Gone away!

Cedric's tales and deeds are now to be read at this location.

"The ranks we use, dear boy, aren't just like labels you stick on a jar of jelly jam."

Safehouse: Common Area(#2947RAJ)
The foyer of this house is set off from the living room with its octagonal bump-out by a four foot high halfwall. Stairs lead up from the foyer, turning and disappearing to the right, and a wooden door with a keycard lock claims the wall opposite the living room. The rest of the main floor is taken up by a small bathroom across the hallway from a dining room which is separated from the kitchen at the back of the house by another half-wall. The decor is decidedly sparse - white walls, beige carpeting in the living and dining rooms and down the hall, unremarkable vinyl in the foyer and kitchen.
A used couch and a pair of recliners are grouped around a coffee table in the living room, with a foursome of wooden chairs claiming the bump out for quieter conversation. The dining room boasts a white laminate table with four aluminum and vinyl-upholstered chairs - too new to be 'vintage', too old to be trendy. The appliances and cupboards in the kitchen are new - or at least refurbished to look like it - and a door leads out to the backyard from there.
Up the stairs are a number of empty rooms where anyone affiliated with the Sept can crash and an office for private meetings. The Glass Walkers have their own area accessible via a locked door off the foyer. The main doors themselves lead back out to the front porch of the house.

Mathias is in the Safehouse Commons, looking quite happy at the moment, watching the TV as he munchs on some chips and dip.

The safehouse doorbell chimes. Well, actually, it plays the riff from Chuck Berry's "Johnny B Goode". One of those roachwolves must have tweaked the chip inside.

Mathias pauses a moment before he mutes the TV. Standing up, he puts the bowls on the little table as he brushes himself off. Bad to awnser the door with crumbs on you! None the less, Mathias goes to answer the door, peeking through the peephole first to see who it might be.

Through the peephole, Cedric is plainly visible, neatly groomed and immaculately dressed as ever, fidgeting quietly on the doorstep.

Mathias only peers through for a moment, before he opens the door and gives Cedric a bow, steping aside to allow the Fang in. "A pleasure to meet you Cedric-Rhya."

Cedric makes to move inside as soon as the door's opened. "Mathias," he says in a quiet tone. "I need a quick word. Just a quick little word."

Mathias closes the door behind Cedric, as he looks to him. "Yes Cedric?" he still seems pretty happy.

Cedric looks at Mathias. "Have you spoken to Vera-rhya since our last conversation?" he asks his tribemate, coming right to the point.

Mathias shakes his head. "No? Umm, Blackriver warned me away from her. I...wouldn't go back to the farmhouse, because she just might kill me, even if it was something as slight as not wiping my boots."

Cedric allows a faint smile of amusement to spread over his face. "Do you happen to know, Mathias, whether any garou round here, in the city say, knows the Satire Rite?"

Mathias gives a look to Cedric, and shakes his head. "No? Why?" he asks, not making the connection, "Don't one of the Philos have it? Like, Blackriver?"

"If they do," Cedric says, "it's not a well known fact. Been askin' round, some. Nobody I've spoken to knows it. Nobody seems to recall it bein' performed here for years. I've yet to dig the Ritemaster out of whatever Vikin' hole in the ground the madman lives in, but it's lookin' a fair bet that the rite's not known hereabouts. Which makes any attempt to knock you down a rank back to cub an... interesting issue."

Mathias looks to Cedric, well, he's out of his element here. He could tell you about spirits non-stop...but philo issues? He looks to Cedric, then asks after a moment, "Why's that? Can't I just say it and let it be so?"

Cedric shakes his head slowly. "The ranks we use, dear boy," he grins, "aren't just like labels you stick on a jar of jelly jam. They're spiritual tags. And the spirits aren't goin' to scratch one label off and stick another on, if nobody knows the rite to get them to do so. Hell, you're the theurge and I'm lecturing you about spirit-stuff?"

Mathias looks down after a moment, and scratchs his neck. "We never covered stuff like this in cubhood 101 Cedric-Rhya." he pauses, "Supposedly, the philodox hold punishment rites, and if we ever screwed up bad enough to have one done on us...well, bad things would happen."

"Well," Cedric says, looking slightly askance at the evident gaps in Mathias' knowledge, "if nobody knows the rite, the rite can't be held, and so far as the spirits are concerned -- the spirits which grant us so many of our powers and gifts," he stresses by way of reminder -- "you're still cliath, and Vera-rhya can go piss up a rope for all the spirits care."

Mathias gives a soft ahh and looks to Cedric, before he just flops himself back on the couch. "So, if she can't do it, then it means that I can't rejoin the sept..." he trails off, now looking depressed.

"No," Cedric barks vehemently. "If she can't do it, then more fool her for makin' a plan of campaign she can't carry through. Is it your fault if the rite can't be done? No. Is it my fault?" he challenges Mathias, making it clear what answer he expects from the young theurge.

Mathias looks up to Cedric, and scratchs his head a second, then quickly says "No, it's not your fault." he seems to brighten, "And, if it's not my fault, and not your fault, then it'd be her fault, right? Which means I'd be accepted because of her own mistake." he pauses and looks to Cedric, "People are gonna be pissed Cedric, they will feel cheated."

Cedric's eyes gleam. "Let 'em feel cheated," he says in bellicose style. "For once the cards look like they're fallin' our way. I'm not goin' to fold my hand when I'm drawin' to an open straight. I'll keep you posted on this, Mathias. Course, if Gunnar shows up and says, yes of course I know that rite, it all goes back to plan A... so don't get too excited. Yet."

Mathias ahhs and gives a simple nod. He has that happy look again, then says "I guess I shouldn't say a word of this to Gunnar then?"

"The chances of him turnin' up at this house," Cedric assesses, "are somewhat less than those of Vera dancin' a naked can can on top of the caern stone. He's not a city type. Reason I can't find him is probably that he's gone for a bathe under some icy Umbral waterfall... But yes, best keep quiet about this just for now, m'lad."

Mathias gives a simple nod. "Aye Captain, my captain. It will be as you say." his expression is better then Cedric has seen it in a long long time.

Cedric's own expression is still animated, and not in an entirely pleasant way, but he too seems pleased with the present position of things. "Okay. Stay here if the roachwolves are cool with it, and I'll check back soon as there's news." The fostern pats Mathias lightly on the shoulder. "Osric says that Falcon will always provide for His children, and that means us two..."

Mathias just gives a happy grin and waits, smiling. He'd be wagging his tail if he could. "Could I get you anything to eat Cedric-Rhya? And, the locals aren't up in arms yet."

Cedric checks his watch. "What the hell, I'm in no hurry to trudge round over the bawn on four legs playing hunt the Viking."

Mathias gives a smile, and is already in the kitchen by the time Cedric would blink. He pokes his head out, "Burgers? Sandwhichs? Something else with a whole bunch of meat in it for ya?"

"What the hell you like," Cedric says genially. "Surprise me."

Mathias chuckles and smiles, and disappears again. After a few moments, you can heard some chopping noises and squishy moist noises. Still, it begins to smell really good as he cooks up a storm in there.

"So. You think you're good enough to be fostern, mm?"

Fairbanks House: Living Room(#2456RJ)
This is a large, warm and friendly room. The western wall is covered by a large picture-window looking out on the front yard. The carpet is white and thick. The front door is in a small alcove, opening out northwestward. Near the door, wide wooden stairs covered in the center by blue-grey carpet lead upward. The living room itself stretches north from the front door. The kitchen can be seen through an archway, and a door nearby leads to the study. A desk, a table, chairs and a couch decorate the room, elegant and expensive: glass coffee tables with gold corners, plush easy chairs, lamps with soft patterns of rose and gold amidst the white.
The stairs lead up to the second floor, and the door to the northwest goes outside. The study door is to the south, and the kitchen is eastward.

Cedric reclines in the big armchair, an old-fashioned big pair of headphones clamped to his ears. His eyes are closed, and one finger beats time to the music that is, no doubt, flowing into the phones via the coiled wire connected to the expensive music center on the sideboard.

The motorcycle comes down the road and into the drive of the house. He pulls off the bike and stands there for a moment, actually taking his hands and dusting himself off once his helmet has been removed. It's like he's headed for a job interview. He takes a deep breath and then heads to the door to knock on it. Now... He waits.

Luckily the knock is loud enough to percolate through the earphones. Cedric slips them off and hits the pause button on his remote, then slides languidly out of the armchair and peeps through the door's spyhole. Seeing Dillen, he opens the portal. "Yaas?"

"Um... Cedric?" Dillen eyes the keyhole. "Need to talk to you about this challenge thing, if you have some time." His hands are shoved into his jacket pockets and he the leans in close to peer through the hole on the other side. "That you, man?"

"Come in, Dillen, come in," Cedric invites, stepping back from the door and making room for the Get to do so. "Take a pew. Tea? Coffee?"

Dillen comes in and makes his way into the living room. He looks about for a moment and not seeing a pew decides to take a seat in one of the chairs. "Uh... Whatever you are having is fine." He gives a bit of a shrug. "Just water is fine with me, actually." He rubs his hands on his jeans a little, excitement showing through for a new challenge in his life.

Cedric fetches a glass bottle of what looks like expensive spa water from the kitchen and pours Dillen a glass. "Don't be so tense," he counsels. "You look like you expect me to challenge you to a duel to the death this instant. Which I'm not. So. You think you're good enough to be fostern, mm?" Cedric's eyes go up and down over Dillen's body in a searching way.

Dillen looks up to Cedric from where he sits. "Nervous? Heck no. Just excited and want to jump right on into it. It's important for me and my family!" He cracks a smile and reaches out for the water. "Thanks. Just wondering about what it's gonna be. Imaginations and all." He takes a sip of the water. "Haven't slept much... Been thinking about it a lot."

Cedric nods slowly and barely perceptibly. "You'll need sleep," he says. "This isn't a one night job. And, I might add, I spent time sitting thrashin' these terms out with Jacinta while I might very well have been enjoyin' myself on the Revel (1), so you'd best show some damn' gratitude." He eyes Dillen with a sly smile, and sits upright in the armchair, beginning to take on the attitude of one speaking to a listener, like a newscaster or politician. "To be a fostern galliard, Dillen, requires special skills as well as the basic ones which all fostern garou need. Even more than a cliath, you need to be able to spread news and messages between garou of all tribes, births and breeds. A good galliard can fit in with a bunch of Bone Gnawers round a fire as well as with a royal court of my own tribe, just so long as the good word gets along. I trust you appreciate that?" He fixes Dillen with a stern eye again.

Dillen listens intently and when prompted he nods his head. "Yes. I understand that. It's part of spinning the tales and bringing in the audience." He takes another sip of his water, keeping his attention tight.

"Well," goes on Cedric, "you'll appreciate that some tribes get along with one another better than others. To prove your worth as Fostern, your task will involve members of six tribes, or rather, three pairs. Each pair will comprise two tribes who, locally or throughout our great nation, are at loggerheads. The Fianna and the Uktena; the Silver Fangs and the Shadow Lords; and the Glass Walkers and Wendigo." Cedric pauses for breath and for comment.

