Challenge Moot: Aug 2003

[hazlogs]

It is currently 18:08 Pacific Time on Mon Aug 4 2003.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly sunny today. The temperature is 82 degrees Fahrenheit (27 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from variable directions at 3 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.96 and falling, and the relative humidity is 25 percent. The dewpoint is 43 degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waxing Half Moon phase (46% full).

By the Waterfall

The rugged walls of the canyon reach their highest at this point of the caern. A small underground spring exits the rock face, some 20 feet up the 30 feet high cliff, spilling gently and playfully across angled rocks, running down its face. The chilled, garden hose like flown contributes tiny ripples upon its entrance to an otherwise placid, shallow pool of water. A light mist rises up from this place, cooling any who loiter long.

The old growth forest surrounding the caern has been hewn down out to 150', leaving only stumps as tombstones for the mighty trees that once sheltered the caern. The ground has a light covering of grasses and weeds and wildflowers and occasional sapling trees, but nothing larger than that.

To the west, cool mist kicked up by the falls mingles with warmer steam from geothermal sources; these mists swirl around the caern to the north. The caern's center lies northwest of here. You can pick out what seems to be a hazardous trail over rock and up the wall, to the side of the waterfall.

Salem shifts from lupus to homid form as he steps down the trail into the caern. the Alpha's face is composed, controlled... a bit abstracted, if anything.

Fights-For-Hope offers to answer her question, ~We will claim just south of the bawn... the Owl woods primarily, of course.~ He sniffs at the other lupine, as if trying to refamiliarize himself with her scent. ~We should, together, go to meet with Chimera soon. A Gatekeeper, and his assistant, should be familiar with their caern's totem.~

Sheeaghan flickers her ears in reply to the Get of Fenris. ~Very well. The wards seem to know me well enough.~ The younger Theurge is a rather daily figure on the bawn, afterall.

Salem nods absently to the two theurges as he walks past them into the center of the caern.

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.

By the waterfall, Luke appears in a glimmer of violet light.
By the waterfall, Luke passes into this side of reality next to the pool, nodding to his tribesmate and soon to be packmate as he sees them nearby.

By the waterfall, Fights-For-Hope nods to this, a conveyance of familiarity from his time spent as a guardian. He then perks up his ears and follows with eyes as he notices people arriving into the Caern, the Alpha in particular. A loud barking chuff is offered to the Glass Walker he had challenged for said alphaship of the Caern. He gestures towards Luke with a paw in a familiar sort of greeting. ~Runs, meet the Gatekeeper in training.~ He gestures towards Aubrey with his muzzle, ~We will have no worry of being taken away from the Caern for a time. There will always be one around to take over duties of the Gatekeeper.~

By the steam vents, The huge form of Reggie makes his way slowly down into the caern, stopping often to catch his breath, chuff a few smokes on a cigar, and squint suspiciously about at various figures in the caern.

Salem offers up a somewhat distracted greeting to the other Garou in the caern as he paces, in measured steps, around the center, ending up near the rock slab.

By the waterfall, Sheeaghan nods her head in response to the Get of Fenris right after she follows the alpha with her eyes down towards the center of the caern. ~Perhaps I should get on with such duties...~ she growls softly.

A dark figure appears at the edge of the clearing, black eyes appraising the gathered garou from a position in the shadows. That would have to be Jarred. No one else is as intent on appearing mysterious.

Hands shoved in the pockets of her jeans, Helen trods to the center of the caern. She nods once to Salem, and glances at the other Garou, moving over to stand near the stone cairn and just stare at the grass.

By the waterfall, Luke says, "She's told me about that, yeah. She'll do well in the position, I think, and I know she's someone you can count on." A short pause, and then he says, "Looks like things are about to get underway." Beginning the shift up to the warform as he starts down toward the center.

From Around the Story Tree, Kaz can be heard to howl, ~Garou! Challenge Moot at the Story Tree! Come one, come all!~

By the steam vents, Reggie looks up sharply at the howl, chomps on his cigar, and begins on the long trek from caern to story tree.
By the steam vents, Reggie heads out of the caern toward the southwest.

Salem glances up at the howl and, for a moment, gets a wry expression on his face. He mutters something under his breath in Serbian and, shaking his head, heads in that direction.

------------------------------------

Around the Story Tree

This quiet little clearing is home to soft grasses and bright flowers almost year-round. Near the center stands the Story Tree. The squat pine has broad branches for sitting under, and a thick, climbable trunk for a Garou to sit in. Sharp, green needles can be found buried in the grass.

A pathway leads out to the northwest toward the Caern, and a much less-worn path leads into the forested foothills to the east.

Kaz is perched on one of the lower branches of the big tree, flute in hand.

Alicia heads into the area, singing. "All fired up, fired up." She is bobbing her head, hands pulling her long hair back behind her.

The snapping of branches heralds Reggie making the way to the story tree a little wider to accomodate his bulk.

Fights-For-Hope walks with the exodus of Garou from the Caern to the Story Tree, intent that the spirits hear of the challenges tonight. Particularly a rank challenge for the alpha of the Sept.

Salem comes to a halt not far from the Tree. Arms folded across his chest, he glances up into the Gnawer in the branches and smiles crookedly.

Anneka drifts through the trees, reaches her hands out to touch them as she passes, steps light into the clearing. Her sandy hair frames her face in a halo, tangled, dirty and unwashed. Her clothes smell like sea salt, but here she is. She gives the big pine a glance, looks up at the branches and Kaz.

Sheeaghan arrives behind the elder Fenrir, watching the procedings getting underway with the challenge of rank. She slips next to her tribemate, Jaedagh, and pokes her nose at his shoulder.

Helen follows everyone towards the massive tree, glancing up to grin at tree-sitting Kaz. "Comfy up there?" she calls.

Kaz grins back. "Yes." She scans around. "We're still waitin' on Layne, I think."

