12-09-2013, 09:02 PM
The last moot that had passed, the bone had been cracked by the Great Alpha himself. Before that, a Silver Fang who has earned a name within the Nation, with Breeding and Stance and Charm and Regality-- the kind of person that you look to when she enters a room and hear clearly when she speaks.
This month there was a return to normalcy-- or at least, as close to it as any Garou would get. The challenge for who would crack the bone was open for any who would step up. It is no familiar face that rose the victor from the challenge, but one that no wolf present had seen before.
Some of the young still have trouble telling Crinos and Lupus apart, but plenty here are seasoned enough to know that the scent of the Garou that stepped forward when the howl had closed and all had settled was a stranger to the Sept.
Why is he leading us?
Who is he to judge us?
What does he know of the story of Forgotten Questions and its people, of what we've gone through and the issues at hand?
Whispers would pass as he rose from where he'd been crouched up until that point, and though they'd have to quiet, young wolves hushed by the elders that know when silence is due, they would no doubt surge up later during the revelry and aftermath that followed. For now, though, quiet settles and David "Final Word" Lundgren stepped forward.
He was a mountain of a Crinos, stretching up to a full ten feet tall, possibly an inch or so beyond that. He was bulky as he was tall, muscle dense and layered along with a healthy amount of insulating fat, which made his figure all the more impressive. His pelt was white from chin to chest to belly to arms and legs, gray from head to shoulders to back to tail tip. He looked every bit the Tribe that he hailed from-- not many had to have it spelled out for him that this man descended from the Get of Fenris (though they couldn't smell it on him, though they couldn't hear it in the wind around him or sense that gripping authority that they could in the more well-bred; he looked the part, but it was just that alone).
The beast walked with a heavy, almost lumbering gait to the front and center of those gathered, and curled in massive hands ended in wicked white-clear-cream-colored claws was the traditional femur, ripped free from a deer the other day. He thumped it in his palm and swung his weight about to face those that were gathered.
Light colored eyes scanned the crowd, and the quiet drew on-- on and on, past the dozen second mark, past the twenty second mark as well. It stopped being impressive, and people started to shift and look uncertain. Final Word ran his tongue over his maw and nose and looked down at the bone in his hands, for a glimpse of a moment coming across as uncertain -- Did they make the right choice? Is he going to fuck this up? Is that stage fright we're seeing? -- before lifting the bone to his face and crunching it between strong jaws like it was a chicken bone instead. Marrow leaked, tinged that snow-white fur around his mouth pink, and with his breath pluming like a cloud in the night and the rank of blood on his breath, he spoke in a voice just as deep as you'd expect coming from that big body to address those gathered.
"You know how this works. If you have grievances or scores to settle, if you have complaints or announcements or plans, this is when and where to share them. Respect Those of Higher Station-- the Eldest will speak first, then on down the line through the ranks."
His gaze swept the crowd, and though his words were certain there was still that lingering barely-there air of inexperience to how stiff his posture was and how wide his eyes were when he looked past faces and over heads and ears instead. Yet, there was no tremble in his voice when he clarified: "If you speak out of turn, you'll be put back down in your place. You're welcome to find out what that entails if you choose, but I don't recommend it."
Black lips curl up over his teeth like he took some kind of nervous joy away from that announcement.
"Now. We'll start."
Final Word maintains his Crinos form through the proceedings, and is as physically imposing a figure as any while holding the cracked bone balanced on his palm. He didn't know who was what rank, so any who opted to speak in their turn would need to indicate it to him, hail him in some way. When catching a gesture, he will approach and stand blocky and heavy while they speak.
This month there was a return to normalcy-- or at least, as close to it as any Garou would get. The challenge for who would crack the bone was open for any who would step up. It is no familiar face that rose the victor from the challenge, but one that no wolf present had seen before.
Some of the young still have trouble telling Crinos and Lupus apart, but plenty here are seasoned enough to know that the scent of the Garou that stepped forward when the howl had closed and all had settled was a stranger to the Sept.
Why is he leading us?
Who is he to judge us?
What does he know of the story of Forgotten Questions and its people, of what we've gone through and the issues at hand?
Whispers would pass as he rose from where he'd been crouched up until that point, and though they'd have to quiet, young wolves hushed by the elders that know when silence is due, they would no doubt surge up later during the revelry and aftermath that followed. For now, though, quiet settles and David "Final Word" Lundgren stepped forward.
He was a mountain of a Crinos, stretching up to a full ten feet tall, possibly an inch or so beyond that. He was bulky as he was tall, muscle dense and layered along with a healthy amount of insulating fat, which made his figure all the more impressive. His pelt was white from chin to chest to belly to arms and legs, gray from head to shoulders to back to tail tip. He looked every bit the Tribe that he hailed from-- not many had to have it spelled out for him that this man descended from the Get of Fenris (though they couldn't smell it on him, though they couldn't hear it in the wind around him or sense that gripping authority that they could in the more well-bred; he looked the part, but it was just that alone).
The beast walked with a heavy, almost lumbering gait to the front and center of those gathered, and curled in massive hands ended in wicked white-clear-cream-colored claws was the traditional femur, ripped free from a deer the other day. He thumped it in his palm and swung his weight about to face those that were gathered.
Light colored eyes scanned the crowd, and the quiet drew on-- on and on, past the dozen second mark, past the twenty second mark as well. It stopped being impressive, and people started to shift and look uncertain. Final Word ran his tongue over his maw and nose and looked down at the bone in his hands, for a glimpse of a moment coming across as uncertain -- Did they make the right choice? Is he going to fuck this up? Is that stage fright we're seeing? -- before lifting the bone to his face and crunching it between strong jaws like it was a chicken bone instead. Marrow leaked, tinged that snow-white fur around his mouth pink, and with his breath pluming like a cloud in the night and the rank of blood on his breath, he spoke in a voice just as deep as you'd expect coming from that big body to address those gathered.
"You know how this works. If you have grievances or scores to settle, if you have complaints or announcements or plans, this is when and where to share them. Respect Those of Higher Station-- the Eldest will speak first, then on down the line through the ranks."
His gaze swept the crowd, and though his words were certain there was still that lingering barely-there air of inexperience to how stiff his posture was and how wide his eyes were when he looked past faces and over heads and ears instead. Yet, there was no tremble in his voice when he clarified: "If you speak out of turn, you'll be put back down in your place. You're welcome to find out what that entails if you choose, but I don't recommend it."
Black lips curl up over his teeth like he took some kind of nervous joy away from that announcement.
"Now. We'll start."
Final Word maintains his Crinos form through the proceedings, and is as physically imposing a figure as any while holding the cracked bone balanced on his palm. He didn't know who was what rank, so any who opted to speak in their turn would need to indicate it to him, hail him in some way. When catching a gesture, he will approach and stand blocky and heavy while they speak.