Dillen raises a brow to Cedric and ponders this for a moment. "Okay. I hope you don't want me to make them get along... For that I will asking for Adren." He cracks a smile to the Fang.

Cedric allows himself a smile. "For that, you could lead the whole damn' nation. No, no. The task is this. You are to approach an adult member of each of those six tribes, and request that that garou tell you a story. The story is to come from that garou's own experience rather than from tribal history or bein' made up from fiction. You are to make it clear that your request is part of your fostern challenge, and that once you have been told the story, your task is then to go and find a member of the antagonistic tribe and relate the story to them in a way that this second garou considers worthy of a fostern. So," he illustrates, "you need to find a Wendigo who'll tell you a tale from their life, say, and then go and re-tell it to a Glass Walker, and vice versa. All clear?"

Dillen wraps his head around the Fostern's words for a bit before he says, "So two stories for each pair. One from each node to the other node. The Glass Walkers to the Wendigo and back again, the Fianna to the Uktena and back again, and the Fangs to the Shadow Lords and back again. Six stories total..." Dillen falls into thought for a bit. "How long do I have?" As he looks back to Cedric.

"You have until next moot," Cedric confirms. "Each garou, once he or she has both told a story and received one back in return, is to give you some token as proof of the completion of their section of your task. What they choose is up to them; doesn't have to be of any value or significance other than symbolic. Should any garou you approach be uncertain what's expected of them, you should invite them to get in touch with the Master of the Challenge, or with myself. Either of us will be glad to give them pointers. The tokens are to be delivered back to me or to Jacinta at the next moot. All clear?"

Dillen looks as if he could be counting cards in Vegas with the way he's taking all this in. "Yes. Yes. I believe so. It's a good challenge." His lips split into a smile. "A good challenge."

"One more point," Cedric interrupts Dillen. "Your tribe is known as a warlike one which loves to fight. Which is all well and good. But knowin' when not to fight is just as important as knowin' when it's right to. And a galliard with important news must not allow himself to be distracted. So, unless specifically invited to," he says sternly, "as part of your task... such as if one of your target garou challenges you to combat before he'll tell you his tale... you are not to engage in fightin' while carryin' out this task. That's not to say," he adds, "that you cannot fight the Wyrm or other foes while the challenge is active; just that you cannot force a story out of someone with violence unless that person firstly invites you to. All clear?""

Dillen lets out a low breath. "No fighting? Unless I'm asked to help... Or if someone wants a fight so I can get their story." He tries to put it in the simplest terms he can. "Like if there is a bane and they need help, I can go after that if they ask me... Or if I see a bane... Just can't kick someone in the head for being a dork? Right?"

Cedric shakes his head. "No, no, nono," he corrects. "Banes are fair game. The fightin' ban only applies to interactions specifically coverin' this challenge. If you see a bane and think you can kick its ass," he smiles darkly, "then get in there, and kick, Dillen."

"Okay. I gotcha. I just can't beat a story outta someone." Dillen nods his head. "Good. Cause if you wanted me to stop working on the banes... I'd have to worry."

"If you do see a bane," Cedric comments, still with that dour look, "give me a howl. As I said, I missed the revel, and my claws are too clean for comfort." He pauses. "Yes, yes, Osric, and your talons."

Dillen erupts in a deep and throaty laugh. "Oh yeah... All good on that. Yeah. I got it. No fightin. Wait... What if someone gets up in my face?"

Cedric smiles very sweetly. "You have your terms, Dillen. If you cannot adhere to them, you simply show that you presently lack the self-control that one would expect from a fostern."

Dillen grits his teeth a little with a grin. "No. No... I can do this. I can do this..." He shakes his head a little, as if shaking off water from his head. "Just... Just keep Mathias in the house." He winks, clearly kidding some.

"You are, of course," Cedric says, yet again in that dry voice, "at liberty to choose Mathias to get a story out of." In a more jocular tone, he adds, "I half wish you would, just to find out what'd happen..."

Dillen scritches at the side of his head for a moment. "He and I have spoken. I'm not ready to kill him and all now. He apologized and all. That was all I wanted all along. Not some runaround but an apology. He finally did." Dillen nods his head as he thinks. "But I may ask him anyway... test me a little more of my temper." Dillen chuckles.

"Don't feel obliged to handicap yourself by makin' the task harder," Cedric says, concerned. "It's no cakewalk. Oh! Speakin' of Mathias," he interjects, "perhaps you can help me here. Do you happen to know any sept members here who know the Satire Rite?"

Dillen breathes in deep as he thinks. "Satire? No. I know that Leslie knows Stone of Scorn and Rite of Contrition. I can ask about while I find people for the stories?"

"Again," Cedric says, "don't distract yourself from the job in hand. You might, though, if you see your tribemate, Gunnar the Ritemaster... point him in my direction. He should know. It's his duty after all."

Dillen shakes his head, "I don't believe that he knows it. But he should know who does. See what I can do." He nods to himself.

"Quite," Cedric agrees. "Well, unless you have more questions, that's your lot. Clock starts tickin' here. Good luck, Dillen," he says, and he extends one hand to the Get. "Remember... if I didn't think you had it in you, I wouldn't have accepted your challenge in the first place."

Dillen cracks a grin and reaches a hand out to take Cedric's. "If I didn't respect you, I wouldn't have asked." His handshake is firm as he gives two tugs with his hand. "Thanks for givin me the chance to prove myself."

(1) In a scene handwaved with Jacinta's permission, since her online times and mine really do not mesh at all (grr).

"Rightly or wrongly, you fellows have a rep for playing your cards close to your chest..."

Bawn: Central Forest(#2876RA)
The forest is dark and quiet. No, not quiet. Listening. The ancient firs rear up all around, branches interwoven in a dense roof of dark green. Fallen needles lie in a thick carpet on the ground, heaped up around the drifts of undergrowth clinging to the scarce patches of light reaching the forest floor. Every sound seems muffled, and the sharp scent of pine hangs in the air like the clouds of midges that swarm ceaselessly beneath the branches. Even the many deer who roam here seem to step more quietly than usual, and the songbirds seldom sing.
The forest spreads out around you in all directions.

LONG-SUFFERING, lupus: This wolf appears to be a defined best as a red wolf, commonly found in the continental United States. From nose to tail, she is about four and a half feet in length and weighs between 45-50 pounds. Her ears stand erect at the top of her head, sloping down her angular muzzle to her charcoal black nose. From either side of her muzzle, there is a pair of golden-brown lupus eyes. Characterized black lines mark out her maw, filled with pearly white fangs. Her undercoat is thick, trapping in air to help keep her warm in a harsh winter storm. The guard hairs are coarse and hollow. Her legs are long and muscular, making her create graceful and purposeful movements. Her angular muzzle slops from a broad skull down her neck, shoulders, and back. Narrow, muscular shoulders shape her form as they lead down the rest of her form. The length of her fur is a fine blend of tan, nutmeg, bark-brown, gray and black. The tan is briefly seen in splotched on her cheeks, chin, upper chest, belly, and the underside of her limbs. Her posture seems generally neutral unless provoked.

Long-Suffering is standing in the middle of the forest, hidden partly under one of the ancient firs that are abundant in the are. Her ears perk while trying to decide in which direction to continue her aimless travel.

Cedric seems to be wandering just as aimlessly, except on two legs rather than four. His normal clothing is concealed behind a thick herring-bone patterned overcoat in deference to the wintry weather out here, and his good-looking aristocratic brow is furrowed a little, as though he's thinking hard about something.

Long-Suffering picks up on Cedric's scent and lumbers after him as if he were the one that she had been looking for all along. Lightening-rhya, she chuffs loudly, hoping to get his attention.

The chuff does it, yes. Cedric's brow unfurrows as one eyebrow rises, and he turns to face the wolf. Then it furrows again as he quite plainly struggles to identify the wolf in question. "Whom do I have the pleasure of addressin'?" he asks after a moment.

Long-Suffering rises up into homid when she approaches the Silver Fang elder. "Ayita Youngblood, Suffers-The-Pain-Of-Her-Ancestors-In-Visions, Songkeeper of the Children of the Uktena, Galliard Cliath, and daughter of a Fostern Shaman." she addresses. "I remember your name from the moot."

Cedric extends a hand towards Ayita. "I served as Caller of the Wyld," he confirms, with a little modest smile which nonetheless makes it clear that he enjoyed the honor to at least some extent. "Though I fear that I may have been eclipsed a little by the shinin' performance of our Fool. Vera-rhya is no fool save when she wants to be, that's clear."

"Yes," retorts Ayita in a deadpan voice. "Vera-rhya was very accepting of me when I arrived, which is to say that I was less accepted as other..." she pauses there for a moment. "Apparently, some do not understand the Utkena very well." Then, she adds, "But there is something which I must ask of you... as you are a Galliard, like myself."

Cedric's eyebrow rises again. "By all means, fellow song-moon," he invites. "Give it a name and if I can assist I shall."

"I am not sure how often you go into the scab, Cedric-rhya, but I must inform you of an occurrence that has happened upon Uktena's Little Brother's territory." she begins. "My tribemate, Reggie Torn-to-Rags-yuf, has vandalized the side of the longhouse, which both Uktena and Little Brother live in the woods. He chiseled 'Pierces Her Words' on the wood so thick that repairing the damage would mean removing the log, which would make the longhouse crumble. Reggie-yuf has dishonored our tribe and for that Circle Keeper-rhya has said that Reggie-yug is no longer has his respect and is not allowed to teach our cubs. Jacinta, Pierces-Ice-rhya, says that Reggie-yuf is no longer allowed in Little Brother's territory." The Galliard pauses, clearly upset and has a look of 'traitor' on her facial expression.

Cedric listens to this with a growing expression of disbelief. "This is not good," he understates when he's heard the story. "It's not my place to interfere with internal issues of a tribe, though, is it? Nor am I a philodox to judge this Reggie." He rubs his chin. "He may have dishonored himself, and he may have dishonored Pierces-Ice herself. What it says about your tribe and hers is..." He shrugs, not a shrug of uninterest but one of puzzlement. "Have you any clue why he did it? Have you spoken to him? Has Jacinta?"

"No," replies Ayita bluntly. "You are not to interfer, but I ask you to spread the word and let others know what Reggie-yuf has done." The teenager looks up at Cedric, shrugging her shoulders. "Circle Keeper thinks it has to do with the pack that he is running with," she replies. "But I really cannot tell you his reasons." Her head shakes. "I have only spoken with Circle Keeper-rhya. My job is to spread word, not to find out who did what... that is for the lawgivers."

"Oh, that pack." Cedric gives Ayita a dour look. "I've heard of that pack. Okeydoke. The word from on high is that Reggie is banned from Wendigo lands or from teachin' Uktena cubs, then?" he clarifies. "And you want this work spreadin' around the scab?"

"Circle Keeper-rhya said to spread the word," Ayita replies, not saying whether or not it is supposed to be spread around the scab. "I am assuming that is what he meant." Then, she answers, "He is banned from Wendigo lands, and he is also banned from teaching Uktena cubs." Then she gives him an odd look, "What is it about this pack?" she inquires.

