~To that end, I claim the alphaship of this Sept.~

[hazlogs]

It is currently 18:13 Pacific Time on Tue Jul 15 2003.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly sunny today. The temperature is 77 degrees Fahrenheit (25 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the west at 7 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.97 and falling, and the relative humidity is 44 percent. The dewpoint is 54 degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waning Full Moon phase (89% full).

Center of the Caern

This area of the clearing is about 30 meters wide and is a mixture of dark soil and clay throughout. The ground is mostly mud, but patches of grass, halted by winter's cold, are beginning to peek through the ground and take root. Near the center of the clearing, a small cairn has been built with white stone and quartz--what was left of the beautiful boulder that was once there. None of the stones is bigger than a softball.

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.

Aiyana looks around the area a couple of times, reintroducing herself to the place she rarely visits these days. "Good seats? My idea of a good seat is something soft, not a rock," she comments to Renee with a hint of a grin on her lips. "But I guess I'll make do, before I offend some spirit and get who knows what done to me."

By the waterfall, Fights-For-Hope appears at the edge of the Waterfall pool, looking like he has recently been through a small battle. Open cuts mar his forearms and back and look an angry red in the moonlight. He visibly breathes deep sighs as he steps into the waters of the pool before him.

Salem shifts from lupus to homid as he comes down the path into the caern. The Walker Elder is dressed in practical black, his long hair tied back as usual. His expression is composed, his body languaged controlled, but he's tense all the same.

"Better than having the rock make you sit on it," Yi comments after coming down from the windy spot. She nods to Rough and Tumble's members, stretching afterwards as if she'd been sitting for too long in meditation.

Renee smirks. "Considerin' Chimera looked like the bigest fuckin' snake in creation last time, thats a fuckin' good idea."

Raul winks at Yi and flops down on the ground next to Renee, shrugging his coat off behind him.

Aiyana waves cheerfully to Yi while sitting herself down on a suitable rock. "Man, thanks for the feeling of confidence, Renee. Really, it helps to know I might piss off a giant snake."

Renee continues to snicker quietly.

Kaz comes clambering down the waterfall's path, giving Jamethon a nod on the way by, and skids to a halt near the clutch of Gnawers. "Yo yo, and hi."

Lyra makes her way into the Caern, tugging Karl along with her like a mother dragging her toddler son to the dentist's. "This is your first moot," she tells the cub for the millionth time. "Make a good impression now. You'll also have to introduce yourself to the sept." She cants her head, looking for Renee and pulling him along when she finds the Galliard. "You've practiced what you'll say?"

Renee wriggles her fingers at Kaz. "YoYo. Join the party!" Then she smiles at Karl. No worries. We don't bite. Well, mosta the time anyway."

Kaz mutters, "My, what big teeth you got, grandma."

Aiyana salutes the other arriving Gnawers, smiling especially as Lyra arrives. "Boy, it's like the whole family showed up. What, they givin' away free snacks or somethin'?"

By the waterfall, Fights-For-Hope steps out of the pool with a grunt to Kaz as she passes by and seeming to be at least someone soothed by the water he moves on towards the Center.

Salem glances over at the knot of Gnawers, his face tight and bland. He paces absently around the center of the caern, his attention directed inward, thoughtful.

Yi dips her head as Kaz comes by. She remains standing, waving at Lyra and Karl before brushing off her pants. "Chimera is a totem of Wisdom. You might actually have a warning before it eats you." She smiles at Aiyana, before glancing at FFH with brow raised in question. Salem is given a concise nod of greeting as well.

Renee's expression sobers. "Hey, Kaz, I gotta question for ya. Did ya get a chance ta talk ta Salem 'bout him ownin' the whole city kick, the guy has been on?"

Helen, not in any sort of hurry at all, steps from the steam vents down into the caern. "Hi," she greets to anyone who will listen.

Kaz produces some M&M's from her pocket and tosses them at Aiyana. "Yes," she says, grinning. Then she nods at Renee. "It came up. I dunno how much progress I made, but it came up."

The foot-falls of Quentin amongst the steam vents might go unheard amongst the rest of the gathering, as the galliard cub makes his way along from there into the caern; his hair a brighter shade of blue than before, freshly re-dyed it seems, a bit of a tan darkening his skin. "Helen-rhya," he offers to the Fury elder, lips crooking up at one corner as he bows his head to her briefly, gaze sweeping to see who's in attendance.

Renee frowns. "Thats somethin' we gotta straighten out, before he gets used ta it. I'll bring it up during the crackin', if I have too." The Galliard stands and dusts her rears off, then starts to make her way toward Salem.

Lyra whirlwinds around the Gnawers like a possessed white rabbit, hugging Kaz- Raul- Renee, even as she tries to walk away- Aiyana. Oh Aiyana she pounces on, pushing the cub down and perching on her like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Special delivery!" she announces brightly, and probably too loudly, but this was a -moot- so of course she doesn't care.

Reggie ambles into the caern with a studied slowness to his gait, pushing his way into the crowd with elbows stuck out, jabbing random people.

Aiyana woos and grabs what candy she can before it hits the ground, then holds the sugar-coated goodies out towards the others around her. "Help yourselves. Not much, but hey. It's better than nothin'! Thanks, Kaz!" Luckily she's got a good hold on the candy, otherwise Lyra's 'vicious' tackle would've sent them flying. "Hey, sis! Wassup? Hey to your friend too."

Salem glances over as his name's mentioned, his mouth tightening. He actually gives Kaz something of an irritated look, then shakes his head slightly and turns an eye down toward Renee.

Helen turns to Quentin, offering a rather toothy grin. "Hey," she greets the Walker cub. "Getting pretty crowded."

Yi, seeing Salem's expression tightening a little more in its vice, seems to be affected by the Walker's tension.

"Yeah, but it always does.." Quentin shakes his head just a bit, heading down to head along over towards the same target that Renee's approaching -- his own Elder, Salem.

Kaz shakes her head at Renee. "Jeezis Christ, don't do /that/, we got enough to deal with, t'night. No, I mean, seriously, this ain't somethin' that can be fixed in one conversation. He said he'd... pay a fuck of a lot more attention, next time. Though I mean, not in those words. What I actually said was, try and adapt an' find ways t'communicate, next time, an' he said, 'All right, fair enough,' and you know, we go on from there. Basically."

Renee stops in mid-stride and looks back over at Kaz, before inclining her head in a nod. "Kay." She makes her way back to the group of Gnawers and sits down again.

Jeadagh makes his way in from the north. The reddish-brown wolf pauses before Fights-for-Hope, chuffing a greeting to his soon-to-be packmate, then moves over toward Sith-Fhuil.

Salem inhales a breath and lets it out. He seems to be counting to ten, backward. Quentin gets a curt nod. "Prepared to finish your Rite tonight?" he asks the cub, quietly.

Fights-For-Hope looks down towards his future packmate, a simple nod given in exchange as he rolls his shoulders. Him being the only Get of Fenris here yet, he doesn't move from where he stands near the center.

Kaz settles down near Lyra and tosses a few packets of Twizzlers around.

"If everyone here's prepared to listen to me talk for about an hour," Quentin replies with a slight crook of his lips up at one corner, though there's a nervousness underlaying the words that he's trying not to show; a brief, curt nod, then, before he asks, "Think everything'll get taken care of tonight?"

Salem lifts a shoulder, lets it drop. "We'll see," is all he says.

Kaz calls, "/I'm/ prepared!" Helpful, is Kaz.

Aiyana munches on a couple M&Ms, her eyes squinting a little. "Chocolate. Man. I forgot how good this stuff tastes."

Perhaps she's been here all along, who knows. The shadows seem to move, and the Fianna Philodox can be seen--smelled, first, for those in wolf shape. She seems withdrawn from the crowd his evening, focused elsewhere, but greets the approaching Jeadagh with a quiet warmth, chuffing faintly.

Quentin tips his head in a nod, pausing before asking, "Let me know, uh, when I should do this? I'm not sure where in the whole schedule this sort of thing fits.." A glance over at Kaz's call, and he flashes over a nervous smile.

Lyra cants her head, tugging Karl's sleeve so he sits next to her. "You excited?" she asks him, smiling warmly.

"After the Cracking," Salem tells Quentin. "Don't worry, you'll know."

Tobin arrives by himself, slowing his purposeful stride as he walks amongst the gathered Garou. He's wearing his coat despite the warmth of the evening, and carries himself erect. He strolls through the crowd, giving quiet greetings to those he passes, and though he holds his head high in general, he dips his eyes respectfully to those of higher rank. He makes a point to give a shallow bow to the tribal Elders who are present.

"Nervous," is all the young Gnawer boy says, standing bolt upright.

Kaz, casualness itself, yells, "Yo! Tobin! How's tricks?"

Renee grins at Tobin, offering a friendly wave in return.

Helen presses her knuckles to her mouth, standing, just being a quiet observer for now. In fact, she's looking rather envious of the Gnawers with their oh-so-yummy M&Ms...and pointedly looks away because being envious of candy is rather stupid. "Hey, Tobin," she says to the Silver Fang as he passes by.

Fights-For-Hope stands in crinos form, near the center still, tall with shimmering fur from a recent dip in the cool waters beneath the fall here in the Caern. His shoulders, forearms, and back look like they have fallen under a whip recently, small but open cuts peppering beneath his fur closing slowly. His eyes search the Caern often, looking for specific persons it seems.

Karl eventually sits beside Lyra, his back still very straight. His gaze wonders all about those gathered: the faces he knows, those he doesn't.

Aiyana smiles a little at Karl, trying to make him feel even a little more relaxed. "Candy?" she offers, holding her hand out to him.

"Tricksome," Tobin replies to Kaz, grinning briefly on his way to a relatively secluded spot. He smiles and waves or nods at everyone who returns his greetings, but doesn't get engaged in any conversations for the moment.

"No thanks," Karl replies. It would probably help with the nerves, but... that's Karl for you.

