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+---- Thread: July: Opening Howl / Inner Sky (/showthread.php?tid=227)
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July: Opening Howl / Inner Sky - kai - 07-16-2013
[Take it away, Phoebe!]
RE: July: Opening Howl / Inner Sky - errin - 07-16-2013
As the sun drifts behind the ridge of the mountains the wolves begin to gather at the edges of Roxborough Park. They wander past the boundaries, wondering where this month's moot will be held, wondering if they'll need to find and chase the elusive scent of the Fostern Black Fury whose role it is this month to gather them and wake the spirits.
When the sun sinks beyond the Rockies, taking the last light of the day with it, a voice lifts from within the park, a human voice lifted in wordless song, enthralling, captivating. This isn't like two months past when Raspberry Sky drew them into a rousing foot-stomper, this voice is singular, ethereal and otherworldly. Siren of Persephone draws them to the rocks, to the great ridge of red standstone that rises like a spine through the center of the park. They find her standing at the base of one of the formations, tall and slender, her eyes closed as she sings, dressed in a tank top and shorts, her feet bare and sinking into the damp earth, long dark hair spilling loose over her shoulders, and they have to be wondering, is this it? Is this where it begins? Phoebe gives them no indication that they should join in, not yet. She just keeps singing until she's gathered a small crowd.
This July has been a wet month, with rains nearly every day from afternoon until the early evening, sometimes longer. Sometimes shorter. The ground is wet, the grasses, sparse as they are, easily trampled. The delicate balance of the park would be destroyed if all the wolves of both the septs gathered here. Phoebe has prepared for this. So when she's gathered an audience her eyes open. The corners of her mouth lift upward into a smile as she holds out her long, slender arms to them, welcoming. Beckoning. Then, stepping slowly forward she
disappears
across the whisper thin Gauntlet, into the Umbra. Realmside the valley rings with the silence of her song's abrupt end.
That first gathering is the first to cross after her. Then those behind them, and behind those, and as each wolf sees the one before them disappear across the Gauntlet they know to follow. It's on to the other side where Phoebe's song continues, long enough for them to look around and see who else sits in attendance of this moot.
Spirits. Not all that are followed within the sept, but many.
They can feel Earth beneath their feet in the way they only can on this side. And there is Fog drifting over the rocks. In the distance Twister writhes. From somewhere out of sight they hear the echoing rumble of General Lee's engine. Stag stands proud, his great antlers branching as if to hold up the sky. Themis the Dream Weaver. Storm clouds and Rats and Pegasus and on and on, all the spirits that she could gather safely throughout the day, with her voice and with her presence and with her skill as a Theurge, drift at the outskirts of the gathering space, which is wide and slopes outward from where she stands. The Garou will have to arrange themselves like wings outstretched from the spine of the Caern.
Phoebe does not stop singing. She barely pauses for breath. On and on she goes until she's sure they're all there, they're all here, her brothers and sisters, her family, her friends. Gathered together beneath the swell of the bright full moon.
And finally, just when it seems her voice begins to falter, she stops. She shifts upward, up to her tall and too-skinny, powerful Crinos form. Then she gathers her Gnosis, lets it flow through her and over her, and finally down and down and down, sinking all of it, every last drop into Earth. As it leaves her she lifts her muzzle to the sky.
That's when the howls begin.
============
niko @ 3:02PM
[Phoebe: now SING: char+perf (captivating/singing) +WP to ensure she doesn't corak]]
Roll: 8 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 2, 5, 7, 8, 8, 10) ( success x 5 ) Re-rolls: 1 [WP] VALID
niko @ 3:02PM
[croak even]
Shay @ 3:03PM
[So very witnessed!]
RE: July: Opening Howl / Inner Sky - kai - 07-16-2013
[Go ahead and roll for the Moot Rite as well. WtA20 fails to list a dice pool, so we'll use Intelligence + Rituals, diff 7. Take -1 to that diff for an exceptional success on the performance roll!]
RE: July: Opening Howl / Inner Sky - errin - 07-16-2013
[Sid @ 10:52PM
Private Message to Jim
[Phoebe: Moot rite: int+rituals diff 7-1]
Roll: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 6, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 4 ) VALID
Jim @ 10:53PM
Private Message to Sid
[ Witnessed! You do that Moot Rite! ]]
RE: July: Opening Howl / Inner Sky - kai - 07-17-2013
A thrill goes up Avery's spine. She shivers at the sound as she is drawn towards it, and it feels Wyld, and it makes her feel wild. As she and others begin to walk and run from the parking lot or the fields or trails, Avery slips down into the larger of her four-legged forms. She is not a hunter in this body, because hunters must be quick and silent and deadly at times, and this body is built for pure carnage, for pure power. But it sparks the edges of her rage to wear it, and so she does.