Cedric grunts. "Charachs, metis. Scum. Those who no honorable garou will pack with. I suppose that by sweepin' them all together into one heap they at least keep themselves to each other, and aren't pollutin' us others. Still..." He makes a hand gesture as though to dismiss this wicked Vendetta pack from his attention. "While you're here, Ayita, may I ask you a couple of things myself in return?"

Ayita raises her eyebrow. "You may ask them," the teenager replies. She personally knows nothing about the packs in the city, much less any other than the Guardian pack.

"Firstly, Ayita," Cedric begins. "I take it your tribe, Uktena, contains its fair share of tales and legends, same as any other? Reason I ask is, rightly or wrongly, you fellows have a rep for playing your cards close to your chest..."

Ayita narrows her eyes a little, wondering what sort of point the other Galliard is trying to make. "We have many tales and legends," she agrees.

Cedric nods to that. "But do you tell them to those not of your tribe if invited? Or are they for internal consumption only. as one might say?"

Ayita mms softly, "It depends on what short of story it is, Cedric-rhya. Some of our traditions are for others to see and hear and some of them are not." The young Galliard pauses before adding, "Does that answer your question?"

Cedric smiles wryly. "Your answer says it all. Yes, thank you, it does. One more question for you," he goes on, "and that is, do you know of any garou roundabout here who know the Satire Rite? If you do, it may save me botherin' the Ritemaster, who is an... odd fellow," he understates.

Ayita frowns, "I am sorry, I do not know who has that rite." She lightly scratches at her arm with her opposite hand.

Cedric shrugs again. "Okay. Not your job to know everythin' but I thought it worth askin'. Okay. I shall spread the news I promised. And if I do find this Reggie," he adds with another frown, "I shall certainly have some questions for him, if only from my own desire to know what on earth can lead to such extraordinary actions from an adult garou."

Ayita crosses her arms over her chest, "It is immature." she agrees. "And thank you, Cedric-rhya."

Cedric inclines his head in acknowledgement of the thanks. "Thank you, Ayita. I shall go now and seek out Gunnar the Ritemaster. Wish me luck with the Viking," he adds with a little grin.

Ayita gives a little smile. "Good luck," she says, although the tone seems not to suggest any luck or otherwise. The Uktena turns, shifting in lupus, and returning towards the eastern hills.

~May Gaia and Fenris find you worthy of your challenge.~

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
Vera Culls-The-Herd, Homid Adren Shadow Lord Ragabash, Sept Elder, Fool
Cedric Lightning, Homid Fostern Silver Fang Galliard, Caller of the Wyld
Grey, Homid Cliath Glass Walker Philodox, Truthcatcher
Jacinta Pierces-Ice, Homid Fostern Wendigo Ahroun, Master of the Challenge
Ciuraq Circle Keeper, Homid Fostern Uktena Ahroun, Gatekeeper
Ayita Long-Suffering, Homid Cliath Uktena Galliard
Helen Cycle-Breaker, Homid Cliath Black Fury Ragabash
Katya Blackriver, Lupus Cliath Silver Fang Philodox
Aja Shrouds-the-Truth, Homid Cliath Child of Gaia Ragabash
Ruth Trips-Over-Paws, Homid Cub Child of Gaia Philodox
Kristin Fears-Pain, Homid Cub Child of Gaia Theurge
Stacey Walks-Middle-Road, Homid Cliath Child of Gaia Ahroun
Cat, Homid Cliath Glass Walker Theurge
Abraxas Brings-the-Bitter-Harvest, Metis Cliath Shadow Lord Ahroun
Olga Fat-Ripper, Homid Cliath Bone Gnawer Theurge
Morgan Song-of-Luna, Metis Cliath Fianna Galliard
Kevin Power-Up, Homid Cliath Glass Walker Ragabash
Dillen Bloods-Bane, Homid Cliath Get of Fenris Galliard

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.
Contents:
Blackriver
Aja
Trips-Over-Paws
Walks-Middle
Cat
Bitter-Harvest
Ayita
Grey
Olga(#4061PJceq)
Culls-The-Herd
Circle Keeper

Walks-Middle leads her small tribe into the Caern, coming from the direction of the Sept Compound. The gray and white wolf seems excited, eager, even as the moon tugs at her rage. She pauses before enter the center, making sure Trips-Over-Paws and Aja are with her before leading them to a suitable spot for the Children of Gaia to stand.

Bitter-Harvest is already in crinos as he enters, though he's moving on all fours and his body language is decidedly uneasy, with the fur along his spine standing on end. He pauses on the outskirts, eyeing those already present with a dubious, measuring gaze.

Circle Keeper looks over towards Ayita, and away from Vera, giving the Galliard a more vocal, slightly mroe upbeat greeting. Well, as upbeat as he's wont to be.

A pair of stinking urrah enter the pristine, woodsy caern. In Thomas Grey's case, 'stinking' is literal, since the man reeks of cigarette smoke and, underneath that, the myriad man-made smells of the city. Clad entirely in black, from sneakers to the ankle-length, heavy leather coat, the prematurely grey Philodox bears a sour expression. With him, like wispy angel to his looming devil, is Cat.

Not far behind these two urrah comes a third one, Kevin. He doesn't enter along with them, nor does he go and sit with them, but in both cases he's not far away, taking up a seat quite near his two tribemates, just a few feet away. Semi-detached, one might say.

Ayita raised her hand to Circle Keeper and emits a smile. The dark Cherokee girl then shuffs her hands into the pockets of her dirty jeans.

Song-of-Luna's entry is hurried, as if she suspected she might already be late. The metis is in lupus, and remains so even as she picks out a spot for herself, plopping back onto her haunches. She seems either unaware or indifferent to Kevin, though it's most likely the former rather than the latter--she's damned distracted.

Circle Keeper catches sight of his packmate, and makes a sharp noise to catch Stacey's attention. He calls his packmate over with a sharp jesture.

Circle Keeper then shifts up into crinos.

Cycle-Breaker and Blackriver arrive together, the Silver Fang leading down into the caern. Both look to be in good health, despite bristling with the general irritation the moon brings.

Olga comes in with the clump of running shoes against the hard cold clay. Her greasy hair is ruled by a handkerchief, like roadkill covered by a cotton sheet, and she smells of rose hips and fast food wrappers: she's cleaned up some for the moot, but not much. She stakes herself out a spot near the western waterfall, solidly in the middle, and spreads her blankets like a street vendor, pulling out wares of stale crackers and water bottles from her everpresent bag. She casts eyes around with a casual but affected sort of indifference, a people watcher in her element, though there's tension in the way she crunches down on that Ritz.

Slipping along behind Walks-Middle is Aja, moving lightly on her steps with lethargic movements. She moves until she is shown where their place is before the girl crouches down easily enough. A heavy coat is draped over her form, far too large for her frame, it fits her more like a blanket, but at least it warms her for now. She watches the other wolves and people filter in out of curiosity.

An overlarge grey shadow, Trips-Over-Paws sticks close to Walks-Middle until the small group of Gaians comes to a stop. Then she sits, tucking herself small with her tail curled round to cover her front paws, ears at the alert and nose twitching busily.

And striding into the caern, a fashionable few minutes late, comes Cedric, the Silver Fang moving purposefully and brusquely. He arrives in homid, but starts to shift once he's into the caern, without breaking step, until he's grown to crinos by the time he's into the middle of the space.

Catching sight of Circle Keeper's gesture, Walks-Middle checks to make sure that her cub is situated, giving her another reassuring nudge, and then she moves over to where the Uktena stands, tilting her head quizzically.

Ayita sits down off to one side, looking lost in the sea of incoming Garou, most she does not know.

Bitter-Harvest eyes Grey's, and then Cedric's arrival, the latter only breaking him from the former. His lips twitch once, and then, after a moment of indecision, the Shadow Lord metis strides toward the Fostern Fang, looking as though he's not entirely sure why he's doing it himself.

Circle Keeper's tail sways behind him once as Stacey comes over, the crinos leaning heavily on his weapon as she heads his direction. That fleeting pleased look is quickly quashed with Cedric's arrival.

Blackriver notes Cedric's arrival with a bristle of her fur and a hard glance, and lays down next to Cycle-Breaker, bulking up into hispo as she does so.

Culls-The-Herd's tail lifts as the Silver Fang Fostern and she grows into Crinos to greet him.
~Gaia's Blessings, Lightning.~

As the cold begins to get to her, Aja shivers once before she shuffles a bit closer to Trips-Over-Paws. Finally she gives in and lowers her head a moment before her body contorts and shifts; even her shifting seems lazy and lethargic as she takes on a crinos form.

Lightning pauses as Bitter-Harvest comes up towards him, and waits for him to approach, the Fang's body poised in a questioning manner. He flicks one ear as Culls-the-Herd speaks to him.

Grey gives the gathering a sour look, hands buried in the pockets of his coat. He cants an eye downward toward Cat, gauging the Theurge's reaction.

Erk, erk. Too late, Bitter-Harvest spies Vera's proximity to the Fang, and his last few steps are reluctant indeed. He doesn't say anything to either, instead choosing to just stand there like a bristling black lump.

Trips-Over-Paws gives Aja an uncertain sideways glance, then takes the Gaian no-moon's cue and shifts upwards into a rather unimpressive and nondescript Crinos form.

Cat's been silent since entering the Caern. His eyes don't meet that of anyone's, even the Walker halfmoon's; instead his gaze wanders lovingly over the white boulder, the waterfall, the pool in the clearing. He has a soft, joyful smile on his lips as he drinks the Caern in.

Lightning's eyes rest upon Bitter-Harvest for a few seconds, then slide off and over to Culls, and the Silver Fang nods almost imperceptibly, before throwing back his head and letting out a howl that stirs every echo in the vicinity. ~Garou of the Hidden Walk! Luna hangs full above us! Let us draw near to our sacred place, for tonight we gather to moot!~

Walks-Middle waits for a moment for Circle Keeper to answer, then it dawns on her just why she was called over. Her posture effectively reading 'oh', she glances between him and where her tribe sits for a moment before her ears perk. Chuffing in their direction, she motions with her head for them to move over to her new spot.

Circle Keeper does a bit of a double take as he sees Cat. The Uktena looks clearly startled. That's before Lightning howls, and his attention turns back to the Moot proceeding. He seems oblivious about Stacey's confusion, questions, or calling her tribe over.

Song-of-Luna stands as Lightning speaks, and abruptly bulks into crinos. Her howl is somewhat half-hearted at first, but soon enough she gets into the spirit of things, and it becomes the full, faintly harsh sound it always is.

Culls-The-Herd throws back her head and howls, lifting her voice toward the heavens.

Blackriver stands up and lets out a loud, raw howl, striking an eerie discord with the others.

At Walks-Middle's motion over, Aja's thin black lips curl into one of those horrific grins which shows why human motions don't necessarily work on crinos. Nudging Trips-Over-Paws and letting out a grunt too, Aja rises up before she lumbers on over towards Walks-Middle, laying heavily down into a crouch once she's there. Her ears perk at the howl and her attention is riveted.