The Gnawer philocliath yawns, glancing briefly at every face, and adjusting her headscarf every two minutes. "I'd like to see the Caern totem sometime, maybe go give her a visit," Lyra says idly, and more to herself than anything else. "Maybe stop by and say hello. Tell her the newest knock-knock joke...that sort of thing."

Yi gradually ends up at the outermost circle of the gathering Garou. The ragabash gives a few nods of greeting to those who are coming in, Tobin, Helen, various and sundry.

Kaz grins back, before leaning back on her elbow and peering at Karl. "That thing where you're doing nothing resembling relaxing? It has to stop."

Aiyana chuckles softly at Kaz. "Your wit's gonna kill us all one day, you know that?" Glancing over to Lyra the cub grins, "When you go, take me with you. I'd love to see what it...she looks like."

Kaz explains, "It ain't wit, it's me bein' crude."

Reggie starts at the outermost of the crowd, pushes through it, and ends back up on the outmost of the crowd, having taken the shortest route for the most effort and slowest speed, and maximum pushing of his elbows with muttered 'make rooms', but he ends up being able to deliver a friendly thump on the arm to Yi.

Renee looks over in the direction of the Walkers, expression becoming focused for a moment.

Yi glances over as Reggie greets her. She smiles up at the Uktena. "Hello. Long time no see, isn't it?"

Fights-For-Hope looks over towards the Gnawers, seeming to have intrest in their topic. ~Four-Leaves, cub,~ He looks to the two of them, ~I would be glad to bring you before Chimera sometime... there is certain etiquette involved in meeting the lady of mirrors.~

"Lomg time, no moon", Reggie replies to Yi, as he restlessly looks around the caern, expectant for the howling.

Aiyana turns towards Fights and smiles a bit. "Why, I'd be honored, good sir. That way, you and Lyra can make sure I don't screw up and anger her or anything like that."

Daisy appears along the western outskirts of the caern and proceeds towards the center, hands in her pockets.

Yi quirks a smile, and nods at Reggie again. "The howl should be coming soon," she says to the Uktena, looking over the growing number of Garou.

Lyra beams at Jamethon. "Mister Fights-for-Hope," she greets happily. "This is Karl Whispers, our newest cub." She gestures to the boy. "He's a theurge. If you would be our guide to see Chimera, I'm sure he'd be awfully pleased."

Salem takes out his pocketwatch and clicks it open, checking the time. As he closes it, he glances upward, gauging the moon. Both seem to be in accord with whatever list of criteria he has in his head, and he turns toward Renee, raising his voice to carry toward her. "Sees-True-Form," he says formally. "I think it's time. You are the Galliard of the night. Will you do the honors of calling the Sept to Moot?"

Renee nods and stands, before taking a few steps away from the cluster of Gnawers. Slowly, the young woman's gaunt form shifts and changes, fur sprouting all over her body as she grows to nearly nine feet in height. Tilting her lupine head back, the Crinos howls at the top of her lungs. ~Tonight we gather to Moot! Let us begin!~

Fights-For-Hope looks over the cub for a moment studying him for some time with intense and crinosed eyes. ~He must be cleaned up before meeting the lady. No offense, but I do not wish to offend her either.~

Aiyana's gaze snaps towards the Crinos'ed Renee, her attention locking in on the other Gnawer as she turns to fully face her. She's only been to one other moot, so the confused look on her face isn't anything unusual.

Kaz sits up, looking vaguely more formal, though she has a Twizzler stuck in her mouth.

Yi turns her attentions to Renee as the Gnawer galliard calls the sept to moot. The ragabash takes it as her cue, shifting to the warform as well.

Karl contorts and blurs as he is transformed.
Karl shifts into Crinos form.

Fights-For-Hope already stands in the warform, his attention snapping from the Gnawer cub towards the Master of the Howl for the evening.

Helen looks up to the crinos Renee, attention all on the galliard.

Tobin shifts up to crinos, standing tall in his warform. His pure white fur is interrupted here and there with long, roaming scars, obviously caused by silver, and one particularly nasty one that runs the length of his spine.

Aiyana glances around and, seeing others shift, does the same as well. She looks slightly nervous now, her shoulders hunching down as her clawed hands rest on her legs.

Salem, unlike many others, remains in human form, arms folded across his chest as he focusses on the Caller and the Fool.

Daisy mirrors Salem's actions like a much smaller, much girlier Walker type in homid. She folds her arms across her chest for emphasis, too.

Quentin takes a step back towards the edge of the caern's center to settle in and wait for things to progress, remaining as well in homid form for the moment; his arms folding across his chest as though in imitation of his elders, chewing on his lower lip absently as he watches the moot's officers take their place.

Jeadagh increases several time in size as he transitions from wolf to hispo, then on up to the warform, though he remains standing on four legs for the time being. The Fostern Fianna's attention goes to the Gnawer Galliard as she begins calling the moot to a beginning.

Sees-True's howl fades, as she looks over the gathered Garou and spreads her arms to encompass them all. ~The first law! Garou shall not Mate with Garou!~

Three-Blades waits for the first tenet of the Litany to be called, her ears flickering in their alert attention. Following Sees-True's howling of the Garou law, she cries out in a Fool's reply, ~Metis should not to be discounted from us! Every time a metis is born, there is a new warrior for Gaia. We can bear fruitful children with our Kinfolk, but we take chances with whether the child will be Garou, or Kin, or not even either. With the child of two Garou, there will always be a Garou born. In these final days, why take chances?~

Lyra pushes to her feet, standing tall and giving Renee a nod- but stubbornly, she doesn't shift. That headscarf stays right where it is. She murmurs something to the Crinos'd cub that towers over her, smiling faintly.

It's at this point that Kaz clambers to her feet and falls into Crinos, as kind of a mute testimony as to one of the reasons behind the Law. ~Because. We're flawed. Cope.~

Leaning down to hear Lyra's words, Whispers - formerly Karl - nods.

"There's nothing wrong with Kin, either," Salem remarks, pitching his voice to carry. "Their inability to Rage doesn't make them less worthwhile."

Rags puts emphasis in his speech with upwards jerks of his fists. ~Mules! They're the end of their lines! They can produce no cubs!~

Dancing-Fighter just sits there and listens to the semi debate, one ear flicking back with a jingle of metal on metal.

Robert observes clearly, "If everyone felt that we needed more Metis for warriors, the Garou would be one generation from extinction, and the Wyrm would dance on our corpses."

Sees-True announces the second law and it is quickly mocked by the Fool, who is shouted down by the Sept a second time. And so, the Calling of the Litany progresses. Each Law is called, mocked, and then defended. As the shouting dies down after the calling of the last Law, Sees-True returns to her birth form and retakes her seat among the cluster of Gnawers.

Reggie, dripping spittle from frantic shouting, sprays some of it on the crowd as he turns about and about with nervous energy.

As the two Bone Gnawers resume their place, Salem takes a length of rib-bone from the back pocket of his BDUs and shifts up to Crinos. ~With Andrea's leaving, we no longer have a Theurge who knows the rite to open the Inner Sky, so this Moot, we shall have to do without.~ The Walker's golden eye passes over the crowd, pausing on each of the elder Theurges -- Luke, Jamethon, Tobin, Daisy. ~Instead, with the Warder's permission, we will procede to the Cracking.~ He looks over at Robert for confirmation, his muzzle dipped slightly in respect for the Athro.

Whispers raises an arm to shield his head from the ... kind sharing, but mostly too late. He then uses the same forearm to wipe his face. Clearly disgusted, he says nothing.

Dancing-Fighter winces as something sticky and wet hits her side. Grunting, she attempts to wipe it off with one hand, but only succeeds in getting it matted in her fur.

Helen makes a face at Reggie, but has learned enough manners to just say nothing. She looks to Salem as he commences with his announcement. "Well, that sucks," she mutters to herself.

Fights-For-Hope answers, before the cracking starts properly. ~The Theurge of the Sept will make sure this is not an issue next time Luna shows us her full beauty.~

Three-Blades remains in the warform as her role of the Fool is done. Her attention, as the Inner Sky is skipped, thus goes to Salem with the Cracking.

The Walker Philodox nods, then steps up onto the rock slab. In the war form, his pure breeding is evident, and the length of bone looks tiny in his massive hand. ~As wolves and men crack bones to reach the sweet marrow inside, so do I crack this bone to reach the truth.~ He snaps the bone in two. ~The Cracking has begun. Let those who are new to the Sept, cub and adult alike, come forward and be recognized.~

Ears falls back into homid, and glances at Karl.

Lyra grins, and gives the cubling a poke to the shoulder.

Whispers stares as he feels many eyes fall to him. He stands, ~I... I am Whispers. Homid Cub of the Cresent Moon. Lost child found by Four-Leaves and claimed for the Bone Gnawers.~

Aubrey arrives fashionably late, slipping next to Calls-Spirits. The Fianna, however, has something in her hands. To those standing near her, it looks to be some sort of stone.

Kaz flashes him a thumb's up.

Dancing-Fighter grins at Whispers and would applaud, but doesn't wanna disturb anyone. So she just sits there and mentally salutes her fellow cub.

Daisy offers what might be termed visual sympathy towards the recently claimed cub. In a subtle fashion.

Calls-Spirits, who has remained in his warform, hunkers down next to Aubrey and rumbles soft thanks to her, taking the large, flat stone from his packmate and holding it lightly in his arms.

Reggie turns to see the new cub near him, and, while pointing him out to the other gawkers in the crowd, pushes the cub out into the open for taking a bow.

Quentin's lips crook up in a reassuring smile over towards Whispers, his chin raising up in an approving nod as the other cub introduces himself.

Three-Blades whuffs gruffly at Whispers, indicating her approval of the introduction.

Kansas is seen quietly standing at Fights-For-Hope's shoulder. The Get of Fenris cub has her hands held behind her, watching the moot silently.

