"We're a Sept of weirdos, misfits, and eccentrics."

[hazlogs]

It is currently 10:55 Pacific Time on Sun Mar 24 2019.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining lightly. The temperature is 38 degrees Fahrenheit (3 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric pressure reading is 30.21 and steady, and the relative humidity is 100 percent. The dewpoint is 38 degrees Fahrenheit (3 degrees Celsius.) For more detail, see: http://www.wunderground.com/cgi-bin/findweather/getForecast?query=98501

Currently the moon is in the waning Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (77% full).

(Caern: The Stone Firepit)
A subtle undulation of the land forms an curious, natural spiral in the open ground. One side of the formation rises to create a half-circle or crescent of earth surrounding and encompassing the spiral. The ground is littered with rock and flagstones, both large and small. Someone has carefully gathered up a trove of these and erected a clear fire pit. Flagstones with smooth surfaces have been laid along the upper lip of half circle of earth around the fire pit, turning it into a nice seating area. All debris and flammable material's been removed from within the spiral, and a fire has been laid. Just beyond the spiral's edge, wood has been collected and piled for future use. Surrounding this, the rugged walls of the canyon have been half buried by the Wyld surge, making the upper slope of the valley more gentle than it was before. Stands of Douglas fir and white pines mix with hemlock, lodgepole pines, and western larch trees to fill much of the open space, but the trees here are not nearly as dense as they are in the surrounding forests of the bawn. The sparse woods allows a partial view of the sky, and both sun and moonlight filter down to create enigmatic and beautiful shadow patterns on the forest floor. That floor is blanketed with a thick, soft rug of shed pine needles, lichen and leaf debris. The moss-covered relics of old, dead trees occasionally mark a place where once great sentinels loomed above.

The caern expands in two directions from here. The escarpment wall and raised dais form one point of the new triangle, while the center of the caern and its gigantic, Wyld-influenced tree marks the other. The only obvious way out of the caern is the valley slope that leads to the central bawn.

Ciuraq doesn't correct Snake, but instead sits there attentively listening to his quandry. She slowly nods her head, though in a way that almost makes it look like an alien gesture. "Qaa?" She says, in an 'is that so?' tone of voice. She reaches down to start drawing something in the moist earth with a forefinger, not really looking up at the considerably taller cliath. "You, um, must... eh... have some incli... incli... aptitude, yeah? Uktena cares about... cares about blood, but not much. More... um... is you... pitsaq', I mean 'are you' good fit. Mind for mysteries, nose for secrets."

(Ciuraq)
This Alaska Native woman stands an inch or two under five feet tall, and cuts a rather stout figure. The early thirty-something has broad shoulders and hips, which draws a square silhouette interrupted only by the feminine curves of her waist and chest. Muscular arms and thick legs contribute to this stocky look. Her round face has a small, broad nose, a wide mouth, and wide-set, almond shaped dark brown eyes with thin arching eyebrows. A faint scar runs along her lower left jaw, suggesting past injury. A series of facial tattoos, three sets of vertical lines, run from lip to chin. The lines run in pairs, with a third, dashed line, between each pair. Her thick black hair hangs to her waist, usually braided. In spite of her small stature, she can seem physically dominating, and possesses a unstopability usually reserved for locomotives or rampaging beasts.

She's wearing a qaspeq - a loose, hooded dress-like shirt of paisley blue, the pleated hem of which reaches the knees. A simple zigzag line decorates it, one yellow and one brown, circling a few inches above the hem, as well as the sleeves and hood. The pattern also outlines the curved pockets which dominate the front. Underneath, she wears thick dark brown pants and a pair of ankle high, heavy soled boots; brown at the bottom and white rimmed at the top. When the weather is wet, she also wears a hooded jacket of nearly transparent skins. It has a regular, strange bumpy texture. She wears a necklace made of smooth stone beads, and she has a small fur pouch on her hip, partially hidden under the shirt. It has a faint phenolic smell. She has an ornate bracelet on her left wrist, seemingly made of molded bone, and bearing a piece of the purest turquoise in the center. She favours her left leg slightly when she moves. Depending on what she's wearing, sometimes the whale fluke tattoos can be seen circling her collar bone, two in the front, two on her back. (+details set)

Ciuraq is crouched near Snake, in the damp rain of the morning. She's wearing a semi-transparent jacket that seems to function as a rain jacket.

Snake, meanwhile, is sitting looking soggy in the rain, his body facing towards the firepit while he himself is looking at Ciuraq. He's apparently been out here, in Homid or Glabro, for some time. "Drove the Theurges to distraction, ma'am," he admits. "Got told off for asking far too many questions about the Umbra and the spirits for an Ahroun where the Sept Elders could see. Ended up asking a friendly Theurge when no-one else was looking 'cause I couldn't /not/ want to know."