Kevin lets himself slide up into crinos as the howling begins, somehow contriving to make the shift take on the appearance of a lazy manoeuvre rather than a change that takes effort, and lets a moderately tuneful howl join the other garou's calls.

Grey doesn't smile in watching Cat, though his scowl softens minutely. Then comes the howl, and back the snarl. He stretches upward into Crinos and bellows his rage into the sky. A large animal leg-bone appears in one clawed, clenched fist.

Bitter-Harvest looks grateful for the opportunity to distract himself. He bares his teeth and releases a rather short, bad-tempered howl of his own.

Trips-Over-Paws clearly hadn't noticed her Elder's signal, and in the confusion of responding to Aja's nudge and joining Walks-Middle and Circle Keeper she fails to join the howl.

Olga has just settled herself and seems reluctant to shift; when she finally does she shows grease-matted fur and tired eyes, with skin like pouches, though her howl is sharp and precise and full-throated.

As her tribe draws near, Walks-Middle also shifts up into her crinos form, glancing at Trips-Over-Paws in a way that suggests she should as well, if she manages to catch the look as she's being ushered over, and then she tips back her head to join in the howl.

Ayita shifts into Crinos, knuckles clenched as she howls out in song up to luna. The Galliard unclenches her hands when she is finished and slouches back into a crouch. Her eyes brightly lit in the moonlight. She rises then and drifts closer to Circle Keeper, and pauses there as she looks around at everyone else.

Cat takes a step behind the bone-wielding Walker, blurring into the warform and offering a brief, sharp howl to the chorus of the sept. When his lips close he dips his muzzle towards his chest and looks at the other Garou for the first time.

Regal majesty is not something that one would normally associate with a nine foot-tall killing machine, but that is the aura exuded by this beast. An elegant lupine head tops a muscular and powerful body that is covered with black fur from head to toe. Deadly looking claws top each finger and toe, while the Crinos' maw is filled with dagger-like teeth. Dark golden eyes stand out as a small spot of colour in Shadow Lord's face and a necklace made from three separate sets of vampire fangs decorates her neck.


Culls-The-Herd carries herself with a deadly grace, every step screaming out her good breeding and confidence.

Lightning goes northwest, into the swirling wind.

In the windiest area, Lightning comes into this quarter from the caern center.

In the windiest area, Once the first round of howls has died down somewhat, Lightning strides up to the windy spot and takes up a position facing Culls. They make an imposing duo, not least because of their contrasting colours, one pure white and the other equally pure black. For a few moments they stand in silent contemplation of each other, tension rising steadily like a tire with air being pumped into it. Then Lightning breaks the silence with a firm cry that reaches every corner of the caern. ~Garou shall not mate with Garou!~

Culls-The-Herd throws her head back and howls long and hard. ~Garou Shall Not Mate with Garou. Sure, it's a fine Law, since Metis are infertile. Still, why should we obsess over this law as much as we do? I say we go to the Spirits and ask for their aid. If Gaia really wants us to win this War, she will let us learn how to make Metis fertile and remove their deformities! We should take the opportunity to make as many Metis as we can now! We should make certain that we have many Metis, so we can make them whole at a later time! Who is to say the Spirits can not teach us how to do this?!~

[Possible brief gap here due to disconnection]

Song-of-Luna shifts uncomfortably from side to side with pent up energy, and then, abruptly, she shouts with a loudness that makes her jump, ~Gaia made the law and Gaia made metis to remind you to keep the law. Gaia won't let you fix metis!~

Walks-Middle leans down to murmur an brief explanation to Ruth before she straightens and snarls at the Fool. ~The war cannot be won by adding wrongs. It only prolongs and makes the fight worse. The deformities given to metis are a warning that must be heeded.~

Long-Suffering licks her lips, anticipating the caller and the fool. Her eyes sharply, teeth gashing at the fool, and flattens her ears as others reply. ~We need strong, health, and untainted warriors to fight the Wyrm!~

Shrouds remains quiet, baring her teeth briefly before she lowers her head to slide her tongue over her large teeth. Her lips curl up at the corners once more in an indecipherable expression.

Trips-Over-Paws's ears twist in all directions as she crouches down to listen to the interplay between the Caller, the Fool, and the Sept. She makes no move to join in, but glances now and again at Walks-Middle, nodding when the Elder speaks to her.

Power-Up cocks his head at the Fool's initial reply. His eyes narrow a little as though he's thinking this one through. Then he just shakes his head. He doesn't howl, jeer, or otherwise respond verbally.

Bitter-Harvest's teeth bare considerably more. His eyes are narrowed to mere slits--that dirt he's glaring at had better watch out. No extra connections to disconnect.

Cat's eyes linger on Song-of-Luna briefly, before he shifts further to lupus and sits primly to Grey's side. He doesn't answer the Fool but his muscles are tense, ears pricked forward.

In the windiest area, Lightning's hackles rise a little at the Fool's first statement. ~The spirits have better things to do,~ he rejoinders, ~than be called to heal the sick, the twisted, the broken creatures that result when the First Law is broken!~

Culls-The-Herd snorts loudly, surveying those gathered around her. ~Are those the best arguments you can come up with?~ The Ragabash jeers. ~Come on Caller, lets hear the rest of those dusty outdated Laws!~

In the windiest area, Lightning glowers at Culls, and fires off the next Law, only for the Elder-turned-Fool to catch it, twist it, and deliver it skewered nicely for the edification of the Sept. Jeers and howls follow as further laws are similarly twisted, warped, or outright denied until Lightning calls out ~Submission to those of higher station!~ and looks daggers at Culls, as though daring her, the senior-ranked garou here, to deny that law.

The Shadow Lord Adren puffs herself up, breeding impossible to ignore as her form grows shadowy and seems to expand, becoming huge. She becomes a creature of shadow, terrible and unnerving. ~I am your Alpha,~ she cries out. ~And I command you all to bow before me!~

In the stunned moment of silence that follows that proclamation, there comes a soft whine as
Power-Up rolls right over, crinos belly up, huge paws in the air, and plays dead for Culls.

Long-Suffering makes a very distastful face and looks across to Circle Keeper.

Culls-The-Herd pages to the room: Yes, she is using Icy Chill, but isn't focusing it on anyone. So yes, creepy as all hell, but no WP rolls required to retort. :)

Circle Keeper starts to do just that, and bow to the Adren. There's a few whole seconds of thinking, before the Uktena turns rather angry looking. ~NO! You are the fool! We bow to no fool! We challenge them!~

Hey, that's not what's supposed to happen. Song-of-Luna looks instantly confused, and her agitation, both at the moon and the general noisiness of the moot, seems to skyrocket. She doesn't bow, but she doesn't retort either, and that's quite clearly because she looks like a very large, fuzzy deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi-truck.

There's a moment of bewilderment and a curdled look of worry, as the gift activates and Olga's stomach turns. Still, she manages to get herself sluggishly to her feet and give a disdainful, awkward curtsy, accompanied by a grin that's supposed to be wicked and an amused "Your highness!"

Blackriver's ears slick back against her skull, and she gives mixed signs of submission, anger, and confusion. At Circle Keeper's call, she straightens up and lets out a growl. That's stupid! Stupid elders get challenged! She belts out, still looking a tad confused.

In the windiest area, Lightning jerks back as though he's taken a physical blow from those words. His hackles, already mostly raised, fluff out to their very fullest extent, and for a dizzy moment those watching must wonder whether he's about to physically leap on Culls-the-Herd and offer her violence. Then he regains a modicum of control and snarls back at her. ~Even the greatest of Fools that this sept can offer,~ he states in a harsh dissonance, ~will not seek to overturn this fundamental tenet of our nation. My life at your command, Alpha.~ And the Silver Fang, eyes still flashing fire, bends from the waist in a bow as commanded, head moving to one side to expose a submissive throat for a few seconds.

Grey crinkles his muzzle, baring his front fangs, grizzled ears skewing in an expression of irritable bemusement. ~...the hell kind of retort's that?~ he grumbles to no one in particular.

Culls-The-Herd's jaws part in a lupine grin, as the shadows leave her and she becomes a mere Garou once again. ~So, do we agree that the Law is stupid? Or shall you all bow and grovel before me without question, simply because I tell you to? Will you wallow in the mud like pigs if I command it? What weaklings you all are!~

Cat's ears flatten immediately, and blue eyes dart to the Walker Philodox with a questioning chuff. Then, slowly, the Walker Theurge lies down with his head between his paws, tail curled around his hind leg. His only response to Culls-the-Herd's taunt is a baleful stare.

Long-Suffering retorts to the gathered crowd, ~Do we all jump if the Alpha says jump?~

Bitter-Harvest isn't looking at the dirt now--no, he's looking around, at just about everyone except Culls-the-Herd. He's closed up, suddenly almost impossible to read, even in crinos, apart from a considerably heightened temper.

In the windiest area, Lightning returns to his upright pose very quickly. ~We are not puppets to be jerked around at your whim, Alpha-rhya,~ he growls at her menacingly. ~Nor are we weaklings, and if you doubt this in my case I shall gladly prove my strength later tonight in the Revel. But for now,~ he goes on in even harsher tones, ~there remain eight laws of the Litany!~

Blackriver's ears prick up. ~We follow the alpha. Until the alpha does something stupid. Then we challenge the alpha for being stupid.~ She snaps, ~That's what the rest of the Litany is for.~ She amends on the end, like Culls-the-Herd might not know that.

Instinct is strong, even for a homid Garou. Cull's order reached straight for Trips-Over-Paws' hindbrain before her conscious mind had a chance to respond, moulding her instantly into a submissive crouch. As the arguments continue she straightens in confusion, turning to Walks-Middle for reassurance then blinking about the caern, following the direction of the voices.

As a number of wolves bow and expose their throats, Shrouds narrows her eyes as she growls deep in her throat, not moving as she stays rooted in her spot. However, knowing full well she isn't fully with the Sept just yet, Shrouds remains quiet, holding back her tongue.

Fat-Ripper dumps herself back down: the best she can manage in retort is a protracted "Ha!" and a less protracted, more strained, attempt at a jovial "Fuck you!" though she can't quite manage to get the cheer injected into it just right.

Culls-The-Herd grins at Lighting, bright white teeth against black fur. ~Bring it on, tough guy. Do your worst!~

In the windiest area, Lightning barely pauses for breath before continuing to proclaim the Litany in ringing tones, each law delivered with a glare at Culls-the-Herd which is looking more and more as though it contains genuine disgust rather than the feigned sneers at the Fool which are more often seen at moots. Culls continues to coolly mock and dissect the Litany until Lightning reaches ~Do not suffer thy people to tend thy sickness!~ with a snarl at Culls which makes it plain that he would not be surprised if Culls flouted this rule also.

