2018.12: Moot
| Moot | |
|---|---|
| December 2018 Moot for Sept of the Enduring Spirit | |
| Players | Those performing the Moot Rite: Aleksandr, Brooke, Iris, Isla, Jes, Johanna, Lleutrim, Moot |
| Location | Caern Ampitheater |
| Prp/Tp | Monthly Moots= Previous-Next |
| Spheres | Gaian Garou |
Moots are held on +bboard 79 as of June 2018. This is a compilation of the posts for December 2018.
The Fool
The Fool, the Fool… every the questioner of ways, never predictably. The fool strides out with a painted muzzle and fur decorated with medals and badges, leaping and yipping on four feet like a pup.
<< Look at me! Do you see my awards? Do you see my accolades? >> he asks, shaking his fur so the badges clash and clang like charms, reflecting the light. << What are they for? What do they mean? WHO KNOWS? But you must RESPECT THEM! >>
The Fool wags his tail, covered in various ribbons, and then sits on his hind legs to rub them in the dirt. << Did I earn these? WHO KNOWS? But I say I did! Who cares if it happened back when your parents were children and the story has grown in the telling? RESPECT ME! >>
The wolf rolls on his back, scratching it on the ground and dislodging a few of its baubles before flipping back over. << Oh, it seems that a light touch has knocked free some of my glory! Because THAT is how simple it is for Rank to be dismissed! ‘Submit to Those of Higher Station’? Why? Because they’re old and have pretty jewelry? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE FOR ME LATELY? I’m fairly certain most of the stories about your ‘great deeds’ are about as relevant as my stories about my ‘great meals’, anyway! Shouldn’t /I/ get to decide what /I/ do? Shouldn’t I get to decide who I /respect/? If a human doesn’t like their boss, they can just quit and get another one! Why am I stuck with these old farts who insist on being called Rattlebones-rhya because of something they did way back when I was swimming around in my sire’s balls like a fish?! Equality, brothers! Equality! >>
With that, the Fool shakes mightily, sending a storm of gaudy badges flying from his fur, tongue lolling out of the side of his muzzle.
(Written by Jes)
Opening Howl
The Master of the Howl enters the circle, and without even a crook of her eyebrows toward him, she raises her hands to signal to those gathered to hush.
“Welcome one and all, Sept of the Enduring Spirit, followers of Bear, defenders of the Nation and Gaia. We gather tonight, in this hallowed ground to honor and restore our totem for the coming lunar cycle. The Moot has now begun, and you are all witnesses. Join in our ever widening circle! HEAR ME! JOIN ME!” She bends back and lets out a long howl of greeting, encouraging the Sept to join her.
“We begin with remembering those who have fallen, as we honor and keep their memories alive and remember their deeds.” A list of names is now read, including their introductions and deeds. Mournful howls come from different directions for each name. “We include the cubs from the latest Silver Fang Rite of Passage. So much potential.” She leads the mournful howl for them and all that have been lost. As it fades, the Master of the Howl steps forward to the center of the circle, and the waiting Fool that is still there. “It is our birthright and privilege to defend our Tribes, Sept, and the Nation. Gaia gives us such great gifts, we must keep the memories alive and remember the lessons through our stories and songs.” She takes a moment and then begins with the litany.
Announcing the first three laws, she begins the fourth, “Submission to those of higher station!” She gazes from one side of the circle to the other. “Without order there is chaos. We have a clear chain of command so when trouble knocks, those with the most experience and knowledge take the lead and we do not stumble around fighting amongst ourselves as to who has the best plan. Our Elders have earned Glory, Honor, and Wisdom and are due respect for their deeds, and we would be wise to learn from them.” She looks over to The Fool and then back to those gathered. “While true that what our Elders have done will predate some of us by many years, and some their whole lives, they have survived. They have battled the Wyrm, the Weaver, and the Wyld. They have survived and triumphed where others have not even made it through their Rite of Passage. Surely they have done more than is needed to gain our respect, and trust to teach, guide, and lead the next generation.”
Moving to pick up some of those ribbons, she then holds one up, “Ribbons, Medals, Championship Belts, these are just things. This is not what proves what you did. The only way is through stories told, and what the spirits share with others. When we show respect to others, and they respond to it as a leader should, that is when it is proven.”
The Fool flops to one side, head back and neck exposed, and tucks his tail between his legs. << Oh, it’s true; just managing to survive long enough to gain Rank does say something, I admit it. After all, if such achievements mean nothing, what good are words? >>.
