View source for 2019.01.20: Battle Singer's Challenge for Adren

{{Infobox Log
|name      = Battle Singer's Challenge for Adren
|summary   = Lleutrim, Aleksandr, Waziyata, Sigryd, and Frost take part in a Fianna Moot, where Lleutrim challenges his old mentor for recognition as an Adren.
|icdate    = January 20th, 2019
|players   = [[Lleutrim]], [[Aleksandr]], [[Sigryd]], [[Frost]], and [[Waziyata]] (ST)
|location  = Sept of the Wakened Wood
|spheres   = Gaian Garou
}}

[[Category:Waziyata]][[Category:Lleutrim]][[Category:Sigryd]][[Category:Aleksandr]][[Category:Frost]][[Category:Logs]][[Category:Gaian]][[Category:Garou]][[Category:Poetato]]

After a day of working to help tend the Fianna Caern and set up simple tables and cookpits under the guidance of their Keeper of the Lands, resting in the visitors' lodge, and meeting a few of the local faces, evening has finally fallen upon the Sept of the Wakened Wood. It is a cold, clear night with the newly full moon seated amidst a field of stars in the sky above, as Garou and their wolf and human kin gather in the Caern's heart.

At the center of the meadow, a massive cairn of large rocks is piled in a heap, each painted or carved with glyphs praising dead heroes of the Caern. Around this cairn are dug several deep, square, sacrificial pits with simple offerings to the dead and the spirits cast within. Nearby, a roaring bonfire spreads cheery warmth and, combined with the press of bodies and massive old trees, keeps the cold from being too harsh. All members of the Sept in attendance are arrayed in their winter finest; colorful furs, cottons and linens, knotwork jewelry on men and women alike, painted faces, and braided hair. War trophies are on proud display, along with fresh offerings cast into the sacrificial pits or the vibrant stream that burbles through the forest at the edge of the meadow. Music and raucus laughter fill the air, though the food and drink are being saved until the revel at the end of the Moot. The Sept has been positively abuzz with the expectation of an announcement tonight, as well as the expectation of several challenges.

As the final stragglers move into their positions for the moot, a rich, lone howl begins in the back of the crowd. The music and chatter quiet at once and the howler is revealed to be a massive, red and brown wolf. He howls as he moves along the edge of the crowd, circling them to come to the fore, and shifting as he moves. By the time he has achieved the place of honor before the crowd, a large Crinos stands, head and shoulders thrown back, howling for all he is worth. It isn't long before others are changing and throwing their heads back to join the Master of the Howl in the Opening Howl to begin the moot. Soon, the voices of the Sept mingle as one.

After an interminable time that could be hours but was likely only moments, the howl dies down and the gathered Garou and Kin are silent, expectant. The Master of the Howl grins as best a Crinos can manage, before dropping back to the wolf form and moving to assume a position near the front of the crowd. Behind him, a broad-shouldered, bare-chested old Scotsman steps to the fore, wearing little more than tattoos, scars, knotwork finery and a kilt with sandals. He faces the crowd a moment, somber and stern without any concession to the cold winter's night in his form. Then, Calls Down the Rain grins broadly and turns to face the dark, old wood. He throws his arms wide and shouts in a thick Scottish brogue, "Come down to us, Macha, Great Queen of Glory and Battles! We seek to bring you honor! Share in our glory, that we may find your wisdom in the heart's blood of our foes!"

Another man, much younger and in furs, steps out to offer a silver and bone dagger to the old Scotsman, head bowed. The other gathered members of the sept are quiet, intent on the ritual being performed, eager for a sign of the Sept Totem's favor. The old man reaches to take the dagger without looking, and brings it up to cut deeply into his open hand. Then, he holds forth his hand and squeezes blood into the earth before him, beseeching again: "I am Calls Down the Rain, your old servant and Caller of the Wyld. The Sept of the Wakened Wood is gathered in your name tonight!"


Like many others here, Battle Singer changed into a wolf to raise up his voice to howl with the opening of the Moot. So many voices joined together as one, rising up through the wood to meet the stars and full moon above. It always sends a thrill up the spine to hear them mingled so.

