best principles.

[Grace] A ragabash is a trickster.
A ragabash is an assassin.
A ragabash questions.

What her auspice was supposed to do was something that Grace had mused over for some time. She had thought, about whether or not a ragabash was no less a seeker of truth than a Philodox, while one does it by the law and keeping order while a ragabash seeks a truth less concrete. Somehow, this was something that made things more real, but it wasn't something that she thought about too often.

What the ragabash thought about, however, was not important.

A ragabash is a tracker.
A ragabash is a scout.
A ragabash questions.

She was on two legs, of all things, at the caern. It was one of the few places that she could actually walk in her breed form, but for some reason, she had chosen a form that was uncomfortable today. Something that was foreign and unfamiliar. Something with dead senses and a glib tongue; she was looking for someone. She chose this particular form to look for him because it made everything that came naturally to her difficult.

She couldn't pick up on a scent so easily when she was walking about on two legs; the human nose is not built for this sort of challenge. Instead of relying on one of her strongest senses in lupus, she is forced to look with her eyes and listen to sounds familiar. With her feet in shoes rather than on the ground, she's cut off from vibrations that might give some indication as to where she could or would go.

Grace, however, had chosen this form because she was at the grave of Hallowed Heroes again. It seemed to be the place that one could find Grace most easily, even if she didn't know these people. She counted them, she learned their names, she visited those who seemed to have no visitors, and she cleaned up whatever graves needed cleaning. She passed White Oleander, gave her an upward nod (she was always the last grave Grace visited. Always.) and she started to leave for the rest of the caern proper.

All of this prerequisite information is irrelevant, and does little more than to set the scene. Here, ladies and gentlemen, is where we open: with a lupus on two legs leaving a graveyard.

[Wyrmbreaker] Wyrmbreaker can be found amongst the shrines tonight. Eagle, Athena, Volcano, Twister, Sodal and more -- all the totems past and present are represented here by carvings and statues erected in their honor, clustered around the greatest shrine of all dedicated to Maelstrom. Some of the shrines have fallen into disrepair as their packs left, and as their spirits departed. Others seem to grow more ornate by the day as their packs add to it.

The Talons of Horus are still represented here. Its shrine is a stylized, impressionistic thing: a bundle of steel strips twisted together at the base, fanning into dozens of razor-sharp arcs at the tips. Though inert now, the Talons themselves long since gone, the shrine remains in good repair.

In comparison, the shrine of Perun is a far plainer, more solemn affair: a single enormous stone, chest-high to a Crinos, roughly hewn into the shape of an anvil.

Or a thunderhead.

Glyphs are graven into its base: Perun, thunder, oak, eagle, axe, war, victory, conquest, and the names of the packmates as they stand. Prior to the moot, this stone all but hummed with power, particularly when the packmates were near. There could be no question that their totem inhabits their shrine; that he draws enormous strength from the pack, and gives them enormous might in return.

Tonight, however, the shrine is oddly still. Though clean and well-kept, there's no sign that the spirit is near.

[Grace] "You are pensive," she says. It's the only herald to her arrival that is given. Graceis quiet. Very, very question. GRace also has no scent, so no matter what happens when the wind shifts, that particular note of Grace would never come across.

She's coming to terms with it.

She regards him, head cocked to the side and mouth closed. She doesn't say much, or rather, she's learning to say less. It was something to be noted as well, but of little consequence. She hasn't seen him since hte moot. They haven't spoken since nearly a month prior. Grace had gone and made a name for herself, or was dastardly close to say the least.

It is not about what she is doing rather than what she is not doing, though. She isn't speaking too loudly, she isn't raising fidgeting with her clothing or her hair (which was decidedly tangle free. How odd.), and she wasn't asking him much of anything.

Instead, she just said you are pensive. And waited.

[Wyrmbreaker] Wyrmbreaker is actually atop the shrine tonight. He may be meditating, but if he is, he doesn't assume the classic lotus position. Or even a crosslegged one. He's flat on his back, legs crossed at the ankles, gloved hands pillowing his head. It's a cloudy night, and the stars are obscured, but he's not looking for stars anyway.

His coat is warm and buttoned. His scarf muffles his neck. He could probably lie there all night.

The Shadow Lord's head rises when Grace speaks, though. He looks down at the cub for a moment. "Am I?" he replies, his tone noncommittal. Then he lowers his head back to his hands again, and raises his eyes to the skies.

