Rotating Guardians

[hazlogs]

It is currently 18:33 Pacific Time on Thu Sep 19 2002.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 66 degrees
Fahrenheit (18 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the
southwest at 14 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.04 and steady,
and the relative humidity is 72 percent. The dewpoint is 57 degrees
Fahrenheit (13 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waxing Full Moon phase (86% full).

The Sept Compound

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, a student of such things might think
that some minimal landscaping or planning has been done, for the meadowlike
profusion of grasses and other plants has an unusually high concentration of
brilliant flowers, which attract a number of bees and butterflies.

A faint trail leads off to the east, and a bit north.

The fire-ring has been restored, at least for tonight, and a clean bright
fire sparkles merrily amidst the stones. Behind the ring has been erected a
large flat slab that appears to be a fragment of the great crystalline
boulder that once graced the caern's center. On its surface, written in sap,
are the names of all the fallen buried in the hallowed graves, with glyphs
of breed, tribe, auspice. Painted in blood at the top are more familiar
names: Kyle, Roger, Max, Quick, Nevada, Megaera, Malachi.

Sepdet is standing behind a low but brightly-burning fire in the
newly-restored compound, a clay bowl in hand, meticulously painting the last
of a series of glyphs on a large slab of stone with what appears to be
blood.

Dane carefully sets the bag he's carrying down where the garbage bags have
been collected since the reclaiming of the caern.

The urrah's arrival is heralded by the usual sounds of a city-dweller moving
through the woods, made especially noticeable by the fact that Salem's not
taking any particular care to be quiet.

Dane gives a shrug and a faint smile to the Strider elder. "I'm still
finding stuff here and there, but it's no worse than what I've seen in
parks. Still not good enough, but..."

Sepdet turns, startled, and her contemplative expression turns briefly to a
scowl. ~I thought we had done a better job cleaning than that, after so many
hands and weeks of labor.~ She sighs. ~Well, I will take another turn around
when this is done. I suppose there is always more buried that will take a
while for rains to uncover.~

Dane nods. "That's what it seems. Just when you think it's all clean, rain
comes along and washes stuff up you'd never seen before."

"Never underestimate a determined litterbug," says the Glass Walker upon
arrival. His expression is dour, thanks in part to Luna's currently gravid
state; rigid self-control holds a short leash on a shorter temper.

Dane glances toward the Walker and almost snorts at the comment, but makes
an effort of will to keep it in. To make sure he doesn't slip, he just nods
at the newcomer.

Sepdet sighs at that. ~It is so. But they're gone now. So.~ She looks
between them. ~That is two. I will need at least twenty-four for this to
work, but perhaps I can get started tonight by having you spread this word.~

Salem glances around at the clearing. "Mnh. Smith's started that, at least.
Something about rotating guardians?" He folds his arms across his chest and
remains standing.

Sepdet nods and folds her arms. ~Yes. I called this meeting tonight so that
we could organize shifts. I see I should have employed more Galliards to get
the word out.~

Dane nods. "Makes sense. Fresh eyes and ears, and make everyone feel
personally responsible, instead of thinking they can leave the job to the
guardians."

Salem grunts something that sounds like agreement with Dane and paces
further into the compound, his eye going to the glyph-painted slab.

Sepdet glances up at the stone she just finished painting. ~We have to do
something more. Many already patrol now and then. But there is no
coordination. I need many, many volunteers to commit to a moon, and choose
one, so that we can see that the year is covered. That way it can be
organized. And I intend to make it an oath, sworn in the name of all those
here who have died in the caern's defense. I will call the oath-taking
during Cracking of the next moot, so that all may witness.~

Dane nods. "Sounds like a plan." He glances at Salem and shakes his head.
"Guess we'll have to pass the word ourselves.

Salem rubs at his jaw thoughtfully, still frowning as he studies the glyphs.
Pensive.

Sepdet turns to Salem. ~I appreciate John taking the initiative to help
organize city Garou on this. I can reach most of those out here, but as soon
as Robert-rhya is ready for me to reinstall the Pathstone, I will be
Gatekeeper, and then I will have to rely on Tatiana to be my eyes and ears
in town.~

Salem looks up and gives the Strider a thin, tight smile. "You're fortunate,
then, that she's chosen to lie down with cockroaches," he says, with a
certain dry, deadpan humor. The smile fades. "I'm currently thinking
December, but I'll have to make sure I can put my affairs in order before I
can commit to that particular month."

Sepdet inclines her head. ~I need to know by Moot, so that I can give the
Warder a preliminary list. If you're not sure of December, choose a later
month, to give yourself more time. Thank you, Salem. Dane, want to give me a
preference, before my list starts to fill?"