Once the Caller of the Wylde comes forward and Calls Down the Rain speaks, all else hushed, Lleu shifts back to his near homid Glabro form to watch and listen in expectation. For tonight he wears only his clan Donnachaidh kilt in the muted greens and blues of one of the Hunting patterns. His torso is bare except for the many scars he has accumilated in battles fought and won, his legs and feet equally bare. Garou runes have been painted over his body and some of his beard braided and adorned with bone beads. His normally tidy hair looks spikey with a wide dark line of smudged soot to pass through his eyes and make the pale sivery grey stand out in contrast, icy. Seven foot and more in height, covered in thick muscle, the Galliard pays his attention respectfully to the Fianna Elder's ritual.


Sigryd too howls with the rest, though she doesn't shift. She puts all the training she's had as a singer into it though....eyes closed, face lifted to the moon, she sings the wolf song back to Luna. She's then quiet, just listening, on the outskirts, a guest here.


Frost stands with the other kinfolk, quiet and respectful as she watches the moot begins.


Waziyata remains in her breed form, comfortably seated on her haunches near the edge of the gathering, though not too far from Lleutrim, whom she has stayed near much of the day. She, too, joins the howl though she is a little more reserved than may be expected. She's gotten more than her share of dirty looks throughout the group's visit, even an occasional muttering in her passing, though the lupus hasn't yet landed in a challenge or an outright confrontation with the Fianna. The other members of the group have been treated in quite friendly fashion.


Calls Down the Rain continues his ritual, bleeding into the grass at his feet and calling out to Macha again, before a crow flies down from one of the trees, landing to peck at the blood offering in the grass. The Sept waits in silence, all eyes on the avatar of their totem until the Morrigu croaks at Calls Down the Rain, a harsh, low squawk. He bows his head, then steps back, passing the dagger back to the much younger man before crossing his arms and taking a stance near the very front of the gathering, watching on with the rest as a grey-haired woman, still strong and fit, steps forward. She carries with her a bone, the Truthcatcher. She turns and scowls at the assembled group, before calling out in a low voice, "Who here would crack the bone?"

Immediately, before she's even finished speaking, two young men step forward - the one who handed the ceremonial dagger to Calls Down the Rain, and another, darker skinned man almost twice his size. It is the Wyld Caller's assistant who speaks: "I am Earth's Fire, and I challenge Blood River for the right to mate his sister, Alannah O'Rourke. He thinks I'm too weak to defend her, and I'll show him the strength of my passion."

Before long, the two are squaring off before the Sept, in a glabro bareknuckle boxing match amidst raucus cries. In short order, the much bigger man has knocked out Earth's Fire, and he spits on the ground nearby, "My kin is too good for you, lad. I've told ya once before. If you make it thrice, I'll leave you with a more permanent reminder."

Then, after Earth's Fire has recovered and returned to his place in the Sept, shamed and sullen, the call is spoken again: "Who else brings challenge this night?"


More challenges are called to come forward. Lleutrim himself brushes his fingers ever so lightly through Wazi's white coat and steps forward until he's come away from the trees and into the clearing, "I do!" His baritone booms, "I, Seinneadair Blàr, have come across the sea to challenge /you/, Calls Down the Rain'rhya! As per your request, and the Truthcatcher's, I shall save the details until after the storytelling, for I have a story of my own to share!" Maybe Dragomir inspired the Galliard for he looks almost as barbaric and mystical as the Silver Fang Athro that sparring day back in their home Caern, except for the lack of bird of prey feathers to hang from his hair. Nothing but blue woad swirls and glyphs over his scars cover Lleu's bared torso, wearing his kilt around his loins.


The Truthcatcher looks to Lleutrim when he shouts out his challenge, considering the man solemnly a moment before dipping her wizened head and looking to Calls Down the Rain, "Duncan? Does the lad speak true?" Many eyes turn to the Elder, who laughs, then nods to her with an easy, casual salute towards Lleutrim, "Aye. The lad knows my terms. We'll see if he be Bard or Druid, tonight, and I'll have a proper reply after he tells the tale I've demanded."

"So be it, then. Your challenge is recognized, Seinneadair Blàr, and we will establish terms after your tale." She turns to the gathering then, and goes through the process with several more sets of Garou. Many challenges more challenges occur during the night: multiple challenges for rank, a challenge for pack alpha, and even one challenge to the Righ of the Sept from a grizzled, grey-furred lupus who is quickly beaten down by the Sept's leader, a burly black man dressed in traditional kilt and woad. Eventually, the Truthcatcher makes her call one more time and there are no takers. "Then I say the bone is cracked! Let these settled matters rest, on yer honor, at least until the next Moon's Moot!"

