Dawn comes all too soon, and it's not even here when a hand is on Maddox's shoulder, shaking him awake. It's one of the younger wolves, who moves on to wake Sinclair when he sees Maddox's eyes open. Lukas is stirring of his own accord, surfacing to the sixth sense of his packmates' waking. All around them, Garou are sitting up, rubbing their faces.
It's been a long time since Lukas has slept on the bare ground. He's sore when he gets up, rotating his arms in their sockets to loosen the joints. Though the air was warm with summer, there's dampness on his shirt - dew from the morning. The east is still grey, only beginning to be touched in pink.
The camp is already in motion. Wolves are climbing into clothes, yawning as they duck into shirts, step into trousers. Two of the younger Garou are cooking in huge kettles, some meaty gruel for breakfast. The scouts are already back and giving their report, and the older Garou - though such a thing is relative in Senachewine's young camp - are drifting over to listen in.
When Billy Bourne sees the Unbroken and their allies, he waves them over. "Colleen and the Grady brothers did some fine work last night," he says. "Found the Wyrm all wound up to attack, just like you said. There's thirty or thirty-five of 'em, mostly Cliaths and Fosterns like us, maybe a few Adrens. I've got twenty-two wolves, plus me, and you guys brought another six. So numbers wise we're all right. But -- well, I'll let Colleen tell ya what else she found."
The thin-faced Ragabash steps up, dark circles under her bright eyes. "A locomotive from hell," she spits, "that's the best I can describe it. This steam-belchin', fire-breathin' livin' machine that I watched 'em feed a live stag to. Crunched the poor thing up like a camp biscuit. And from the blood on its cowcatcher - I ain't kiddin', it's usin' a cowcatcher as its mouth - I'm gonna go ahead an' guess that weren't its first meal. Of the day, even. If they're goin' through that much trouble keepin' it happy, the Dancers mean to use it, and I can't even guess what the hell kind of devilry it might wreak."
"We don't have to guess," Lukas says. "We'll tell the Fianna everything we saw. And then we'll offer our helping hand, and if they don't accept it then, they're even more foolish than we thought."
"Pack up camp," Billy says. "Let's get movin'. We got a parley to attend."
Breakfast is snatched out of the kettle. There are a handful of tins to go around, and everyone shares. Garou are moving around stamping out fires, rolling up the few bedrolls, putting away personal belongings and clothing, shifting down one by one. By the time the last few Garou shift down to lupus, the young cooks are scrubbing out the kettle, dousing it in a nearby creek to cool it before simply tucking into an impossibly small bag.
"Bag o' tricks," one of the barely-past-cubs grins, seeing the Unbroken watching. "Who says Bone Gnawers ain't got useful fetishes, hey?"
And then they're off, running in loose files northward. Senachewine leads the group, the Unbroken close at his side. Through prairieland, and into a forest; through that forest until the ground and air grows damper and damper around them. A ground fog rises, wreathes the trees, winds around their legs. They swing west, avoiding the wettest part of the land where forest becomes bog, and if any of them ask why they don't simply cut through, they receive an enigmatic answer:
Few who enter the bog ever come back out. Old spirits live there, spirits that were here long before the Fianna, or maybe even the Uktena, were.
Abruptly, after a small eternity of running, Senachewine stops. The wolf behind him nearly runs into his rump. A ripple of disruptance down the long column of wolves, the dawn song rising around them as the noise of their passage subsides.
"We're at the edge of the Bawn," Senachewine whuffs to his allies. "We wait here for the Fianna to show themselves."
Brutal RevelationShe dreams about the future. She could wake up and tell the Garou of Billy Bourne's camp this and they would understand. Galliard and not Theurge she may be, but her name and her prophecies imply that she truly is a seer. But the future Sinclair dreams about isn't the one she warns them of. She dreams of what is her own past. Joey's in this dream, and Theron of all people. Lukas is there too, of course, and he's playing basketball for some reason with Joey. Sinclair fell asleep in lupus, her muzzle tucked on top of her forepaws, thinking about sleeping beside her mate. She wakes in the same position, stiff and chilled, shaking dew from her fur before rising into her homid shape.
That gets a few stares by half. The snake on her thigh is almost tribal, but also almost Wyrmish. The scars on her back weren't made by any tooth or claw, and for a pretty blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl who could wear braids on the prairie and look right at home, the body she wears while she eats and waits to shift back in lupus and head out to the Fianna lands is the sort of primitive that made the white 'wyrmbringers' try to kill the natives. Her piercings aren't made of bone, though, but polished metal. That takes wealth. They cannot make sense of her, or of the weird undergarments she wears as comfortably as nudity or full coverage. Sinclair, waking slowly and grumpily as always, does not care right now about showing off twenty-first century boob-holstering technology or Hanes Her Way printed on the elastic of her panties.
But she gratefully accepts food and eats her portion while they listen to the scouting report. Her mouth moves as she chews, pauses when Colleen describes the locomotive from hell, and she nods and goes back to eating at what Lukas says. She's musing through their totemlink so the others can catch those fleeting snippets and images of thoughts: the possibilities given to them when they were sent back here. 'Stop the Hive from being raised' is a broad goal, and not necessarily the real one. More'n one way to skin a cat, she thinks, and washes out her bowl in the swiftly running stream with the others. When she shifts to lupus she laps up the icy water, and it drips a little from the fur on her chin as she wheels about, trotting back to her packmates.