(Snake)
Six feet and ten inches tall, this guy is built like a professional wrestler, with broad shoulders, big muscles and a beard. Either he's in need of a damn good bath, he picked up a good tan, or he wasn't exactly white to start with, and his brown eyes don't disagree with that latter option. His hair is dark, long and greasy - what there is of it sticking out of the back of an everpresent bandana, at least - but at least his beard is kept neat and short. Although, given that face, it should probably be allowed to grow long and used as a veil.

With a pair of ratty black cargo pants, army surplus boots so big that anyone else would wear with a red nose, a black leather jacket with a snarling tusked spiked skull on the back, and a washed-many-times heavy metal band T-shirt straining across his torso, he looks the very epitomy of either 'biker' or 'roadie', possibly both. That's just reinforced by the steel chain he's using as a belt.

Salem slips down into the caern in wolf form looking unsurprisingly wet and a trifle bedraggled. He pauses just past the tree line to shake himself -- a good distance from the other two; he's not /rude/ -- and then snaps up into human form, his hair no less wet but his clothes relatively dry.

(Salem)
This lanky white kid is a couple of inches under six feet tall and looks to be around sixteen years old. His straight black hair is medium-length and shaggy; he's probably past due for a haircut. He's got a thin face with a beaky nose, thick eyebrows, and dark brown eyes. He's not a bad-looking youth, quite the opposite, but there's still something about him that makes most normal people uneasy, a feeling of potential violence, of predatory intensity.

Rumpled blue jeans, battered sneakers, and black t-shirts are his usual attire, along with a black hoodie for the colder weather and a black denim jacket over that.

Ciuraq takes a moment to process Snake's anecdote, before she offers a small smile, and reaches out and pats the ahroun on the arm. "Assirpaa." She says, tone of voice suggesting that it's a good thing. "'Seek Knowledge wherever you may.' Coul... could be spirit lands, could be magic, cou... could be medicine? All good knowledge. This... this is core of..." She cuts off when she notices the lanky teenaged Salem arrive. The young woman squints for a moment, before spreading into another faint smile. "Waqaa!" She calls over, with a bit of a wave.

Snake looks reassured by the pat on the arm, and smiles at the words he can understand. "That's... something I can do, ma'am," he says, sounding relieved. And when Ciuraq notices Salem, he looks over in that direction too, offering the youth a smile of greeting, one that says he has no idea what Ciuraq just said. "Hey, kid," he offers to Salem.

Salem sketches a loose salute to Ciuraq and returns her smile in kind. "Long time no see." His gaze flicks to Snake, then back to Ciuraq. "Friend of yours?"

"Four years. Long time." Ciuraq replies, before he asks his follow up question. She seems confused for a moment, before catching on to what Salem is asking. She glances at Snake, shaking her head. "Nuu." She replies, in a breezy tone of voice. "He... uh... is new to the sept. Met Jamethon, yesterday." Her English is nearly back to where it had been fifteen years prior; she must have been using it. She stops drawing in the earth, and pushes up to stand, folding her arms.

Snake nods. "Only got here a few days back," he says to Salem. He glances down at what Ciuraq drew, then up - or perhaps over - at the woman herself before looking to Salem again. "Name's Snake. Known as Hunted-Elk-Takes-Down-the-Hunters, Homid Cliath Ahroun of the Uktena."

"Jack Salem, called Scar. Adren Philodox of the Glass Walkers." The youth introduces himself simply, with no special emphasis on the rank. "Welcome to the Triquetral Accord." He rakes fingers back through shaggy wet hair, then absently shakes water drops off his fingers.

Ciuraq's drawing is pure doodled nonsense, simple geometric figures repeated in meaningless patterns. She remains silent as the two introduce themselves, popping her hood up to keep her head just a little bit more dry. "Slug says, uh, I should pinch you." She finally remarks to Salem, once the introductions are done. "I think probably not."

Snake blinks at Salem's introduction, then dips his head to the youth. "Thank you, sir," he says, "And sorry for the disrespect." But aside from a couple more strange looks, the big Ahroun falls silent. Brand new Cliaths in the presence of unfamiliar Adrens and Athros can do that.

Salem waves off Snake's apology; it's obviously no big deal. Ciuraq gets a raised eyebrow. "Pinch me?"

Ciuraq gives an awkward looking shrug, as if to say 'hell if I know' in response to Salem. "I, uh, did... did not ge... um, unde... Understand it either." She admits. She takes a few steps closer to Salem, unfolding her arms. She considers her words for a moment, before asking, "How 've you... you know... been?"
Salem shifts his weight back onto one foot and folds his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. "Not especially enjoying the second adolescence. Otherwise, keeping busy. Things have been fairly quiet lately, but there's always shit to do, ne?" He shrugs. "How're you?"