He hops back up to his feet, tail between his legs, and gets down on his belly with his head low. << I submit. If for no other reason than because next time, someone has to submit to ME. >> And with that, the Fool scampers off gleefully.
The Master of the Howl continues through the remainder of the litany, and then leaves the circle as the Theurge comes forward to begin the Inner Sky.
The Inner Sky
The Opening Howl completed, and Mercy's Messenger moves forward into the moot’s open space, a simple white Grecian style dress whipping around her bare feet while she moves, her huge white dove’s wings streaked with colored powder. She speaks by memory, following strictly the ritual of corner calling according to those that taught her. “Each month we give our thanks and remembrance of our spirit cousins, reminding ourselves that there is more to our world than just what we see, more to our family than those that sit beside us now. We solidify our bond with the umbra, ancestors, our totem and Goddess. We call these corners to infuse our Caern home with the essence of life and power that makes this place an integral part of our survival. We do not falter, we do not forget, we do not let our sacred place fall to slumber and despair. Children of Gaia and Luna, we meet as one.”
Joined by a fresh faced young pack of Black Furies this time, at each elemental corner stands a young woman bedecked in simple splendor aligned with their element. From eagerly grinning, to too-carefully-stoic, the young women do their best to attend the ritual and bring honor to themselves and their tribe in the eyes of their gathered peers.
Mercy's Messenger moves first towards Michelle Silent Paws at the east, as the Ragabash trying hard not to bounce with excitement behind an empty basin. Her white Grecian dress snaps and ruffles with unseen breezes and colorful streamers in her hair wave and twirl. "We give our thanks to the east, to the element of air. You give us winter chill and sweet scented spring breeze, warnings and wisdom you send to us, carrying our howls across the land and bringing the scents of prey to our noses. We thank you for carrying the seasons in your wake, and beseech you always send us wisdom to do the right thing in our dire moments." Silent Paws answers this prayer, raising a slim, reedy flute to her lips and blowing one long, sweet note into the cavern air. As the instrument of air sounds, air gafflings begin to whip and whirl around their representative as Mercy's Messenger bows deeply to them both.
Carrie Blades of Red stands with her feet planted firmly at the south behind a brazier of burning herbs and coals, the Ahroun steadfastly refusing to look too excited or proud of herself. A gold edged scarlet Grecian dress sparkles with red and yellow each time she moves, sparse but beautiful jewelry shining with red gems in gold settings. , "We give our thanks to the south, to the element of fire. You give us warmth on cold nights, and the rage to crush the Wyrm in our jaws, the strength to resist your pull and the respect that such power brings. We thank you for your wild might, O dangerous friend, and beseech you always give us the passion to live and continue fighting for our Goddess." Blades of Red answers this prayer, raising a curled horn to her lips and blowing one long, fierce note into the air. Her brazier sparks and whooshes as several small elementals slip through the gauntlet to dance amongst the flames while Mercy's Messenger bows deeply to the spirits and their representative.
A smiling Galliard stands for the element of water, Karen Sings for Rain wears a silver edged blue Grecian dress, her neck and waist belted with sea shells and her dark hair festooned with wisps of green and blue ribbons. A basin of clear, pure water stands in front of her, its surface flat and unmoving. "We give our thanks to the west, to the element of water. Devoted to Luna, your tides and currents keep our watery world true and fair. You quench us when we whither, and give us sweet rains that nourish the land. Formless, fluid and changeable, you bring us emotion and memory, and remind us each day that all things change and move, that there is no place the dedicated cannot go. We thank you for the gift of life, of movement, and for your many secrets, and beseech you always fill us with wonder and adventure in this garden Gaia has given us." Sings for Rain raises a large conch sell to her lips in answer, blowing a soothing note that moves through tones and pitch as a river moves through the land. The water of her basin begins to rise and dance as the elemental within rejoices, and Mercy's Messenger bows deeply to both.
Standing behind a basin of fresh herb leaves and flower petals is a teenage Philodox, Belinda Thinks Too Much is both intimidated and awed by her first performance in a Moot, and maybe a little terrified. Wearing a copper trimmed, green Grecian dress, she tries to stand straight and proud as Mercy's Messenger says, "We give our thanks to the north, to the element of earth, the very ground beneath our feet. The skin of our great Mother, you bring us stamina and patience, the beauty of all we see and the hidden secrets in the dark. Your passages bring us closer to Gaia, and to our eyes you show us all the beauty and strength for which we fight to protect. You connect us past, present, and future, you give us stability and constant reminders to carry on. We thank you for giving us hearth and home, and beseech you always temper us and give us and remind us that there is more than just today, more than just tomorrow and yesterday." Thinks too much answers the prayer by lifting a carved wood pipe to her lips and blowing a low, harmonious note that fills the amphitheater with the scent of roses in bloom. Mercy's Messenger bows deeply to both elemental and representative, and moves to the center of the stage.