It takes most of the run for Sinclair to fully awake. Until then her thoughts are muddled and unclear, her eyes slow to focus, her temper sharp every time some younger wolf jostles her, earning a snap from her jaws. But as she wakes she settles, calm and smoothly moving, looking toward the bog and thinking about the stories she's heard of the Eagles and the ...something Water Woman. She thinks. It was kind of convoluted. She'll look it up when they go back.
She hopes there's a world for her when they go back.
At the bawn they stop, and Sinclair settles onto her haunches, her tail still against the ground. "Not howl say hello we here?" she whuffs at Bourne.
Sidewalk's EndThe hand on Maddox's furred shoulder jostles him once, but, it takes a second, more firm shake to get him to move. He blinks up into the predawn light, unable to comprehend his surroundings and not understanding why in the world he would ever sleep in lupus.
He rises, jaw gaping in a huge yawn, and the memories come back. The desperate battle in their own time, dealing with the Fianna of this time, watching this ragtag group of Garou react to their warnings and prophecies in the firelight. Once on his feet, he continues on in lupus, leaning back on his haunches, eyes closed and head lifted. Leaning forward again, he stretches one hind leg and then the other before making his way over to breakfast. Sinclair may be comfortable in her foreign and incomprehensible undergarments, but, Maddox doesn't care to explain his t-shirt or his garishly colored sneakers. At least not until he's had breakfast, which he laps at from a bowl left for him on the ground. Who knows if these people even have coffee yet.
Maddox doesn't pay much attention to the numbers and formation of the Spirals preparing their attack on the caern. Colleen's account of the living locomotive piques his interest. The Theurge sits up a little straighter at that, head cocked, ears pricked before they relax back. After that they lose him to his thoughts, his gaze on something distant, or close, it's hard to say.
When the camp begins to pack up, he shakes himself and rises, carefully carrying his bowl in his jaws to the stream to be cleaned out.
Running gets the last of the sleep kinks out of the skinny, red-furred Garou. By the time they reach the edge of the bawn, Maddox is warm and limber and awake. Senachewine tells them they wait for the Fianna to come to them. Maddox sits, tail brushing the ground, and watches ahead of them.
"We should show courtesy. Even if they not care."
-retelling-"They already know we're here," Difficult Current replies, "but you're right. We should announce our presence. Rob?"
To his right, and a little behind, a tall, bony wolf lifts his head and howls. It soars up graceful as an arrow shot into the sun, then drops - a smooth, gliding descent and decrescendo in one. The unmistakable howl of a Fianna Galliard. The tribe is doubtlessly why Senachewine chose this wolf to howl.
And soon enough, the Fianna of Water Lynx come to them. Three wolves at first, lean and copper-furred, stirring the mist as they approach. They take human shape as they near the border. It is the three Maddox met yesterday - the stern-faced woman Maeve, the mocking bastard Seamus, and the brute Brendan who is as large in his human form as he was in his Hispo. Brendan folds his arms across his chest and glares squarely at Maddox. The other two inspect Senachewine and his allies.
"Thought ye were only bringin' the twenty or so, Difficult Current." Maeve sounds suspicious. "Afore me I see close on thirty wolves."
"An' amongst them," Brendan growls, "I see the skulkin' one who refused ta speak his allegiance. Spyin' on us in advance then, were ye? Hardly the act of an ally an' friend."
Brutal Revelation"Good one," Sinclair says, after Rob's howl has faded. To ears as old as theirs it likely sounds flippant, but her tone is sincere, her body language respecful. As the Fianna arrive though, she rises to all fours. In daylight, the sunshine glints off of the percings in her pointed, tufted ears.
She decides to say screw it. She looks strange. She looks savage. She looks eerie, freckles on her shoulders and tattoos down her arms, a snake biting her through her thigh, her clothing alien to them. So Sinclair shifts abruptly, snapping to her birth form, her hair down and loose, wild as the dirt under her fingernails.
"My pack and I --" she indicates Lukas, Kate, Maddox behind her, "came to Difficult Current's camp only last night, bringing with us volunteers from a caravan," as she indicates the Iron Rider they picked up and her ally. "He did not lie to you, and from what I've seen of him, I daresay he has ever lied to you, or ever would. Nor,"
and here her eyes snap to Brendan, her tone hardening, "did my packbrother lie to you, or spy on you. Hold your slandering tongue or I will defeat you in a proper challenge of grievance and cut a notch in it for every insult you sling at one of my own. He is a Theurge, not a scout, and he came here on orders from his pack to try and help you. By accusing him of spying you dishonor me, my Alpha, and our sister as well, and while all of them are often willing to take such things in stride for the sake of the greater good, I am their Gallird and guardian of our reputation, and will not tolerate it again. Now would you like to continue wasting time sneering at a Cliath of your own tribe, or would you like to hear about the thirty-plus Dancers our scouts found and the machine they used to crush and chop up one of your totem spirit's earthly creatures? Because they are coming for you, and they are coming for this Caern."
