07-16-2013, 09:48 PM
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!]
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!]