracted manner, but clearly offering no objection.

Rags beams, pleased, at Kevin's announcement, his pride allowing stares to roll off him.

Circle Keeper looks to Cedric, and then Vera. Only after a few moments of this, though, it's right back to glaring at Erika.

Lightning stands proudly upright when Culls-the-Herd offers no objection, and nods once. He passes the bones back to Blackriver.

Protests-Much follows Circle Keeper's gaze and smirks at the two Fang cubs.

Gingerly, Leslie stands and limps over to take the bones from Blackriver, considering her packmate in silence for a long moment before speaking. ~Blackriver-yuf, elders of the Sept...what is the status of the one called Promises-Kept? I had thought that he had been cast from the Sept, yet I am told that he has returned and even that he is trying to make amends. If he is within the caern, should he be accepted or removed? What of the farmhouse?~

Walks-Ahead slinks to the back of the crowd, and when Lightning and Blackriver are looking towards Culls-the-Herd, she sneaks off to the south.

Walks-Ahead goes northwest, into the swirling wind.
In the windiest area, Walks-Ahead comes into this quarter from the caern center.
In the windiest area, Walks-Ahead heads towards the waterfall.
By the waterfall, Walks-Ahead comes along the caern from the north.
By the waterfall, Walks-Ahead starts along the trail up to the rim of the valley.

Lightning pauses in the act of walking away when Leslie springs that question, and spins around once more. He moves quickly to Blackriver's side, standing alongside the other Silver Fang tensely.

Culls-The-Herd blinks and growls, a low rumbling deep in the base of her chest.

Blackriver's whole body tenses as she takes the bones back. ~Recently...~ She begins, ~I learned Promises-Kept had not left the sept. He claims Falcon told him to stay here in a dream. Lightning-rhya and I are looking into it, and it is a matter for my tribe and the sept alpha.~ Here she pauses to bow her head in recognition towards Vera. ~He is not welcome at the sept grounds. At least not now.~ The Philodox's gaze turns to Lightning, looking to see if the Fostern has anything to add.

Power-Up folds his hands together in a tight ball as this topic unfolds, flexing his fingers into one another.

In the windiest area, Howls-Accord turns around, as though she's expecting the spectre of Promises-Kept to emerge from the trees. She turns back when Blackriver speaks, glancing at Circle Keeper and Walks-Middle.

Culls-The-Herd's ears plaster against her skull and she steps toward Leslie, silently demanding the bones.

Lightning seems about to reach for the bones himself, but when the sept elder comes up with hand outstretched, he slowly backs away and concedes them to her.

Leslie doesn't have the bones, but Blackriver does, and she readily offers them to Culls-the-Herd.

Abraxas also scowls.

Noticing that Walks-Ahead is gone, Dances-Memory moves to the back of the crowd, his eyes occasionally giving a searching glance around for her. He remains wary, still listening to what is being said.

Culls-The-Herd takes the bones in her hands and for a brief moment, looks as if she is going to beat Blackriver over the head with them. ~This is a subject I had planned to speak of tonight, because of a note left in the Farmhouse. The note was written by a Silver Fang by the name of Mathias Sorrendale, also known as Promises-Kept. A Theurge and a Cliath of the Silver Fangs. Some here may remember him, some here may not, but that matters little. Promises-Kept came to this Sept and wished to join us, to become a part of what we have here.~ The Shadow Lord makes a sweeping gesture with the bones. ~He had little to offer us and after some consideration, was allowed to remain as a Guest and given a task as Chiminage. He never completed his task and his Chiminage was rejected after a number of instances. He was told to leave, if I correctly recall what I was told by Blackriver.~ Culls' inclines her head in the Silver Fang Elder's direction. Clearly more then a little displeased, the black Crinos continues to speak. ~Promises-Kept was simply asked to leave and no announcements were made, so the young fool could save some face. Well, I am now going to tell you WHY his Chiminage was rejected in the first place, so that all may know of his deeds.~

Lightning seems to swell up, hackles rising, and his already huge form grows a little huger. His hand strays to his side, where his klaive rests, almost of its own accord, before he forces it away and listens, eyes boring holes in the Shadow Lord.

In the windiest area, Howls-Accord's ears prick forward and she steps out of the wind, the better to hear this new tale. All of her normally divided attention is on the Adren.

Reflection crosses his arms at this latest topic, eyes narrowing and eyes perking in interest.

Blackriver's ears are plastered back against her skull, and she curls back her lips in a noiseless snarl, incredibly pissed off.

Circle Keeper, upon hearing the start of Vera's talk, starts to find some new places to direct that rage he's been expressing the last little bit. Like, the Silver Fangs, some dirt, some trees, and Vernon again.

Far-Cry inclines his head in a seemingly disinterested manner. Lightning's klaive has more of his interest at first. Eventually, the philodox returns his attentions back to the sept alpha with more or less, neutral flatness to his gaze.