All this is level. Hard. Brutal as her true name is, her eyes pinned on the Fiann for a moment. Should he remain silent -- she doubts it -- she will turn back to Maeve, but not take her eyes off of him until she knows he isn't going to attack.
Sidewalk's EndMaddox is hardly skulking. He sits comfortably among his pack. When he notices the direct glare of the Warder, he gives him that same bored expression he wore last night, before the wolf snarled in his face and ran him off their land. The look lasts only a few seconds before Maddox turns his attention to Bourne.
The accusation of being a spy gets little reaction from him. He snorts, ears flicking briefly. Then he settles. They made accusations and assumptions about him last night, too, while they laughed off his warning. Somehow, he doubts any of them went to inspect the woods for themselves. If they found thirty or so Spirals feeding an angry locomotive just outside their land, they'd hardly be so friendly in their greeting. Right?
Sinclair snaps into homid, a savage beauty in this barely (to Maddox's mind) civilized period of American history. She comes to his defense, and not for the first time he thinks it's equally good and a shame that she's Garou. He rises to all fours only after her threat is issued, but, doesn't move.
Across the totem link they feel his pride in his pack and his gratitude to Sinclair. Watching the Fianna, he tries to keep from looking smug. He tries to keep from egging the big stupid brute into accepting the fight. He would love to see one of them knocked down a peg or two.
Actually, that's not true. He just wants to see one of them, preferably Seamus but Brendan will do, bloodied on the ground.
Sidewalk's End[swap Warder for Brendan!]
-retelling-Brendan - hulking bully that he is - snaps around to snarl at Sinclair when she shifts. He doesn't really get a chance. The Galliard unloads on him, and his eyes grow wide and his jaw grows slack. Utterly taken aback, he fumbles for choice words for several moments before Maeve cuts in.
"Enough," she says, brusque and sharp. "I'll no' 'ave the lot o' ye spillin' blood afore parley has even begun. Brendan, we've no proof that Maddox is a spy, only that he's ill-mannered an' more than a little foolish. An' before ye take that as some sort of slander, Galliard, ask your brother about his conversation with us yesterday. Ask yerself truly if ye wouldna 'ave found him a shifty, sly little thing yeself.
"However, we arena here ta discuss that. Ye're here ta talk to Throat-Cutter-rhya, an' judgin' by this thirty-pieces-o'-Wyrm business, ye're still wavin' ye bloody shirt. That's fine. We'll be sure ta 'ave Bloody Smiles-rhya present as well, an' we'll see 'ow yer reports hold up to the scrutiny of a master scout.
"But all thirty o' ye are not tramplin' onto our Caern. Difficult Current-yuf, pick yer ten favorite friends an' follow me. Brendan, Seamus, keep an eye on the rest. If they set one foot on our land, tear a new hole in their hides."
She turns and starts walking away immediately. Billy Bourne looks sharply around, hesitating not at all before he taps ten wolves on the shoulder and follows.
Sinclair and Maddox, Lukas and Kate, Charlotte and Colleen, the Grady brothers, Joseph, and Rob fall in behind him, padding across the invisible barrier, into the usurped Caern.
Brutal RevelationOccasionally, even the threat of taking two eyes for every one is enough to shock people. It isn't a gambit, though, and it isn't a bluff; the spark in Sinclair's eyes when she stands up for Maddox is as real as the frenzy she launched into when Lukas was knocked to the ground once upon a time. She doesn't take this sort of thing lightly -- in fact, she takes it too seriously by half. There is no doubt that if Brendan didn't clam up, whether due to astonishment or intimidation, she really would drag him before a master of challenges and demand notches in his tongue as payment if she won a challenge of grievance. But she doesn't want to waste that sort of time.
Neither, she images, does Maeve. So score one for reading the Warder correctly there, she thinks to herself. Her eyes go to the female as Brendan's mouth goes slack, and she gives a short nod. "I will ask him," she tells the Fianna, perhaps unexpectedly. There is more she would say, but now -- as Maeve goes on to say -- isn't the time. While she's telling Billy Bourne to pick his team, Sinclair reaches across to Maddox through Perun.
She seems honorable, Maddox. What do you think it is that makes her call you ill-mannered, foolish, shifty, and sly? They're suspicious of everyone, I get that, but they're singling you out pretty hard.
That Billy Bourne taps so many newcomers out of his favorite ten may rankle some of his allies, but Sinclair has heard how much they openly dissent. She wonders if they would do the same in a proper parley, but she won't get to find out. Sinclair drops into lupus again, gradually this time, and trots after the Child of Gaia.
Sidewalk's EndMaddox already relayed last night's meeting to his packmates, how he came to these sorry excuses for tribesmen with warning and was greeted with insults and accusations no matter what he said. His conclusion had been, and still is, that they're untrusting and suspicious, and see their own treachery against the Uktena who once guarded this caern in all strangers.
That he won't get to see Brendan taken to the ground doesn't upset him. As Maeve says, bloodletting before parlay is hardly favorable. He pads in among his pack, pointedly ignoring Seamus and Brendan.
I've no idea, he answers seriously. They met me before I could announce m'self properly. Once I named m'self, they started with the insults. It only got worse from there.