Fights-For-Hope approaches Kaz now, barking up to her. ~If one wishes, I can open this moot with ritual so the Spirits can know we gather and will hear what happens here tonight.~

Jeadagh has completed his shift up to the warform by the time he gets here, taking a spot near the front of the assembled crowd. He rumbles a (relatively) soft greeting to Sheeaghan as the younger Theurge takes her place beside him.

Kaz looks down at Fights. "Love it, dude, but wait a few, ok?"

Layne appears just as her name is spoken, almost as if summoned. Waggling fingers at the treed Master of the Challenge, she finds a spot somewhere nearby her tribesmates, settling comfortably.

Alicia flicks the peace sign up at Kaz, then rolls her shoulders about to pop joints, glancing around to those gathered.

Jarred approaches from a copse of trees. "Show off..." he mutters, just loud enough for Jamethon to hear.

Fights-For-Hope simply scratches at the ground in reply to her request, a showing of an affirmative. His ears prick at something though, a voice familiar to him in recent past. ~Storm-Singer? That you, you dour son of a bitch.~ He sniffs around now, looking to where he heard the comment.

Salem, looking over the gathering, lifts an eyebrow at the sight of the rarely-seen Shadow Lord.

Kaz grins, a warm thing, at Anneka, and then salutes at Layne. "Awwwright. We got the band here. Jamethon, go to it."

Jarred emerges into the light near the tree, smiling blandly at Jamethon. "Dour is such an unattractive term, Fights. I prefer to be called 'taciturn'"

Helen glances over to Jarred. "The hell've you been?" she asks, not really expecting an answer as she seats herself on the cold grass. She waves to Alicia.

Sheeaghan splays her ears towards Jarred. ~I think my eyes might be mistaking me, or Jarred is here.~

Anneka settles down on the grass and pine nine needles, crosslegged and quiet, props her chin up in the palms of her hands. She looks up at the tree again, though, one green eye and a wolfish smile. Then, she scrunches her nose up, reaches up to rub it, stifles a sneeze.

Three-Blades literally makes a pounce on Anneka from behind, tail wagging in a hearty greeting.

Fights-For-Hope chuffs something between laughter and annoyance, though the tone is light enough not to be taken too poorly. The Get of Fenris elder leaps up to stand near the tree and takes on the warform in a smooth and practiced motion. ~Garou of the Hidden Walk, and spirits that dwell on our Caern's lands, hear now as a moot is called to decide the future of our Sept's Alpha and of its members as well. Spirits and Garou alike, hear us!~ He tilts a head back and releases the howl that is truly the magic of the moot ritual, this howling holding a mixture of welcoming and challenging, as if flavoring the moot to come.

The metis yelps a homid howl up into the trees, and then looks down again. "Ok. Salem, I'll get to you in a few. Anyone /else/ got stuff they wanna issue at the moment?"

Anneka turns about at the sound of lupine feet, but not quick enough, nope. She ends up with an armload of a wolf, oofs, laughter in her eye as she hugs the wolf back. "Hi," she says, simply.

Salem inhales a breath and lets it out in a controlled manner. He nods to Kaz and remains quiet, arms folded across his chest, looking like the paragon of patience.

Reggie locates a place, where, shifting from foot to foot, he watches the Gatekeeper open the moot, and he adds a short howl to the ritual. ~Aro-o~. At Kaz's call for other business, he steps forward, a hand raised to get attention.

The Fostern Fianna Theurge lifts his head to add his voice to the Gatekeeper's, and only once the howl has died down does he answer Kaz. ~I do.~

Kaz blinks at Reggie. "Yes?"

Layne eases into her wolf-shape to honor the moot with a short howl, before settling all attention on Kaz.

Three-Blades lolls her tongue, nuzzling the Gnawer philodox with a hefty rub of reddish fur and ear. You. And that's all the ragabash chuffs, settling down to have a good look about to those gathered.

Reggie, having gotten in before the Fostern, clears his throat noisily before starting into a poorly prepared speech. "Ehm, Ehm-ehm-ehm. It's up to the ragabashes to scout new territory, to test new things, even when it's old traditions coming back into style, then it's up to the ahrouns to save their hides and do the fighting. Shadow Walker's something this place used to have, and it got claimed again at the moot. So! The ragabashes lead the way, and the rest follow. I'm claiming Claw. Anyone got any issues, they can do it the traditional way, and challenge me over it." Rising to his full height on his toes, he looks expectantly around the gathering.

Anneka grins, bright and quiet, leans full on Three-Blades, then she turns her eye to the tree and watches.

Kaz blinks some more. "/I/ got no objections." She looks at Salem. "Do you got objections?"

Fights-For-Hope eyes Reggie now, perhaps impressed, or that could just be surprise

Salem arches an eyebrow and gives the overweight Uktena a somewhat dubious look, then shakes his head. "I have no objections, no. He's Claw until he loses a challenge for the position." The Sept's Alpha adds a dry, "Congratulations."

Three-Blades barks out. Shadow Walker is me, Rags. However, I have no objections to your bravery.

Kaz says, "Rockin', then. You wannit, you got it." She looks at Luke, now. "You, I know what /you/ want. Go to it."

Jeadagh steps forward, the red-brown Crinos rising from four legs to two as he prepares to speak. ~While I made this announcement before the crescent moons of this sept over a cycle of the moon ago, I make it once again, before the new leadership of Hidden Walk. I, Runs-at-Dawn to most of you, Jeadagh among my tribe, Fostern Theurge of the Fianna, claim the position of Master of the Rite. Let any who would challenge me in this seek me out. Let any who would learn from me do likewise -- even if it is a rite that I do not yet know, I offer my aid in finding a teacher for it. Should you wish to perform a rite on the caern or bawn, seek me as well.~ Golden eyes flecked with green scan the assembled Garou, settling on Salem for a moment longer than the rest, and then the Fianna drops back to all fours, preparing to fall back among the crowd.

Fights-For-Hope moves to stand beside, a bit behind, Luke as he makes his annoucement.

Sith-Fhuil's ears swivel toward Reggie with interest, eyes passing between the large man, before twisting to find Lyra. She cocks her head a fraction, then nods.