Fights-For-Hope looks down to the cub at his side, expression blank though his posture is anxious, an odd thing for the new Get alpha. He waits for his turn to speak quietly.

Whispers stumbles out as he is pushed, entirely clueless as to what that was about. The stands there like a dork, if that's possible for a towering hulk of muscle and fur.

Lyra smiles proudly, that grin annoucing 'That's my boy!' When Reggie pushes Karl she shoots him a dirty glare.

Three-Blades coughs in a dry chuckle, until she motions for Whispers to come on back. ~You can shift back now, Whispers.~

Whispers returns to the group of Gnawers, eyes still all over the place and screaming embarrassment. He shifts back down to Homid form as suggested.

Raul reaches over to ruffle Karl's hair reassuringly. "Y'did good," he murmurs to the cub.

Cat blinks, sidling up quietly to Quentin. He'd been there from the start, but so quiet and shadow-lurking that no one had noticed him. He mumbles something to the Galliard, smirking a little.

Rags claps his crinos arm down on Whisper's shoulder as he roars approval, then sneaks looks about the crowd for more girly-shy cubs.

Dancing-Fighter isn't shy, thank goodness, but she is oddly quiet tonight. She doesn't have much to say.

Quentin tips his head a bit in to listen to the words of the theurge, before he muffled a laugh; raising a hand to ruffle Cat's hair, grinning back to him. "A little."

Aubrey shifts to lupus and sits on her haunches next to her packmate, looking on towards the fresh batch of cubs and new cliaths alike this evening. Sheeaghan chuffs softly under her breath and wags her tail slowly at Rags' somewhat amusing actions.

Salem nods to the nervous-looking Gnawer cub and glances over the gathering again. Seeing no other new or strange faces, he continues. ~The departure of Ouroboros and the retirement of Reforged has left a gap in the Sept's leadership, one that cannot remain if we are to stay strong and rebuild ourselves up to previous strength. To that end,~ and here the Shadow Lord turned Ronin turned Glass Walker rises to his full height, the picture of Garou nobility. ~To that end, I claim the alphaship of this Sept.~ He lets that sink in and stares out at the other Garou, looking for challenge. Waiting for it, in fact.

Three-Blades, not having expected this announcement this early in the moot, swings her gaze from pinging the gathered straight back to Salem. It's quickly flickering around, seeking out any who might have a challenge to the claim.

Kaz grins, slowly. She stands up again, but doesn't voice any opinion; she just beams.

Calls-Spirits' focus on Salem sharpens as the Walker Elder makes his announcement. He's surprised, but after a moment of thought, gives Salem a nod of approval. He looks around the gathered Sept to see what the reactions are.

Dancing-Fighter's brows lift, quite a bit, and the cub sinks down in her seat. Those close to her might notice her tail tucking itself against her legs.

Renee blinks and stares, jaw hanging open. "Fuck me," she mutters to herself.

Rags studies the ground with great interest, and steals a look around for a tall Gaian.

Fights-For-Hope growls openly at that, some part of it begins as amusement, but quickly changes to challenging tones. ~Like hell you will! If no other will challenge, then you will at least hear from me.~

Sheeaghan drops her jaw as she looks to Salem. Then the Fianna Cliath flickers her ears back and shuts her muzzle without replying as she looks around at the others gathered. Surprise is apparent on the Theurge's expression.

Salem bares his teeth in a humorless lupine grin as he focusses on the Get. ~We need, then, a Master of the Challenge.~

Helen's eyes go wide, her brows raise high on her forehead, and she just stares at Salem as the announcement sinks in. "Damn... jeez... holy shit," she mutters. The surprise fades as Jamethon speaks--well, roars. That one was predictable.

Kaz blinks. "Well, ain't that fun," she mutters. She's just about to say something, when Salem says it for her. "Well," she says, louder. "That'd be me. An' Lyra, when I ain't here. Anyone else wants the position, they can come challenge my ass, but as of right now, I'm the Master've th' Challenge. Lyra's m'second."

Kansas looks up to Fights-For-Hope, watching him as he accounces his challenge. The young Philodox gives a light snort and smiles.

Lyra shifts to lupus, sidling next to Kaz like a faithful Lassie and barking. ~Two Gnawers is more fun than one!~

Fights-For-Hope returns the toothful gaze, standing tall, replacing the lack of breeding with a willful posture and violent eyes turbulent with a rage born of Fenris. The full moon pulls even on the hearts of the Theurge.

Three-Blades steps up and makes her voice loud enough to be heard. ~Before terms are issued about the alphaship Challenge, I wish to know some things from Salem.~ The ragabash rises from her slight hunch, stepping a pace forward. ~As Alpha, Salem, what direction do you wish to take this sept? For Glass Walker is not born in the woods, and clearly,~ she gestures, ~this is not the Scab.~

Dancing-Fighter chuckle-growls a little at Kaz and Lyra, but her gaze is still on Salem. Though, Fights-For-Hope has caught her attention now, as well.

Well, well. Quentin's brows leap up slightly, although there's not much surprise in his gaze as he regards his elder.. a bit more, as Jamethon speaks up, and he takes a step back with a hand against Cat's shoulder to fall silent, and watch.

Cat blinks. "Salem's gonna lead the whole sept?" he asks Quentin, a little incredulously.

Stalking around from where she's been curled, watching the proceedings, Stalks-Silence settles down next to the Glass Walkers, shoving a cold nose against Cat's closest hand by way of greeting.

Renee brown eyes focus on the Gnawer no-moon and she beams in approval.

Kaz watches Jamethon and Salem carefully.

Anyone who might be looking at Karl right now, would see a smiling boy - proud to belong to a Tribe with a pair of members standing for such a high position.

Salem continues to hold Jamethon's gaze. Now that he's made the announcement, he seems almost... calm. The calm after flinging oneself off a cliff and committing oneself to the mercy of gravity, perhaps. ~I would not be the first Glass Walker to rule this Sept, Three-Blades,~ he says, answering his packmate. ~Perhaps I would not even be the last. For now, our direction is inward. Defend. Rebuild. So that despite the lack of Ouroboros and Reforged, this Sept will _not_ be found lacking should be be attacked like we were last summer.~

Calls-Spirits watches Jamethon and Salem with keen interest.

Kaz finally falls into Crinos again. ~Also, Three-Blades, I love th' whole new moon schtick, but this ain't a democracy. They're gonna decide for us, an' that's th' way it goes. Hello, staredown, how's the wife and kids?~

Fights-For-Hope remains with eyes locked on Salem's, one leg stepping forward and gripping the ground with curling toes. ~We have many places to defend. The realm, the umbra, the spirits need to be counciled with, the wards need strengthening. Chimera needs an alpha she can speak to.~ Let it perhaps be a staredown combined with a debate then.

Cat turns away to greet Catherine, crouching next to her and hugging her tightly. Even so, he keeps his eyes on Salem and that Fights-For-Hope guy.

Three-Blades glances back to Kaz, hearing the words of the galliard after Salem's reply. She dips her muzzle lightly, but at the same time keeps her posture straight, almost even challenging. ~Then, Ears-to-the-Ground-rhya, let me include my own Challenge, not for alphaship, but for the opportunity to bring any of the Sept's Doubts out into the open about our two possible leaders. If, such a tradition can be honored for a no-moon who questions this claiming.~

Kansas narrows her eyes as she remains a vigilant listener. Arms folding across her chest, she bobs her head lightly to her elder. A very small smile is seen tugging the corners of her lips.

Kaz says, with no small glee, ~Shadow Walker. You're it. If someone else wants it, we can get all elaborate about it.~

Rags raises his hand, foggedly remembers something, and lowers his hand while not looking around to see how many people saw him.

~Worthy tasks for the Sept's Warder and its Gatekeeper, Fights-for-Hope,~ Salem replies, answering the Get of Fenris first. He continues to hold the stare, all iron will and rage and purity of bloodline. ~Worthy tasks for any Theurge. But leading the Sept is more than simply organizing the spirits.~ He lifts his muzzle slightly, not breaking the mutual gaze. ~If you would lead me, Get, then stare me down.~

A tall, dark clad figure steps noiselessly out of the mists and into the Center. Tatt lingers at the edge of the gathering, watching from behind a pair of shades. The lone Strider lights a cigarette wordlessly.

Salem

This bestial, violent-looking hybrid of wolf and man stands well over nine feet tall. Except for an indistinct, irregular patch of medium gray on his chest, the thick pelt is almost entirely black, covering the werewolf from lupine head to digitigrade legs. One feral golden eye, deep-set, glares from underneath the wolfish brow, partially obscured by the long, wild mane that tumbles around his upright ears and long neck. The other eye is a blind white, lost within the tangled jungle of scar tissue that covers the left side of his face. Broad of shoulder and long of limb, he appears able to move about as easily on two legs as on four, though he seems to prefer the former. Long fingers and large hindpaws are equally armed with evil-looking black claws, and when he snarls, the sharp white teeth all but gleam against the midnight background of ebony fur. To Garou eyes, he has the look of nobility, and it's clear that Shadow Lord blood runs strongly through his veins.

Rarely at rest, the werewolf's motions bristle with rage, his violence held back only by a near-iron control. There's a secondary scarred area on his right shoulderblade that looks like it might once have been some kind of glyph, but it's been long since obscured. With claws. A nightingale charm hangs from a cord around his neck, nestled close to the fur.

Fights-For-Hope

This huge juggernaut of a beast looks to be deadly to say the least. It's over nine-foot, massive, and mostly light gray furred body resembles a gargantuan near-humanoid in the form of an anthropomorphic wolf. Pure black eyes give off rage-filled glances from the heavy jawed face of this beast. Claws coming from the fingers of this thing's hands are long talonesque blades that look prepared to render flesh and muscle from bone. Among various other scars, the gray fur of his powerful chest is disrupted by a massive burn-like scar that still seems angry and red despite not being a fresh wound. From between his ears a large jagged shock of black fur juts down his back to the base of his tail, only disrupted at the small of his back by another scar in the shape of the cresent moon. Around his neck is either a tattoo or a collar, its hard to tell especially when the light shifts. It looks like black leather with Fenris glyphs in silver, but shifts as his throat muscles move betraying something supernatural about it.