~Tend thy sickness? What sickness? We do not get sick!~ Culls-The-Herd states, ears laying back against her skull. ~But there is a sickness that stalks us, that prey's on our very soul. It is the touch of the Wyrm and those that fall to it join our enemies, the Black Spiral Dancers.~ The Ragabash cries out at the top of her lungs. ~And because of this Law, we try to kill our fallen brothers and sisters. I tell you, we should not kill them, but seek to redeem them and drive the Wyrm's touch from their souls and make them our allies once again!~

For the first time, Bitter-Harvest responds. His lips draw back, he stands up a little straighter, but his single response is only a very loud, ~HA.~

Power-Up rolls back onto his front, but other than that, has continued to lie on the ground as the laws pass by, one after another. Sometimes he interjects a comment, more often he just growls at Culls or lies passively. Now, though, he does stir himself to come up with the simple and overtly polite response ~After you, Culls-rhya~.

Blackriver leaps up and lets out a loud snarl. ~Hunt the Wyrm wherever it and wherever it breeds! The Spirals have made their choice. The ones who fall to taint have made their choice. They choose the Wyrm. They are NOT our brothers!~

Trips-Over-Paws once more looks at her Elder in confusion. ~But if the Black Spiral Dancers were sick, wouldn't the Litany mean that it was them who couldn't let us heal them?~

Circle Keeper's jaws crack open, the Ahroun echoing Blackriver with a snarl. ~Combat the wyrm where it dwells!~

In the windiest area, Lightning has looked enough daggers at Culls-the-Herd so far this moot to equip a whole army of assassins, and now he looks some more of them. ~Do not get sick?~ he repeats in feigned incredulity. ~You are proof that we do! Because if you think you can redeem the Fallen Ones, you prove only that you are sick in the head! Only the greatest of fools would even consider trying that!~

Olga's still attempting to sound amused, though the rust is showing through the paint, and the full moon is showing in the strain in her voice. "Maybe we should stop tending your sick sense of humour," she shouts back at her. "We've let it live long past its prime, I think." Her smile is unpleasant, though it isn't intended to be, and her fat fingers curl against the plastic of her bag.

~Bah,~ Culls cries out, mocking the Caller. ~Only fools would not consider this option! Our numbers are so low, that we must boost our ranks in any way we can!~

~They'll be even lower if you try to kidnap the fallen tribes from their hives!~ Circle Keeper barks.

In the windiest area, Lightning, perhaps fearing what fresh twists the Shadow Lord elder may put on the Litany, or perhaps just weary of having to play straight man to her comedienne for so long, comes out with the next two laws in a hurry, and links them together. ~The leader may be challenged,~ he howls with a meaningful look at that leader, ~at any time during peace! But the leader may not be challenged during wartime!~

~Doing these two together?~ Culls' asks with a sneer. ~As for leaders being Challenged in peacetime, we are never at peace. We are warriors and we are always at War! Our enemies surround us and it is all we can do to keep them at bay! There is never any peace, so the Laws tell us that a Leader can never be Challenged! It doesn't take an idiot to realize that these two Laws are outdated. If a Leader is going to lead us all to death, they should be Challenged! Even if they are being Challenged at the mouth of a Hive!~

Circle Keeper says, ~We are not always at war!.~ The Uktena clenches his claws around the shaft of his weapon. ~Not at war now!~

Walks-Middle glances down at her cub at the question, blinking a bit as she considers. ~Maybe it's that...~ she starts to answer, then signals that they can discuss later as the next law is shouted. ~You are a fool if you cannot recognize what is peace and what is war!~ she growls out.

Power-Up lets his tongue loll out in droll humour. ~War is peace,~ he proclaims. ~Freedom is slavery, ignorance is strength, and ~Oceania~ has always been at war with ~Eurasia~.

Song-of-Luna has been conspicuously quiet since her first outburst. She remains so now, but she does turn a very blank, utterly confused look on Power-Up. Oh hey. Her packmate is here. And he's clearly gone insane.

In the windiest area, Lightning actually turns his back on Culls. ~Am I to listen to more of this nonsense?~ he thunders at the other sept members. ~Perhaps I should challenge her now and then we will find out whether this is peace or war!~

Oh this is getting good. Shrouds leans as far forward as she could in her crouch, her ears perked in anticipation as she watches the happenings. Her eyes just scream 'FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!'

Blackriver tips her head to side and gives Cedric a positively seething look. Her head cranes up to look at Culls-the-Heard as well, and she seems to have no love for the Shadow Lord either.

Now _that_ give Olga some genuine entertainment, even if it is the same sort of gut-wrenching entertainment that comes from watching someone careen into a brick wall. Her wide shoulders buckled back, and she leans forward, on the edge of her copious seat.

Grey gets that look of irritable bemusement again, mingled heavily with cynicism. Obviously, he doesn't expect there to be an actual fight.

Culls-The-Herd pbbts at Lightning's turned back, sticking her tongue out at him. ~What? Not going to call out the last Law, Caller? Going to admit defeat at the hands of the Fool?~

In the windiest area, Lightning's eyes rake over the rest of the garou like a garden rake ripping through dead leaves, before he conquers his anger and forces himself to turn back to Vera. One more law, one more mocking of the law, one more howling down of the fool, and the calling is over. And Lightning seems very glad of the fact.

After her rebuttal of the last law is picked apart and destroyed by the Garou of the Hidden Walk Culls crouches down and unties a small black sac from around her thigh. Her claws quickly shred the fabric and free a brightly coloured Crinos-sized Fool's-Cap, complete with bells that tinkle merrily. The Ragabash pulls on the cap and does a little mocking dance. ~I have been your Fool for this Moot. I hope that you have all enjoyed the show!~ With that, the Shadow Lord bows to her captive audience.

Long-Suffering shakes her head as she reconnects with reality. Her eyes narrow as she observes the final law being called and the shouts that follow after the fool's remark. She scratches behind her ear and pans her ears into attention.

Blackriver gives Culls-the-Herd a look like she just, well, put litte a hat on her head and did a little dance. Needles to say, the Philodox thinks the Raggie's gone completely insane, and it shows.

Circle Keeper similarly peers at Vera, much like Blackriver. It seems he thinks she's taken leave of her sense as well.

Bitter-Harvest stares at Vera. The letter's 'W' 'T' and 'F' are as plain on his face as if they were tattooed there.

Slinking quietly and towards the back of the gathered Garou, Fears-Pain makes her way towards the her tribemates, as carefully as a four legged creature can.

In the windiest area, Lightning is at least no longer looking daggers at Culls; instead he, like his tribemate Blackriver, is staring at her as though he thinks she's lost her mind. After a few seconds of being dumbstruck he recovers sufficiently to bring his hands together in a round of only semi-sarcastic applause for the Fool.

Cat, still on his stomach, backscrabbles a few inches further from the strange dancing Alpha.
Power-Up just laughs and laughs, heedless of Cat's retreat only a few feet away from him. His toothy muzzle hangs open in amusement and his tongue lolls, and he rolls on the ground. He evidently appreciates his fellow ragabash's style, even if no other sept members do.

Noticing Fears-Pain's entrance, Walks-Middle watches the cub's approach, then moves a bit to allow the arriving cub room to stand with the others. The cubs receive a faint nod before she returns her attention to the proceedings... just... staring as the Alpha displays the hat and dances, before her jaw parts in amusement.

After the Sept calms down from the froth and fury of the Calling, the Inner Sky is opened and Chimera's touch is felt to the accompaniment of much howling. And then comes the Cracking, and the Glass Walker named Grey (who is, it can be said, looking more like his chosen name every day), stalks up to the rock slab, glyph-scars and all. He glowers over at everyone in a manner that suggests he despises them all, then raises the leg bone in both hands and snaps it cleanly in two. ~As the wolf's jaws crack the bones of prey,~ he snarls, his voice carrying with practiced ease over any lingering sound, ~and as Gaia's warriors shatter the bodies of Her foes, so I break this to expose the marrow of truth.~ He glares for a moment. ~Newcomers to the Sept! Cubs and those returned! Come forward and make yourselves known!~ Or else, his tone seems to say.

In the windiest area, Lightning heads into the center.
Lightning has arrived.

Power-Up finally recovers from his hysterics, sits upright, and gives Cat a look.

By the time Grey cracks the bone, Culls-The-Herd has made that extremely silly hat disappear and become the Alpha once again. Cool, collected, regal, and oozing a sense of power and command, Culls' watches the Cracking impassively.

An awkward smile which betrays no mirth, halfway already to a grimace, is all the applause the Alpha gets from Olga; but when Grey moves up into the centre of the Caern, even the thinnest pretense of civility is shed: she watches him with eyes dull, opposed, and indolent.

And Lightning, too, has recovered sufficient dignity to climb down from the windy promontory and rejoin the remainder of the sept. He's still a little fluffed out, but he's well back in control, and watches Grey take the spotlight with interest.

Blackriver's hackles raise as Grey takes on his role as Truthcatcher, and she watches the Walker intently.

Bitter-Harvest eyes Lightning, and once more he seems to be measuring the other Garou in some way. Still, if the Fang doesn't return to his original spot, the Lord actually moves to join him again. Who knows why--he seems more temper bristly than ever.

Trips-Over-Paws shuffles a little, hesitantly moving forwards a little towards the rock slab, as if waiting for some sort of cue or reassurance.

A ghost-white form moves from the assembled back and indeed shaking... fearing as her name implies this once over from the full pack. Fear's-Pain follows, Trips-Over-Paws, slowly carefully leaving her just enough room. Her tail's kept tucked terror or nervousness in her step. She moves towards the rock as well... glancing back as if to see a sign of some sort.

Grey turns that glowering eye down at Trips and Fears, then gestures impatiently with one half of the bone. ~Are you Garou or are you rabbits?~ the Truthcatcher demands.

Trips-Over-Paws checks her ears carefully, clearly not entirely sure of anything after the Calling earlier. Then she shakes herself and steps up to take the bone, with a mindful tilt of ear and head in the direction of her Elder, as if awaiting reproof for any mistake. Her attention switches momentarily to the assembled Garou, her nose twitching and her ears pivoting this way and that, before she addresses herself apparently to the white boulder at the center of the Caern. ~I was Ruth Carpenter,~ she begins, growling out her human name as best she can in the warform. ~Now also called Trips-Over-Paws. Half-moon cub of the Children of Gaia. Um...~ With a slight hesitation, as if uncertain whether she should add anything else, the cub holds the bones out in Grey's general direction, then makes a half move to pass them to Fears-Pain instead.

As they are called to introduce themselves, Shrouds can't help the wolfish grin before she moves over towards the slab as well. Her footsteps are lethargic but with unfocused grace. She stands besides Fears-Pain, patiently waiting for her introduction.

Circle Keeper watches Ruth and Kristine with a unamused look. As Grey chasizes them, the Uktena grunts slightly. He turns his glower to Aja, and then Cat, instead.

Lightning doesn't push Bitter-Harvest away; indeed he gives him about as welcoming a look as anyone has had from him so far this moot, which isn't saying much. Then he turns to watch the Gaian cubs make their hesitant way to join the Truthcatcher and make their introductions.

Power-Up's look is met with a baring of teeth in a soundless smile, as the Theurge gets to his paws and flows back upward into crinos. Even at this enormous height there's a slight deferential curve to his spine. Cat starts lumbering towards the boulder, taking his place in line with those who will introduce.

Walks-Middle watches proudly as Ruth gives her introduction, looking pleased even despite the 'um'. She nods her encouragement to Trips, considering it a job well done, and then turns her attention to the next cub.