Kaz nods at Luke. "Check. Now then," she adds, sweeping the assembly, "Anyone else?"

Alicia nods her head and steps forward with a slight clear of her throat. Her eyes turn towards Kaz.

Reggie steps forward again, with more throat-clearing, "Ehm-ehm. I've also claimed--", he pauses, for drama, then continues, "The eldership of my tribe. I'd say something about how people can challenge me for that as well, but", he grins, "You need to be qualified for it."

Kaz tells Reggie, "Check. You needa be Uktena, f'one thing." Then she nods at Alicia. "Yo?"

Three-Blades' ears splay in amusement at Reggie, before glancing over towards Alicia. The no-moon bumps Anneka again with a headbutt, for good measure, as it to make sure she's still there.

"I'm letting you know that I've stepped up and challenged Storm-Singer Rhya, Fostern of the Shadow Lords, for rank among our people." Alicia says, bobbing her head as she glances towards Jarred. "Just making it official for the Sept to hear."

Jarred nods and looks up. "She has, and I have accepted. Per our agreement, the terms of the challenge shall be disclosed in one week's time, to be judged when next we moot for challenges."

Judges-Souls moves into the area quietly, coming up behind Fights-For-Hope and Jaedagh. The near sable wolf turns her ice-blue eyes towards the speaker for a moment before she butts the elder Fenrir with her nose.

The metis says, "Rock the casbah," and looks around again. "Anyone else?" Seeing no one else, her gaze rivets onto Salem. "Awright. You're up. Lemme quote Susan, here. 'There are always judgements that must be made in a sept of this size.'" It's a credible imitation of the now-gone Fianna. "'Find one and be prepared, at the next moot, to present both the situation and your decision to a panel of four garou. Two will be of the half moon like yourself, one must answer the call of the Galliard, and one will be born to the darkness like myself. They will question your decision, and you will defend your answers. If, in the end, they all agree that the situation was worthy of the challenge and that your decision was the correct one, you pass.'" Th' Garou in question are Layne, Anneka, Jarred, and Helen. You got somethin' to judge?"

Tatt emerges from the shade of the forest in Homid, ink-marked hands tucked into jeans pockets. The haggard Strider loiters at the edge of the clearing with an outsider's slouch, observing the event.

Fights-For-Hope notes the arrival of the newly rited Get of Fenris with a rubbing upon the lupine's neck.

Salem nods curtly to Kaz. "I do. At the request of Susan Tempered-Blade herself."

Kaz says, determindly casual, "'Kay. And that request was...?"

Stalks-Silence likewise melts out of the forest, in Lupus and heading for Alicia, the only person she really recognises apart from Salem.

Alicia sinks down to her knees and pulls Stalks close to her, smiling and giving the Lupine a stroking over the ears.

Fights-For-Hope turns his muzzle briefly towards the new arrival and chuffs a greeting towards the Gaian cub before regarding the Alpha with an even stare once more.

Salem unfolds his arms and, turning his head slightly, addresses the Garou of the panel as much as the Mistress of the Challenge. "Susan asked me to judge the actions of her alpha, Andrea Drinks-Deeply-of-the-Bitter-Cup, who left the Sept in order to heed the call of her mother, a world-warper who claims to serve Gaia."

Judges-Souls squints her eyes briefly as she looks to the elder Fenrir. Stiffly, she weights from one paw to the next before coming to a still right as Salem speaks.

Kaz puts one arm around the tree and leans forward. She nods, listening.

Sith-Fhuil straightens some as the actual challenge begins, trailing her focus evenly between the Master of the Challenge, and the Alpha. An ear flicks, and she waits.

Three-Blades flicks her ears backwards. A Namer, she rumbles ambivalently, looking from the Sept Alpha to his own Challenge judges.

Anneka watches, drinking everything in. She cants her head, one eye bright, the other naught but scars.

Jarred listens to the Alpha carefully, his dark eyes revealing nothing of his inner thoughts, however. At least, not at this point.

Salem inhales a deep breath and shifts upward into Crinos, speaking the Mother Tongue with an air of formality that suits the judgement of a high-ranked Garou. ~It was not an easy judgement to make, the least of which due to the absense of the one being judged and the lack of information in regards to the case. Drinks-Deeply-rhya is a Theurge of Adren rank and known for her wisdom. The warper, she claimed at Moot, was missing for some time, and the task to which she called her Garou daughter to was one that Andrea believed was important to our war to save Gaia. However... her departure, and the departure of her pack, has left a gap in the Sept's power. Drinks-Deeply-rhya knew many Rites which are now lost to us. It was she and her pack, along with Reforged, who were _vital_ in helping us win back the caern last summer. It could be said, in fact, that in leaving the Sept, Drinks-Deeply-rhya has put the caern itself in danger, for if we were attacked now as we were last summer, we would have little chance of victory.~ He takes a breath before continuing.

Jarred continues to listen intently. At the mention of the former Alpha's mother and her nature, he seems to perk up slightly.

~There is, too,~ Salem continues, ~the chance that the warper is no longer serving Gaia. But I cannot judge the warper, and I cannot judge what _might_ be or what _may_ happen. The facts are that the caern has not fallen and not been violated, and that though it hurts the Sept not to have Drinks-Deeply-rhya's knowledge and wisdom, we are not destroyed by its lack. So, my judgement is that she is innocent of litany violation, and indeed can be said to be upholding that _other_ law, to 'combat the Wyrm wherever it dwells and wherever it breeds.'~ He frowns. ~That being said, she did leave us, and in some haste, without preparing a replacement. So, although she is innocent of wrongdoing, it is my determination that, should she return, she not be accepted into any future leadership role within this Sept. Such requires dedication. So I judge.~ He looks expectantly at the panel of four, awaiting comments and questions.

Kaz says, quietly, "Huh." Then glances around.

Reggie scratches a scab off his chin as his piggish eyes fixiate on the panel.

Jeadagh shifts in place somewhat, possibly having a question of his own on the matter, but he keeps quiet for the time being, waiting to see what the panel asks.