Anneka steps along through the waning day, spindle-legged and quiet as
tumbledown leaves save for the song she carries with her. She's grimy from
head to toe, and without her ugly sunglasses her scarred and ruined eye
stands out, bright against freckled skin. Her hands are tucked in her
pockets, it's easy to miss the way one arm turns wrong. "--Black and bay,
sorrel and gray, whole heap of little horses--" Her pace matches the cadence
of her tune.

Salem rubs at his jaw again, about to make some reply to the Strider when
the Gnawer's song reaches the compound. He glances up toward the sound of
it, a little sharply.

Dane hmms as he continues considering the problem, then says softly, "Put me
down for November. For some reason, I feel the need to be here over
Samhain."

Mitch enters from the forest.

	Before you is a Pacific coast Indian youth of roughly eighteen years
standing in at just over six feet in height and muscled in the way of a
person who has lead a hard life. One might note he is of Pacific coast
descent by the friendly roundness of his face and blunted nose. His eyes are
an expressive brown with the distinctive crows feet of someone who has lived
out of doors all of their life. Shoulder length black hair falls naturally
and is kept from the face by a leathern thong and decorated by a single
eagle's feather that dangles by his left ear.

	Today he is found wearing something fairly stereotypical of a Native
American in this day and age. Faded blue jeans belted by brown leather and
knotted without buckle are worn with a large hunting knife sheathed in
leather at his left hip, and moccasins upon the feet are tribute to his
heritage. The only form of cloth he wears upon his torso is a buckskin
jacket that is usually worn open to reveal a taut musculature and no few
number of scars, though their source suggests a run in with a cougar or
other clawed animal.

It's a lullabye, slow and cool in the young woman's hands. "--Go to sleep,
go to sleep-- go to sleep you little baby-- When you wake, get some cake,
and ride those pretty little horses--" Quiet and quieter as she finds a
place to sit crosslegged. Anneka glances at the others, nods once, a sharp
bob of her sandy-haired head.

Sepdet glances towards the stone again and nods. ~Very good.~ She adds,
~I'll fill in whatever's thinnest, although at this point, I may be joining
the Guardians myself when Dena returns.~ She breaks off to smile at Anneka.
~There you are, Otter. I was beginning to wonder if you were still in town!
I cannot keep my eyes on everyone.~

Salem returns the Bone Gnawer's nod, polite enough but otherwise rather
curt. Then he resumes pacing, restless under the full moon.

Anneka grins, bright and sunny and quick, cants her head. "Here. I've been
out walkin', seein' what here'n th'city hafta say."

Walking up to the edge of the firelight is one not often seen this far into
the sept grounds. Finding a rock to seat himself upon, Mitch brings his
knees up to his chest and looks upon those gathered. Quiet and pensive is
this one. And certainly not going to speak unless spoken to.

Sepdet touches the stone. ~Well, here has to say this: I am not about to let
us go on as we have before, letting the Guardians' presence absolve the rest
of us of all responsibility for the caerns defense. We got caught with our
pants down, as the humans say. I'm asking as many Garou as possible to
commit to one month's patrol out of each year, assisting the Guardians and
Warder, and delegating their duties to tribesmates and packmates. I'll be
having a half-moon administer the oath at Cracking, next Moot. So.~ She
pauses, gives Mitch a quiet wave, and then fixes her eyes on the Gnawer.
~Will you put your name to this? And spread the word for me?~

Anneka nods twice. "Will. That's why I'm here." She glances at the others,
back at Sepdet. "October."

Salem spares the new arrival a brief glance, displaying no recognition at
sight of the Pure One's face. He stops his restless movement for a bit and
simply stands, arms folded.

Sepdet murmurs, ~And that is five.~ She looks towards Mitch, addressing him
gently. ~Or six. Mitwitchuck, have you a moon in mind? I need to have a list
for the Warder by Moot.~

Seeker quietly enters the compound and nods to the others, taking a seat on
the ground.

The Pure One shrugs as he is addressed but does look straight to Sepdet and
stands as she addresses him. "Have of me when you need of me. This month,
the next or the hereafter. If you must name a time, I shall take the next.
November shall do." And with that said, he perches upon his rock again in
silence.

Sepdet gives the Uktena a grim smile. ~It will indeed. Good.~ Then she turns
to her tribesmate, greeting him with a nod in return. ~I'm starting to
gather the Circle. Would you choose a moon for me? The next three, I think I
will have. Later in the year will be harder for those who do not know their
plans to cover, and you and I are always here.~

Seeker says "Which have already been chosen?"

Sepdet ticks them off. ~October, November, and probably December, so far.
Many more have promised but not yet picked their moon.~

Speaking up from his little pocket of shadows, Mitwitchuck murmurs. "There
are many days in a month. So should be our vigilance. If a one is but a
day." He gives another nod to Sepdet before falling silent once more.