He looks around, curious as to the layout of this usurped caern. A comment from Maeve last night left him curious regarding the temperament of the caern's spirit, and whether or not there's a proper Theurge within. The thought that there might be an unhappy spirit, particularly a caern totem, is unsettling. It's not his business, though, and he can already guess what sort of response he'd get if he asked directly. He'd probably be labelled a spy again.
-retelling-[Director's note! I think somewhere along the way, I made up my mind that Bloody Smile is a traitor, and has been deliberately hiding evidence of the Wyrm. Throat-Cutter is actually not a bad guy - just a brutal, morally ambiguous one - but he trusts Bloody Smile utterly. At this point, I can sorta see a few ways for this discussion to go:
1) The truth is laid out and no one buys it. In that case, I think the players will have to decide whether to fight the Wyrm alone or fight the Sept, then the Wyrm. They could possibly also try to rally some of the Sept, but without Throat-Cutter's word most of them won't want to join Bourne's group.
2) The truth is laid out and Bloody Smile's involvement comes into question. At this point, he can either a) weasel out of it, upon which the Sept will likely side with Bourne against the Wyrm, but Bloody Smile will turn on them during the battle.
OR, b) Bloody Smile can be accused of complicity, upon which he'd execute a Grand Escape and later be part of the invading Wyrm army.]
-retelling-The land and the Caern they enter is very old. Great gnarled trees bend low to the ground, draped in moss. The ground is soft and springy and wet. Few birds call here, and despite the rising sun there's an air of oppression. Anger. In the back of their small group Joseph mutters, "They really ain't gettin' on with Water Lynx. Damn, I can practically hear the hissin'."
He's shushed by Colleen. A good call, probably. If Maeve hears from her position up front, she doesn't let on.
Eventually they pass a wide, still pond. The Gauntlet is so thin here they can almost feel the spirit life just across the divide. Primordial power thrums through this Caern. A Caern such as this is immeasurably old, unthinkably powerful. Yet the relationship of Caern to Garou is and always was symbiotic. All a Caern's strength is fed by the devotions of its resident Garou. And a dozen Garou, no matter how vicious or strong, are not enough to nourish a Caern of this magnitude.
Past the pond, there is a gathering area hollowed into the earth, inlaid with rows of stones that form natural bleachers. There are two Garou standing there, but they feel the eyes of the others on them - the rest of this small, fiercely insular Sept hidden in the trees, in the shadows.
The two Garou before them do not hide. Their identities are unmistakable. Bloody Smile doesn't smile at all. He's gaunt, pockmarked, his hair stringy but very, very red, his body rawboned, lean and tough as jerky. As far back as they've come in time, Bloody Smile seems to come from an even earlier point. He wears very little - a loincloth and warpaint, really - and it's hard to pick out the features of his face for the woad patterns smeared all over it. His eyes are small and black, and burn out of his face like lamps.
The other must be Throat-Cutter. He is a world apart from his right hand man. Towering and huge, so tall and so wide that even Lukas seems slight beside him; black-haired and black-bearded, his hands on the haft of a truly gargantuan axe. He's dressed roughly and simply, his chest bare, his pants fixed with a cord of leather.
There is a small table before the pair, rough-hewn wood. On it lies a simple loaf of bread, a pair of fresh-seared rabbits. As Maeve leads the visitors to him, Throat-Cutter beckons them to the table.
"Be welcome in my Caern," he greets them. "Come, break ye fast with me."
Brutal RevelationSinclair's disgust with the Fianna grows the deeper they go into the Caern. If she can feel all this, a Galliard whose connection to the spirit world isn't even as great as her Ahroun Alpha's, things must be bad. And this place must be strong. They have to sense it. Which means they are ignoring it, from all appearances. Seek to dominate it somehow, eradicate the problem, stamp on it the way they took the land. Her rage flickers, for several reasons, but she breathes it in and exhales it out.
Her eyes go to Bloody Smiles first when they reach the ampitheatre, scanning over him, curious as much as scrutinizing. They tread downward and she looks at Throat-Cutter, but when they are offered bread and rabbit, she hesitates a moment, then through Perun, she touches the minds of her packmates, her tone submissive even as it gives something like an order, in case Lukas tells her no, not like this:
Maddox, represent our pack and go first to accept their hospitality.
Sidewalk's EndAt the pond Maddox pauses, stares across the still water. He feels the tension in the air like a discordant note disrupting a primal harmony. A shiver goes down his spine, rippling through his fur. Even if every Garou in this caern devoted themselves wholly and unrelentingly to Water Lynx, it wouldn't be enough. Maddox suggested the possibility of raising a second caern some distance from this one, perhaps planting the seed that would see the eventual establishment of Chicago's sept, but, he hopes against hope that it won't be necessary. He hopes against hope that this Child of Gaia can reach peace with the Fianna here, that they can work together to keep this caern thriving. It's beautiful, if harsh. It would be a shame to see it lost to corruption.
A moment passes. Maddox sighs, and walks on, hurrying to catch up with the others.
He smells the bread and meat before they reach the gathering place, he couldn't say how. This place stinks of the hygiene practices of the time. It smells like sweat and blood and rage as well as earth and sun and green things.