Jarred speaks after a long moment. "If, as you say, Drinks-Deeply should be excluded from any possibility of future leadership, then how will she be permitted to impart her vast mystical knowledge, if and when she returns. Should she simply huddle in a shack in the woods, waiting for someone to come and learn from her? Knowledge is power, and power implies authority..."

Scar cocks his head, fixing a golden eye on Jarred. ~What I mean,~ the Philodox says, ~is that she's not to be our Alpha, our Warder, our Master of the Rite, or any such official role within the Sept. Such honors, and they _are_ honors, have an onus of responsibility.~

Time to play Devil's Advocate. Sith-Fhuil's mass nearly doubles as she takes to hispo, and levels her gaze with Scar. She regards him a moment, before angling her muzzle upward and asking gruffly, eyes narrowed, ~There is the /chance/ that the warper is no longer serving Gaia? We /know/ that the Wyrm has dwelled and bred here... But it sounds as if Drinks-Deeply-rhya took her support, and that of an /entire pack/, what was essentially the Silver Pack, to chase a 'maybe.' And our sept was left in uphevil... Can her decision to seek out the possibility of taint in her mother /really/ balance the rift her absence has left here? Did she not make a choice that might very well leave our caern to be violated? We have barely recovered from before...~

Three-Blades swivels an ear towards Anneka, the other pinging around to the other voices in coodination with her eyes to take in the Mother Tongue. The Shadow Walker remains silent, though she has her own questions that form.

Anneka draws herself up straight, though she's still set there on the ground, not far from Three-Blades. "There's always a time when you have to make a choice without thinking much," she says, her voice rusty and wolfish though she wears the homid's skin. "And we all have to make choices like that. But when you're the Alpha, your choices touch the whole Sept. When you're Garou, you know you could die for Mother tomorrow. There wasn't someone to take her place." She reaches up to rub her nose. "Part of making hard choices is planning for them before they happen. But there wasn't someone to take her place, still."

Jarred says "There are always garou to take the place of those who depart. What if Drinks-Deeply had died and left behind her empty position? Would we be punishing her in memorium for having left us in such a vulnerable state? For my part, I'm uncertain as to why we should second guess the wisdom and judgement of the Alpha, simply because she has left our immediate presence..."

Scar turns to Sith-Fhuil, one clawed finger raised. ~Drinks-Deeply-rhya did not believe that her mother had fallen to the Wyrm. Nor, in her knowledge, would this person call for her help for any but the most dire and important of missions. She acted to serve Gaia. I do not judge her in light of her pack's choice to leave with her, because it was that... _their_ choice. She did not ask them to leave with her. And I haven't been asked to judge the whole of Circle-Snake, only Drinks-Deeply-rhya.~ Then he turns to nod to Anneka. ~Yet she did nothing that is prohibited by the Litany. She is not a criminal, but she is not a good leader, which is why I judge her unfit to hold any position within the Sept of the Hidden Walk. Unfit as leader, but not a criminal.~

Scar cocks his head at Jarred. ~She did not die in her service as Alpha. She abandoned the position. These are two different things.~

Kaz glances around. "Anyone else got questions?"

Anneka lowers her hand, one green eye bright and sharp. "There's a lot of not knowing. Maybe it's right to go and help her mother, maybe not, maybe it'll help us fight the Wyrm. There's a lot we know-- We fought here to save this ground, for Mother, for us. We know what happened here, what can happen. She can go, but the Alpha should know what's left behind. Protect it, even if she's gone." She rasps at the last, her voice fades, then comes back. Here is someone unused to speaking, speaking a lot. "But she left." She glances at Jarred. "It's up to us to step up when we see somethin' important not getting done. It's up to her to make it so there'd be someone to take her place." She takes a breath. "It's right that she shouldn't be Alpha. It's right she should come back. We can find out why she left the way she did, learn what she learned."

Helen shakes her head in response to Kaz's question.

The additional details from Scar seem to satisfy the Fianna halfmoon's questions, and with an eventual nod, the enormous wolf rolls back onto her haunches. She still listens intently, however, focus rapt on the Judge.

Jeadagh asks, ~May we ask questions, or only those who will be judging?~

Kaz nods at Luke. "Go to it, dude."

Scar folds his arms across his chest, remarkably composed considering the circumstances -- his challenge, his moon, his rage, the form he wears. His attention turns toward Luke.

Jeadagh looks to Salem, ~As you said when you began, the one you pass judgment upon is no longer here, and will not be again for months or years, if ever. Given that, what makes the judgment you have passed worthy of a challenge for Fostern? Had you found her guilty, there would be no way to pass sentence, and what punishment was handed down may or may not ever take effect.~

~Would we be here judging her still, had Circle-Snake died in fighting the Wyrm?~ Three-Blades pipes in rhetorically. She does however admit Luke's point. ~Perhaps it is a testing reflection of Salem's own duties, now that he is Alpha.~

~The challenge was for a judgement that was worthy of a Fostern Philodox,~ Scar replies to Luke. ~The judgement of an Adren Garou, not to mention one who was the leader of the Sept, is always of significance. Also, it was Tempered-Blade-rhya who gave me the terms of my challenge and she who, also, put to me the question of judging her alpha's actions. Thirdly and finally...~ He gestures toward Jamethon. ~What goes on here, the spirits witness. Whether she is here or no, she is judged, and whereever she goes, it will be known in the Umbra.~

Kaz looks around. "Anyone else, or can I send the panel off t'huddle?"

Fights-For-Hope nods towards the alpha, ~The spirits witness,~ is all he says on the matter.

Jarred shakes his head, indicating he has nothing further.

At the edge of the clearing, Tatt lowers herself to a crouch, leaning back against a tree-trunk. She watches wordlessly.

Jeadagh seems content enough with this answer, having nothing further to add, himself.

Anneka shakes her head as well.

Sith-Fhuil has bled down into lupus, silent. She has nothing further.

Kaz says, "Well, then, y'all, /huddle/. Vote. It gotta be unanimous if you want him t'win."