K. C. picks her way down into the caern, past the waterfall. She holds her arms out to keep her balance, and once she's on level ground, stops, lets her eyebrows climb, and stops where she stands. "Oh."

Fights-For-Hope flares his nostrils, lips blowing out as well revealing more teeth. He lopes on all fours towards the Walker till he is but inches away where he rears up to stand at full height. Both Garou involved in teh challenge are giants even for Crinos, both standing impressivly over nine feet. Fights-For-Hope has the appearance of being possessed, not having acted in this manner since he first arrived at the Sept... he locks eyes with the Walker he has challenged and his growling grows louder.

Calls-Spirits wrinkles his nose at the reek of the cigarette and he tears his attention away from the challenge to find its source. When his nose points him at Tatt, he makes his way over to her and rumbles something quietly to her, looking polite and expectant.

Cat hugs Stalks-Silence nervously. "Are they gonna fight? Are they gonna fight?" he whisper-demands of Quentin.

Helen keeps her attention on Salem and Jamethon, muttering to anyone near, "This's turned out quite interesting."

Dancing-Fighter watches the two massive Crinos intently, her ears perking up as she tries to scoot closer for a better look. The Ahroun in her's aching for some type of battle.

Stalks-in-Silence noses at Cat's chin, looking to Quentin as well for some kind of answer.

Quentin shakes his head slowly to the other cubs, murmuring quietly, "No, they're not."

Kaz drifts toward Salem and Jamethon, casually.

Salem, by contrast, seems deadly calm... on the outside, anyway. Clawed fingers twitch, but all else is tightly controlled, his body held almost dead still as he stares back at Fights-for-Hope. His muzzle curls into a snarl, showing teeth, but he makes no sound. A spring winds tight, rage held back by that rigid self-control; if it breaks it'll be ugly.

Sheeaghan turns her muzzle over her shoulder to watch Calls-Spirits has he wanders off a few steps to talk to the Silent Strider. The Fianna Theurge returns herattention back towards the others, especially Fights-For-Hope and Salem.

Tatt looks at Calls sharply, with a feral growl and a mutter. She puts a few yards between herself and the Silver Fang, then returns her attention to the staredown.

Three-Blades clenches and unclenches her claws in watching the staredown, examining both contestants intently. The ragabash's ear turns towards Tatt and Calls-Spirits, but her gaze remains on the challengers. She licks the side of her muzzle, anticipating.

Four-Leaves looks from Salem to Jamethon, back again, and then at Kaz, baleful green eyes watching the Fostern.

Calls-Spirits stares at Tatt in disbelief when the Strider fails to put out her cigarette. He bares his lips in a brief snarl, but turns away after a moment, letting the Strider have her nicotine. There are more important things to concentrate on tonight. With a few parting words, he makes his way back to Aubrey's side and returns his attention to Salem and Jamethon.

If Tatt even hears Calls, she shows no sign of it. Her gaze is locked on Salem from afar as she takes a long drag of smoke.

Fights-For-Hope doesn't blink or look away, he has expirenced the pain of severing his own testicle from his body with silver for months... this is nothing yet. His expression remains constant, like a grotesque on a castle or cathedral from the middle ages it is vibrant and full of rage yet unmoving.

Sheeaghan noses Calls-Spirits and then returns her golden-brown irises look back onto the two challengers.

What Salem's endured, well... few of the Sept know the details of that particular Garou's sordid past. It's dead history, anyway; nothing matters to him but the Now, nothing exists but the pale gray Get of Fenris and, in particular, that pair of ink-black eyes. His own eyes, one gold, one white, remain steady.

The contest is starting to get to the theurge as well now, the benefit to the theurge of being born with less of Luna's rage only goes so far as to maintaining his control. The giant child of Fenris starts flexing his claws which till now were hanging at his side, focusing on those dead, yet alive, eyes across from his own.

The Glass Walker remains rigidly still... mostly. He begins to growl, very softly, the sound coming from deep within his throat.

Three-Blades turns her gaze from the pair to look at the others, who might all likely be staring at the contestants. It is the movement from the Get, and growl from the Walker that brings the newmoon back to waiting tensely.

Fights-For-Hope seems to start straining at his own momentum, his feet purchasing the ground with newly curling toes almost as a deterant from motion. As the Walker growls, his own deep rumbling increases to match that of his foe, challenging even within the challenge.

Kaz drifts slightly closer.

Dancing-Fighter glances around, then pushes herself off of the rock she was sitting on. She starts to move towards the two males, eyes intently focused on the pair as she waits to see who'll break first.

Tatt finishes her cigarette, and shifts silently up into Crinos. The scarred Strider crouches, muscles twitching with tension.

Salem's hands close into fists; his nostrils flare and, if anything, he draws himself even more erect, leaning forward slightly and calling upon some inward reserve. His growl becomes louder, authoritive, and his glare seems to demand that the other submit to him.

Fights-For-Hope maintains that hold his eyes have upon Salem's for only moments longer before his head snaps back revealing throat and looking to the sky the Get of Fenris theurge howls out, a mixture of released rage and congratulations to the new Alpha. This done, he turns to look over the Sept. ~I submit to a worthy foe... behold your new alpha, Hidden Walk!~ He turns now to face Salem once more, clasping his hand upon the victor's arm. ~Lead well...~ He gives a lupine grin from the crinosed face and continues, ~And you'll need a name the lupines can call you by aside from Alpha.~

A certain Gnawer halfmoon's ears prick forward and her head lifts a little bit higher at the mention of names.

Salem bares his teeth in something that approximates a grin at Fights-for-Hope. His gaze moves over the Sept, pausing briefly on Tatt... and then, strangely enough, Renee. Turning back to Fights, he growls, ~I am who I am. But 'Scar' will do. Keep things simple.~ He addresses the Sept again. ~Do any others challenge my leadership of this Sept?~

Kaz takes a step or two backward, and shakes her head. She's grinning again.

Three-Blades twitches when Fights-For-Hope's submission and howl registers in her mind. Glancing about, the Gnawer ragabash looks to Renee once before turning her gaze back to Salem and Kaz. ~Scar,~ she rumbles quietly, trying out the name. Then, she coughs again chuckling near humorlessly.

Quentin's head raises up slightly, approval and pride in his stance and expression; a hand sliding from one arm, reaching over to nudge Cat's shoulder lightly in a 'see, told you' sort of gesture.

"Ask me again when I'm sober, /cabron/," Tatt calls back from the shadows.

Calls-Spirits flashes his throat towards Salem in acknowledgement of the Walker's new position, then bends his knee and bows in a most Fangly manner. He holds that position for a moment, then stands up straight again, watching Salem expectantly.

Sees-True isn't looking directly at the new Sept Alpha, as she lightly shakes her head. The half-moon's choice of a name causes her to snort softly, a half-smile touching her lips.

Dancing-Fighter looks a bit let down that no fighting happened, but she returns to her seat without so much as a comment or a grunt.

Cat smiles a little, hugging Stalks-Silence happily.

Stalks-in-Silence rumbles quietly, shifting up to Homid so she can hug Cat in return.

K. C. folds her arms across her chest and shifts her weight onto one hip. "Well then."

Daisy offers the new Alpha, her tribal elder, a hearty thumbs up and beams approval and pride towards him.

Fights-For-Hope looks to Scar again now and offers for his ears, ~If this has been finished... I have a few announcments to make as well.~

Four-Leaves' ears flick back and she looks up at Kaz, tongue lolling in a grin. Well. I suppose I can keep on calling him rhya all the same, now.

Salem nods after a few moments and speaks again, still holding the bones. ~Peacekeeper-rhya has told me that he will remain in the position of Warder, as he has in past. We still require a Master of the Rite, a Gatekeeper, and someone to act as Groundskeeper as well. For now, however, I will turn the Cracking over to our new Master of the Challenge.~ He turns toward Kaz and Lyra, the bones extended.

Kaz says, ~So, yeah,~ as she takes them. ~Already standing Challenges, like Salem's, we're gonna do at another Moot, on the half. Stuff bein' judged tonight, that'll happen tonight. Anyone,~ and her gaze drifts to Renee, ~have any new Challenges they wanna issue?~

Renee stands and swells into crinos, as the Fostern Gnawer looks in her direction. ~I do. I Challenge Kaz, for the rank of Fostern.~

Salem folds his arms across his chest, simply observing for now. He voices no objection to his rank challenge being postponed, and his eyes glint fiercely as Renee speaks up.

Fights-For-Hope has stepped back once more, moving beside Kansas seeming not displeased at all about how things went as he waits his turn to speak again.

Leonard appears in the mists of the steam vents, hands on hips. He says nothing, for now, draws no attention to himself, merely watches.

Kaz purely grins. She manages to sound slightly regretful through her grin, as she says, ~You are going to /kill/ me.~ Her grin doesn't fade a whit as she goes on. ~You're gonna have to tell a story to Salem. And make him laugh. Like, wholeheartedly. Y'can take as long as you want, though."

Three-Blades withdraws at this point back to her original position at the outer edge of the gathering. The ragabash glances back at Salem briefly, before resuming a less stiffened stance. When Kaz's Challenge terms are given, she lifts lips back in a soundless toothy grin.

Cat sits back, staring at Kaz and then at Salem. He looks -stunned-. And he's not even Challenging. After a moment, he gives that Renee girl a profound look of pity.

Dancing-Fighter blinks, then starts laughing softly at Kaz's response. She tries to cover her muzzle, but it doesn't work all too well.

Helen can't help but chuckle a little. Poor, poor Renee.

Quentin squints slightly over at Kaz as she speaks.. and then bursts out chuckling, raising a hand to cover his face and shaking his head slowly from side to side, cerulean bangs whispering over his fingers.