Protests-Much peers intently at Vera. Oooh, trashing Silver Fangs! There's an activity she can throw her full support behind.

Culls-The-Herd draws in a deep breath, ears pressing forward. ~Promises-Kept had nothing to offer his Sept, but we were generous and still allowed him the opportunity to complete a task as Chiminage and remain here as a Guest until that time. While a guest here, he offended a small number of our Sept. Dillen Bane-Of-The Blood-Suckers, a Galliard of the Get of Fenris. He did this by moving his wife and child to a different location, without informing Bane-Of-The-Bloodsuckers. As we all know, having our mate and children mysterious disappear is always a welcome event,~ Culls' adds with a sneer. ~He would not even offer apology, when his oversight was discovered. I even heard grumbling that he managed to annoy those of the Black Furies in some manner involving their kinfolk. But these are minor issues, annoyances.~

If Lightning swells up any more, he's going to burst, like the frog in Aesop's fable.

The sarcasm looks momentarily lost on Circle Keeper, but the bulk of Vera's message seems to sink in with the Uktena Fostern. The end effect is, surprise, him getting even more angry.
In the windiest area, Howls-Accord's eyes get wider, and her lips pull back. She witholds commentary, aside from flexing claws and rising hackles.

Dances-Memory looks through the crowd to Lightning, perhaps attempting to find a friendly face in the crowd. Noticing Lightning's less-than-friendly state of mind, he simply moves in an unobtrusive manner nearer to him and Blackriver.

~He did more, far more,~ Culls-The-Herd continues. ~He was given the Honor, the Honor of joining this Sept on the Great Hunt. In the Hunt, we were sent into the sewers of the city, where great maggots fell upon us from the ceiling and chewed upon our flesh. Promises-Kept was ahead of me in these narrow tunnels and thrashed about like a landed fish when these maggots fell upon him, like a Flailing-Fool. He did not hold still when I ordered him to, so I could peel the Wyrm creatures from his flesh. He did not stand aside when I ordered him to, so I could attack the main quarry of the Hunt, which I could hear in the tunnels ahead of us. All he did was bash himself against the walls, blocking my path and forcing me to push past him, injuring myself in the process. He was no more then a Flailing-Fool!~

A little growl comes from Power-Up. It's unclear whether this is in reaction to the alpha's words, or is a comment upon the actions of Promises-Kept.

Runner, on that note, looks less than pleased at the entire going-ons. Standing up from her position, the ragabash moves herself to a section further from the sept alpha, and to a portion with less Garou crowding around. There, she flops and pins her ears back, lashing her tail in silent thoughts.

Long-Suffering lowly growls under her breath continiously.

Circle Keeper, himself, appears to be at the point he's ready to have an aneurism by this point.

~Ah, but wait, there is more,~ Vera continues, almost sounding like a game show host for the briefest of moments. ~When he was confronted by Bane-Of-The-Bloodsuckers over the issue of his Mate being moved without his knowledge, Mathias sealed himself inside of his Den and sulked like a petulant child. There is also the issue of the Fomori that he killed with the aid of Kills-The-Cries, and the one Fomor that was allowed to escape and was captured by police. By the Fucking police. When I questioned him, about the incident, he was evasive, doing everything in his power to sound as if nothing was his fault, instead of just telling me what had happened. Until Kills-The-Cries, who was far more straight forward and helpful in determining what had happened and what action was required. Of course, shortly after that, the papers were running stories. About how the Fomor had killed himself, how police thought he was mentally ill, because he spoke of werewolves attacking him. Mention of us, in the human's paper!~

Seemingly as a last resort to having some kind of frenzy or fit, Lightning stomps off from the center of the caern to the very edge, shrinks down to lupus form, and curls up in a ball and in high dudgeon.

The mention of the veil breach gets a snarl out of Circle Keeper, the Ahroun shaking his weapon slightly to enunciate his carefully worded point.

Runner bares her teeth and snarls, but her reasons are unclear aside from its meaning to puncture the tension around her. A snort follows quickly after, and she forces her head down onto her paws, willing herself silent still.

Blackriver just stands there and listens, hackles raising but nothing more. She lets out a soft growl to follow Cedric back to the edge of the caern.

Vernon follows Blackriver at a distance, sticking to his own as he remains to listen. Soft, nearly inaudible growls emanate from his throat.