Reggie raises his voice with a "Ehm". "If--when she comes back, and she gets to present her side of things, are you going to keep this judgement?"

Anneka rolls up onto her feet and stands. A few pine needles stick to her pullover. She looks at the other members of the panel.

Scar considers Reggie's remark, then nods. ~It stands. Even if her mission is a worthy one, she still left us in haste, abandoning her position as Alpha without first establishing a suitable replacement, or even making sure that necessary Rites would still be known after she left. Like the Rite to Open the Inner Sky, at Moot.~ The Philodox looks wry.

Kaz nods to herself.

Fights-For-Hope offers to Salem. ~Did she not speak at that final moot, that should one need to learn a ritual she possessed, that person should come to her. That then, speaks of her desire to still help /her/ Sept after her leaving.~

Scar flicks an ear. ~Desire, perhaps, but there were no rites taught, as far as I know. And her pack left rather soon after the Moot.~

Three-Blades rumbles quietly at that, before getting up and moving so that the panel can huddle without her overhearing and such.

Fights-For-Hope nods to this. ~Still, the offer was made. The issue could have been pressed. The fact remains that the fault is on more than just Drinks-Deeply-Of-The-Bitter-Cup.~

Sith-Fhuil pushes to all fours and joins the others of the panel. She can be heard to murmur-rumble to the other three, but her words are for them alone.

Anneka sits down on the grass, once more, not far from Sith-Fhuil. She looks to Jarred and Helen, quiets her own voice to confer as well.

Scar shrugs massive shoulders and speaks evenly. ~She still abandoned her position and the Sept, Fights-for-Hope. She did not die, or retire due to age, or step down in favor for a worthy successor. She _left_, and with haste.~

Fights-For-Hope nods once more, ~This one does not disagree with you, Alpha of the Hidden Walk. I point out thoughts not yet mentioned. Good luck.~ he says the last as he drops down to the lupine form and moves back to sit with his tribe and future packmates.

Tatt tilts her head, silver eyes flashing as she eyes the Get from afar. She returns her attention to the sept's Alpha, impassively.

Scar flicks an ear in acknowledgement to the Get of Fenris Theurge, then looks over at the conferring panel. His ears twitch back, then cant forward again as he composes himself, awaiting their decision.

Kaz, meanwhile, fidgets.

Alicia continues to watch as she sits next to Stalks-Silence, curiously surveying the four who has yet to judge.

Reggie scratches scabs off his nose as he rests easily, awaiting the outcome.

After a time of speaking quiet, Anneka rolls up to her feet, her back straight though her scarred arm sets canted at her side. She takes a breath, her voice rough-edged, though clear enough for the others to hear. "We decided," she says. "Salem judged true."

Kaz looks, it must be said, briefly startled, and then shoots a thumb's up. "Rockin'." She jumps down from the tree, and regards the Walker. "Salem..." Suddenly, she's all formality. "My sincerest congratulations. Yuf."

Three-Blades throws back her head to howl out congratulations in a general tone.

Helen grins at Salem. "Congrats," she says.

Sith-Fhuil offers a quick bark to the newly Fostern Alpha. Congratulations!

Scar's eyes gleam, and he lets out a breath that he hadn't even been aware he was holding. Shrinking down into human form, he inclines his head to Kaz, then to the four Garou of the panel. Though his expression remains controlled, almost deadpan, there's a definite glint in the newly-Fostern Walker's eyes. "Thank you for your time," he says to the four.

Fights-For-Hope offers a few quick yipping howls in congratulations.

Jarred throws a stick at Fights... one he hadn't realized he was holding.

Stalks-Silence follows James' suggestion, lifting her muzzle in a /proper/ howl of congratulations, encouraging others to join in.

Reggie pauses in his nose-scratching as the huddle ends, and he looks slightly disappointed, and he shrugs, "Kinda bloodless. I suppose less work for the healers, this way."

Fights-For-Hope snaps his head to the side and snags the stick in his mouth, a lupine's almost preternatural sense of when a fetching object is thrown being shown. ~You wish to play, Shadow Lord?~ he offers dropping the stick at his side.

Jarred shakes his head and joins in the howl.

Anneka rocks back on her heels, her filthy toes splayed out. She dips her chin to the new Alpha, then tucks her hands in her pullover's pockets and tilts her head back. She howls, bright and rough-edged, joins in with Three-Blades and the others.

Kaz belts out a homid sort of howl and then climbs back up the tree. "This shindig's over, 's far as I'm concerned. Congrats, dude."

Jarred glances over to Kaz. "Have I ever told you what an effect your eloquence has upon your lessers, Bone Gnawer?"

Kaz says, cheerfully, to Jarred, "Probably disgusts the hell out of 'em. You got a point?"

Helen can't help but snicker at Kaz and Jarred's exchange. "She's a Gnawer," she tells Jarred, "and so doesn't have to be eloquent at all. If she was I think I'd be scared."

"Thank you," Salem says to Kaz. One corner of his mouth has quirked upward at all the howls in his honor, but he keeps his cool and simply settles into an aura of quiet self-satisfaction.

Jarred smiles ingratiatingly. "My point? I merely wish to offer my services as tutor. Someone in your position needs an element of statesmanship and diplomacy..."

Fights-For-Hope snorts at this and turns to regard Luke and Erika. ~Any place you have to be, Master of the Rite?~

Anneka lets her howl fade in time, scrunches her nose up and rubs at her throat. Then she turns about and reaches for Three-Blades, ruffles her ears and ruff with grubby hands.

Amidst all the howling and congratulations, Tatt rises from her place at the edge of the clearing and half-smiles to herself. Tucking hands back into pockets, she turns and makes her way soundlessly into the forest again.

Kaz shakes her head minutely as she stares at Jarred, and then she bursts out laughing. Eventually, she straightens, and says, in a startlingly good Philadelphia Main Line accent, "My good sir, I am quite capable, when the situation requires nothing but statesmanship, to produce the proper amounts of decorum. I, however, feel that most situations do not require such an endeavor." There's a pause. Then she grins, warm, bright, happy. Back to her regular accent, she asks, "Capiche, dude?"