Bitter-Harvest settles in place again, and turns his attention back to the moot itself. There's no reaction to the look from him, nor explanation for his current position.

A smile, patient, thin, and well-meaning, slowly develops across Olga's face at the cubs trepidation. It doesn't flinch for Grey's comment: it seems to say not to mind him one bit.

Long-Suffering remains silent and emotionless as the cubs are introduced.

A akward moment of silence as Trips-over paws speaks. ~Not... Rabbit~ she growls defiantly at the older more senior Garou.. Fears-Pain straightens herself up and prepares herself. ~I was... Kristin... Hunt..~ she begins her human name sounding more of a howl and growl. ~Also called Fears-Pain.~ her claws flex... nervousness dissapearing as she speaks. ~Cresent moon Child of Gaia.~ she intones, finishing her introduction. She glances down... checking to see if she's missed anything important.

Walks-Middle nods once more to Trips as she moves back beside her, and then looks back to watch Fears-Pain's intro. Once again, the elder is proud of her cubs, whoever nervous they may be, offering the second cub the same approving nod.

Shrouds peers towards Fears-Pain, her nose twitchting and scenting the wind unconsciously.
Power-Up watches first one cub then the other introduce themselves, bobbing his head in acknowledgement of each.

Fears-Pain ducks back into the crowds where the Elder of her small group ways. She pauses to pass the bone off to the next new cub.

Dillen makes his way into the caern. His eyes sweep the crowd and then he nods to himself approvingly as he approaches the people from his pack. He's quiet, looking like he is sorting his own thoughts as he then gives a nod to Blackriver. The Galliard remains quiet for the others to speak.

Blackriver's ears prick up at the sight of her packmate, and she gives him a soft welcoming huff, hardly audible, before turning back to the Cracking.

Lightning also sees Dillen arrive with some semblance of relief in his reaction.

While she isn't exactly a cub, Shrouds accepts the bone with a wider grin that looks practically maniacal in design. Once she has it, she turns to the crowd and speaks clearly, ~Aja Fox, formerly Troubles-The-Water and currently Shrouds-the-Truth, from the Sept of the Green Hand, Oregon,~ the last word is distorted on her tongue, making it hard to pronounce. She continues however, ~born a Ragabash and part of the Children of Gaia, seeking a new home within this Sept.~ And with that, she passes the bone over to Cat, pausing a moment as she finally actually notices just how -pretty- he is.

Gingerly, Cat accepts the bone from Shrouds-the-Truth, seemingly unaware of the extra glance she sends his way. Claws wrapping firmly around the bone he lifts his head to address the others. ~My name is Cat,~ he says, voice firm and sure. ~I am a Theurge, one of the Glass Walkers. Almost three years ago I was Rited here. Then I disappeared into the Umbra.~ He pauses, his confidence wavering for a moment. ~I'm back.~ Another pause. ~If my home will have me, I will defend it.~ His ears flick back against his skull in embarrassment, and he hastily tries to hand off the bones to Grey like they were made of silver.

Power-Up grins up at his two tribemates, one standing dour and aloof, one shy and reticent as he speaks. He gives a thumbs-up sign, though which one he means it for, or whether it's to be divided between the two, is unclear.

From the pleased expression on Walks-Middle's face, as well as the nod that follows, it's clear that Aja will likely be accepted by her. Cat's introduction is listened to with curiosity, and she glances around to see who might recognize the returning theurge.

Olga turns the faint smile the cubs had conjured on Aja; she adds a nod to it, formal but half-hearted, and the smile slowly fades to a look of grubby neutrality. Cat's announcement piques more curiosity, though no further grin. She leans forward, trollishly hunched in on herself, and stares at him with an inquisitive look that's more intrusive than it's meant to be.

Grey looks a good touch less hateful toward Cat, going so far as to give his odd tribemate and former student a nod as he takes the bones back.

Slipping away from the slab, Shrouds lumbers on over towards Walks-the-Middle, lets out a lion of a yawn, her tongue curling up as she stretches her mouth wide, exposing her teeth. Finally slumping down onto the ground heavily besides her smaller leader, she continues to eye Cat, as if studying some abstract painting come to life.

Circle Keeper slowly lumbers up to the front, where he takes the bones from Grey. He turns to glower at the sept for a moment. ~As the Gatekeeper, I have been told to make things clear to the sept.~ The Fostern rumbles loudly. ~The Caern is a holy place. You will treat it like it. It is not disrespectful to the spirits laugh, play, talk, or do things like it in the caern. Rituals may only be done at the Caern with the Master of the Rite's permission.~

Long-Suffering gives a solem nod to Circle Keeper's announcement and folds her large crinos arms across her chest.

Cat shifts back down into lupus and takes a seat near Power-Up, trying very hard to look focused on Circle-Keeper and Grey, and unaware of any looks he might be getting.

After he's given his last bit some time to sink in, the Uktena Gatekeeper rumbles on. ~You will respect the centre stone. Do not use it as a windbreak, or a place to sleep. Do not stand upon it without ritual reasons to do so.~ Circle Keeper turns to face Cedric, and then Stacey, before looking around. ~It is not a place to shout from on top of. Do not strike it or damage it.~

Power-Up looks very sanctimonious all of a sudden, as though butter would not dream about the possibility of starting to melt in his mouth.

Olga just sits there, glumly respectful, eyes wandering away from the Ahroun and towards Cat again, looking at the boy with an idle curiosity she tries halfheartedly to hide, like someone trying to read a stranger's t-shirt.

Long-Suffering gives sharp looks to those who are not paying attention to what her elder has to say.

At Circle Keeper's words, Shrouds' ears twitch, as does her black nose. The crinos is very good about keeping her emotions hidden however, and she remains in that calm, stoic state of an observer.

Circle Keeper continues ~Hope-Star, Adren of Silent Striders from this sept, had a rule that required all who wished to open the Caern to get permission from her before they did so. I have come to see the wisdom in her decision, and will make the same rule myself: If you wish to Open the Caern, you require the permission of the Gatekeeper as well as permission from the Master of the Rite.~ With a sharp eye towards the Gaggle of Glass Walkers, he finishes, ~If you break these rules, you will be dealt with by the law keepers. It may be very painful. The Caern is too precious and sacred to not.~ With that, The Uktena shoves the bones back at Grey, and stomps on back towards his packmates.

Blackriver comes up to the stone and grips the bones tightly in her right hand. ~Soon after the last moot, Wildfire and the Bone Gnawer Leaves-None-Behind set a trap for the spirits causing the dreams that tainted people. We did this with knowledge given to us by Circle Keeper of the Uktena.~ She takes a moment to seek out the Ahroun. ~We killed two of the spirits, and think that's all. If anyone has any bad dreams like the ones the spirits gave people, tell us to we can kill more of them.~ With that, she gives the bones back to Grey, and starts heading back to her packmates.

Power-Up catches Circle Keeper's eye as the Uktena glares at him and his tribemates and his already innocent expression becomes yet more meek.

Circle Keeper stands a little taller as Blackriver mentions his name, chin jutting slightly.

Pierces Ice's ears tip backward, her chin giving an almost imperceptible dip of approval as her packmate finishes and returns to her side.

Song-of-Luna is next, and it clearly takes more and more effort on her part with each step. She takes the bones gingerly, and looks at them for a moment, before speaking. ~Members of Vendetta--Rags-to-Rags, Kills-the-Cries, and Power-Up heard strange noises in the city, and found a human cutting up dogs. The human had lots and lots of Wyrm-tainted dogs, and he was making more, so they killed the dogs and Power-Up killed the human. The house was burned so the Veil could be protected.~ She seems...rather detached from this bit of news, with absolutely no real enthusiasm about it, and she passes back the bones immediately after. The metis retreats back to her previous spot with all haste.

Long-Suffering bobs her head the entire time that Circle Keeper speaks. When he is finished and passes the bone back to Grey, the Galliard looks over to her elder with a slight feral smile crossing her thin lips. Then, looking to Blackriver, she leans into say something to her tribe leader.

Power-Up's look goes from innocent to modest as Song-of-Luna tells this tale.

Circle Keeper's look sours, and he rumbles something back to his Galliard tribemate.

Bending his head down to lick a tuft of fur back into place, Cat misses Circle-Keepers pointed glance, although he does catch Olga's. He exchanges an equally curious stare with the Gnawer for a second before lifting his head again, eyes following Song-of-Luna. The cliath has the attention span of a...well.

Olga pages: Modest, I should hope so. As I remember, you got humped by a beagle. :)
You paged Olga with 'He didn't tell Bug that bit :)'.

Long-Suffering has a brief 'ah' expression on her muzzle. Her expression mirrors Circle Keeper's sour one and returns her attention back towards the moot.

Grey holds the bones for a beat or two, one good eye and two good ears scanning the crowd to see if any others are intending to step up. Then he grunts and, with -- if it's possible -- an even more sour expression, he looks toward the Master of Challenges.

Fears-Pain watches the the group curiously, tail touching the floor of the Caern softly, swining in anticipation.

Olga doesn't bother to show embarassment when Cat returns the stare; before she can conjure a more interesting emotion, though, the news of the tainted dogs rips her attention back to the holder of the bones. Her expression is interested but dour. She grimaces, disgust filling the thin line of her lips, and her shoulders arch around her, trying to find some kind of shelter in them.

Pierces Ice lets her arms fall to her sides, black claws bright against white fur. Her lip curls away from sharp teeth as she makes her way toward the Glass Walker, hand stretching out for the bones.

Grey hands them over without fuss.

Pierces Ice takes the bones and looks out over the crowd. Her gaze rests on Dillen and she raises one clawed hand to point at him. ~Blood's Bane, what is it you would say?~

Dillen takes the bones and then a deep breath, "Thank you, Jacinta-Rhya." Drawing himself up to his full height and standing solid, he steps up and looks over the assembled mass. "These words are for you, Cedric Ambermere, Strikes-Like-Lighting, of the Silver Fangs and Galliard. I beg you hear them well. I am Dillen Francis, Bane-of-the-Bloodsuckers, Cliath Galliard of the Get of Fenris. I serve Wyvern in the pack of Wildfire with all my heart and claw." He looks straight to Cedric and directs the next bit to him, "I challenge you for the right to bear the rank of Fostern. Will you accept?"

Blackriver's whole body tightens, as she focuses her attention first on Dillen, then on Cedric.
Long-Suffering narrows her eyes at Dillen and huff softly at the challenge for Fostern.

Lightning has been brooding quietly for a while, but when Dillen steps up, he draws himself to his full height (several feet higher than Dillen, since he's in crinos and Dillen isn't) and stares back at the Get. ~Bane of the Bloodsuckers, I hear your challenge and I accept it. I have terms in mind which will require a little further consideration. The terms of your challenge will be delivered to you by the next dark of the moon, at the very latest. May Gaia and Fenris find you worthy of your challenge.~ He inclines his head to Dillen in a polite and very formal manner.

A silent yet attentive Stone-Spirit flicks her ears at this exchange, tail twitching once in eager response. Her eyes follow first her tribemate, and then the Silver Fang as the challenge is accepted.