[Grace] Am I?
"Always."

Not entirely non-committal. She regards him, and the blonde lets the air settle into silence. She found him, there were things to say; he looked comfortable, he could probably lay and stare at the clouds all night. His connection to Gaia and hers were different, yes, but similar. Strong, but different. Hers by accident of birth and his from active seeking. Gnosis was a tricky thing.

When she speaks, she chooses words carefully.

"I promised I would uphold Thunder's better principle, regardless of whatever tribe I chose," a recap. They'd made this deal while only one party was sober. She continues, "I want to learn those better principles from you. I want to keep my word."

Because she is dangerously close to her Rite of Passage. It's only a matter of time and talking to the right parties now.

[Paul Kellogg] Paul slipped into the Brotherhood rather unnoticed. As a pair escaped into the night, he passed quietly inside. Hands dipped inside his coat pockets. Arms drawn in for warmth, a tired breath escaped his lip as he moved past the bar towards the fireplace and wing-back chairs that offered comfort for his weary feet.

[Wyrmbreaker] Atop the thunder-stone, Lukas's mouth, unseen from Grace's vantage point, curls with amusement. "Do you?" A second question answers her; then a silence. If there's irony in this talk of better principles while his voice is still scarred from punishment, while his very pack totem is gone from them for their failure to uphold his principles, Lukas doesn't point it out.

Instead, "And how exactly do you propose to learn, stag-blooded youngling?"

[Grace] The head of Grace's biological tribe, a Fostern Philodox, broke a fairly (supposedly) straightforward law of the litany.
The head of the Shadow Lords, who had been described to her as ridiculously honorable, killed a Silver Fang while the galliard frenzied, and lost his totem due to a packmate's failure.

These are the septmates she looks to as a compass for honorable deeds.
Irony, truly, must be something lost on the ragabash, or she simply revels in it.

"How do you learn anything?" she says. "Observation and questions."

A break.

"What was your greatest failure?"

And now, it was time to observe.

[Wyrmbreaker] How do you learn anything? Grace retorts: a rhetorical question.

Atop the stone, Lukas's head rolls sideways. He casts the girl-wolf a sidelong glance, eyebrow faintly cocked. Then his eyes return to the skies.

As for her question: he simply doesn't answer.

[Grace] [Homids are weird...]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 4, 7, 9, 10 [WP]

[Grace] He doesn't answer. He catches her smile; it's something she's picked up. Her lips only upturn a quarter of an inch. To something decidedly canine, a quarter of an inch is an eternity of movement. She doesn't say anything though. She just looked at him, or what she could see of him, or what she could catch by the shift in scent and sounds and breathing. If there were any.

Instead, she waits.

And she waits for a few minutes, really, and instead of observing him, she looks at the sky for a moment. Grace doesn't say anything. It's really rather remarkable how incredibly, incredibly silent it is. And in that lack of sound, a thought occurs to her. And her lips, again, upturn a fraction of an inch.

He answered her question without saying a word.

[Grace] There is more silence, still.

"... that was rude of me," she states, "I apologize."

a pause.

"All of it," was rude, that is, "I don't know how you teach. Or would teach. My intention was not to..." the words escape her, so she continues without them, "I can see where that would overstep boundaries."

[Wyrmbreaker] That causes a shift. Atop the stone, Lukas abruptly sits up. It's smooth and effortless; such strength coiled in that well-dressed, well-groomed body.

The edges of his mouth curl up. "Apology accepted.

"Your curiosity gets the better of you sometimes, Grace. Though I have no doubt it is inadvertent, it makes you rude, impertinent and arrogant. I haven't seen you once that you weren't asking questions about everything, of everyone, all the time. While that is a way to learn, it also puts all the burden of thought and consideration on those who would teach you.

"When you ask questions without so much as asking permission, or if the Garou you question is otherwise engaged, you run the risk of intruding on their time and patience. What do you suppose I was doing here before you came upon me? Do you suppose I was waiting for a cub to come along and pepper me with questions?

"And finally: you should know by now that Thunder's tribe is one that does not forgive failure easily. Perun is a son of Thunder. When one of my packmates failed, he deserted us. For a tribe that weighs failure so heavily, why would you suppose that it's at all acceptable to open a conversation by demanding to know not only of a Shadow Lord's failure, but his greatest?"