Fights-For-Hope suddenly jerks his head around towards Kaz and snorts out laughter, quickly stiffled, at Kaz.

Anneka just grins.

Alicia starts to laugh, shaking her head and making her way off back to the Farmhouse. "G'night guys."

Helen laughs rather loudly at Kaz's imitation. When she recovers, she waves to the departing Alicia. "Bye, little sister," she calls.

Jarred chuckles as well. "I could teach a parrot to speak in French, but that doesn't mean they're ready to lecture at the Louvre, my dear Gnawer."

Kaz's grin remains. "You teach me diplomacy, I teach you th' virtues of casualness?"

Jarred nods. "Absolutely."

Jeadagh replies to Fights, ~Time for my evening patrol, actually. Once I've finished that, though, I am free. Or the two of you could accompany me?~

Kaz sticks a hand out. "You got it, dude."

Fights-For-Hope chuffs an affirmative at the answer. This one was going to ask you to accompany him in the same.

Jarred takes it and nods. "Your first lesson is Friday evening. Shadow's End. Don't be late."

Kaz quirks a grin. "Be there or be square?" She nods. "Anyways, I gotta git. Catch you folks later?"

Three-Blades nips at Anneka's hand before she makes a note. Dancing-Fighter is on her Rite. I must return to the city to check on her.

Anneka looks over to Kaz, grinning still. She nods twice.

Reggie makes his unstealthy way out, going by the new Master of the Rite to mumble something about the patrol schedules not suiting him.

Anneka then looks back to Three-Blades. "I can go with you," she says, quiet. "Goin' that way."

Jarred shifts into his own wolf-form and disappears into the night.

Jeadagh shifts to hispo, since he's already on all fours, starting toward his usual circuit.

Helen, too, departs, off...somewhere.

The Gnawer no-moon chuffs an agreement with the philodox. On the way, you can tell me about your adventures, she says, indicating that she'll start the way back.

Anneka reaches up to rub an ear, push her curly, sandy hair away from her eye. "I walked to the ocean," she says, which sounds like the start of a story.

Fights-For-Hope moves off with his newly rited tribes mate right behind Jeadagh.

----------------------------------------------

Later...

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 normally perceptive Strider Galliard is lost to the world; the simple scales shift abruptly into a mournful Celtic standard as Tatt braces both bare feet against the earth. One can almost smell the rocky shoreline and see the green of a faraway land.

Tobin turns as Kaz comes in and greets her with a silent nod, turning into a respectful half-bow before he turns back to watching Tatt. He remains just inside the circle of firelight, as Tatt remains just outside of it.

Kaz's grin is practically palpable as she nods at Tobin, and sidles closer to him. But she doesn't interrupt Tatt.

Salem steps into the clearing a few moments after Kaz, pausing for a moment to take in the scene. His head cocks slightly and he regards Tatt quietly.

Who knows how long it takes for the melody to wind into silence--a minute, a lifetime? Tatt holds her stance until the last note fades on the air, and then lifts her head as though startled by her unexpected audience. The Strider's eyes flash a strange bright silver, instead of their usual dark gold. She blinks once, then quickly regains composure as she seats herself by the fire. Fidgeting intently with some knob on the fiddle.

Kaz jerks a thumb at Tobin. "He was all quiet. So I stayed all quiet. But hi there."

Tobin grins a little at Kaz's comment, then sits himself down across the fire from Tatt. "Hello Tatt," he says quietly. "How are you feeling?"

Salem's mouth quirks into a crooked grin as he walks over to join the others near the firepit. The newly Fosterned Alpha has dropped a bit of the terribly controlled formality he kept himself to during the challenge moot and right afterward, but still has that air of feline satisfaction about him.

Tatt sniffs dryly, glancing up at the impromptu gathering with those odd silver eyes before turning her attention back to her instrument. The instrument gleams with a liquid dark-blue finish in the firelight. "Like I had an intimate encounter with a Mack truck," she admits in a hoarse rasp, entirely deadpan.

Kaz asks Tobin, practically out of the side of her mouth, "You hear the news?" before adding, to Tatt, "Sorry I, um, kinda lamed on being an actual /fighter/, there..."

Tobin nods soberly at the Strider, accepting her answer seriously. "So did I, for a few days after the ritual," he says, then frowns as if trying to remember something. "Oh yes, there was something about an ice giant..." he trails off and glances up at Kaz, eyebrows raised. It's then that he notices Salem. He gets to his feet to bow with eyes lowered to the sept Alpha. "Good evening, Alpha," he says respectfully.

"Evening," Salem replies, with a nod to the young Groundskeeper. He turns a sidelong look at Kaz. "So, tell me... how in Gaia's name were you able to dig Jarred out of hiding?" His tone is full of dry humor.

Tatt coughs once or twice, glancing between the trio. Her expression is unreadable as she inclines her head towards Salem. The normally gregarious Galliard isn't too talkative tonight, as she sits by the fire.

Hope-Star has not been seen since the last of the demons bled out Tatt's eyeballs, although lupus noses will detect her ghosting in the forest nearby. She has been keeping an eye on her troublesome tribesmate from afar, licking her wounds where Tatt will not see the worst of them. But she has appeared at the foot of one of the trees, dipping her gaze a fraction to Salem with the faintest pleased twitch of the tail. Quietly she trots up beside Tatt's elbow, in the silence following the fiddle's tune.

Kaz jerks another thumb, this time at Salem. "He ain't no cliath no more." She's practically bouncing. Then she shrugs at the Philodox. "I dunno, he kinda figured it was worth his while. I think he wanted to slap that diplomacy crap on me so bad, he figured actually hangin' out with his Septmates was worth th' pain."

Tobin double-takes at the double dose of surprising news. "Jarred came out for something?" he says, then looks even more surprised at Kaz's news. He grins widely and bows again to Salem. "Congratulations, Rhya," he says warmly. "You deserve it. And it's only fitting to have a Fostern as the sept Alpha," he says thoughtfully. He doesn't hear Sepdet approach.