The Theurge begins to speak her prayer to Gaia, to the Wyld, and to the totem of the Sept of the Enduring Spirit, the great Bear. As she speaks, the air gafflings from the east begin to swarm through the other basins, picking up showers of sparks and little flaring elementals, globes of water, and a storm of leaves and petals. The elements are brought together in a whirl of color and scent, beautiful chaos at play. "We give thanks to Wyld, Nature, Gaia, and to our Caern’s totem, the great Bear. We thank you, Bear, for watching over us, giving us your wisdom and healing, your great strength and will to survive. We honor you and ask only that you will continue to love us and guard our sacred home." A deep, rumbling bears growl sounds from all directions in answer to the prayers, vibrating through the air and sounding of contentment. Mercy's Messenger and the Fury at each of the directions lower themselves in respect before the voice of Bear amidst the flurry of elements.
After the ritual of the Inner Sky is complete, Mercy's Messenger takes a moment to work with the elementals and get them returned to their basin with consideration for those that come after them. Once a messy stage has been avoided, the elementals slip back to the spirit plane so that the Furies can gather their ritual items and step off of the stage.
(Written by Iris)
Cracking the Bone
The stage has been cleaned up, including a few come by with push brooms just to be sure, and the Moot continues. The Master of the Howl gestures for the Truthcatcher to go ahead.
Together, Howls-at-High-Moon and Starchaser walk out. The Truthcatcher gestures for Starchaser to take the lead as she watches and listens.
"I am Johanna Cooper, rite named Starchaser, born on two legs beneath the Half Moon, Adren of the Stargazers. Daughter of Seeks-the Stars, granddaughter of Calls-Down-The-Stars-To-Judge, great granddaughter of Stardancer. Beta of Kandula's Hope, patrons of Mammoth. I speak with the backing of the Truthcatcher. Sept of the Enduring Spirit, who has business tonight?"
As people begin to step forward, each issue is taken from Elder rank down. When a Fostern comes forward, Starchaser hands him the talking stick and he says, "I am Jumping Jack Rabbit, Fostern Ragabash of the Shadow Lords. I have a grievance not with any of the Sept, but I want satisfaction nonetheless. The territory of Humble Spring is known as a Gaian, but the Bastet known as Nightstalker has been using it far too often. I want it to be Garou use first. We are stronger, and do more to protect Gaia than that lazy Bastet. All he does is lounge and sleep there!" His attitude reflects his words, forceful with his thoughts.
At this point, Rite Mistress Mara Banebreaker steps forward, and the talking stick is passed back to Starchaser who gives it to her. "All Gaians have use of that territory. We must remember that our Sept Totem is Bear, a spirit of the Fera. We allow all of Gaian Blood in the Bawn, and that is our Sept territory. We are all of the blood, that does not make us any better or stronger than they are. Remember the litany, 'Respect the Territory of another'. In this case, Humble Spring is Gaia's territory. Not the Bastet, and not the Garou only. All of Gaia's blood be it Garou, Bastet, Corax, Gurahl, and so on." Mara takes a step back, allowing the Philodox to speak next, handing her the talking stick.
"I've heard enough, and this is my decision, Jumping Jack Rabbit. First, you are not being respectful of Nightstalker. He is a ranking Bastet, and well respected among them, as well as within all Gaians. Beyond that, like Banebreaker'rhya has said, Humble Springs is Gaia's territory. Our Sept is under Bear and we must take a more patient and tolerant attitude toward the Fera, and give them our respect when it is due to them. Our relationship with them should be that of equals not of enemies. Our own litany says, "Respect the territory of another" and in this case, the other is Gaia. Disrespecting Nighstalker, who is of Gaia's blood is disrespecting our own Litany." Starchaser concludes with, "Jumping Jack Rabbit, you will perform Contrition to Nightstalker and Gaia at Humble Springs. There will be no more mention of this issue after this. That is my decision." With that, she dismisses him.