Salem smirks briefly, then turns dead solemn, a stone statue covered in black fur, impassive and immoveable and with _no_ apparant sense of humor.

Kansas looks up to her elder for a moment and remains silent to other things that are happening around her.

Sees-True stares, ears laying back. ~Him?!~ She states in shock. The crinos makes a faint gurgling nose, before she regains her composure. ~Very well.~ The massive beast takes a step back, ears remaining flat against her skull and expression thoughtful.

Kaz says, ~Him.~ A moment later, she looks around the Caern. ~Anyone else?~

Fights-For-Hope looks down at the cub beside him, a slight expression of humor in his form. ~Good luck,~ He growls in Renee's benefit before saying something more quietly to the cub.

Calls-Spirits does not chuckle, or smile, really, but his posture conveys amusement at Kaz's challenge terms and Renee's reaction. There is a sense that he feels that all is right with this challenge, and he keeps his peace.

Kaz, not seeing anyone else, hands the bones back over to Salem and flops down near Lyra.

Salem, taking the bones back, spares Renee another look, then focusses past her toward K.C. ~We have one more newcomer who needs to introduce herself.~ He looks pointedly at the other Walker Philodox.

Kansas looks up to Fights-For-Hope for a moment, her eyes narrowing before she gives a light nod in reply. The young Philodox then crosses her arms across her waist as she looks to back to Salem as the bones are handed back to him.

Dan is utterly silent, watching and listening.

Sheeaghan rises into homid as she walks towards Dan and lightly gives him a nudge forward. "Introduce yourself, aye?" she asks him softly.

K. C.'s eyebrows lift and she glances at a couple of faces, then clears her throat, squares her shoulders and heads toward Salem. She murmurs excuses as she threads her way forward, and when she's reached the alpha, the turns to face the gathered Garou. "Ah, right. K.C. Edmonton. Cliath, half-moon, Glass Walker tribe. Out this way from D.C. Deadeye, Talks the Talk. They both work. And I'm ah, a lawyer. With any luck, none of you'll need me." She glances at Salem and arches an eyebrow: that enough?

Kaz nods to herself.

Rags heckles with ~Lawyer? Is that better or worse than a Dancer?~

Wildcard remains in a crouch, twitching occasionally. The Strider's focus is unsteady, dark gold eyes glassy.

Dan blinks and jumps forward with a start after being nudged. The Fianna cub is radiating nervousness. He swallows hard and manages to say, "D...Dan Westerberg. Homid, Galliard, Fianna cub."

Salem snorts at Rags' remark and gives K.C. a nod, and likewise Dan. ~New faces are always good.~ He holds up the bones. ~Does anyone else have anything to bring before the Sept?~

~I do,~ Sees-True rumbles, taking a step forward.

Salem inclines his head toward the Bone Gnawer Elder -- perfect courtesy -- and hands her the bones.

Aubrey gives Dan a pat on the shoulder and shifts back to lupus as she returns to Calls-Spirits side and offers the cub to sit next to her.

K. C. gives Rags as grin as she steps down again, but leaves the question unanswered. She goes back to her spot on the fringe.

Sees-True takes the bones and speaks to the Sept, voice bellowing across the open space, so that everyone can hear her clearly. ~I have a number of things ta cover tonight, so I am going to try an' go as quickly as possible. Fer the most part, I'm jus' passin' on news bout whats been happin' in the city. Tellin' ya here, is a lot easier then repeatin' myself a hundred times. Just so everyone knows, the Revel where we attacked the warehouse makin' the UL pills was only partially a success. We managed ta clear out the place an' kill a butt-load or Formori, but the Leech that was makin' the things got away. We do got the paper of all the work she was doin'. The Bitch was actively workin' on makin' Formori. We do have a name, but I haven't been able ta track the blood-sucker down. I figure she ain't in the city any more. Still, anyone who wants ta have a look at her paper an give trackin' her a shot should come ta me.~ The Galliard draws in a deep breath, before continuing onto her next subject. ~Now, I posted a note about this at the Farmhouse, but not everyone goes there an' I only get so much coverage with my feet. So, this is jus' a reminder, ta make certain everyone knows bout this. There is a Leech in the city by the name of Orion. Salem has declared that it is under the protection of the Walkers. If you want any more information, you'll have ta go ta him.~

Dan doesn't even hesitate to follow Aubrey over. He sits by her and breathes a sigh of relief; though now that he's sitting next to a lupus, he decides to shift down to lupus himself. (Light-Hearted)

Calls-Spirits gives a welcoming nod to the Fianna cub, then returns his attention to Renee.

Leonard shakes his head, lip curling in disgust.

Sees-True shifts from one foot to another, before she speaks again. ~Now another bit of news from the city, is the guy you'd probably been seein' in the paper. Runnin' around, killin' people an' hackin'em up. There were some rumors about there being teeth-marks on the bodies, but I looked inta that and its not true. The murderer is a lefty, uses a serrated knife, an' steals the livers outta those he kills. While this sicko is probably just some human, there is always the chance that he is somethin' more an' the fear he is causin' if like cotton candy ta the Wyrm. I'm workin' on gettin' the Police report on this guy, but if anyone wants ta help with trackin' him down, they can come ta me.~ The Galliard partially raises the bones above her head, as she continues speaking. ~There was an attack on a Wendigo Kinswoman earlier this month and she came to the Church seeking sanctuary, after gettin' all bruised up. The guy who went after her was chased off by Quentin, was wearin' a mask, an' spewin' Russian. Salem has taken over lookin' after the kinswoman, so he is yer contact if ya wanna help in nailin' her attacker. There is a fuckin' lot more ta that particular story, includin' the kidnappin' of a Walker kinsman by the Garou of another Tribe. However, I'm gonna leave that ta the Walkers ta tell ya about it.~

Salem, arms folded, bares a fang but otherwise remains impassive and silent.

Kaz has heard most of this, but nonetheless looks as if she's memorizing facts and figures like a madwoman.

Helen listens to Sees-True, and when the mention of the leech reaches her ears, she scowls. The scowl remains as the galliard continues speaking. Well, gee, looks like someone wants to talk to Renee later.

Calls-Spirits clearly hasn't heard this news, and expression of shock and anger pass over him, leaving him with a grim sort of concentration as he listens to Renee.

The Crinos Gnawer draws in a deep breath and just keeps on going, as she seems to have a lot to announce. ~Don't worry folks, I'm gettin' ta the end here. I'd like to announce the formation of my Pack. RAT: Rough an' Tumble, under the guidance of, you guessed it, Rat. Its Me, Lyra, an' Raul. We've already done somethin' fairly important. We found a bunch of tainted critters livin' in the sewer under the Park. They were startin' ta poison the Glade Shadow-Side. We cleared out the Wyrm-things an' made certain that there was no lingerin' Taint near the Glade.~ Sees-True fails to suppress a small victory howl, as she announces this. ~Since there are not as many of us as there used ta be in the city an' with many of the old-guns gone, we've decided ta claim the Park an' Glade as territory. I've been told this kinda goes against Tradition, but things ain't the way they used ta be. We don't have enough people ta /not/ have a pack dedicated ta protectin' such an important place.~ The Gnawer pauses for a second, as she briefly looks over at Salem. ~Now, before anyone gets their panties in a twist, I wanna make it clear that we're not out ta stop people from usin' the Glade without some sorta special permission. That would be speakin' pretty piss poor of my Honor. We're claimin' the Park ta protect it an' not fer /any/ other reason. All we ask, if that if yer goin' be doin' more then passin' through... Like preformin' a Rite, or somthin', that might get the local spirits worked up, ya check in with one of us so we can keep an' eye on things. ~ Sees-True gives a very human grin, which just doesn't look right on a Crinos muzzle. ~About the only reason we'd tell anyone they couldn't use the Glade, is if they did somethin' that was real stupid. Like pissin' off the local spirits, or shiftin' in the park where peeps might see'em. Since we're all pretty smart here, I don't think that is gonna be a problem. But if somethin' does come up, the problem maker will find their ass kicked faster then they can blink. If anyone has problems with Rough An' Tumble protectin' the park, they can bitch at me after the Moot.~

Wildcard bristles at the claiming of the Park. An audible growl rumbles from the Strider's gut.

Fights-For-Hope seems suprised at the claiming of that territory, as it has been said, it is against tradtions. He doesn't speak on the matter however.

Salem tilts his head, fixing Sees-True with one dark gold eye, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he nods his acceptance. ~Congratulations,~ he rumbles to the Gnawer. ~You picked a fierce totem.~

Kaz studies Renee. She seems impressed at how she put that.

Sees-True inclines her head in a nod, the bones held firmly in her hands. ~An' pitty anythin' that tries ta fuck with the Glade. I'm done.~ The bones are handed back to Salem, before the Gnawer Elder steps down.

Salem bares his teeth in approval as he takes the bones back.

Wildcard begins to pace, claws gouging out furrows of earth at the edge of the gathering.

The Fianna Philodox approaches the rock slab, a carefully reined tension in her lumbering crinos stride. Her eyes burn like huntfires, fueled by duty, and her rage is smoothed over by a most business-like airone that doesn't quite fit the warform. The severed bone is pulled into the talons of one flame-furred paw; the other, slowly outstretched, unfurls with the light of the Faeries. A wisp of silver-blue dances in her massive palm, tossing strange shadows across her uplifted muzzle. ~Tonight I address a dispute,~ Sith-Fhuil begins, ~between Little Bear, Cliath and Galliard of the Wendigo tribe, and Salem, Cliath Philodox of the Glass Walkers.~ and she looks to both named, in turn, beastly brow upraised. ~I have spoken with the two of you regarding the details of your dilemma, and weighed them to the best of my ability. I am prepared to pass judgment on the matter presented to me. Are you ready to hear it, and accept due punishment?~

Leonard nods at her, once, folding his arms.

