08-17-2013, 10:01 AM
[Well I guess no one else has shit to say, so let's go, Ingrid! *psychs self up*]
The Silver Fang Philodox opens the Cracking, and Ingrid waits. She waits for the Elders to speak, for the Athros, and so on until...
Someone, some Garou of whatever Auspice and whichever rank, takes the bone and touches on the attack on Cold Crescent. The Shadow Lord Ragabash, waiting in lupus, rises to four paws before flowing up into her homid form. Then she wends her way through the gathered. She passes wolves she's met and those she hasn't. She makes her way to the front, spine straight and movements graceful, unconcerned by the eyes that track her progress. It isn't arrogance (okay so it might be a little arrogance), it's confidence. She is bolstered by the presence of her wouldbe packmate, her friend, even Earth itself who knows her secrets. She is not nervous. She is the Fool, and she has come to hijack this ceremony.
When she reaches the front she holds out her hand for the bone, smiling in a way that is sly, lowering her head respectfully to the one that holds it presently. When it falls into her grasp Ingrid studies it before turning. She holds it in both hands as she addresses her peers...her septmates. Wolves of Forgotten Questions and in particular, wolves of Cold Crescent.
"What," she asks, pitching her voice to carry as far as it may, "is so special about the Sept of the Cold Crescent," the crowd, already quiet, stills. What's this? Is she questioning the validity of the city Sept? Without break or pause, Ingrid finishes, "that it draws the Beloved Horror like a beacon in the night?"
The Silver Fang Philodox opens the Cracking, and Ingrid waits. She waits for the Elders to speak, for the Athros, and so on until...
Someone, some Garou of whatever Auspice and whichever rank, takes the bone and touches on the attack on Cold Crescent. The Shadow Lord Ragabash, waiting in lupus, rises to four paws before flowing up into her homid form. Then she wends her way through the gathered. She passes wolves she's met and those she hasn't. She makes her way to the front, spine straight and movements graceful, unconcerned by the eyes that track her progress. It isn't arrogance (okay so it might be a little arrogance), it's confidence. She is bolstered by the presence of her wouldbe packmate, her friend, even Earth itself who knows her secrets. She is not nervous. She is the Fool, and she has come to hijack this ceremony.
When she reaches the front she holds out her hand for the bone, smiling in a way that is sly, lowering her head respectfully to the one that holds it presently. When it falls into her grasp Ingrid studies it before turning. She holds it in both hands as she addresses her peers...her septmates. Wolves of Forgotten Questions and in particular, wolves of Cold Crescent.
"What," she asks, pitching her voice to carry as far as it may, "is so special about the Sept of the Cold Crescent," the crowd, already quiet, stills. What's this? Is she questioning the validity of the city Sept? Without break or pause, Ingrid finishes, "that it draws the Beloved Horror like a beacon in the night?"