As Mara Banebreaker and Jumping Jack Rabbit leave the circle, Starchaser takes the last of the grievances in turn until each and every one is complete. Once done, she turns to the Truthcatcher and after a nod, they both exit the circle.
(Written by Johanna)
Stories and Songs
The Truthcatcher and Starchaser have finished and exit the circle. The Master of the Howl steps out and signals to someone to rise and join her from the circle.
Story: Hot on the Trail
Lleutrim comes out into the Amphitheatre floor once more when the Master of the Howl beckons him to do so. "Listen and learn. Beginning our stories tonight will be Battle Singer." Stopping in the center of the circle, he says, "Here is a cautionary tale for both cubs and Cliaths of how minions of the Wyrm may use deception and traps to capture the inexperienced who might rush into danger with hopes of glory. This story is true for I and others here witnessed it."
The Fianna Galliard slowly starts to walk around the amphitheatre floor as his baritone rumbles, pitched to carry clearly. "Howling-Wind-rhya was leading a patrol early last month when we came across Wyrm sign rather close to the bawn's edge. So, of course we picked up the trail and began to follow it. We being Starchaser-rhya, Weathers-the-Storm-rhya, Lights-the-Darkness-rhya, Porte-des-Morts, and myself who was still a non-ranking cub at the time. The trail was very easy to follow for a fair number of men had traveled through, killing every living animal they could flush as they went. This obvious trail led to a camp some little distance away so that once we found it, we all hunkered down to see what we could see, and to await Howling-Wind-rhya's orders."
Here Battle Singer eyes his audience, his fellow Sept members but particularly the cubs among them. "This camp was fortified. These men, numbering about a dozen, had dug a trench around the camp and filled it with bear traps! The mound of earth along the inside of edge of the trench was piled up and set with sharp wooden spikes like great teeth. Beyond that were a few tents. Each of these men, for they appeared to be poachers, were armed with rifles and displayed a surprising amount of military discipline to my eye. As some of you are aware, I spent nearly 15 years as an officer in the Marine Corps so I have an idea of what military discipline looks like." He twists his mouth wryly, "All of the animals these 'hunters' had killed had been strung up and skinned for their hides, their bodies cast aside to rot in the sun just beyond their camp. The meat wasn't being used except to lure flies."
A few more steps as the Galliard continues his tale, "I and others passed back our observations to Howling-Wind-rhya. He was not fooled by these 'hunters' and set forth a plan of attack. He and Weathers-the-Storm-rhya were going to rush in on his signal and /leap/ over the barricades and into the camp with a great war cry to draw their fire! Now mind you, as prepared as these men were in clear expectation of being attacked, as obvious as their trail was, we knew this was a trap meant to lure /us/. Yet whoever they were they hadn't been counting on a bawn patrol lead by someone as experienced in battle as Howling-Wind-rhya! Nonetheless, these 'men' might have been armed with silver bullets. If they had, things might have gone more badly for us." Lleu eyes the many cubs gathered who hang on his every word as he word paints the story.
"The moment Howling-Wind-rhya gave the signal, he and Weathers-the-Storm-rhya leapt the trench and barricades as planned and fell among the camp with complete surprise! As soon as they had, Lights-the-Darkness-rhya and Porte-des-Morts were to come from one side, and Starchaser-rhya and myself from the other. All of us cleared the trench and the spiked fortifications /except/ for Porte-des-Morts. Alas for him, he fell into the trench and a bear trap mauled his leg, breaking or removing it entirely. MANY of the men began shooting at Howling-Wind-rhya and Weathers-the-Storm-rhya has planned, drawing their fire. But these men also gave up their ruse and revealed themselves to be vile fomori and were not men at all! A hail storm of bullets began to rain down upon the two Ahroun among us!" Battle Singer mimes firing a rifle at unseen heroes he has sketched with words and deed.
"Porte-des-Morts down in the trench drew the remaining fire not otherwise focused on Howling-Wind-rhya and Weathers-the-Storm-rhya! Starchaser-rhya and Lights-the-Darkness-rhya, and myself, were determined that he not be slaughtered down in the trench. We attacked those who were firing upon our badly wounded comrade! Howling-Wind-rhya killed one of the foe in a single blow. Weathers-the-Storm-rhya took his first battle wounds here at our Sept on this day, laying about himself with death for the formori! He was very brave, inspiring, and ferocious! All of us were rending the foe - even myself, still only a cub, took down my first target in a single blow. Don't let that fool you cubs, for these fomori were not easy to bring down and if it hadn't been for Howling-Wind-rhya to lead the way, we might have suffered more greatly. Luck or Gaia was on our side for the bullets they were firing were not made of silver either, as we had feared."