Snake listens quietly, relaxing a little at Salem's waving off of his error; Salem's mention of a second adolescence has his eyes widening, but that's most of his reactions as he watches the two senior Garou interacting.

"War against Pebble Mine, uh, goes well. We, um, kill their... kill their masters, make them unsafe... you know, walk the tundra. Kin fight against their money, cha... change laws." She pauses a moment, before she adds, "We... we may win." There's a note of wonder, like victory was the last thing she expected. Ciuraq then looks between the two for a moment, hesitating for a few beats before adding, "I, um, had a daughter." A beat passes, before she adds, "She, uh, will... will be a story keeper." There's pride there, but also hesitation, like she doesn't know how the news will be recieved.

Salem's eyebrows go up; a moment later he grins. "Congratulations! How old is she?"

Snake listens to the news about Pebble Mine, with a smile for the idea that Ciuraq may win. And then there's the other news. "Congratulations, ma'am," he adds to Salem's words, with a warm smile.

Ciuraq relaxes slightly when Salem's reaction isn't... well, whatever she was half-expecting. "Year, ten months." She says, a soft grin spreading across her face. "She... eh, is back home. Wit' family." And then, like she can't help but volunteer more info about her kid: "Flo. Florence Mayuqin Aketachunak. Miss her... makes me wish, uh, I was not as... you know... um... warrior. Did not feel the grandmother's pain as much. So I could... could spend mo' time." She adds wistfully.

Salem nods. "That's the bitch of it, isn't it? The thing that makes us fight better keeping us from being better caregivers." He rubs the side of his nose.

Snake exhales heavily. "Yeah, got all that to look forward to," he says, as though he's not looking forward to it at all.

Ciuraq bobs her brow, emphatically agreeing with Salem. "Ii-i." She makes a lopsided face, and blows out a breath. "Give... uh, give me more to fight for. At least." She says with a helpless shrug. Snake's tone gets an odd look from the athro, like she doesn't quite follow his meaning. She shoots the younger ahroun a questioning look.

Salem tilts a look over at Snake as well. "You get used to it," he says, with another shrug.

"Kids," Snake clarifies for Ciuraq. "Far as I know I ain't got any yet." And then to Salem, a nod. "Ain't like there's much choice," he agrees.

Ciuraq's eyes narrow just so slightly and purses her lips at the 'as far as I know' bit, but the athro withholds further comment to Snake. The judgemental expression is quick to pass.

Snake looks up to Ciuraq with a shrug. "Used to be a roadie," he says to her. "Left that life behind with my first change. Always took precautions so far as I remember, but Mom took precautions and here I am anyways."

Ciuraq purses her lips, giving an awkward little shrug like to dismiss the point. She starts to say something in Yup'ik before she shakes her head. "I see." Nooo judgement there, nope. Then, a few moments later, "Why come to... come to the... Triquetral Accord?" It takes her a couple of tries to say 'Triquetral Accord' right.

"Looking for Uktena, ma'am," Snake replies to Ciuraq. "Grand Elder back at my old Sept knows someone up here, so knew there was Uktena up here. She sent me up with her blessings and a map so's I could run some errands on the way up." He doesn't seem overly bothered about the judgement, all told - but then he's probably used to that. Huge hairy bikers aren't generally accepted into normal society with warm welcomes, after all.

Ciuraq considers for a moment, before counting off on her fingers. "Snakepatcher... Copperhead... is Gather the Restless here?" She notably doesn't count herself on that list. After a few moments of false starts, she finally manages, "... more at Sept of Two Stumps."

Snake nods. "And if there's no-one willing to teach me here, ma'am, and I don't get instructed otherwise, I'll go look there," he says. "Just that this was the best place the Gnawers knew of to look for Uktena - and the one they had a contact at to send me to."

Ciuraq's brow furrows slightly, the small Uktena shifting her weight and folding her arms as she asks, "Teach you?" She looks up and down the cliath for a moment, "What... what kind of... teach you?"

"How to be a proper Uktena," Snake replies, "For a start, anyways."

Salem has moved off a little way to let the two Uktena talk a bit more privately; he checks on the stone firepit, then moves on toward the impossible tree at the caern's center.