It's censure, to be sure. But for what it's worth, it's calmly, even gently delivered: a thorough explanation, all her faults in the past five minutes laid carefully forth. When Wyrmbreaker is finished, he pauses a moment, then goes on.

"As for what you want to learn: I can tell you what it is I believe is Thunder's greatest asset. But we could talk all night and you won't truly learn it. If I told you in words everything I know about fighting, do you suppose you'd have learned a single technique? And if not, why would you think the philosophy of an entire tribe is any different? Learning has very little to do with talking, cub, and much to do with watching, following, and acting."

[Grace] It's censure.

But, for what it's worht, she isn't tucking her tail. She isn't looking injured or cowed or anything of the sort. She is, instead, watching him, intently, and listening intently to what he has to say. Because, when he says that her apology is accepted, it is in the past. Possibly unaware of the homid concept of actual forgiveness, or really if he is the type to carry a grudge.

He's honorable, though, despite what the recent events may have said.

And never once does she defend her choices, nor does she speak up to say anything otherwise. Finally? "That makes sense.

"Do you want me to let you get back to your thoughts?"

[Wyrmbreaker] A pause -- thoughtful. Then Lukas shakes his head. Once, then again, more firmly.

"I want to ask you a question. What do you think you're here to do, Grace? I mean: here. At Maelstrom. In Chicago. On the face of the planet. Why are you here?"

[Grace] She looks at him, and it is her turn to sit down. She takes a few steps back, so that she doesn't have to crane her neck up so high at him to get a good look. She lets her elbows rest on her knees, and she thinks about this. It's something that she isn't answering it immediately.

"That's a good question," she says. It sounds vaguely like Buried Hatchet's speech pattern, in the cadence and timbre for a second. A borrowed phrase, but a sentiment she knows.

"I don't know, rhya," she says, "why I am here. Or why I exist, but I think that the finding is more important. Knowing is static, fundamental. I am here, at Maelstrom, because I need to be here. And that need is stronger than any want I may have."

A pause.

"What I think I am here to do, and what I am meant to do, could be two different things."

Another pause. This time, it's longer. Drawn out. After more thinking, more musing, and something that comes off as strength and resolve. Knowing, constant but not stagnant.

"I am here to serve Gaia."

[Wyrmbreaker] It's only at the last that Lukas nods once.

"What about a Red Talon? Or a Silent Strider? Or a Black Fury? Why are they here?"

[Grace] "The same reason," she tells him, "to serve Gaia."

[Wyrmbreaker] "What's more important than serving Gaia?"

[Grace] "Nothing."

[Wyrmbreaker] "And what would you give up to do your duty? What would you commit?"

[Grace] "Anything and everything," she tells him. Matter of fact, to the point, right there, "whatever was needed."

[Wyrmbreaker] "And that's the heart of it." Flatly spoken, like a QED at the end of an equation. "Shadow Lord philosophy. Same as any other tribe. Easily enough said. Harder to live.

"There will be a lot of distractions out there once you're on your own, cub. You'll strive for dominance and for renown. You'll make friends and enemies. You'll fall in love. Your tribe will make demands: the Fianna are always concerned about their kin. Their families. Lovers. Music. The Fenrir worry about their glory and their name. The Silver Fangs keep combing over their genealogies. The Glass Walkers want money and influence, and the Shadow Lords, those that have forgotten, want power.

"But you."

Wyrmbreaker is still atop his totem's shrine -- sitting now, crosslegged. Leaning forward to look her right in the eye, the Shadow Lord's as pale and fiery as lightning.

"If you keep what you just told me in your heart, if you can genuinely remember it and obey it -- I'll consider our bargain kept."

[Grace] "Rhya, I have a question," because she would have a question.

[Grace] Another pause.

"It can wait, though."

[Wyrmbreaker] Wyrmbreaker nods. "Let's hear it."

[Grace] "We are here to serve Gaia, and there is no purpose higher or greater," she says. Matter of fact, they've just established this.

"So, why does the wyrm pole have names on the trophies, if their purpose is to be in honor of Gaia?"

[Wyrmbreaker] Wyrmbreaker starts to answer -- then stops. His mouth closes. He looks at Grace a beat, his head tilting at a slight, feral angle. His eyes gleam.

Then: "Why do you think?"

[Grace] [I asked you first!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 6 (Failure at target 6)

[Grace] "To remind other garou of one's deeds," she said.