Sinclair orders him forward. Maddox looks at her, then steps forward.
Before he gets to them, he asks his pack's advice, giving Billy Bourne space and opportunity to accept the Fianna's hospitality first as his rank and reputation would dictate.
In my Superman shirt? he asks, meaning his future era clothes.
-retelling-Go, Lukas affirms, before they wonder at our hesitation.
Needless to say, Billy is the first to break bread, tear meat. He does so unhesitatingly and willingly, even though Bloody Smile's eyes are sharp on his every movement, searching for any sign of deceit. He lifts the offered food to his mouth with his eyes mild on the two Garou of Water Lynx, and eats.
One by one, his followers follow suit. And then Charlotte. And then it's the Unbroken's turn, these strange wolves from another time.
Brutal RevelationAfter Maddox steps forward, Sinclair follows with Lukas and Kate. She shifts to her birth form again, half-naked and exotic-looking as she is. After Maddox takes bread and rabbit, Sinclair waits for Lukas, waits for Kate. They are her elders, and having Maddox go first is utterly and pointedly symbolic. She tears off some meat and a chunk of bread for herself, rips it in half, and finds Maeve. This, too, is utterly symbolic, given that she is standing on the Fiann's (stolen) territory, but she holds out toward the Warder the other half of her own bread.
Sidewalk's EndMaddox steps forward, waiting at the end of Bourne's followers for his turn at table. When the last of the others steps up, Maddox shifts behind them. With his dark hair and thin, gangly body, he could almost be the bastard love child of the Fianna on the other side of the table. He's dressed as he was at the moot, in a faded blue t-shirt, purposely faded Superman "S" emblazoned across his thin chest. His jeans are faded and worn, his sneakers hopefully out of sight at the moment.
When it's his turn, he bows his head respectfully to their hosts and tears a chunk of meat from one of the rabbits before stepping aside for the others.
-retelling-Maeve looks slightly startled by this. But she takes the bread after a quick glance at her own elders, devouring it in a quick snap of her jaws.
When everyone's had a piece of 'breakfast', the next step of the ritual greeting proceeds. Introductions are made, complete and formal; they discover that the Garou before them are, in fact, Throat Cutter and Bloody Smile, both Adrens, one Ahroun, one Ragabash, both Alphas of their own packs, though in this Sept Bloody Smile serves as the Beta to Throat Cutter. They also discover Maeve is, in fact, the Warder - an Adren Philodox of uncommon martial skill.
Then comes introductions from Bourne's people. Senachewine himself is a Fostern and a Galliard of Unicorn; they knew this. Joseph is a Cliath Godi of Fenris, and he boasts of his cubs and mate when he introduces himself. Colleen and the Grady brothers are all Ragabashes, the former a Fostern, the latter two Cliaths, all three of them Fianna.
American-born, I expect? Bloody Smile inquires. There's a hint of sneer there, which Bourne's people work hard to ignore.
Then there's Rob, a Fianna Galliard. He volunteers it himself, defiantly proud: born in Boston. And Charlotte, an Iron Rider Theurge; and then the Unbroken. Their ranks, and particularly Lukas's rank and auspice, draw an appraising glance from Throat-Cutter.
"P'raps we'll go a few rounds later," he says. "We didna see many o' ye tribe in the old country. Never made it quite that far for all their schemin', I wager."
"Most of my tribesmen have their hands full with leech-hunting," Lukas replies coolly, which makes Throat-Cutter bark a laugh.
"Be that as it may," he says, "we're not here to discuss leeches. Are we, Difficult Current?"
It's a signal that negotiations have begun. Billy steps forward, outlining in a few sentences his stance: that the Caern requires more Garou, that the land is precious, that the Garou must unite, that his people stood ready to fight and die for this Caern, if Throat-Cutter would but have them. There will be no challenge for alphaship, he assures Throat-Cutter. His people are content to earn their respect.
"Fine words," Bloody Smile says when Senachewine finishes. "But you're a Galliard. Words are ye playthings. Ye say ya do not covet power, but your actions tell a greyer tale. Ye've gathered a small army here. Ye bring them all to our door. Ye speak of peace, but these actions are those of a conqueror."
"I have gathered an army," Senachewine fires back, speaking directly to Throat-Cutter, "because of what lies just beyond this door of yours.
"Tell them." He turns to the Unbroken. "Tell them what you told me."
Brutal RevelationHe's like Obama, Sinclair is commenting to her packmates silently of Billy Bourne, and Throat-Cutter is like the GOP.
Minutes later, Bloody Smile is spitting about how showing up with more than a few Garou means OMG CONQUEROR and Sinclair physically rolls her eyes. She lets him see it. She fucking wants him to see it. Skinny white chick with tattoos and metal in her skin, scars on her back that ride the line between beautiful and repulsive, rolling her eyes at his words. Billy asks the Unbroken to speak and she looks at the two Fianna.
"Difficult Current's 'army' could also be called 'refugees'. All Garou gather to do battle -- against the Wyrm. But these Garou have gathered also because they are cast out of the only caern they have to protect. Here is some basic math: when you kick out everyone but the handful you already have, eventually the number of outsiders grows bigger than the number of insiders." She looks to Throat-Cutter in particular, addressing him with a note more respect than she does when speaking to both.