Salem flicks his left ear, suppressing a feeling of deja vu. He nods curtly to Layne. ~I am ready.~

Kaz bares her teeth at nothing in particular.

Kansas remains with her arms folded, remaining passive.

Fights-For-Hope looks between his new Sept Alpha and potential packmate with undisguised intrest.

Quentin's own fingers curl against his palm, jaw tensing as he watches the witchlight-flickering over the philodox's face.. glancing to his elder's face, then to Leonard's, waiting.

Dancing-Fighter sits up at this announcement, but her eyes are partially squinted and her ears a bit droopy.

Sees-True shrinks back into her birth form and takes a seat between her two packmates, scowling as she waits and listens for the judgment.

Sith-Fhuil nods, sharply, ruddy ears angled forward stiffly as she twists to first face the Wendigo. ~Brings the Buffalo Home. Your disappointment with Sepdet, Adren Theurge of the Silent Striders is understood and accepted. You believed that she would take a position in the calling for a new caern totem, which she did not. You perceived her choice to be a betrayal of you and to your tribe, left Salmon's Leap and ceased to call her friend.~ She pauses here, draws breath in deeply. ~I am of the belief that Sepdet holds Wendigo with nothing but the highest regard and, in short, had she considered him an appropriate totem for the Hidden Walk, would have eagerly welcomed his presence when he appeared alongside Chimera on the night of the calling. I do not believe that she betrayed your tribe, Leonard, but as a respected Elder and Theurge, made a decision that would benefit the unique requirements of our sept, diverse as it has come to be. However, I cannot speak for Sepdet, and will no longer try... For /her/ choices have little bearing on what /I/ have to say.~

Leonard nods again to the philodox, still listening, staring at a point somewhere above her head. His face betrays nothing.

Wildcard's single ear flicks forward at the mention of Sepdet's name. Her growl is now a constant roll of thunder beneath the conversations of the moot as she paces.

Sith-Fhuil's massive shoulders roll, pulling backward as she straightens. The Faerie Light bursts free from her extended palm as if of its own volition, and swerves up to hover behind her head. ~Respect for Those Beneath Ye in Station,~ she rumbles clearly, gaze still fastened on the Galliard. ~While this has not always applied directly to kin, it should. We must remember that kin are not our property to lord over; they are /family/ to werewolves, to our respective tribes--but they are not our possessions. They cannot take the wolf shape, they do not fight the battle as we do, but they fight this battle all the same. Our kin have a right to their own free will...by denying them that, they are easily severed from the purpose Gaia gave them; by diminishing them of that purpose, we only hurt ourselves. You had every right to make your displeasure with Sepdet's actions known to Sarah, but it was beyond reason to demand that she not speak with the Strider elder. By making threats, you only alienated her. As I have come to understand, in addition to being 'banned' by you, Sarah fled to the city to avoid your demands. It is noted that you were not physically forceful with your tribe's kin, but you failed to respect her when you continued to /insist/ upon her return to the woods, despite her desire to remain away.~

Salem's ears lift; otherwise, the Glass Walker remains impassive as he listens, long arms folded across his massive chest.

Kaz starts pacing as she listens.

Quentin's lips twitch slightly as the philodox's words are spoken, his chin raising up slightly further, though he remains silent.

Leonard still listens, staring at that fascinating point above Layne's head.

The Judge continues, voice rough in the Mother-Tongue, but steady, ~Respect the Territory of Another,~ the Fianna calls out. Her gaze veers only briefly from Little Bear to quickly survey the gathered. ~Granted, you arranged a meeting with Sarah via the Bone Gnawers when she went into their care, but were reluctant to leave her be when asked. This is forgivable,~ she explains with a faint bowing of her chin. ~However, when Sarah took up residence in the same apartment building as the Glass Walker, you chose to hang about, watching and waiting without so much as making yourself known. You refused to leave, without 'your kin,' when found. Your defiance escalated into a match o--as I understand it--fists, nails and lead.~

Renee snorts, crossing her arms. "Was more then reluctant," she mutters under her breath.

Leonard narrows his eyes, but still says nothing, just staring off into space.

A wide-eyed Rags listens to the tale, his jaw slowly dropping, then he picks back up his jaw with a chuckle.

~An Eye for an Eye,~ the Fianna Philodox continues, brow settling heavily over her pale gaze. ~...yes? That is what you called it. Had the Bone Gnawers or Salem taken your tribe's kin against her will, or harmed her in any way, your decision to abduct the Glass Walker kinsman Jeremy might have been justified, in its own way. But they did not, and it was not. As I have been made aware, Jeremy offered you a ride home from the city under the pretense that you were a friend. Instead, you beat him into unconsciousness in your war-shape, carried him into the mountains and deposited him in a deep hole, where he was left, unprotected, while you attempted to find Sarah. The life and well-being of Jeremy was compromised, as was the safety of the city Garou who used Questing Stone to recover him.~ Theres something of a lengthy pause, here, as if she were mulling over the visuals. Finally, her jaws split with the following, ~What you have failed to understand--or accept--is that Salem had been /protecting/ your tribe's kin, /as per her wishes/. Nothing more. Such hasty decisions tend to be irrational, and are the sort that distract us, /Gaia's lifeblood/, from the bigger picture and the tasks set before us. This is unneeded, to put it lightly.~

Kaz mutters something, fervently, under her breath.

Salem's expression grows a little less impassive and a little more fierce. White fangs flash, stark against the black fur.

Dancing-Fighter's muzzle curls into a snarl now, the fur along the back of her neck prickling up. The cub remains in her spot, though, claws curving into the palms of her hands and denting in the flesh there. But she never moves from the rock she's on, even if she does look a bit upset.

Calls-Spirits watches the proceedings with cold anger, most of his attention on Leonard.

Wildcard pauses in her pacing, tilts her head and blinks once at the Judge's words. Vaguely surprised.

Leonard just listens, listens, listens.

"Damn straight," Quentin breathes out under his breath, shaking his head slowly from side to side and fixing the Wendigo being judged with a dire look. Of course, he's still in homid. It's nowhere near as bad as some of the other peoples' snarls.

Sheeaghan responds with no emotions across her muzzle, at lease seen from an outward appearance.

K. C. listens with interest, brow furrowed.

The Faerie Light wavers, dimming a moment before growing brighter...it lingers around her shoulders. ~My judgement for you, Brings the Buffalo Home, is this,~ Sith-Fhuil intones. ~I find that you have broken two aforementioned tenets of our Litany, behaved dishonorably, and for such will be Ostracized for the passage of two full moons. During which and after, you are forbidden to enter the city or attempt to contact Sarah, kin of your tribe, in any fashion. At the end of this period, you will be required to seek the counsel and mediation of a Philodox if you wish to speak with Sepdet or with Sarah, and work toward resolving your issues in a civilized manner. I trust this is a possibility. In addition, you will be required to make amends with the Walker kin, Jeremy, in such a way that his tribe's elder sees fit.~

Kaz pumps her fist.

Three-Blades, who has been listening this entire time in silence, continues to do so. Only her eyes go back and forth, ever watching.

Dancing-Fighter grins a bit, seeming pleased with the final verdict. Flicking her ears forward, then back, she makes herself comfy on the ground to listen to the rest of the Moot.

Rags's grin slips, and he glances uneasily at Leonard.

Salem's mismatched eyes narrow. He nods slowly.

Helen watches Leonard. She nods in approval of the judgement.

Fights-For-Hope is less then impassive towards the judgement, his eyes narrow at words like civilized.

Leonard almost shimmers for a moment, then regains control, still staring, eyes mere slits now. He apparently understands the meaning behind the words.

With little ceremony, Sith-Fhuil breaks eye-contact with the Wendigo, and turns to face the Walker. ~Salem. I recognize that your only intention was to shelter and protect a kinswoman estranged from her tribe and pursued by an unknown attacker. This is honorable. However, I believe that maintaining a certain level of communication /might/ have, in part, prevented this...situation from advancing as it did. You had every right to demand that Leonard leave the city, but as a Philodox, offering your counsel where needed--if unwanted--is paramount. It is your duty. This is not the first time closed lines have resulted in a dispute involving kin,~ and she says this without any vitriol, the very picture of cool and calm (for a crinos, anyway), ~and while your intentions are innocuous, they are obviously not always seen this way. I charge you, Salem, with ensuring that information flows appropriately, and that the kin you protect are as 'connected' as possible with their respective families...~ The Fiannas words almost seem to trail at the end, as if in weariness, but the significance behind them holds. She falls silent, and the bones are quietly returned to the Truthcatcher.

Fights-For-Hope seems to literally bite his tongue to refrain from speaking, something noticed perhaps by those near him.

~Understood, Judge,~ Salem says, as he takes the bones back. ~And thank you.~

Kaz actually laughs. ~Bossman, talk t'me after Moot, that was practically my fuckin' /job/, f'awhile.~

Quentin's head tips in a brief, curt nod of satisfaction as the matter's summed up; glancing down over to Cat, where the other cub lingers, and then to the others of the sept as though judging their reactions. From the tight smile on his lips, he seems quite content with things.

Fights-For-Hope steps forwards once more now when his turn arrives and claiming the bones looks over the Sept. ~We have a new alpha, tried and tested and standing firm... for now. There are other positions open however, one in particular I claim now. The position of Gatekeeper. If any would challenge my claim. Make that challenge now.~ He looks over the Sept, black eyes vibrant and challenging.

Sheeaghan shifts her weight on her haunches as she looks around her vigilantly. Her eyes flicker over towards the Glass Walker cubs for a moment before settling upon the Get of Fenris.

Salem glances sidelong at Kaz, head cocked to favor his good eye, and nods to her, his ears splayed in a lupine 'smile'.

Wildcard snorts harshly, sinking talons deep into the caern's ground. The Strider is practically chomping at the bit, now.