Dillen nods his head to Cedric. "Thank you." He says and then looks to Jacinta, handing her the bones. "And thank you." He says to the Master of the Challenge before he steps down and enters back into the crowd.

Pierces Ice's ears turn outward, annoyance in her posture. She gives a curt nod, though her lip curls, and then returns the bones to the Truthcatcher and retaking her place by her packmates.

Bitter-Harvest seems completely disinterested in this phase of the moot. He remains standing near Lightning, glancing only occasionally toward the speakers.

Lightning also turns to Pierces Ice and inclines his head in a similarly formal acknowledgement of the Master of the Challenge's position.

Blackriver straightens her posture as Dillen walks back over towards her and Helen.

Circle Keeper's lips curl, looking to the fostern Galliard with a glower for a moment. He then snorts, and tosses his head somewhat.

Helen bites her lower lip, watching Dillen as he returns to the little spot for Wildfire. "Good luck, man," she says to Dillen with a little smirk as if to add, 'You'll need it.'

Lightning either doesn't notice, or affects not to notice, Circle Keeper's glower. His attention is focused on Dillen, and he looks to be deep in thought.

Dillen nods his head to Helen. "I'd expect nothing less and would hope that I would have to earn it all." He nods his head, a great deal of tension leaving his posture. He looks to the pack again and smiles slightly.

With the challenges done and no more announcements to be made, Thomas Grey steps down, stalking over to rejoin Cat, to whom he hands the now-unneeded bones with a mutter for the young Theurge to keep them, he'll explain later. Then come the stories, the Galliards' turn to shine with tales designed to stir the Sept's blood and prepare them for battle, for the bloody Revel to come.

Olga's expression is ambiguous: she watches Dillen's approach, his challenge, and his return, all with the same expression of blank consideration. Only when he's back at his place does she look away, down into her lap, and unthinkingly she reaches out to grab and munch on a stale cracker.

Helen, in a companionable way, punches Dillen in the arm, not looking at him, looking forward, as if she were innocent and wished to blame it on someone else. "Uh-huh."

Grey pages to the room: ...Said tales being handwaved unless someone wants to be spontaneous. Otherwise, Revel tomorrow night, yesh?

Blackriver peers up at Circle Keeper, studying him for a moment with ponderous eyes, before looking back at Dillen and giving him a warm chuff.

"Attaboy! You know, I think you're finally growin' a grain of sense."

Safehouse: Common Area(#2947RAJ)
The foyer of this house is set off from the living room with its octagonal bump-out by a four foot high halfwall. Stairs lead up from the foyer, turning and disappearing to the right, and a wooden door with a keycard lock claims the wall opposite the living room. The rest of the main floor is taken up by a small bathroom across the hallway from a dining room which is separated from the kitchen at the back of the house by another half-wall. The decor is decidedly sparse - white walls, beige carpeting in the living and dining rooms and down the hall, unremarkable vinyl in the foyer and kitchen.
A used couch and a pair of recliners are grouped around a coffee table in the living room, with a foursome of wooden chairs claiming the bump out for quieter conversation. The dining room boasts a white laminate table with four aluminum and vinyl-upholstered chairs - too new to be 'vintage', too old to be trendy. The appliances and cupboards in the kitchen are new - or at least refurbished to look like it - and a door leads out to the backyard from there.
Up the stairs are a number of empty rooms where anyone affiliated with the Sept can crash and an office for private meetings. The Glass Walkers have their own area accessible via a locked door off the foyer. The main doors themselves lead back out to the front porch of the house.

Mathias is sitting on the couch of the safehouse commons, looking depressed. Though, that's not a new thing for him, more so since recently. Almost looks suicidal.

If the sound percolates through Mathias' depression, there's a racing engine drawing up outside. And whether it does or not, hopefully the shortly following buzzing on the doorbell gets through to the theurge.

Mathias tilts his head to look at the door, then glances about. He dosn't want to get up, he wants to just sit there. Alas, noone else is about, so the Theurge picks himself up as he opens the door to look out. "Yes?" he says in reflex.

"Here you are," greets the theurge as he opens the door. Cedric is on the other side, a frown on his face and a businesslike attitude in his body language. "May I come in?" he asks. "There's important news, Mathias."

Mathias glances and sees Cedric, and he draws himself up, at least to stand at attention. It's the little details about his body that claim he's not been like this, but none the less, he gives a small nod then steps back, "Please enter Cedric-Rhya. It's not my place to invite you, but, I believe the situation will be fine."

Lightning walks inside regally, with the air of a king visiting the house of a commoner of his domain. "Mathias," he begins without preamble, "I spoke to Vera-rhya regardin' you and your recent... failures. We came to a mutual agreement."

Mathias looks up to Lightning, taking a moment before he says "How long do I have to pack? I could manage it in about three hours I think." He keeps his back stiff, eyes level though he dosn't look directly at Cedric.

"Your suitcase can stay where it is," Cedric responds with a thin smile. "Don't you recall, dear boy? Falcon sent you here. You're needed for... some purpose yet to become clear. You're stayin'. But on one condition. That for the time bein', you surrender the rank of cliath, return to cubhood and are re-rited in due course."

Mathias blinks as he hears Cedric, before he stammers for a few moments. Finally, he collects himself and says "But...why would Vera agree to that? What have you promised her Cedric? Your Klaive?" he really seems more dumbstruck then anything else.

Cedric compresses his lips. "Should you fail in regainin' the rank of cliath, I have vowed to surrender somethin' of worth or value to Vera-rhya. But Falcon has spoken to me through Osric and told me not to fret and that I may trust you to succeed. You may not have heard," he adds, "that Blackriver has formally passed eldership of the tribe to me, by the way. So it's now I and not she who gets to make the final call on all this jazz."

Mathias clenchs his eyes tight. "And...you didn't add in a clause to allow you an out?" he says, then looks to Cedric, "I...don't really know what to say. Right now, I'm an anruth with no future. Nothing. No family, no pack, no rank. Nothing ever."

Cedric gives Mathias a long look, before his hand reaches out to rest on the smaller Fang's shoulder. "Mathias, you are of the First Tribe, and that you have always. Your blood and your birth will always go with you. Falcon will always fly over you. Now, I respect the Shadow Lords far more than the vast majority of we Fangs," he goes on, "but I'll be damned if I'll let one of them turn you out of the Sept while I stand by and do nothin'. Particularly that grinnin' no-moon bitch of a Vera." He gives Mathias a wink. "That statement was off the record, natch."

Mathias holds his hands up, then says "What? My ears musta been ringing from something. I didn't hear a word of it."

Cedric grins. "Attaboy! You know, I think you're finally growin' a grain of sense. Now! Tonight is Moot. Am I goin' to give you a ride out in my car, so we can announce things to the sept as a whole, and make it all official-like?"

Mathias looks over to Cedric, and gives a soft 'uhh', He looks down, "Do I have a new cub name I suppose? Or will it stay as is? Think there are a few who will be happy to see the name gone."

Cedric smiles wryly. "I'm severely tempted to rechristen you Last-Chance or somethin', but perhaps that's less than dignified."

Mathias ducks his head slightly, and looks down. "Yes Cedric-Rhya." is all the comment he gives on that.

"Yes you'll go with that, or yes it's less than dignified?" Cedric asks.

Mathias holds his hands up. "One would claim that it's possibly to the latter. Many might not take it seriously. Just another chance after a string of chances."

"We needn't set it all in stone yet," Cedric points out. "Better to take a little time over things and get them right than rush headlong in where angels fear to tread. Besides... it's not as though you're goin' to be keepin' it more than a month or two." He gives Mathias a meaningful look with that.

Mathias gives a simple nod, then says softly "Yes Cedric-Rhya, it'll be as you say." he's rather...much more submissive then last Cedric met him?

Cedric squeezes Mathias' shoulder and then withdraws his hand. "Moot's in a few hours," he says. "I'll leave you to... come to terms with things, and decide if you can face bein' there. I'll drop back in my car and check up on you later, and give you a ride out if you're comin' along. OK?"

Mathias gives a simple nod, but at least he just looks and seems happier.

Your opinion is noted, Swims-Black-River. Your opinion is valued. But I do not choose to agree with it.

The Sept Compound(#2075RAM)
Sweeping branches of trees form a sort of natural roof overshadowing most of this clearing, no more than an open space of grasses and beaten earth in the heart of the forest. Some pains have been taken to keep wear and tear on the area to a minimum, so the firepit tends to shift from time to time. The firepit, several sawn logs polished from use, and a stack of firewood discreetly piled up at the base of an old spruce under a tarp, are the only signs of constant occupation. However, those of a naturalistic bent might think that some minimal landscaping or planning had been done, for nestled among the winter-browned grasses are a few hardy perennials that, come spring, will create a profusion of color in the clearing.
A faint trail leads off to the east, and a bit north.

It's raining lightly, an unwelcome drizzle that coats everything in a slippery wet film. Blackriver is making her way through the sept compound, looking not so happy to be here. After a moment of sniffing fruitlessly at the ground, she throws her head up and lets out a howl to inform the bawn that she's looking for one Lightning-rhya.

Mere minutes pass before Lightning arrives. Maybe there's something to be said for living in a house within earshot of howls from the bawn. He trots into the compound and up to Blackriver. You sought me? he enquires.

Blackriver gives a soft chuff in the affirmative, and moves forward to sniff at Lightning, posture dropping to a submissive stance. Promises-Kept failed at the tasks I set him. She informs the Galliard once she's withdrawn her nose.

I know why, Lightning responds dourly. It was because he and I both spent so much time trapped in the umbra by spider-webs. I have spoken to Culls-Herd-rhya about him. Her scent is still fresh in my den from when we discussed him.

Blackriver flicks an ear. The terms have not been met. Why does not matter. You may do what you want as an elder, but those were the terms. The Philodox's body tenses a bit as she speaks.
He failed, agrees Lightning. But I have agreed fresh terms with the Alpha-of-all which will let him become one of the sept at last.

Blackriver gives Lightning a strange look, and her hackles raise. But those were /my/ terms. To prove that he could work with the sept. And he couldn't.

Lightning bristles a little himself in response. Then you would send him away now?

Blackriver's ears flatten, and she replies in the affirmative. He has been given a chance. He has failed at the chance. You asked me to judge him as a Philodox, and I did. And he failed.

Then you would send him away now? Lightning asks again, ears flicking back and forth in annoyance, or possibly in uncertainty.

Blackriver blinks slowly and after a moment she replies with a yes again. By now her fur is bristling with moon-fed annoyance and anger.

Lightning stands stock still for several moments, evidently thinking. A slow growl builds very gradually in his throat and his lower lip slides backwards, exposing his teeth little by little.

Blackriver draws her tail under her belly in submission, and waits for further reaction from Lightning, posture tense and body coiled like a spring.

Lightning relents at this show of submission. You are philodox, he agrees. But I am alpha of first tribe and Culls-Herd is alpha of sept. And Falcon is our totem who chose Promises-Kept as one of his own.