When she reaches the site, others are still starting to surround Phoebe. They are in a multitude of forms and shapes. There are hulking grey Fenrir and there are Glasswalkers from Cold Crescent with shaving and tattooing that range from artful to garish and there are sleek, pitch-dark Furies whose voices twine with Phoebe's in near-perfect harmony and there are garou in homid who sing in human voices and there are a smattering -- a sad, small smattering -- of lupus-born who howl because human songs mean so little to them and there are the sometimes rasping, sometimes warped voices of metis there, but even at their most beautiful they mean little because in Forgotten Questions they are often avoided and in Cold Crescent they are often ignored.
Avery breathes in deep and pushes through the Gauntlet when it is time. Here it is easier than any other place, so close to the heart, but she has no pack Theurge to drag her in with her and she is not, like some older Philodoxes, as strong in spirit as in will. She lingers for a heart-stopping count of seconds in limbo before crossing over, finding she has lost the thread of the song. She breathes in deep, and whuffs out, and then
howls.
Now, full-throated, she does not keep her voice soft out of concern for the mortals nearby but howls and howls, lifting her muzzle and letting it out. The spirits gather around her, and underneath them Earth is answering, stirring in wakefulness to Phoebe's song, all but vibrating into their bones to join them tonight.
RE: July: Opening Howl / Inner Sky - Damon - 07-17-2013
They are there too, Erich-wolf and Charlotte-wolf and -- if Erich could find her in time -- Ingrid-wolf. Whether they are two or three, they could not possibly be more mismatched. For his part, Storm's Teeth is heavy of bone, large of frame; a robust young wolf, whose greatest asset is visibly and indubitably the strength in his body. There's still some youthness leanness to him, though, and when his stride stretches to its fullest the shadow of his ribs can be seen under his pelt.
Which is dappled greyish. Not deep black, and not steel grey, but greyish. And rather thick, even in the middle of summer: thick enough, adapted enough for the north and the frost, that when he finally comes upon the gathering of wolves he is panting, his tongue flattened out and dripping. He looks so happy to see everyone as they cross over and gather there in the umbra. The thick brush of his tail is wagging, his not-inconsiderable weight stamping heavily on his forepaws as he leaps, bounds, brushes against, crowds, shoulders, bumps, and all but dances around the few he recognizes.
Like that other Ahroun, for one. The one other of the six who had stood for Wyrmfoe alongside Erich, and the one who had come closest to earning it. They'd met during the chase. They'd introduced themselves with claw and tooth. They'd made friends with spilled blood, wounds opened, and now -- a turn of the moon later -- Erich-wolf greets his rival-friend exuberantly by leaping on his back, rolling with him in the dirt, snapping at his ear, growling ferociously as they tangle and disentangle and bump sides and jostle.
The howls lifting into the settling night are what brings Erich-wolf out of his tussle. Ears perking, he lets go his mouthful of his rival-friend's ruff. A moment later he wiggles loose of the tangle, scrambles to his feet. A long, thoroughly enjoyable, head-to-toe shake sends a faint cloud of dust wafting away from his fur. He trots loose-jointed and agile to Charlotte-wolf, and to Ingrid-wolf if she is there. Storm's Teeth listens a moment: bright-eyed, ears up, deciphering the weave and discord of the howls until he finds the perfect moment
to lift his muzzle to the sky
and howl.
RE: July: Opening Howl / Inner Sky - Joey - 07-18-2013
Jack takes great pride in approaching this moot with his Celduin packmates. Even greater than that proud bearing the Bone Gnawer carries himself with at their rear, though, is the happiness that shines in a full heart and wide eyes. Contentedness. Fulfillment. Completion. His hackles low, his head held high, his mouth open and tongue lolling free.
And they disappear. Through the membrane so wan within the bawn of a Caern and to a more vibrant world reflected up from its vivid Earth. And Law in War disappears again as the fog rolls in thick and obscuring. Lets it consume him. Sublimate his senses. Perhaps he wishes he could make his howl surreal. Phantasmal. Mysterious, a thing of enigmas and obfuscation to match their totem.
But instead it is a trembling roar, bridging the strength of the Caern's totem below his feet, reverberating through the brume, the nebulous mists that wrap around them like a Mother. A fierce and substantial howl that says within their patron's wispy tendrils hides the true stuff of terror and destruction.