Silence.

"It confuses me. It stands for our glory, our wisdom, and our honor-" a pause. "But it is our glory and our wisdom and our honor. I believe,"after a point, it stops being about Her. It starts being about ourselves."

Another pause. This stop-start way of communication could be taxing, but she looks him in the eyes when she says it.

"If I am correct, that is unacceptable."

[Wyrmbreaker] He lets her finish that train of thought. He lets her get to the end, and then he huffs a faint laugh.

"Has it ever occurred to you that you might be wrong?"

[Grace] "Yes," she tells him, "it has. I could be very wrong, and if I am I will remember why. But I don't know if I am right, either."

[Wyrmbreaker] "The way it was explained to me," Lukas says then, "the original purpose of the Wyrmpole was never to show off to your fellow Septmates. It was to display your prowess to the spirits, to the Wyrm, and to your descendants.

"By hanging a trophy on the Wyrmpole, we prove our worth to our totems. We prove ourselves worthy of greater rank and status in service to Gaia. We prove ourselves capable, wise and honorable and glorious enough, to bear the great Gifts Gaia might bestow upon us.

"We also send a warning to the Wyrm. A threat, a promise, and a defiance all in one. This is how your brethren ended. This is how you'll end.

"And finally, we leave a piece of ourselves behind when we fall. So our cubs will be able to look back and see who their forebears were, and what they did, and what sacrifice they ultimately gave."

A pause. He unfolds his legs, lays back on the thunder stone again.

"Like everything else," he says, "the Wyrmpole is corruptible. And just like most my tribe is now concerned mainly with their own power, most Garou hanging trophies on the pole do it as a way to glorify themselves without understanding why recognition even matters. And that is troubling. But that's not the root of the tradition."

[Grace] "I gave that up," she told him. And in her tone, many things were communicated, but it was hard to really call the lupus female an open book. Either she spent more time in human skin than she had originally intended, or she was a quick learner, but her brows were knit and her expression thoughtful and something else that was difficult to put a finger on. She squelched it down, whatever it was.

The statement stays there, but she continues on anyway after silence.

"But if something is corrupted, shouldn't it be-" she falters to find a word. She stops and is searching "-charnged?"

The look in her eyes says that it wasn't the word she was looking for, but rather, the closest approximation available to her vocabulary.

[Wyrmbreaker] "Of course. But we all pick our battles, Grace, when we decide how to best serve Gaia. The Hive in the north is more important to me than whether or not Garou are forgetting the purpose of the Wyrmpole. You might disagree. And if you do," he turns his head to look at her over the edge of the stone, "then do something about it."

[Grace] There is silence.

"...do you think they have something like the wyrmpole at their hive?"

[Wyrmbreaker] "Probably," after a pause. "They have ranks too. Spirits -- banes -- to aid and guide and arm them for the war. Hierarchy and structure, elders, sept offices. Everything just like us, only ... not."

Lukas's dark hair moves softly over the rough surface of the stone as he returns his eyes to the sky. Head back, lying flat, there's a savage nobility in his profile. His blood is deeply Shadow Lord, so purely and anciently so that he must've never even thought seriously of joining a different Tribe. And the truth is, though another may have accepted him, Thunder is where he belongs.

"No more questions tonight, Grace. Don't forget what I've told you about observations and actions. Words won't get you very far at all in the end."

[Banshee] She decided it was best to come in the back tonight, and quietly went upstairs. Blood covered her clothes, and she moved into the common room to plop into a chair and rest for a bit.

[Grace] It was more sound than motion. They are just like us, only not. The sound she made in result was low, and distinctly inhuman in its own right. There were all sorts of things that it could mean, but the most obvious was displeasure. Layers and layers of communication that are quite lost to the fact that she was in the wrong body for them.

"Thank you," she tells him. She doesn't say she appreciated it, because it was a given. She said thank you, so saying that she appreciated it would have been redundant.

And she waits. And looks at him half expectantly.

[Wyrmbreaker] Wyrmbreaker only nods -- barely perceptible. Then he draws a breath, as though the cold stone of his totem's empty shrine could still bring him strength or refuge.

Lets it out.

Folds his hands behind his head, lets his eyes half-close, and returns to whatever contemplation or meditation or prayer he may have been engaged in before Grace.

[Wyrmbreaker] [i'm out on that note, folks! i might MT again laterishly, but taking a break!]