Culls-The-Herd snorts, clearing out her lungs and falling silent for a few heartbeats. ~So for this and possibly other things, his Chiminage was rejected and he was asked to leave. Now, he seems that he has returned. Not only has he returned, he is posting noted in the Farmhouse asking for our aid in renewing the spirits around his home, in preparation for the long winter. He asks for our aid! I for one, will offer him nothing and if I see him anywhere near the farmhouse or Bawn, I will gut him myself. I do not welcome him back and unless he has something truly remarkable and valuable to offer this Sept, he will never be welcome here.~ Hard angry yellow eyes focus on Blackriver. ~You say that Falcon sent him, I would strongly suggest that you enlist the aid of a Theurge and speak with one of Falcons children yourself, before blindly believing what Flailing-Fool claims. Rags-To-Rags!,~ The Adren switches her focus rather suddenly. ~I speak "Spanish" and deal with humans well, if you require my aid. I am done here.~ Handing the bones back to Blackriver, Culls stomps back to her previous spot.

Far-Cry follows Blackriver and Cedric along with but his gaze. The philodox's arms cross back over themselves across his chest, and he releases a long, low exhale once the alpha's tirade is over.

Long-Suffering's jaw is hanging agap when Culls finishes. The Galliard snaps her jaws together and looks onto the crowd with a cold stare.

Tu sighs, and shifts up to crinos once again. He waits for his turn for the bones.

Tu takes the bones and clears his throat, looking around those collected. ~I feel I must tell that Mathias had been staying on the guest side of the Walker's Safe House. When he asked me for permission to remain there, I knew he was banned from the Caern and the bawn.~ He takes a moment, considering his words. ~But, no hunt on him was called and I knew only he was banned from those areas, not the reasons why. I felt if he was going to stay in the city, it was better to keep him somewhere close, rather than to have him on his own with no eyes to watch.~ He pauses, as if considering what else to add, then hands the bones back.

Circle Keeper's lips curl up at Tu's revelation, another low growl forming in his chest.

Blackriver looks rather surprised at this, and gives a sharp snarl at Tu.

In the windiest area, Howls-Accord rumbles a short huff, glancing at her fellow Pure Ones from her spot in the wind.

Runner looks a little surprised at Tu's note, but it seems to smooth her hackles a touch or two rather than ruffle them.

Culls-The-Herd sighs heavily, clearly a little calmer now. As before, she steps up and takes the bones. ~There was no Hunt called for him, nor will I call one, unless he does something incredibly stupid. His Chiminage was rejected and he was asked to leave, any Garou with an ounce of Wisdom would have left our protectorate at that time. He is Anruth, he has no rights and any who wish to, can do him harm without fear of punishment from the Sept. Mathias has risked the Veil and ignored orders during battle. He is not one of us, he is an outsider. If you choose to harbor this Anruth, that is your choice and your folly.~ Handing back the bones, Vera steps back down.

Tu nods at the Alpha's words, and shifts back down to Homid, taking his place back among the crowd.

Blackriver takes back the bones, posture relaxing a bit now that the subject of Mathias appears to be done, and scans the crowd for anyone else who needs to speak. Seeing none, she lifts the bones high, and speaks again, some of the confidence drained out of her voice. ~Pierces-Ice-rhya is Master of Challenges, but she is not here. So now I ask those who have news of challenges to come forward and say them.~

Walks-Middle steps over as Blackriver announces news of challenges and takes the bones from her. Scanning the gathered crowd, her eyes rest on Reggie for a moment before moving on. ~As you know, Rags-Torn-to-Rags challenged me for the position of Groundskeeper. He has completed the terms I gave him to my satisfaction, proving to me that he does have the wisdom and honor required for this position. I pass on the reins of Groundskeeper into his hands. May he serve the Sept in this regard well.~

Far-Cry's hackles lift slightly upon the word 'Anruth', his eyes turning down for a short time. When Walks-Middle steps up to announce the challenge completion, he glances back up again with a more focused look.

Blackriver takes the bones back and waits a long moment for anyone else to come up amd speak. When no one does, she holds the bones up high. ~The Cracking of the Bone is finished.~ She announces, and walks back to the caern center, shifting down into lupus as she goes and padding over towards Leslie.

In the windiest area, Howls-Accord takes a deep breath to re-center herself, then steps forward with a curious little chirrup. She holds her arms high as she assumes her place as the Talesinger. A blast of cold wind sweeps past her and through the caern center as she regards her Septmates. ~Now is the time for the telling of our tales, to remind us of our place and of our great deeds! We are all Garou, we are all great and mighty! Let us speak of the greatest and mightiest of us, strong warriors and wise shamans and honorable elders!~ She thrusts a fist skyward. ~It is time to sing and dance and tell our tales!~ The wind whips her fur as she points, picking out her fellow Galliards to recount their chosen stories, building the crescendo of excitement among the Sept as they prepare for the Revel.

Rags listens with interest to the debate over the disputed Silver Fang, his hackles raising at the tale of Fomor speaking about werewolves. He looks overly concerned when the Alpha addresses him, and it takes him more than a few moments before he processes her words, and he nods tensely, but deeply. Some of his attention remains on Vera as he watches Walks-Middle make her announcement, and he again acknowledges with a nod.

Grey leaves the caern shortly after the stories get started.