(Caern: The Center Tree)
The center of the caern is devoid of the thick vegetation that inhabits the rest of the forest. The ground is flat and well trodden, its rich, dark soil nonetheless still carrying the scent of the woods--moss and peat mixed with pine needles, detritus, and the dampness brought from life-giving rain. The wide, empty clearing is dominated by one living exception to the absence of vegetation: an impossibly gigantic and ancient tree growing out of the ground near the very center. The tree defies logic. Grown in the span of a single year, it nevertheless has the size, apparent age, and character of the greatest and most ancient of forest sentinels. It looms over everything, silent and watchful. The backdrop to this commanding presence is almost as remarkable. Spanning the entire length of the old caern's chasm and completely encompassing the southern half is a colossal remnant of the wasp nest built during the Wyld surge. The towering walls of the nest are as strong as the earth into which they're built, their surface smooth to the touch and colored in shaded swirls of beiges, browns, yellows, and reds in a hypnotizing, pleasing way. Oval shapes bulge from the wall in places, while others sinks inward, giving the whole thing a haphazard air.
The caern's triangle extends out from here in two directions. On one side, the escarpment wall with its natural dais can be seen. The opposite side holds the stone firepit.

(The Caern Tree)
The tree's trunk is enormous--as big around as any millennia old Sequoia and perhaps just as tall. Yet it's not a Sequoia. Or is it? The tree's species is impossible to decipher, as it often looks different from one view to the next, or from one person to the next. In one moment it might appear to have the distinctive, gnarled look of an ancient oak, and in another one might swear it had the weeping, draped green of a spread willow, or the unforgettable reddish color of a cedar. The only thing everyone can agree upon where the tree is concerned is that it is definitely huge. Its roots expand out from the great trunk, rising above and sinking deep into the earth while stretching out almost the enter length of the open clearing. Their massive, twisted limbs snake in and out amongst each other, lending them an uncanny resemblance to the garou's Wyld glyph. Hidden amongst the tree's wood are various small stones and rocks. These poor relics were, no doubt, swept up during the tree's violent birth, and now they have become an irrevocable part of it. Some are natural, glittering quartz, but a few carry old scratchings, marks, and paintings, showing them to be remnants of the old caern's stone cairn. From one moment to the next, the silent giant is never the same as it was, and yet it is always here, and seemingly always will be--an unmoving witness to everything.

From the stone firepit, Ciuraq takes a moment to parse the other's meaning, before she starts breaking into a wry smile. "Eh, proper?" She says, mangling the word. "G... uh... I cannot help... you know... there. 'Proper Uktena.'" She repeats the last part with an amused chuckle.

From the stone firepit, Snake blinks at Ciuraq, then sighs, hunching over and resting his elbows on his thighs and turning his gaze towards the firepit. "I don't get the joke, ma'am," he says. "Didn't get it last time, either. I just know I'm up shit creek and I ain't got a paddle."

Salem looks over at the pair. "I don't think anyone comes to this Sept to be a proper /anything/. We're a Sept of weirdos, misfits, and eccentrics." He's grinning when he says it, a little toothy and sharp thanks to the fat moon.

From the stone firepit, Ciuraq takes a moment, before throwing her hood back and slowly shifting up into a larger form. Stopping in glabro, a large spear appears in her hand, which she promptly leans on. ~Sorry. Sometimes I'm not that clear. I was making a joke.~ She explains, nodding in the direction of Salem. ~He's not wrong. There are many odd folk here. I would guess I'm what most would refer to as a 'proper Uktena' but... I wouldn't have others follow the trail I walked through life.~

From the stone firepit, Snake, still much bigger than even Ciuraq's Glabro form, looks up at the Athro, relaxing a little when she stops laughing. He looks over to Salem, then to Ciuraq again, then to Salem. "Sounds like I'm home, then, sir," he says, a simple but eloquent gesture taking in the misfit that he is - and then he looks to Ciuraq again. "I couldn't follow your trail if I tried, ma'am," he says. "I'm not you. Seems like our lives couldn't be much more different up to now if they tried. But. You're an Athro Ahroun of the Uktena. I heard of you when I was back with the Gnawers. You know who and what you are, and what that means. Me? I thought I did, then I didn't, and what I thought I'd built back up got destroyed. So here I am, looking at you in awe, wondering how in hell I can live up to your example."

Salem's grin settles into a lopsided smile; he reaches into his jacket and takes out a toothpick, which he sets between his teeth.

From the stone firepit, Ciuraq glances at Salem for a moment, before giving an awkward shrug in response to the unexpected praise. ~Respect the old ways. Value knowledge. Never assume something is impossible. Those are things I did right. Respect others, see the value of many, don't try to do everything yourself, all alone: those are things I did wrong.~

From the stone firepit, Snake glances towards Salem at the movement, then looks to Ciuraq again, listening intently to her words. "Thank you," he says, and it sounds as though he means it. "I appreciate it, ma'am. Just... I ain't got no old ways to respect."

Salem tilts his head as if listening to something, then slips off quietly, moving around the big tree and then off and out of the caern toward the west. As he goes, he breaks into a light, easy jog.