The old woman breaks the massive bone over her knee, then, throwing the two halves into one of the pits, before resuming her own position in the crowd. Even before she has moved back into the group, a fiery-haired girl bursts into a bawdy song, weaving the tale of a recent encounter between two of the Sept's ahroun and a Corax, of all things, and how the two were were made fools of in a quest to prove their glory. It's mixed between Gaellic and English, both in a thick, native accent so very challenging for the visitors to follow. The laughter of the Sept and the redness of the two Ahrouns' faces is enough to get much of the context, however.

Afterward, there are other Garou and even a single Kin to take turns telling tales. Mostly, they tell legends of the Fianna, of Stag and the Morrigu. One even howls an old song of praise for Luna, the gathered folk becoming more lively with each tale in turn until the call is raised by the young, red-haired Talesinger: "Who else shall spin a tale for us this night?"


When it seems the storytelling portion is winding down in the Moot, Lleutrim strides forward into the clearing, "I would tell a tale. A story about a Lost Cub. A story about a garou who lived well into his middle years ere he ever learned of what he truely was, or could be. Would you hear that tale tonight of me?" He waits for some response, some cheers or other encouragement to continue. "Very well, I shall tell you my tale."

"Greetings! I am Lleutrim Donnachaidh, Rite named Seinneadair Blàr, born on two legs beneath the gibbous moon, Fianna, and a Patrol Leader of the Sept of the Enduring Spirit, mated to Faith Anne Donahue-Donnachaidh, Get of Fenris kinfolk and Sergeant of Internal Affairs with the Prospect Police Department."  His pale silvery grey eyes look all around at the many faces.  Lleu seems confident, his baritone pleasantand pitched to carry.

"I come here before you with a purpose.  First, I shall begin by telling you about myself.  I was born in the mountains north of a city called Atlanta.  I knew nothing of the Nation and no kinfetch was affiliated with my birth.  Neither of my parents were garou - they were probably kinfolk.  I grew up unaware of who and what I really was, though I had an uncle whom I now believe was garou.  He did and told me things as a boy that frightened me.  It is thought his actions may have made me fight against my change, to repress my true self.  My adolescent years were at times very difficult.  Many dreams and visions I did not understand."

The Galliard shrugs, "I survived and went on to join the United States Marine Corps like my father before me.  He was a one star General.  I went through the Crucible like any other Marine and somehow I still did not hit my First Change.  I became an officer, and eventually rose to the rank of Captain.  Over the course of nearly 15 years serving in the USMC, I was deployed into combat in Kuwait, Iraq, Afghanistan, and the Philippines.  When my mother and father, retired, began to ail with age, I left the Corps and returned home to look after them.  I became a Police Officer in Atlanta until they passed away.  Two years out of the military, I transfered to the Prospect Police Department in Southern California, ready to begin a new life.  I had no idea how true that concept was about to prove itself.  I was a /man/ about to turn 35 years of age."

Lleutrim walks slowly as he speak, using his hands to gesture at times, changing the inflections of his rich baritone.  "That was June of last summer.  By July?  My world as I knew it, my very sanity, was unraveling.  I'd met a woman and fell in love with a woman named Faith but was denied her because of a Russian man whom was her 'protector'.  I didn't understand.  My dreams and visions began to return - with a vengence like never before!  Assaulting me.  My temper began to flare out of control, my patience, my self discipline sorely tried.  The harder I tried to keep my shit together the faster it fell apart.  Strangers approached me and told me I was this thing, called garou, about to hit my Change.  One of them changed before my very eyes, in my own kitchen, to become a shark!  Her sister claimed to be a hyena!  I was loosing my mind, utterly."

"Shortly after, the Russian came for me.  He took me, and Faith, to caves where his 'pack' dwelled deep in the forest south of the city.  They said they would protect me from myself and see that I didn't harm anyone else.  I'd just taken a leave of absense from the Police Department, knowing I couldn't trust myself anymore not to hurt people I was sworn to protect.  I was afraid and angry and things only got worse, much worse.  Though I was in fact treated reasonably well by the pack,   it /seemed/ as though I were a prisoner.  Trapped underground, seeking help for things that were happening to me that I didn't understand.  They told me things I didn't really believe, deep down.  My mind fell into a fugue, thinking they were the enemy, that I was drugged or going insane.  I couldn't trust anything - not even Faith, whom I thought I loved.  Those days became very dark, until it happened.  The night Eye of the Storm'rhya pushed me far enough, long enough, hard enough to finally go beyound my limits beneath the gibbous moon, and I fell into rage."