"I can tell you what our scouts learned last night: the number and location of the Dancers encroaching closer and closer to your bawn, but I will let those scouts speak for themselves and describe the monstrosity they saw. But look at us," she says, gesturing to the Shadow Lord, the Silver Fang, the Theurge Fianna and herself. "You know we are not from here, that we are more than strangers to these lands. You can't imagine how far we've traveled, just to you, just to this place at this time to give you warning -- it is farther than you have ever traveled in your lifetime, it is farther than you ever will. It is farther than your grandfather and your grandchildren will travel together, but we came."
Her eyes flicker. It must look something like madness. Or rage. Or an eerie mix of both. "At night now I dream of a Grand Elder nailed to poles once set to receive trophies of slain wyrmkin. A Mistress of Rites dying gasping in the mud. The Warder falling quickly, outnumbered and outmatched in an ambush. Tribemates of mine, tribemates of yours -- and yes, those born in your homelands, those pure to Stag -- being pulled apart in the jaws of Spirals. That," she snaps, "is what lies beyond this door. A hive rising from a sacred caern, a powerful caern. Because of pride. Because of failure," she almost spits the word.
"That sort of death," Sinclair says, her voice falling lower, "does not leave great songs." Her eyes flick to Throat-Cutter. "Some fighting valiantly to the end, remembered for their valor but not enough to forgive them for their short-sightedness." Her eyes shift to Bloody Smiles. "And those who history simply has no answer for. No tales of how they died, fighting or otherwise. Their last glories sunken into the pit that grows from what used to be holy land --
"-- THAT COULD BE SAVED IF YOU WERE NOT SO FEARFUL OF A FOSTERN GALLIARD OF UNICORN!" she roars then, homid or not.
-retelling-[Throat-Cutter: WHAT YOU SAY TO ME!]
Dice: 7 d10 TN4 (1, 1, 2, 3, 8, 8, 10) ( success x 1 )
-retelling-Sinclair is well named. Brutal Revelation. Savage Oracle. There is no finesse to her words, little tact. She lays out the truth so brutally, and a vast majority of the time, it works for her. But not always.
When Sinclair speaks of a Hive rising from this Caern, Throat-Cutter's countenance darkens. By the time she gets to the ruin of their memories, he's breathing hard, fists balled, chest heaving. And then she calls him fearful. She all but calls him a coward. She does it so quickly that no one has time to stop her, though Senachewine draws a sharp breath in. It's already too late.
Throat-Cutter storms forward. He shoves Sinclair backwards, both hands, hard enough to make a mortal sprawl in the dirt. Lukas is instantly between him and Sinclair, snarling, Kate at his back - but he hardly seems to notice them. He's livid. He's glaring at Sinclair, jabbing a finger at her, spitting his words.
"If you an' I were'na bound by sacred pacts of the guest law, I'd see your innards on the ground. How dare ye speak so to me, ye ill-bred, human-lovin' aberration. I am a Grand Elder. I am an Adren. This is my land, an' you have spat upon my hospitality.
"Get out! All of ye! This parley is over!"
-retelling-[okay, so that wasn't the best approach for Throat-Cutter *dies* at this point, it's very likely that Throat-Cutter will refuse to listen to anything else. However, if they manage to mention the Wyrm in the woods - even if Throat-Cutter is unconvinced - this could affect the course of things later on when the truth is revealed.]
Brutal RevelationSinclair rarely falls. She stumbles backward this time now, is pushed down but falls into a crouch instead. She's snarling in homid, all but barking back at him, even as her packmates lunge forward. She keeps her eyes on him, blazing cold. He snaps at her about her tribe -- the insult makes her seethe -- and he tells her he is a Grand Elder, Adren, his land. For a moment she is ready to bristle, to go out, tail tucked and fury boiling, because no -- it can't always work.
But seconds after, even as he's speaking, another thought enters her head. And she knows what she's risking even as much as she knows of the laws of hospitality. She knows it means she might never see Alex again. Not get married on a beach. White dress. Pretty simple actually. She hasn't decided yet if she wants her hair up or down. She kinda likes the idea of up, she never does fancy things, she likes that little weird smile he gets when she does and he's sort of taken aback and fond all at once. He always seems so surprised when things go really, really well, or when she acts girly or when she makes breakfast for him, and it drives her crazy with affection
and she might never see him again.
But this is a Caern.
Sinclair lets out a low, simpering whine. It isn't the beginning of a rite. She doesn't have that rite; she apologizes so rarely. She accepts punishment but she rarely asks for it. Sinclair, in homid, in her weird underwear, sinks down to her belly and creeps across the dirt, hands inching forward like paws. And in homid, human-loving aberration that she is, she gets within arm's reach of Throat-Cutter and rolls onto her back, exposing throat and gut.
Sidewalk's EndSinclair lays out the future of this sept, and Maddox, arms folded over his midsection, watches the others. His dark eyes flick from Throat-Cutter to Bloody Smiles, and finally to Maeve. The tension over this parley spikes when Sinclair calls them fearful.