Salem utters a short, curt chuckle -- one brief 'heh'. "Well, Konstantin will have someone to give chiminage to, at least..." He nods to Tobin, hands buried in his pockets. "Moreso than a Cliath holding the reins, at least." Glancing sidelong toward Tatt, he spots Sepdet and dips his head to her.

Kaz mutters, "Jarred came out awhile ago. But yeah, he was here. Who th' fuck's Konstantine?" Then she brightens. "Hey, it's Sepdet. What a concept."

Tatt doesn't hear her tribesmate's approach, but seems to sense it; she looks sidelong at the tiny black lupus, and seems to abort a gesture to reach out and touch the theurge's fur. She automatically and visibly becomes more at ease, however. Posture loosening, she keeps one ear on the conversation as she quietly tunes the fiddle.

Small as a fox, sleek and black on lithe thin legs, it's no wonder the unobservant may still take her for a cub at first glance. Oh, but not the second, if she meets your gaze with eyes intent and fearless, a fire smouldering deep within. She holds herself with the self-contained assurance of elder and alpha, one who has earned well the many scars that crisscross her sparse black pelt and the Egyptian Eye burned into her breastbone. Old injuries may account for the occasional muscle twitch or stumble that blasphemes her nimble-footed grace.

"Ragabash Shadow Lord," Salem explains to Kaz. "Green and fresh from his Rite of Passage, it seems. Eager, if a bit ingratiating sometimes." Shrugging, he takes a seat on one of the logs near the firepit, his gaze turning toward the pair of Silent Striders.

Kaz says, "Huh. /Lords/." There is a certain tone there, though a suppressed one. "I'll make sure t'say hey t'him, sometime."

Hope-Star circles halfway around Tatt, sniffing as if still half expecting some hidden pocket of ick to break out. She noses the Galliard's elbow, remarking under the general ebb and flow of conversation: why can't you find some way to live that doesn't involve dying when my back's turned? I'm going to have to start taking you with me. They deserve /us/, but I don't think you deserve them.

So saying, the theurge curls up with muzzle propped on Tatt's knee, subdued as well. Ears flicker at the news drifting back and forth, but the Seer is preoccupied.

Tobin's eyebrows go up. "A new Shadow Lord? I shall have to meet him," he says decisively, then turns around to see what everyone's looking at. His face lights up when he sees Sepdet. "Good evening, Rhya," he says to her.

"Perhaps we can salvage him before he turns too dark and Thundery," Salem says to Kaz, with dry and deadpan good humor.

Tatt glances down at the tiny theurge bemusedly, and murmurs simply, ~I don't.~ She sets the fiddle aside to lay a calloused hand between Hope-Star's ears, and listens.

Kaz shoots a smile that's almost a grin at Salem, and then hitches her coat on again. "I oughta git. Catch you folks on the flip side." She wanders off through the woods, whistling.

Hope-Star exhales, some of the tension and formality easing out of her compact frame. She's in post-McNugget stage right now, the fur starting to grow back. An ear flicks at Kaz as the Gnawer heads out.

Salem lifts one hand in farewell to the Gnawer Galliard, then turns back to the trio.

Tobin calls a soft farewell to Kaz and turns a wry look at Salem. "I rescued one of their cubs once and she was turning out alright last I saw her. I don't know if there's anything we can do for one who's already gone past his Rite of Passage, though."

Salem shrugs faintly. "He knows how to act respectfully, at least. A good deal less irritating than I was at his age." One of the hot dog roasting sticks is nearby, and he picks it up and uses it as a poker for the fire.

Hope-Star isn't sure he'll fit in, in that case.

Salem arches an eyebrow at Sepdet's comment, his expression quizzical.

The Galliard Strider, meanwhile, coughs dryly--almost concealing a chuckle. Owl humor. Go figure.

Tobin sits back down, making himself comfortable and once again studying Tatt. The comments of the others go right by him, however, as his thoughts are evidently elsewhere. "Tatt," he says after a little while. "I'd like to have another Cleansing. Just a small one." He's trying to sound confident, but can't quite manage it, as if he's unsure of how the news will be taken.

Tatt glances up, those silver eyes uncanny in the firelight. The Galliard's taken on a rather haunted countenance, ever since Cleansing. "Got nothin' to lose I guess, hey?" She lifts one shoulder in a shrug, her scarred voice hoarser than usual.

Salem says, deadpan, "No exploding giants this time, though, if you would, Groundskeeper."

Hope-Star cants ears towards Tobin and gives Tatt a rather pointed Look in response to her last comment, but simply stay where she is.

Tobin nods soberly at Salem. "I will endeavor to not have any untoward interruptions, Rhya," he says in tone that matches Salem's. He looks over at Tatt again, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I'd say you have much to lose, now, actually," he says levelly, unable to help a quick glance at Sepdet. "And I'd like to...fortify you, to see that you don't succumb again. Cleansings don't just cleanse, they can make you more able to resist Taint when you encounter it. And I don't want to lose you to it, either," he says, that last part coming out very softly.

The weary Galliard lets out a 'chuff' of breath, eyes fixed carefully on the instrument in her lap. "Donno why you bother, Theurge," she murmurs, almost to herself. Frowning, as she plucks at a few strings with her thumb.

"Tatt..." Salem looks up from his regard of the fire and eyeballs the Galliard. "Didn't we go over this already? Take the cleansing and accept that you're worth the effort. That's an order."

"Tatt," Tobin begins quietly. "Do you remember when I was a cub? I told you I didn't like the city, when you said you loved it. You told me you'd take me there, sneak me out one night and show me what you loved about the city. We never got to do that, but I remember it, and it made an impression on me." He pauses, sighs, then continues. "You're more than just a Garou who can be saved. More than just another body to carry on the fight. You're my friend, and that's why I bother." He looks down, then, and grabs a stick to poke at the fire with.