Here the Galliard pauses looking grim, serious.  Then Lleu smiles, "I lived and was not destroyed.  The next two months were a struggle to learn.  To accept that my life was turned inside out, to understand.  This was the hardest thing I ever tried to do in my life.  Nothing in the Marine Corps prepared me for such a challenge!  I was garou!  Was any of it real?  Had I fallen utterly into insanity down the White Rabbit's hole?  I thought so.  I studied the Litany, I practiced shape shifting and spend a great deal of time as a wolf.  I read and I listened to stories, I attended classes, I learned my duties to the Sept and I worked very hard at all of these things.  I wanted to prove myself up to the challenge.  At times I did do very well, at other times I came very close to taking my own life.  Somehow I got through, and I came here to meet Calls Down the Rain'rhya.  He helped to prepare me for my Rite of Passage, and when that was done, I was no longer a cub.  I was Cliath, and Fianna!"  Lleutrim looks some of those who are listening in the eye, "I still had /so/ much to learn."

He paces around the cleared space for the Moot and allows the silence for a breath of space to linger, his last few words to hang in the air.  Lleutrim takes his tale back up, "I went on patrols and learned to fight fomori and banes.  I and another were ambushed by Wylde spirits and I saved a kinfolk's life that day. I learned how to cross into the Umbra, I learned Rites, and confronted an entrenchted and fortified camp of paramilitary fomori with rifles and traps capture cubs and Cliaths.  I fought and killed my first Black Spiral Dancers and stopped them from setting a corrupted fire spirit upon our forest while simutaneously keeping a family and the veil safe.  I solved riddles set me by owl and saved a kinfolk and myself from an inferno in the umbra. I learned a little how to treat with spirits and have learned many gifts from them.  Time and again I protected the veil and cleansed, and taught others the Rites I have learned.  Having been a lost Cub myself, I helped other cubs by teaching them, and I found and brought a lost kinfolk back to the Nation.  I've sung songs and told epic stories of our deeds at our Moots. I learned of our history from other Galliards and my Elders.  I became Fostern and practiced the Rite of Contrition to those who most endured my temper while I had been a cub. I've met a Dragon and learned how to deal carefully with Gorgons, and I have taken a mate."

Seinneadair Blàr stops, studing those who are gathered around and listening to his words, "Now I study how to make talens and soon also Fetishes to serve my Sept.  I have become a Patrol Leader, leading garou, kinfolk and fera to protect our bawn.  Currently I am assembling a pack of my own and we will soon seek our shared Totem spirit.  I have brought some of them with me here today.  I have recently reconciled differences between myself and another garou, with the help of a friend, whom I thought I would never be able to work with.  He too has come with me to this place, putting our differences aside." The Galliard goes on for some while longer listing his deeds of the past months, until...   Lleu seeks the gaze of Calls Down the Rain, "I have done these things and more, and though I still have /much/ more to learn, I would have all of you to bear witness!"  

The Fianna Galliard's voice takes on an authoritive tone

"I, Seinneadair Blàr, come across the sea to issue Challenge to Duncan Macintosh, known to the Council as Calls Down The Rain, Elder Caller of the Wyld, Child of Stag, Songster and Storyteller, Alpha of the Knights of Avalon, that I am ready to be tested for the rank of Adren!" The last part Lleutrim finishes off in a thundering, booming voice that would make a Marine Drill Sergeant proud!


The gathered Sept cheers Lleutrim on, during that initial question - the majority of them are Fianna, of course they want to hear the stranger's tale. A few of the more obnoxious sorts make catcalls or noises of disbelief at certain points of the story: the talk of a wereshark in the kitchen, for example. But most of the crowd is captivated by the passionate, if straight-forward tale. And at that last bit, there is a low hum of chatter, before it goes silent as Calls Down the Rain lifts one gnarled, strong hand for attention. He is grinning broadly as he studies Lleutrim from his place amongst his packmates and the Sept. After a long silence, he snorts, then chuckles softly, shaking his head in response.