Calls-Spirits watches Leonard go, some issue still obviously unresolved in his eyes, but he doesn't watch the Wendigo too long. He turns back to the proceedings, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

K. C. makes no move to step forward and make a challenge. She's simply watching, or so it seems.

Rags uncomfortably watches Leonard leave, then gets distracted by Fights-for-Hope calling for a challenge, and he brightens and begins to step forward, until he realizes that if he won, he'd have to be Gatekeeper, and he performs a quick shuffle backwards.

Sith-Fhuil has since faded back into the small gathering, letting the growing shadows overtake her. Shrinking into lupus form, she becomes silent and still as stone.

Calls-Spirits watches Fights-For-Hope thoughtfully as the Get makes his challenge, but voices no objection.

Helen, too, is one of the bunch who voices no opposition to Fights-For-Hope's wish to be Gatekeeper. "Looks like it's all yours," she notes with a smirk.

Fights-For-Hope bares teeth now and continues, eyeing Rags as the Ahroun steps forward then back. ~Moving on. A new pack forms soon. James of the Get of Fenris. Luke of the Fianna. Wilbur of the Silver Fangs, /and/... Leonard of the Wendigo have shown interest in packing together under Owl. Despite any differences they may have with people outside of this bond. If you are interested in joining an umbral war pack with these people under Owl. Come to us and speak your mind... we'll be ready for you.~ He lets that sink in a bit then moves on once more. ~The cub, Hunter-Killer... or Firestarter of my tribe, is ready for her Rite of Passage. And another matter hangs in the heart of the Wendigo tribe, particularly in the heart of one of their Kin... over an crime commited by one in her family. I have spoken with Robert, and Firestarter will judge over her brother's crime with another acting as a mediating elder Philodox... and thus there will be judgement over the kin herself as well. Trust... honor and responsibility. Many of these things have failed recently. Let us learn from the mistakes that have been made, and grow stronger from that knowledge.~ He lets these final words sink in and then handing the bones back, steps away.

Kansas nods her head quietly to accpet the terms of her Rite of Passage and clasps her hands in front of her.

Wildcard grits her teeth, crouches, and drops back into Homid. Tatt lights another cigarette, agitation and Rage emanating from the tense set of her shoulders and neck.

Calls-Spirits steps up when Fights-For-Hope steps down, taking the bones in his right hand, a largish stone slab tucked under his left arm. With the bones in hand he turns to scan the assembled Garou with bright eyes before speaking. ~Scar-rhya and Fights-For-Hope both spoke truly, earlier," he says, not speaking loudly, but pitching his voice to carry. ~Our sept is more vulnerable now than it was even before our caern fell a season ago. Our caern and wards are weaker than they were before. Many of the sept's most powerful members have gone. Our Guardian pack is dissolved. Many of those who volunteered one moon of the year to be Guardians are also gone.~ He pauses, eyes sweeping over the sept again before continuing. ~We have a new leader, and new officers for our sept, but our borders are patrolled by only a scant few. It is time to renew our vows to protect this sept. A new Guardian pack must be formed, and we must have new volunteers for moon-Guardians.~ So saying, he shifts his grip on the stone in his left hand and raises it above his head. ~I have hear the stone that Sepdet-rhya first used to record our names for the moon we would be Guardians. I hope to see everyone's names on this stone within the next moon,~ he says, voice ringing in the caern. ~See myself or Cycle-Breaker of Black Furies to be recorded, or to volunteer to join the new Guardian pack.~

Fights-For-Hope is among the first to chuff out that he will be among those claiming a portion of the moon's cycle to be a guardian, as he already had been before.

Daisy, quietly, raises her hand to volunteer herself as a guardian as well. Then lets the hand fall to her side, the entire action wordless.

Sith-Fhuil perks, at this. She recalls being the first to swear this over Sepdet's fire, the night Chimera came. Eyes trained loosely on Calls-Spirits, the Fianna wolf lets loose a short, lilting howl. There's no question as to whether she'll be there, or not.

After letting his request sink in, the Fang Theurge goes on, tucking the stone under his arm again. ~I have only a little news, besides what I have already spoken of. For those who have not heard, I am now Alpha for the Silver Fangs of this sept, as we as Alpha for the pack Crescent Wing. If any of you needs must have dealings with the First Tribe, send word to me or find my yourselves.~ Another pause, then his last bit of news. ~Some here do not know of the pack Crescent Wing or its purpose, so I shall say it in brief, in case someone would have need of us in the future. We are an Umbral pack, with Merlin of Stag's Brood as our patron totem. We are seekers of lost knowledges in addition to tireless foes of the Wyrm. If there is a Gift that no one in the Sept knows, and a spirit is required to teach it, come to us and we shall find an appropriate spirit to teach it. As well, we may serve as Umbral scouts as well as recruiting powerful spirits for aid in Umbral battles. Sheeghan and Stands-the-Charge of the Fianna, as well as Stareyed of my own tribe, comprise the pack Crescent Wing. See any of us should you have need of our services.~ His bright-eyed gaze sweeps over the Garou once more before he nods and hands the bones back to Salem. He steps down and makes his way back towards Aubrey, head held high and proud.

Calls-Spirits adds, before giving the bones back. ~Oh yes, I believe the office of Groundskeeper is yet unfilled. I claim this office, unless anyone thinks they can execute it better than I?~ His expression is confident, almost arrogant, as he looks around for challengers.

Kaz flashes Tobin a thumb's up.

Calls-Spirits looks satisfied at the lack of challengers and hands the bones back.

Salem takes the bones. He pauses a few moments to see if anyone else will step up, and when no one does, he nods. ~The Cracking is concluded. Tonight, we Revel on the Bawn, to clear it of any Wyrm influences... but first... a tale from one of our own.~ His gaze falls directly on Quentin.

Karl whispers a question to nearby Gnawers.

Kaz rolls over onto her stomach, to watch Quentin.

Sheeaghan tips her head gently with her tail softly wagging between her hindlegs to Calls-Spirits as she stands to stretch and look towards the new Alpha for the declaring of the revel and the story from the Glass Walker Galliard.

Sith-Fhuil drops onto her stomach, disappearing into the grass.

Salem steps down from the rocky slab area, looking well satisfied with things as the Walker cub takes center stage.

Ack, the pressure! A deep breath is drawn into the young galliard's lungs, and since he's been called forwards so he goes; Quentin's finger-tips raking back through the garishly bright blue of his hair, his expression growing serious as he strides out into the silvery light of Luna's fullness, hopping up to the higher stone and turning to sweep a gaze over those gathered in the caern's heart. And then, in a clear voice, he speaks.

"I come before you tonight not to speak of the deeds and strife of the living, but of the fallen; the one known to you all as John Smith, as Walks-Thin-Ice, Ahroun of the Glass Walkers born on two legs -- and though never was his rank acknowledged as greater than cliath amongst our people, he was the elder and the heart of our tribe here in St. Claire up until the very moment of his death, and will never be forgotten by those knew him." A pause, and a hint of wryness lingers momentary in his words, "Whether they felt love or hatred of him, he was indeed unforgettable. He was born as Russell Stevenson, and I come before you and beneath Luna to tell his story."

Tatt stubs out her cigarette, stows it in a pocket, and lights another. The Strider paces again as she listens, twitchy.

Given as there are already facts in here Kaz didn't know before, she sits up, all pretense of casualness gone.

Salem settles down on his haunches, taking a silent place next to Cat. Eyes and ears are focussed on Quentin.

Calls-Spirits settles down next to Aubrey, sinking down into homid at last and setting the heavy stone down. He eyes Tatt and her cigarettes, sighs and shakes his head. It's the best he's going to get from her. He turns his attention to Quentin, listening with keen interest to his story.

"He was born to squalor and pain," Quentin continues, his gaze half-shadowed by the moon-lit blue of his bangs, "to the streets of Seattle; his father was never known to him, perhaps the bearer of Gaia's blessing that was passed on to his blood, his mother fading from this world when he was younger than any child should be left alone. The banality of the government's foster homes couldn't hold a heart such as his for long, and he fled them for the streets early, the tainted dreams of gang life, wyrm-drugs, and blood money drawing him into the darkness so many of the humans' own children have been lost to. That so many of our own kin have fallen to. In his thirteenth year he would have died, were he one of them --" A pause, "The bullet struck true, but to one of Gaia's claws it merely awoke the rage within, and no mere gangland hood can stand up to an ahroun in full frenzy, even one un-trained in the arts of war."

Sheeaghan places her pale muzzle on Tobin's knee as she listens to the tall of a Glass Walker that the Fianna Theurge had once had a brush of excellence during her younger, cubhood days.

Tatt ducks her head, mutters something under her breath about 'wyrm drugs', and continues pacing. She ignores the gaze of a certain Silver Fang.

A breath is taken in, Quentin's eyes closing briefly as he speaks of a cub younger than himself, "Two years. Two years he spent alone on the streets after that day, lost, as no kin-fetch had ever been bound to watch over him and none knew of his existance - he might have been lost forever, to madness and self-destruction, perhaps even to the deceptive coils of the Wyrm, had he not been found at last by the Glass Walkers of Grey Sky. Russell was a difficult cub, to say the least, and they had little patience for him - thus they gave him to one they cared little for, an Ahroun and hit-man called Rathan, for mentoring." A pause, a breath taken and exhaled as he looks up across the gathering, "Time passed, and though Rathan sought to straighten out the young cub, the sept wished not to give him the time, and placed Russell on the steps of a Rite of Passage from which he wasn't meant to return -- but he did, though he faced the worst in himself drawn tenfold upon itself, and it changed him forever.. quiet, cold. Walks-Thin-Ice was a name that well suited him."

Kaz gnaws on her lip as she listens; the name of John's mentor brings a small exhalation of air out of her. She hadn't known.

Karl shifts a little, attention to no-one and nothing but Quentin and his story.