Salem tilts a squinted glance over at Mitch, his mouth twisted in a vaguely
irritated manner.

Seeker says "January, then?"

Anneka drags one of her shoes off, leaned back against one of the logs
circling the fire pit. Dirty toes wriggle as she shakes a stone out, glances
at it. "'Kay, rock, you're gonna hafta find another way to walk around."

Sepdet meets Seeker's eyes steadily. ~A wise choice, since we do not know
what February will bring for Owl's people. Good.~

Seeker nods. "What, exactly, is required here? Patrolling the bawn, anything
else?"

~Simple patrol, yes. Unless the Warder or Guardians have need of something
else: disabling traps, scouting, or other special task.~ Sepdet glances
towards the forest and the rising mists of the valley. ~But failing that,
what I am asking is for us to commit to one month where we keep to the bawn,
like Guardians, and let packmates or tribesmates attend to matters
elsewhere.~

Seeker nods. "I usually stay on the bawn and patrol it anyway, so I suppose
it will be the same as my normal routine."

Anneka looks up while she tugs her shoe back on, at Sepdet, at the sky
above, one eye sharp, one eye still. She pulls her legs up, loops her arms
about them. Quiet, listening though.

Short of breath, Reggie enters the Sept Compound at a brisk walk, and he
stops to hang on the fringe, learn some of what he's missed, and catch his
breath in a medley of multitasking.

Mitwitchuck closes his eyes for a moment and exhales as if to calm. Though
perhaps not himself for he doesn't appear in the least bit agitated.

The Seer gives her tribesmate a thin smile. ~Strange but true, for our
tribe. A few others already do so, unofficially: for us, it is a matter of
coordinating with those who do not have as much time they can spare to come
out here.~ She inclines her head respectfully to the antsy Walker. ~Salem? I
have an additional thing to ask you. When I announce the Circle at Moot,
would you administer the oath? I have need of a half-moon people know to
fear.~ There's a twinkle in her eye.

Salem looks up to note the arrival of the overweight Uktena, then turns his
head in order to arch a brow at Sepdet. His mouth twitches, lips thinning
into another one of those tight, meager smiles. "I'd be honored," he says,
smoothly.

Sepdet shares a smile in return. ~You remind me a little of Harald. I can
occasionally use a very tall warrior at my back to... lend weight to my
feet. Then I will leave it to your hands. My thought was to ask everyone to
shed blood onto the caern's earth, to signify their oath, and to swear it in
the name of all those who have died defending it.~ She touches the drying
blood of the glyphs soberly. ~For it is up to us to see their sacrifice is
not in vain. But I leave it to your judgement.~ She pauses, shoots a sharp
glance towards Mitch, and falls silent for a moment before murmuring, ~Rags,
good.~

Salem's eye turns toward the painted stone, and he nods thoughtfully. "That
would work," he mutters, more to himself than in real reply. One hand rakes
back through his long hair, then vanishes with the other into the pockets of
his coat.

Anneka glances over towards Reggie as the fellow turns up, lifts a grubby
hand for a quick wave. Then her eyes and attention turn towards Sepdet
again.

Sepdet patiently starts again. ~Reggie. I don't know if Yi had a chance to
speak to you on this. After all the effort and blood we've spent getting
this caern back, I want to make sure we keep it safe. So I am urging
everyone to vow a month out of each year to assist the Guardians, staying on
the bawn and patrolling. There will be a public oath-taking at moot, but
tonight, I am starting to gather the list, so I can make sure there are no
months left unpatrolled. Will you commit to one? We have a few already for
the next four moons.~

"Just like the Army Reserve", Reggie comments, as he considers the plan.
"Fresh blood each month", and he hesitates slightly, before, "What the hell,
always wanted to be a G.I. soldier. I'll help."

Sepdet clears her throat. ~As for the rest of you... thank you all for
coming. We no longer follow Fog, and I swear, I'm going to see to it we
don't /act/ like it any more.~ SHe smiles toothily, then sobers. ~When you
spread the word, also seek others with whom you would work well on patrol.
We still need people to speak for spring and summer, and it is harder to
plan that far, so I am anxious to see they're covered. But we'd also better
be ready in case our enemies try to regroup this winter. I want /everyone/
to put in a turn, so that there will always be many in the Circle together.~

Dane nods and heads out thoughtfully.

Salem straightens up, nodding briskly at the Strider's speech. "Excellent,"
he says, deadpan. "I'll see you all at Moot, then." He dips his head
slightly to Sepdet. "Be seeing you," he says in farewell, then turns to go.