"You tell it with passion, lad, but a Bard of the Fianna should have more to say of his life than a lot of noise about his time fighting the human wars, his time as a confused pup, and a passing mention of his successes since the change -- if he expects to be called Adren! No, don't look at me like that. I won't slap you down right off, nor will I accept you with open arms to the station you demand.

"I see a lad who still thinks he's human, just a bit hairier, with one of Great Fenris's blood to keep his bed warm at night. I heard nothing of the Threes in your tale, and you've forgotten my command. I said, bring to me three faces of luna you've been denied. You bring an Ahroun, a Theurge, and a Galliard? Am I to believe, you call yourself a Galliard of the Fianna, but need a Get to teach you how it's done? Pah!"

He pauses a moment, then, taking a deep breath. He's still grinning, though his words and tone are stingingly sharp. He lowers his hand again, raising his head and crossing his arms as he stares back at Lleutrim, "Prove me wrong, Lost Cub of the Fianna. Learn your history. Speak with your Ancestors. Live one of their Legends, if you can. Then, return to me no later than the next Moot and tell us a proper tale of the mighty Fiann you believe yourself to be. You impress me with your deeds, your history, and your talespinning then, and I'll be the first to howl and recognize you."


Lleutrim stands his ground and though he was putting on the boldness for show, trying to work the crowd and get them involved, he stands quietly enough now though not crestfallen. He gives a nod, "I have lived all my life thinking I was only a man. I think I have come a long way since then, Calls Down the Rain'rhya, and make no claim to have learned as much as I need to. I have only just begun." A quiet breath and he continues, "I brought those who would come with me at this time. There are a few others we are considering, other faces of Luna, but there are reasons they could not yet come with me here today, Calls Down the Rain'rhya." Hah! Sigryd to teach him how it's done? Lleu glances at her and looks amused, "No, but if I told you the tale of my adventures how I should like, I'll be keeping you all here for days!" He grins, "I shall gladly tell the tales of each of those ventures to any in this Sept who care to hear them, but each deserves it's own telling individually." If there is sting in Calls Down the Rain's words, it's not beating down the former Marine. Not yet.

To Calls Down the Rain's decree, Seinneadair Blàr cocks his head as he listens. His brows furrow slightly, thinking upon the words of his Elder, trying to suss out what exactly they may mean. Hmmm. There will be time to digest and unravel, to plan and to seek.

Seinneadair Blàr bows his head to his tribal Elder, "I shall do as you bid me, Calls Down the Rain'rhya. I will find a way to earn your praise, if I am worthy of it." Lleu backs off a few slow formal steps and then turns to rejoin those gathered around the clearing.


Waziyata stands up at the exchange between Lleutrim and the Elder Fianna, ears perking up as she watches the interaction. She tilts her head a little to one side, shifting her weight from foot to foot as the harsh words are spoken against her friend. But she doesn't charge out to fight or start barking or anything. She just waits silently as the challenge is given and accepted. When Lleu is making his way back, there is at least one grinning wolf face waiting for him, and at least one wagging white tail.


Calls Down the Rain only gives a nod in response to Lleutrim. He's said his piece, and he watches as the younger Galliard moves back into the throng of people, his grin fading to a more thoughtful smile, almost a sly expression. But then, the fiery-haired Talesinger is out front again, making the final call for tales and songs. When there are no takers, she leads the Sept in a howling cheer for the night's Wyrm Foe, the same massive lad who fought for his sister's honor, Blood River. He is screaming his glee and approval in the Homid form, his voice already raw from the howls of the evening, and now he carries a massive drum. Before long, he is pounding a rhythm for all he's worth, shouting and cajoling the Sept into the beginning stages of a mad, frenetic revel. 

The rest of the evening is spent in a massive party, with booze and food, music, dancing, wrestling, and many kin to tempt the Garou, both local and visitor alike. It culminates in a Wyld Hunt in the darkest hour of the night, the young Wyrmfoe taking to Crinos form and leading the assembled garou in a howling, shrieking hunt through the umbral night to root out any minions of the Wyrm that might have strayed too close to the sacred lands. The visitors, of course, are encouraged to partake in everything the revel has to offer. Those already mated, married, or promised are tempted the same as any others, though nobody pushes the point past a polite refusal. There are plenty to tryst with in the cold night, after all.