"He became Rathan's right hand," Quentin explains, "As a knife is to a sword; he learned from him, the arts of social camoflage, the skill of weapons hand-held and gunpowder alike, the skills of an ahroun, though they weren't always used as such. He was used as a go-between by the elders of the sept and the leeches, reinforcing the treaties that they'd forged between them, treaties that Rathan.." A grimace curves his lips, "Rather vocally opposed, to the anger of the sept's elders. The ahroun had his own projects outside the sept, though, and involved his protege in those matters; matters that still linger on in governmental records, that remember John Smith as one of the most dangerous of assassins. And in time, the elders of Grey Sky looked upon the pair and saw some who could one day be a danger to their power - and listen, now, for the arrogance that they showed is not a thing that we should forget. Such could just as easily lead to our fall as it did their own." His tone, now, grave.

The young galliard's face raises, hair sliding further back as the full moon's light spills over his features and his look turns almost challenging towards the gathered. "The murder of Rathan was just that, murder; there was no challenge issued, merely a dislike of his attitude and behavior, and there was neither glory nor honor nor wisdom in his death." A moment's pause, and he shakes his head slowly from side to side, continuing, "Thus was his protege driven to seek succor in the velvet shadow, and there Icewalker hid for some time, concealed in the darkening webs of Seattle. At last, perhaps by chance or by determination, he managed to drag information regarding his mentor's death from some spirits; and he took his revenge upon the ones who carried out that murder." A breath, and scorn taints his next words, "Lest he spread word of their sin, the Elders of Grey Sky set the leeches upon him, once more wielding a tainted weapon with stained paws rather than holding to honor; and he was forced to flee, flee or die from his own tribe, who had forgotten themselves."

"It was the beginning of the end for Grey Sky, but that is a tale for another to speak of," Quentin admits, "Leeches and banes rule that city now, as the remaining 'survivors' of that once-great sept dance with our enemies. Walks-Thin-Ice returned too late to offer aid to his homeland, and he could survive in Seattle for only so far before leaving for a cleaner land where hope still lived; thus it was to St. Claire that he came, to the Hidden Walk." A nod, as though to indicate the land they walk on, hands spreading in a splay of ten fingers through the air before falling back to his sides. "Along the way, he saved the life of a cub named Sophia. during her First Change; he brought her with him, to seek succor for the young theurge. Those who knew him tell that he spoke of intending to leave, of needing to leave, but it was her that kept him amongst us at first.. though later, others filled that role, and then duty."

"The Glass Walkers were in a state of scattered disunity when he arrived," is the admitted shame of the galliard, "Cat-Killer serving in the role of tribal elder as appointed even as others in the tribe vyed for leadership; a state that only a strong will could ever have drawn into a single union. And as Icewalker proved, if any could do so, he could."

Things click into place for Kaz. "Fuckin' no wonder," she mutters.

Salem nods slightly, every so often, as Quentin speaks, and his gaze remains locked on his young tribemate.

Tobin's breath catches at the mention of Sophia, and he nods once to himself.

"His deeds as a member of the Hidden Walk are many, and were I to recount each of them in detail we would likely be here well into next week," Quentin allows with a brief slip of humor, lips quirking up at one corner, "I'll spare you that, thusly; he proved his strengths time and again in organization and motivation, as he gathered our people to strike out at the taint of the hospital, as he led missions time and again into the depths of the fetid sewers of our city, as he shattered banes of bloodied glass alongside those of other tribes.. bringing his people home and alive every time, and though perhaps the sewers and hospital stink still of the Wyrm's taint, none can claim that he never used every resource we had to its best use. None were left behind, if there was a chance they yet lived."

A pause, then, and as though as an aside he states simply, "That was central to John's philosophy; he believed that no-one was useless, and no-one was so far gone that they couldn't be redeemed and used to make things better, to do the /right/ thing and lend aid to the fight against our enemies. When many dismissed Roger as a mad metis, he found an honorable and glorious use for his skills with metal and electronics.. even in the trial of Banecruncher, when he had confessed his own crimes, Walks-Thin-Ice argued that he could be salvaged. Though to many he may have seemed a cynic, he may have held more hope in his heart than any of us could claim. Even when the caern fell, and our safe-house, he never stopped fighting. Nor believing that we could win."

Unconsciously, the metis nods agreement. She swallows.

"Though rank was perhaps the last thing on his mind, at last he realized that to get many of the changes he sought pushed through he would need to be greater in the eyes of the nation and not just his peers -- thus it was that he gave challenge to Ears-to-the-Ground." Quentin hesitates, taking a deep breath before continuing, perhaps conspicuously not looking towards the Gnawers as he continues, "And he was sent to learn to prove that he could follow as well as lead, to gather a pack and let another lead it, to hunt down two of our enemies and slay them. The pack was led by Chaser-Never-Rests, joined by Storm-Singer, by Eye-of-Ra, by Seeker, and together they sought the home of our enemies, Seattle, and together they found them."

Wistful, soft, he continues, "The Dancers were too many, and led by an elder of their twisted fellowship -- and that day we suffered a deep wound, as a tribe, as a sept, and as a nation as both Walks-Thin-Ice and Chaser-Never-Rests fell to the silver talons of our lost brethren. Though they fought valiantly, the others of their quest-pack were forced into wise flight from odds that would have merely slain more of our people, returning bloodied home to bear news of their loss."

Kaz looks down, while this is recounted.

Salem's ears twitch, flattening briefly, then focussing forward again.

Fights-For-Hope growls something low about pointless suicide missions at this point.

"Let him be remembered," Quentin says then, his voice clear as he steps forwards one step, "And let our children remember him, and our children's children! The story of Walks-Thin-Ice, of John Smith, of Russell Stevenson is one of hope; the hope that he brought to his tribe and people with the fire of his heart, and the hope that any of us, no matter how ignominous our beginnings, can be redeemed, can bring honour to our tribes and Gaia. And hope is the one thing that we need most, in these dark days, and yet seem to have the least." More softly, "We can't afford to forget."

Tatt rears suddenly, involuntarily, into Crinos as the story concludes, throws back her head, and howls brokenly from a scarred throat. Mournful, and long.

Fights-For-Hope releases, in closing to the cub's tale, a howl of rememberance and sorrow... and coming soon hope. The tone of hope, that which he is named for, picks up a cresendo till it fills the gutteral sound.

Salem straightens to his full height and tips his muzzle back, beginning his howl a moment after Tatt's, loud and fierce.

Tobin bows his head at the conclusion of Quentin's story, letting silence speak for him as he takes a moment to remember Walks-Thin-Ice and contemplate the moral of his story.

Kaz stares down at the ground, fists clenched, and then she bursts upwards, yelling, "A fuckin' /men/," a noise that is soon sliding into a pure wordless howl as she falls into crinos.

Karl is filled with... pride. It was a great story. Very well told. He is honoured to have heard it.

Sheeaghan flickers her ears back, looking towards the ground for a long moment. The Theurge's head lifts as she howls to the open sky, remembering those lost.

Quentin's own head bows for a moment as the others' voices rise, and then does his own, as he rears up into the war-form; dark fur patterned with white and contrasted with blue, as the galliard's own loss rises in a long, low howl to mingle and rise with the others.

Rags beats his breast with a fist as he howls at the end of the story. ~He died bravely!~

Karl shifts into warform and joins in on the howl.

Salem's howl fades away. Eyes gleaming, he makes his way through the gathered Garou toward Quentin and lays a massive clawed hand on the Galliard's shoulder. ~Well told.~ He turns to the Sept, then, and calls out -- with more passion than when he claimed the alphaship, one might note -- ~Sept of the Hidden Walk! Greet your brother, cub no more, but full Cliath!~ The Walker Philodox bellows out another howl, this one in Quentin's honor.

Whispers emits a celebratory howl once more, in a different pitch than before.

Tobin does shift back to Crinos now, howling out his congratulations to the new Cliath.

Again, Kaz pumps her fist. Twice. Then she bellows, ~You rock!~ at Quentin.

Fights-For-Hope howls once more as well, a greeting to a new brother in arms. As he completes he looks to the new Cliath, ~Do your story justice... do not forget the words you spoke Speaker-For-The-Dead.~

Wildcard's howl ends in a harsh cough as she drops to all fours. Approaching the stone slowly, she rasps, in Gaia's Tongue, ~I have a favor to ask of the Sept. In the name of Icewalker's memory.~ Despite its harshness, the Strider's voice carries clearly with the practice of seasoned Galliard.

Calls-Spirits steps forward to the new Cliath and nods to him. ~Well told, Galliard,~ he says simply, though his voice rings with approval. He turns to Wildcard then, giving her a brief, wry look, before sobering and waiting to hear her request.

A flick of Quentin's ears back reveal a hint of embarassment at the praise, his head bowing slightly to accept the honor.. and he takes a half-step back, tipping his head with a serious gleam of his eyes to Fights-For-Hope in return. ~ Never. ~ A low, serious growl.

Salem turns his attention to his Strider packmate, his gaze still sharp and gleaming in the moonlight.

Wildcard crouches before the gathering, flicking her single intact ear. ~There is a ...~ She pauses, eyes glazed, and shakes her head as though to clear it. ~A kinswoman, with a child. As you all know, Icewalker made more of an effort to foster connections among kinsfolk than most in this Sept.~ She pauses, then lifts her head: ~This kin was one of many. It is our duty, in Icewalker's memory, to continue the work of caring for kin... especially in the Scab. And I ask for someone who knows the Baptism of Fire to visit this kinswoman, since Walks Thin Ice is not here to do so for her.~

Salem grunts. ~If no one knows it, I'll learn it. I know about the kin.~

Calls-Spirits shakes his head slightly, deferring to Salem on this matter. He nods when Salem takes it up.

Wildcard scans the gathering for answers, then dips her head once in Salem's direction. She steps down, gait slightly unsteady even in warform.

The Moot breaks up in a Revel, lead by Robert, in which the Sept scours the Bawn of anything even remotely Wyrmlike.

Rags bounds off to the revel to tear things apart into tiny little pieces and great big pieces that're still squirming and twitching.