That's when he shifts his stance, arms dropping to his sides, wary. If the Fianna Ahroun bursts into attack there's not much a Cliath Theurge could do to help the fight, at least not physically. When Throat-Cutter shoves Sinclair backwards, the Unbroken move. Lukas and Kate between their Galliard and the Ahroun, Maddox to the back, a handful of gourds already in hand.
But the fight they brace for doesn't come. They're ordered out, all of them, and Sinclair drops.
She grovels. Maddox, behind her, watches her actions, surprised. His shock doesn't last long. Slipping talens back into his pocket, he follows his sister to the ground. They are pack. They are united. And Maddox has the rite that Sinclair lacks, performs it along with her.
[Rite of Contrition: char + rit, diff 7 (guessing no re-rolls for Air of Confidence on this one)]
Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (2, 2, 7, 9, 9, 9) ( success x 4 )
-retelling-There's a moment in which Lukas is stunned, absolutely gobsmacked, to see Sinclair - so often defiant, so often stubborn - drop to her belly. Crawl in the dirt. Whine in her throat like the lowest omega of the pack. In that moment, Maddox has already moved, joining his sister. A beat later, Lukas drops with them. And - after a quick glance down to ensure there were no beetles directly beneath her - Katherine.
All four Unbroken crawl in the dirt. They are a pack; they share their burdens.
"Pathetic," Bloody Smile opines. "Ye flap yer gums an' then ye grovel in the mud. We don't need the likes o' you in this Caern--"
"Lorccán," Throat Cutter interrupts, "be silent, man." And then he turns back to the Unbroken, prostrate as they are. "Get up," he says gruffly. "An' mind yer tongues."
Behind them, Billy slowly lets out a held breath.
Brutal RevelationSinclair was the first to drop. She is the last to get up, now covered in mud and dirt, ignoring Bloody Smiles, facing Throat Cutter. "You are the Grand Elder of this sept, my elder in rank, and I dishonored the laws of hospitality with my words." There's no excuse added, no disclaimer of prophecy or anything else. Simply, she crossed the line. If he is stupid enough to think that the meat of the words can be dismissed as well, history will remember him no differently than it already does.
A valiant warrior who stole a sept he could not keep from the Uktena, refused aid when offered, and fought bravely for it again but failed. Failed miserably, leaving only a Hive in his legacy. She doesn't even know if Throat-Cutter ever had any cubs.
"Northwest of you there are Spirals, -rhya," she says. "You don't have to believe in Difficult Current's words or promises of fealty and you don't have to believe in prophecy. Colleen and the Grady boys will give you a report and you don't have to believe that either. But all you have to do is go look. Or ...you can believe that all we want is power, and wait for the Dancers to come fulfill all I've said." She steps back then, closer to her packmates, to let the others speak.
Sidewalk's EndMaddox remains prone until the others begin rising around him. Sinclair waits until last, and even though he is lowest ranked in their pack, he doesn't start a contest of wills to see who stays down longest. He rises, not caring that he's dirty and muddy. He looks at Bloody Smiles, Adren or no, with raised brow. If he continues to ignore the rite he will be looked down on, maybe even reviled.
"The spirts're also keeping their distance, rhya," Maddox says. He doesn't add again that all they have to do is look across the Gauntlet to see for themselves. They've probably got their hands too full with Water Lynx to bother with the others.
-retelling-"Outrageous." This time it's Bloody Smile that interrupts, laughing harshly. "If there were Spirals within a hundred leagues o' here, I would ha' smelled them out before you pups could sneeze. There are no such things."
"Lorccán-rhya," Maeve ventures, "the Theurge confirmed it yesterday wit' the spirits."
Bloody Smile whips around, pinning Maeve with a stare. "And would ye be sayin' a pack o' Cliaths an' lesser-bloods know more of scoutin' than I, Maeve?"
Her eyes meet his a second. Then drop. The Warder shakes her head. "No. I suppose no', Bloody-Smile-rhya."
"Tighearnán," he turns to Throat-Cutter now, "can ye no' see they're spinnin' tales to confuse us? Aye, I wager they're more than eager ta see us rush off huntin' a tall tale in these woods. Leave our Caern undefended an' ripe for the pickin'."
Throat-Cutter is silent a while, frowning. Then he shakes his head.
"Ye judge them too harshly, Lorccán. They're rash an' they're hasty, an' they may be fools. But not a one of them has the stomach for conquest." To Colleen and Maddox, then, "Ye must be mistaken. The Wyrm is still weak in this country. 'Tis why we came here in first place. To find a home for our kin, safe from the predation of Twisted Ones, safe from the oppression of the damned Silver Fangs an' their Get of Fenris bootlickers. This is a pure land. It is ours, an' we protect it well."
-retelling-[Sinclair's apology REALLY turned this thing around. It gave her huge points in TC's book, which makes him more likely to believe her story. Right now, TC is on the verge of believing the reports. We'll see if what the pack does next tips him over!]
Sidewalk's EndMaddox holds his tongue, the question he wants to ask shared with his pack instead of the group.
How can they be so blind?
All this evidence, all these reports. Strangers, known outsiders, even their own tell them the devil's on the doorstep, yet these leaders persist in squeezing their eyes shut and covering their ears. If they can't see the danger, it's not there. It's just upstarts with a taste for conquest and a half-assed plan to get the stronger wolves out of the way so they can take over.