Battle Singer stops and points at a knot of young cubs gathered up and listening along the edge of the amphitheater's seating, "It was a fierce and bloody fight all the same. Two among us were seriously wounded ere we were done and all the fomori slain. It was then that the tents were revealed not to have been meant to house the poachers at all! Instead, they concealed stout cages of steel so thick and strong as to hold any captured Garou even if they had frenzied in rage to try and break free! These cages were meant for the young and foolish cubs or inexperienced Cliaths the fomori had hoped to lure and capture /alive/. Why might you ask? But to take them back and force them to Dance the Spiral, of course! Think of it! Young Garou rushing in for glory thinking to impress their Elders with their great deeds! How they would have made fine prizes for the Wyrm's service." Perhaps the Galliard's words bring a chill down the spines of the young Garou who listen, not to mention any Kinfolk gathered who might also accompany such venture.
Lowering his voice, the Fianna Galliard stops walking around the floor of the Amphitheater, "In the end, we were victorious due to our numbers and Howling-Wind-rhya's tactics. He himself was untouched, his gifts having protected him against harm. Porte-des-Morts was - not so lucky. I know not if his leg was able to be healed or was lost but we got him back to the Caern alive. Weathers-the-Storm-rhya had his Rite of Wounding performed by Starchaser-rhya. I myself was grateful for had I come upon that trail with only a few random other young garou, it could have been myself who'd have fallen into that trap, instead of standing here before you tonight. Take heed and be wary! There is no shame to give warning, to seek help from the Sept, rather than to charge foolishly in where outnumbered. Be smarter than that, cubs, that you may live to become great warriors."
His head bowed in respect to his fellow Garou, Battle Singer departs the amphitheater's floor, as the next is ready to continue with another story.
(Written by Lleutrim)
Song: Draw the Sword Scotland!
Once the previous Galliard walked out, a bonnie lass with flaming red locks walks out. Dressed in a long blue dress, looking like she just stepped out from the Highlands, she makes her way to the center of the circle.
"My name is Isla Ennes, rited Fiery Bellona. Fostern Ahroun Fianna, born on these two legs, Alpha of The Devil's Own, patrons of Weasel. Daughter of Claws-of-Fire, Elder Philodox Fianna of the Sept of the Dragon's Rage in Scotland. In honor of me father, on the anniversary of his greatest battle, I share this traditional song." She takes a moment, and then begins to belt out - acapella - the tune:
"Draw the Sword Scotland! Scotland! Scotland!
Over moor and mountain hath passed the war sign,
The pibroch is pealing! pealing! pealing!
Who heeds not the summons is nae son o' thine.
The Clans they are gath'ring! gath'ring! gath'ring!
The Clans they are gath'ring by loch and by lea,
The banners they are flying! flying! flying!
The banners they are flying that lead to Victory.
Draw the Sword Scotland! Scotland! Scotland!
Charge as ye have charg'd in days lang syne.
Sound to the onset, the onset, the on-set,
He who but falters is nae son of thine.
Sheath the sword Scotland! Scotland! Scotland!
Sheath the sword Scotland for dim'd is its shine,
Thy foemen are fleeing! fleeing! fleeing!
And who kens no mercy is nae son o' thine.
The struggle is over! over! over!
The struggle is over! the Victory won!
There are tears for the fallen! fallen! fallen!
And glory for all who their duty have done.
Sheath the sword Scotland! Scotland! Scotland!
With thy lov'd thistle new laurels entwine,
Time ne'er shall part them, part them, part them,
But hand down the garland to each son o' thine"
The lass seems both very proud as she sings, and confident. She encourages anyone that knows it to join in, knowing there are some Scots and other Fianna that know the tune. Looks like more than a few know it and some that do not just clap along.
When the song is done, she is greeted with applause and some whistles and yips from Fianna scattered about in the audience. She grins and tosses her hair behind her and strides off the stage.
(Traditional Scottish Song written by J R Planche)
(Performed by Isla)
Story: The Long Dark
Surprising maybe everyone around the moot, after the last speaker sits down, the normally expressionless Theurge that is Lights the Darkness strides up slowly. He takes that crouch he is so known for as he looks around at the gathered crowd. “Not all our stories are of great glory, some also are of great sadness. The Wyrm destroys, corrupts and causes pain. It does not just kill.”