Blackriver tips her head to the side and agrees with that. Her hackles continue to raise though, and she obviously doesn't like where this conversation is going.

If he can meet these new terms of Culls-Herd-rhya's, he will be a sept member. If he does not, he will not. That is that, Lightning informs the philodox flatly. He's still bristling visibly at her.

Blackriver's lips curl back into a snarl. So my judgment as a Philodox means nothing. So Promises-Kept gets yet another chance. So he can fail and fail, but you can keep speaking for him. You make his way ahead for him, despite what he may do. The Philodox's words are garbled a bit by her anger, and lupus speech being a poor conductor for such thoughts, but she manages to get them across none the less.

Lightning's hackles rise once more. Your opinion is noted, Swims-Black-River. Your opinion is valued. But I do not choose to agree with it.

Blackriver's ears flatten and her fur bristles. You did not ask my opinion. You asked my judgment. She notes, the lupus seething with anger. And then when it did not fit what you wanted you discarded it.

Lightning growls once more, this time a snarl in earnest, and takes a step forward and a snap at the air close to Blackriver's head. I am chosen of Falcon. My word is not to be questioned, he proclaims furiously. Cease your rebellion and submit or I shall beat submission into you.

Blackriver returns the growl in kind, the low vibrating noise draining out of her throat. Slowly, she raises her head to stare into Lightning's eyes, body quivering under the force of will needed to stare down a Fostern.

Lightning's eyes lock with Blackriver's and the two Silver Fangs stare at each other, former leader and present one, for a long moment. As they match wills, Lightning seems to swell up and his body to glow faintly. Perhaps just a trick of the light. Perhaps not. His already muscular lupus form does seem to have grown larger still.

Blackriver continues to stare back one long moment, Rage bristling behind her eyes like a predator laying in wait. A low growl issues from her throat, a sound that patters out into a whine as the Philodox's gaze drops down, and she lowers her body in submission.

Lightning's head cranes down to follow Blackriver's progress to the floor. He glares down at her supine form for several seconds, before finally breaking his gaze, and turning away to begin walking out of the clearing.

Blackriver watches Lightning leave, and then turns and walks off herself, heading towards the South.

"Far be it from me to teach you your job as alpha, Vera-rhya..."

Fairbanks House: Living Room(#2456RJ)
This is a large, warm and friendly room. The western wall is covered by a large picture-window looking out on the front yard. The carpet is white and thick. The front door is in a small alcove, opening out northwestward. Near the door, wide wooden stairs covered in the center by blue-grey carpet lead upward. The living room itself stretches north from the front door. The kitchen can be seen through an archway, and a door nearby leads to the study. A desk, a table, chairs and a couch decorate the room, elegant and expensive: glass coffee tables with gold corners, plush easy chairs, lamps with soft patterns of rose and gold amidst the white.
The stairs lead up to the second floor, and the door to the northwest goes outside. The study door is to the south, and the kitchen is eastward.

Near the noon hour there comes a knock at the front door, followed by silence.

The front door doesn't open in a hurry, but eventually footsteps sound from indoors and then pause, the feet's owner plainly looking through the peephole to see who's outside. Then the door opens and Cedric is revealed inside, a little tousled compared to his normal immaculate self, and clad in a striped bathrobe over pyjamas. "Vera-rhya! Happy new year," he says. "Do come in. What can I do for you?"

Vera smiles warmly enough, as she steps into the Silver Fang's home. "A cup of tea would be quite welcome, actually. I hear you ran afoul of some Weaver Spiders a little while ago?"

"Tea it is," Cedric agrees, bustling through to the kitchen and setting water to boil. He's back again inside a minute. "I certainly did," he says with a frown. "It was not a pleasant experience, but I survived it, and I'm plannin' a return trip with greater manpower to clean the damn' place out of the things. Want to come along?" he offers, in a tone as casual as if he'd just offered Vera a biscuit to go with her tea.

Vera settles herself down into one of the chairs and crosses her legs. "Do you speak of this place, or another?"

Cedric shakes his head. "No spiders here," he says firmly. "My tribemate's place, over in Kent Crossin'."

"You speak of Mathias the Anruth, of course," Vera replies easily, tone remaining the same as before.

"The same," drawls Cedric. "His house. Clemency House, it's called." He tosses those words out even more casually than Vera named Mathias.

"The house from which he cast out a kinswoman seeking shelter there, because his pride was wounded," Vera says with a sigh. "I had originally suggested to Blackriver that she allow Mathias the same Chiminage as I suggested for you, when he persistently dawdled with the task he had been given originally."

Cedric gives a slow nod. "Blackriver set the fellow some further tasks," he states, "bein' unwillin' to sling him out of here on his ear... especially since he owns that place, and we can't exactly do much about that. Besides, Vera-rhya," he goes on, "like me, Mathias is one of Falcon's chosen. He's a regal pain in the ass sometimes," he concedes, "but he's here for a purpose and I trust you'll appreciate that." He nods several times as though an affirmative response from Vera is a foregone conclusion.

Vera gives a soft snort and lightly shakes her head. "You plan to Challenge me over him."

Cedric gives a little jerk. "I beg y'pardon?" he raps out. "Does it really come to that?"

Vera tilts her head to one side, eyebrows lifting in mild surprise. "That is what other have come to believe and have spoken to me about in a voice of concern."

Cedric sits forward in his chair. "Vera-rhya," he says in a polite voice, if a somewhat frosty one, "this is a sept with deep divisions. If there's one thing guaranteed to make them deeper yet, it'd be two of its higher rankin' members squabblin' over one of the most junior cliaths in the whole damn' garou nation. Surely," he goes on, "we can be more mature and sensible than that."

Vera chuckles dryly, leaning back in her seat. "I only repeat what has been brought to my ears. I have no argument with you and I made my position clear long ago."

Cedric compresses his lips. "Then perhaps," he suggests, "you, or I, or both of us should make it our bizney to squash any such rumors we hear flyin' round. For the good of us both and of the sept."

Vera shrugs her shoulders easily. "Its is something that you may want to look in to. However, I must make it clear that I have no intention of allowing Mathias in to this Sept. If only because he has nothing of value to offer us."

Cedric gives Vera a look, at that. "I beg to differ," he says firmly. "Like all of my tribe, no less than of yours, Mathias has much to offer. Just a matter of gettin' the right things out of the youngster."

"Like what?" Vera asks rather flatly. "He angered far to many here when he was a guest and in the same breath, he does have some allies. I would be a fool to let him in without an exceptionally fine Chiminage. As you said earlier, this is a Sept divided and I do not need to make the situation any worse then it already is."

Cedric takes a couple of deep breaths before answering. "Far be it from me to teach you your job as alpha, Vera-rhya," he says, emphasisising the honorific, "but what kind of 'fine chiminage' would you have in mind? Given that this sept harbors metis, charach, and cliath in their thirties who are plainly never goin' to make it even as far as fostern without some kind of miracle, I don't see why one kid who's put his foot in it is singled out for such harsh treatment."

"All Sept have Metis," Vera replies with a touch of ice in her voice. "As for the others, they are Sept members and face punishments for their actions. Tell me, what would Mathias offer this Sept?"

"He can fight as well as any young garou," Cedric retorts, plainly needled now. "He can talk to spirits as well as any theurge. If he's working at a bit less than full strength at the moment, it's because the guy's been without a sept and a pack for months. This sept," Cedric states, "is not so strong that it can afford to turn down a set of willin' claws to defend it for frivolous reasons."

"It can afford to turn away one who lacks the Wisdom of a cub," Vera states. "Who would ignore my orders in battle. From everything he has done, I would consider him more of a danger then help, as a Cliath and a member of this Sept."

"What would it take to change your mind?" Cedric barks back to Vera. The galliard's hands have formed quietly into fists.

"He has not the Wisdom to be a Cliath," Vera states easily. "If he were to come to this Sept as a cub, we would take him in. Cubs do not require Chiminage."

"He is not a fucking cub," hisses Cedric. All his normal affable charm seems to have deserted him. "He is an adult garou. Do you presume, madam, to impugn the wisdom of those of my tribe who rited him?"

"I question Mathias' current level of Wisdom, not past," Vera states in annoyance.
Cedric raises one eyebrow. "Are you tellin' me," he says in high sarcasm, "that Mathias' wisdom levels have somehow contrived to drop since his Ritin'?"

Vera shrugs. "Wisdom can be earned and lost. You and I both know that. His actions at /this/ Sept have shown a distinct lack of Wisdom."

Cedric reins himself in with difficulty. "Then in effect, you're sayin,'" he sums up, "that in order to show his worth as a putative sept member here, he'd need to display wisdom sufficient to convince you of his... maturity?"

Vera nods. "Basicly, yes. But he has not only to convince me. There are a number of Garou in this Sept who need to be convinced as well."

"Feel free," Cedric drawls with more of his usual nonchalance, "to share their names with me. I'm happy to chat to them regardin' the subject of my tribemate."

Vera smirks. "They have no made their dissatisfaction unknown. I'm certain you could find them easily enough." The alpha entwines her fingers. "I am going to offer you a proposal that you will not like and are free to ignore if you wish, but it will allow Mathias into this Sept."

Cedric raises that eyebrow once more. "Speak, Vera-rhya. I'm as eager as you to find a solution acceptable to all involved."

"I take a great risk in alienating a number of Sept members if I allow Mathias into the Sept," Vera begins. "I will allow him in, if he is willing to make a sacrifice. To go beyond his pride and offer apology to those he has offended. If he is willing to denounce his Rank before Falcon and become a Cub once again. If that is enough to remind him of the meaning of Wisdom, you may allow him to undergo his Rite of Passage after three moon's time. If you do not know the Rite, I will teach it to you." Vera takes a breath and continues. "You are his Patron. You are the one who speaks for him. I will only allow this because you feel that he has some worth. However, you must give up something if Mathias fails to become a Cliath within six turnings of the moon."

Cedric's eyes narrow as Vera relates her terms. "Give up anythin' in particular?" he asks once she's done.

Vera shrugs her shoulders. "That is something we could discuss. You have such confidence in the fellow, you should have little fear of loosing anything."

Cedric's head comes up and his jaw sets, at that. "I most certainly do," he snaps back. "Very well, I shall surrender somethin' to be discussed at a later date, in the most unlikely event that my confidence is misplaced. In fact," he adds, "I'll damn' well seal that offer with the Honorable Oath."

Vera nods, smiling easily. "We can discus what you would offer up if he fails after Mathias has rejected or accepted these terms."

Cedric clicks his fingers. "Ah, right, yes. Better make sure he doesn't kick off on one when he hears. But he won't," Cedric adds. "He knows damn' well he's here on my suffrance as well as yours, and he'll jump when I say jump."

Vera inclines her head and offers up a small smile. "Very well. Just remember, that your Eldership may be challenged because of Mathias, if your fellow Tribesmates do not feel that he is improving. Cliath can Challenge Fostern. It does happen."

Cedric gives a dark smile. "I've been elder for all of a week, officially. As for cliath... I'd be surprised if Blackriver wasn't fostern by summer. Water's boiled," he adds as he hears the sound from the kitchen, and heads off to make tea.