And again he emerges from its shadows to join the gathering Garou, at the same time joining his howl again and again with each huffing breath of air, until he feels his mind wavering in dizziness from the blasts of oxygen and wild rage rising to replace its even keel with tempest and tremor below Luna.
RE: July: Opening Howl / Inner Sky - CourtCat - 07-18-2013
There was a [girl]
a very strange, enchanted [girl]
they say [s]he wandered very far, very far
over land and sea ...
She's there, the new girl who could pass for a daughter of Uktena if every bit of her didn't whisper of Falcon's brood - it's far more subtle than so many of her Tribesmates, but still it's there, stirring the air with the impression of heroes past, of myths and legends. She has no pack, and only a couple people she knows, so she stands there - not quite with Phoebe but near her, adding to the wild rumpus with a song not of her father's people, oddly enough, but her mother's (as close as it can be translated to the lupine tongue, strangely undulating and ululating as it does). It weaves under, around and through everything, though she's not particularly loud where she stands adding her voice to the Theurge song, to the Sept song.
Over Sea, Under Stone has arrived, and she sings her pleasure and pain and triumph and tribulation with the rest of her kind in this place.
RE: July: Opening Howl / Inner Sky - errin - 07-18-2013
Ingrid-wolf doesn't arrive with Erich-wolf and Charlotte-wolf. In fact, when she arrives it's not even as a wolf. She picks her way from the parking lot to the entrance and down into the narrow, steep valley in front of the rising red sandstone. She's barefoot and dressed in a light sleeveless shirt cut low enough to expose the hilt of the tattoo on her chest and a dark colored skirt with an asymmetrical hem that falls to her knees. Her short hair is windswept and tangled. On the whole the elegant, graceful Shadow Lord looks like some feral wild thing as she makes her way across the Gauntlet with the others.
There she shifts, down to four paws. In this form she's smallish and slender, her black and grey mottled fur unbroken by scars.
She finds them. She'll always be able to find them, even though they don't share a totem bond. There is Erich, rough housing with his new friend. There is Charlotte, shining beacon of Silver Fang purity. Dances With the Hurricane approaches them from the side, wolfish head aslant as she watches Charlotte, and if she doesn't shy away from Ingrid, Ingrid comes a little closer.
And gets bumped by the tumble of Ahrouns. She lets out a growl that has no real menace, her ears only flicking back about halfway. She nips at Erich, catching and tearing at a section of his fur. Then she steps nimbly to the side, giving them room.
Meanwhile the Fury's haunting melody soars over and above and around them. When it stops, Ingrid lifts her face to the moon.
Her howl is long and low and rough. And maybe. Just a little bit? Happy.
RE: July: Opening Howl / Inner Sky - mnemosyne - 07-18-2013
Oh, Charlotte.
Like Ingrid, Charlotte is not-yet-Charlotte-wolfe when the moot begins; nor even when they follow the evening's ritemistress across the gauntlet so thin this close to the heart of the Caern that the barrier feels nearly non-existent. It is almost like being whole.
She slips through the gauntlet as easy as a silverfish darting in clear water, with a twist and wriggle of her dorsal spine, and a quiet pop of air. Finds herself still-girl-formed, still-human-shaped on the other side. Human-shaped because homid born though she is, she has never been especially human.
A strange thing: not particularly proud, nor especially sleek. Far from intimidating. There is a certain fineness, a certain regularity to her features that humans might find attractive, but she is a gawkish scarecrow of a thing, arms and legs seem too long and too thin. Charlotte she holds herself very very close, knobby shoulders twisted up and turned inward, her pale eyes huge and watchful in a pale face. Mouth closed, lips pressed together, watching the beginnings of the rite so intently that she misses Ingrid's arrival until the no-moon is alongside them and only after the jostling Ahrouns have slammed into her own legs, as well.
The Ragabash growls and nips. Charlotte makes a little noise and grabs a handful of Erich's fur, solemn expression broken briefly by a bleed-through grin that lingers at the corners of her mouth as she waves (yes: waves, four little white fingers) to the Ragabash.
Charlotte-wolf appears when the howls begin. The awkward girl closes her eyes and feels them rising all around her, bright shards of sound that set the fine hairs of her skin on end, that crawl up the ladder of her spine and make her bleed with aching joy and enduring fury.
Then, abruptly, girl-in-Mexican-Sprite-t-shirt becomes another pristine white dire wolf. Lifts her muzzle to the sky, and sings, with all the others, this weaving, raging,
wolfsong.