Something about the monotone way with which the Theurge delivers most things, seems to add to the tone of the story. “The four Warriors of Gaia set out across the land, one of the kin in tow. To seek and find her long lost brother. Through a moon bridge they travelled to a land filled with darkness and overwhelmed with despair. The presence of the Wym so palpable in this spot where it all began, that they needed no Gifts to smell him, the stink in their noses making them want to gag.”
Lights the Darkness shakes his head a little, there’s a somber quality to his expression, a rarity in its sighting. “The Wyrm does not just kill and maim. It leaves behind broken people and broken dreams. So twisted by this taint, that there was only sadness and sorrow, to feed its black self. Like a snake biting its own tail into eternity only to be borne once more. The kin sifted through the wreckage of what was once her life, of decimation the Wym left in its wake. Pieces of a better time left shattered on the floor..”
Lights the Darknesss hands rise slowly, flaring out. “The four Garou and the kin walked away, as the place burned, the only remnants now, ash and soot, and a hole where life once thrived and dreams were lost. The place cleansed, though never would it be the same. There is no healing, no cleansing that could repair that blight upon world and on the kin who bore the scars of that place. But she would not let herself shed a tear, as it was not done and the fingers of the Wyrm twisted deeper into her soul.”
Lights the Darkness sighs, an almost audible sadness there. “So the wolves hunted, the kin trailed, searching for where her brother lay. And soon the pack came upon a clearing, the Wyrms minions lying in wait, but sensing their doom. Back to back they stood, and the pack descended upon them with the fury of the Mother behind them. And one by one, the Wyrm’s minions fell. Dead to the last, save one. The kin’s brother appeared, so twisted and wrong, that no longer was he her brother anymore. He recognized her, in some perverted and depraved way, but she did not know him, he was no longer anything she remembered. No longer her brother that was once so dear. A husk so tainted that all that remained was a body but not the mind.”
Again, Lights the Darkness shakes his head, lowering it a moment. “The pack had no choice but to take down this monstrosity that was her brother. As he fell, before he died, he cried out to his sister in pain. Hope sprung that her brother, in his last gasps, was still there inside, but it was not to be, a ploy, the great deceit of the Wyrm. She took a knife and and the last vestiges of his life drained out into a pool on the ground, watching what was the last of her family fade away. Bravely she stood by as the packed burned their bodies and cleansed the area. Cleansed her, but never did she quite feel completely clean. With the deed done, the pack and the kin returned home. The pack celebrated a great victory and glory under Luna’s face. And quietly, soundless tears fell from the broken and yet whole again kin. Victory and defeat all at once. The touch of the Wyrm lingering even in its finality.”
Lights the Darkness sighs and rises slowly back to his feet. He looks out over the crowd, serious, more so than always. “This is what the Wyrm is. Not just a force of darkness. But a bringer of pain, of sadness, a destroyer of lives. The Wyrm’s touch lingers even in death, it’s taint not easily washed away. An oppressive force of darkness.”
Lights the Darkness bows his head deeply to the crowd, a moment of silence, before he turns and walks away, returning to his seat as the moot continues.
(Written by Aleksandr)
The Revel
As the Moot draws to a close, the year’s last Wyrmfoe steps forward in her War Form, waving her arms and displaying sharpened claws that catch every beam of light they cross. Ten Blades, she is called; a newly-minted Cliath Ahroun of the Shadow Lords, born on four legs and known to be a cunning warrior and a natural leader.
<< I speak seldom, and in few words, >> she snarls, displaying the shining claws for which she is named. << I speak in actions. I sing in combat. It is what the Full Moon asks.>>
She throws her head back then, letting free a full-throated howl, and raises her fists high. << Doesn’t it feel right, howling for battle? Isn’t that who we all are, inside? We talk, we sing, we judge, we jest, but in the end, we fight. In the end, the Garou always fight. Even the least among us is a great warrior. From the youngest to the oldest, the Rage is there. So I say, let us fight! Let us hunt! Let us be Garou! >>
With that simple declaration done, she howls again, finding many more voices joining hers, and she changes into her lupine form to prepare for the hunt. << No more words! Let us sing in howls! Let us speak in claws! Let us hunt! >>
With that, she leaps and snaps, gathering the Moot around her before dashing off into the wilds to serve the primal need within each heart, beginning the Revel.
(Written by Jes)