That makes sense. If they're frightened.
"I'm not a scout, rhya," he says, spreading his hands, bending slightly at the waist to the scoutmaster. He tilts his chin up, eyes not leaving the man's face. "I would never boast skills I don't possess. If I had them, I would've been able to offer more information to your esteemed Warder. It was an Earth spirit what led me to the Dancer's camp last night. Spirits are sometimes..." he lifts a shoulder, " enigmatic at best. It's possible I was mistaken, yes. I had hoped my warning would encourage one of greater skill to see for themselves and prove me wrong."
Brutal RevelationSinclair crosses her arms over her chest. She misses her fur but she doesn't dare take fangs right now. So she watches Bloody Smiles working really really hard to convince Throat Cutter that they're big fat liars and that the Warder doesn't know her shit, and she thinks about asking Kate to test his words for truth, but it won't do any good. Doesn't matter what any of them say, at least not to Bloody Smiles. Sinclair watches, and tips her head to the side. She watches the three Fianna argue, watches how the Beta of the sept puts down the Warder.
Throat Cutter speaks to Maddox and Colleen, and Sinclair speaks to him: "-rhya, your traditions may differ from mine, but where I come from, the Warder's duty is sacrosanct and even the authority of the Grand Elder falls under her sway in matters of the safety of the Caern. Yet Bloody Smiles can undercut her with a glance and a word. You have all these wolves here swearing by their lives to a fact, wolves you know are not here to conquer or steal from you, your own Warder listens to the words of spirits through a Theurge, but you will ignore it all for Bloody Smiles."
Sinclair shrugs, gives a small shake of her head. "Maybe that is the correct course. He is an Adren Ragabash. He is obviously a loyal ally of yours and you trust his word above all others, even the spirits. Would that we all find those we can place so much trust in while we live. But it hardly matters. What I ask you now is this: will you allow those of us who have gathered with Difficult Current to defend this caern with you should any assault come to your borders, whether they are welcome at your moots or no, because on my life: no one here wants to depose you. All merely wish to serve Gaia."
-retelling-[passive resistance to empathy!]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 6, 8, 8) ( success x 2 )
Sidewalk's End[percept + emp]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 3, 7, 9) ( success x 1 )
Brutal Revelation[p/e]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 6, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )
-retelling-While Maddox and Sinclair speak, Throat Cutter scowls, paces, folds his arms and unfolds them, presses his palms together under his nose. Finally, as Sinclair is getting to the last of her words, he holds his hands up, palms outward.
"Enough. Enough."
There's silence then, stillness in the assembly area as all eyes turn to the Grand Elder of this stolen Caern. He, in turn, looks to Bloody Smile.
"Like as not these strangers are mistaken. But there's no harm in bein' certain, and much harm in bein' wrong." To Maeve, then, "Send Seamus. 'ave him go an' see if there's any truth to these pups' tales."
The Warder nods sharply. Turns to go. Bloody Smile heaves a long-suffering sigh and makes to follow her. "I'll go too," he says. "Keep the boy out o' trouble."
"Very well," Throat Cutter replies, turning back to Senachewine's group. "As for you lot, ye've made ya arguments today, an' I've 'eard them all. If there indeed is Wyrm in the woods as ye say, I shall consider your proposal. If there isna, we 'ave no place for those who cry Wyrm in such blatant error. I willna 'ave my people sidelined, terrorized an' trampled again.
"I'll send word by dusk. An ye'll have yer answer."
-retelling-[There was a twitch of something on Bloody Smile's face when Throat Cutter sends Seamus out to look for Wyrm. Sinclair can't tell what it was, but there was something there beyond the long-suffering OFINE he showed explicitly.]
-retelling-[at this point kai started yelling RED SHIRT. and she is VERY RIGHT. i'm not sure if she's figured out yet that lorccan's going to kill seamus, though. after that, i'm actually debating whether lorccan should simply slip away or return to the Sept. i'll decide by next installment!]
Brutal RevelationBloody Smiles Sinclair tells her packmates, as she nods deeply to Throat Cutter and glances at Bloody Smiles following Maeve, is not spoken of much in the history of this time. What I said to them about the legacies they leave was true. And I just saw a glimmer of something in Bloody Smiles's face that makes me wary. He works too hard to convince Throat Cutter not to accept help.
Outwardly, she bows, and she moves back to her pack, giving an eye to Billy Bourne as though to let him know she has something to tell him later, too. Or maybe just to express support while the slaughterer of Billy Bourne's people whines about being terrorized.
Sidewalk's EndMaddox's smile is benign when Throat Cutter finally sends out a scout. Sinclair's comment gives him pause. Wary?The Theurge watches Bloody Smiles' back, thoughtful.
Should we be worried about Seamus, d'you think?
Brutal RevelationYes, comes the flat, hard reply. She takes a few steps away and as she goes, shifts down to lupus, trotting towards the direction from whence they came. Incidentally, it leads them behind Maeve and Bloody Smiles, back to Seamus and Brendan, back to the wolves Billy Bourne brought with them today and had to leave behind. And as soon as we get out of here, we have to find a way to tell Difficult Current what I just told you only without mentioning the part where we come from the future.