Tatt lifts her gaze to meet Salem's for a moment. Begrudgingly, she gives the Walker an abbreviated salute and turns her silver eyes back to Tobin. "You want that we should start right now, or what?"

Hope-Star watches the Silver Fang, for a moment thinking it's a ghost-in-residence speaking; but it's just the far-from-cub, and her tail sketches a quiet circle behind her.

Salem's smile is very faint, but it's there.

Tobin nods once at Tatt and stands. He pulls a small stainless steel flask from an inner coat pocket. Unscrewing the top, he splashes a few drops on his fingers, and then onto Tatt. The smell is, once again, of the water from the pool in the caern. "Gaia, Mother," he begins. "Cleanse us that we might be strong..."

The ritual goes smoothly, and afterwards all those involved feel a little cleaner, soul-wise. Maybe a little uplifted by the reaffirming of their connections to the pure aspects of Gaia. Tobin begs off in lieu of other duties when it's over, and disappears into the dark woods.

Salem, standing now -- having mainly played witness and guardian as the ritualists worked -- stretches, hands locked together at the back of his neck. "Much better than last time," he remarks.

Hope-Star is relaxed tonight, trusting the student who is already in some ways beginning to surpass former teacher; she simply acts as rock and anchor. And that she remains when the rite is finished, planted near the Galliard's side. It will be a good dawn: Sepdet, long gone from the sky, rises just before the sun. Her darker, more earthly cousin will have at least one pair of eyes to observe it with her, no doubt; in the meantime she keeps watch, keeps close, or dozes, still healing somewhat. Tatt has acquired a shadow again, more openly.

"No squirting black goo," the Strider Galliard agrees quietly after a time, stroking the fur of the sleeping Hope-Star with a fond glance.

"Or giants made of black ice," Salem replies. He looks at the pair of them for a moment, then settles back down next to the fire. "Thank you for coming to the challenge moot, by the way," he says, regarding Tatt with cocked head.

Tatt moves her hand away from the tiny Theurge, taking the fiddle in her lap again. "Had t'make sure you didn't make a fool of y'self," she points out dryly, smiling to herself with a flash of white teeth.

Salem snorts. "Of course." Taking up the improvised poker, he prods at the fire again. After a moment, he smiles faintly and eyes her. "I didn't do too badly, did I? I may be cut out for this Philodox business after all."

The Galliard lifts her posture, straightening as she sits cross-legged and tucks the fiddle under her chin. "I'd answer that," she rasps, looking at him sidelong, "But I don't think yer ego needs it, hey?" She pulls out a few quick notes with the bow, then goes back to re-tuning.

"Spoilsport," the Glass Walker chides, mildly. Her answer's good enough; he seems satisfied and lapses into a companionable silence, tending to the fire while she tends to the violin.

Silence seems to sit more easy with the Galliard these days; after a while, she looks up from the glossy blue finish of the violin, clearing her throat. "So," she rasps frankly. "Icewalker's former door-bitch halfmoon is Fostern and Alpha of the Hidden Walk. How's it feel?" Silver eyes watch him levelly, strange and familiar at the same time.

Salem looks up from the flames and at the Strider, his eyebrows rising. "'Door-bitch'?"

Tatt coughs once, clears her throat, and deepens her scarred voice to a fair imitation of the late John Smith's. She points imperiously towards an invisible door across the fire, and gruffs, "Answer that."

Salem stares for a moment more, then quirks a lopsided smirk. "Oh, I see. And, to answer your question, it feels rather good."

"...'Rather good', he says," the Galliard murmurs to herself, shaking her head incredulously. Tatt narrows one eye and points the bow at him. "Good thing you've got half'a the sept to celebrate for you, Eeyore." She sits up straight again, testing a few more notes.

"Renee's always bitching at me to delegate more," the Philodox retorts, smartly.

Tatt pulls out a long, low note and arches a brow at her former packmate. She's still weary around the edges, but there's a spark behind her eyes that might have been long-lost, once upon a time. "Careful, _hermano_," she murmurs. "Smiling ca cause cancer, y'know." The Galliard nods solemnly to herself, and clears her throat carefully. Preparing for something?

Salem replies with a dry, "I'll stop right away," and then lifts an eyebrow, looking quizzical.

The Galliard lets out a breath, closes her eyes, and the tuning-notes shift smoothly into a simple country melody, touched by a few exotic Middle-Eastern flourishes that are all Tatt's own. It's been a while since he's heard her voice: it's even rougher than before, grating from misuse. It still has that honest timbre and perfect pitch, though, as she sings:

"Stake my future on a hell of a past
Looks like tomorrow is coming on fast
Ain't complaining 'bout what I got
Seen better times, but who has not?"

"Silvio, silver and gold
Won't buy back the beat of a heart grown cold
Silvio, I gotta go
Find out something only dead men know..."

"I give what I got until I got no more
I take what I get until I even the score
You know I want and furthermore
When it's time to go you got an open door."

Cancer-warning or no, Salem smiles again, faintly, his eyes half-lidded like those of a satisfied cat. The firelight glows over them both, flickering and warm.

"I can tell you fancy, I can tell you plain
You give something up for everything you gain
Since every pleasure's got an edge of pain
Pay for your ticket and don't complain."

"One of these days, and it won't be long
Going down in the valley to sing my song
I will sing it loud, and sing it strong
Let the echo decide if I was right or wrong..."

"Silvio, silver and gold
Won't buy back the beat of a heart grown cold
Silvio, I gotta go...
Find out something only dead men know."

The tune is as simple as the words, but it's with a seasoned Galliard's skill that Tatt weaves a spell with the song. She lets it fade out gradually, giving way to the warm sounds of fire and the nocturnal forest.

Tatt bows her head and lowers the violin to her lap, holding hands over the strings. She simply sits there breathing, eyes closed.

Salem nods very slightly, when she's finished. He lets a moment or two of silence stretch out between them and then murmurs, "Definitely missed you, Martiya."

When she opens them, the Strider's eyes gleam clear and bright. "..Same here, _amigo_," she rasps. "Same here."