10-17-2013, 05:58 PM
Broken Tree Sings-in-Wind asks for tales of hope to blaze against the darkness of the coming end-of-days.
For a long time, Ingrid is content to sit and listen. As Erich rails against that thinking, pointing out faces in the crowd. As Celduin move together and speak words with wolves' tongues. As the Alpha rises to tell the tale of a pack of Theurges. And she watches the others, the ones who dance or sing songs that send shivers down the spine. And as she does these things she also thinks.
Perhaps it is these tales as well as the slow burning fire of Rage stoked, but eventually, she is the one who steps into the circle. Ingrid does not make a great show of her appearance - in fact, someone else is half a step inside before they realize oh, someone else got there first. She stands there a moment, staring out at the crowd with eyes that are black as coal, black as the night they rail against, glittering with fire like stars, her hair down and wild around her shoulders. If anyone expects her to cavort about, to tumble and tell jokes and enliven this gathering, well they don't know Dances With the Hurricane. She is not that sort of Ragabash.
When she speaks she is not loud. She could be. Ingrid knows how to pitch her voice just so, lifting it to be heard by Garou all the way in the back, but she doesn't. This is not a story for loud voices. It is a story for a quiet, deadly Ragabash with a rather intimate association with darkness and shadow and secrets. Her voice is just barely loud enough, and so the crowd has to quiet still further. It is not a silence as absolute as the one that follows the Great Alpha's cracking of an antler's rack, but it's close enough.
"Allow me to tell you about a Citadel that fell to fire, and the hope that was found in its ashes." She is not a storyteller, she does not have a flair for the dramatic, she cannot spin this story into something entertaining, or incredibly interesting. But she will tell it just the same.
The first part, when Afro Daddy who was not her Alpha then sought her help in scouting this place out. A child went missing. The Glass Walker wanted him found. Together, they did just that, found the body buried in the little graveyard. Mutilated. Tortured. Every moment until the last must have been filled with pain.
And they can hear it, a shiver in Ingrid's voice, a tremor of cold furious Rage when she describes it.
She does not give the details of the assault. This is not a tale for glory, or honor, or what wisdom could be found that night. By now they've likely heard it already from some Garou or other, or perhaps one of the Kinfolk there that night. Or maybe they haven't, and Ingrid is going to be set upon by an eager young Galliard the instant she steps from the circle. Either way, she says,
"Four of us, Afro Daddy-rhya, Treads the Ashen Path-rhya, Storm's Teeth-yuf, and I, brought down the Citadel and purged it with cleansing fire." Ingrid's mouth curves into the slightest of smiles. She has laid enough groundwork and the skeletal details. There was a place that did terrible things to children, and it was dealt with. Now finally:
"Twenty children were kept in that place. One died terribly. Three were tainted beyond saving. One escaped. Fifteen were saved. Fifteen were taken from that place of darkness and pain. Fifteen were cared for by Kinfolk. Fifteen were sent home to their families.
"We cannot save everyone. That does not mean we can stop fighting."
She does not stand there in lingering silence. As soon as she's finished she inclines her head to the gathered Garou of two septs. She turns, and in one fluid motion she dips lower for Broken Tree Sings-in-Wind and turns to return to her place in the crowd.
For a long time, Ingrid is content to sit and listen. As Erich rails against that thinking, pointing out faces in the crowd. As Celduin move together and speak words with wolves' tongues. As the Alpha rises to tell the tale of a pack of Theurges. And she watches the others, the ones who dance or sing songs that send shivers down the spine. And as she does these things she also thinks.
Perhaps it is these tales as well as the slow burning fire of Rage stoked, but eventually, she is the one who steps into the circle. Ingrid does not make a great show of her appearance - in fact, someone else is half a step inside before they realize oh, someone else got there first. She stands there a moment, staring out at the crowd with eyes that are black as coal, black as the night they rail against, glittering with fire like stars, her hair down and wild around her shoulders. If anyone expects her to cavort about, to tumble and tell jokes and enliven this gathering, well they don't know Dances With the Hurricane. She is not that sort of Ragabash.
When she speaks she is not loud. She could be. Ingrid knows how to pitch her voice just so, lifting it to be heard by Garou all the way in the back, but she doesn't. This is not a story for loud voices. It is a story for a quiet, deadly Ragabash with a rather intimate association with darkness and shadow and secrets. Her voice is just barely loud enough, and so the crowd has to quiet still further. It is not a silence as absolute as the one that follows the Great Alpha's cracking of an antler's rack, but it's close enough.
"Allow me to tell you about a Citadel that fell to fire, and the hope that was found in its ashes." She is not a storyteller, she does not have a flair for the dramatic, she cannot spin this story into something entertaining, or incredibly interesting. But she will tell it just the same.
The first part, when Afro Daddy who was not her Alpha then sought her help in scouting this place out. A child went missing. The Glass Walker wanted him found. Together, they did just that, found the body buried in the little graveyard. Mutilated. Tortured. Every moment until the last must have been filled with pain.
And they can hear it, a shiver in Ingrid's voice, a tremor of cold furious Rage when she describes it.
She does not give the details of the assault. This is not a tale for glory, or honor, or what wisdom could be found that night. By now they've likely heard it already from some Garou or other, or perhaps one of the Kinfolk there that night. Or maybe they haven't, and Ingrid is going to be set upon by an eager young Galliard the instant she steps from the circle. Either way, she says,
"Four of us, Afro Daddy-rhya, Treads the Ashen Path-rhya, Storm's Teeth-yuf, and I, brought down the Citadel and purged it with cleansing fire." Ingrid's mouth curves into the slightest of smiles. She has laid enough groundwork and the skeletal details. There was a place that did terrible things to children, and it was dealt with. Now finally:
"Twenty children were kept in that place. One died terribly. Three were tainted beyond saving. One escaped. Fifteen were saved. Fifteen were taken from that place of darkness and pain. Fifteen were cared for by Kinfolk. Fifteen were sent home to their families.
"We cannot save everyone. That does not mean we can stop fighting."
She does not stand there in lingering silence. As soon as she's finished she inclines her head to the gathered Garou of two septs. She turns, and in one fluid motion she dips lower for Broken Tree Sings-in-Wind and turns to return to her place in the crowd.