12-12-2013, 02:06 AM
Cold Crescent is closed. Everyone knows that.
Cold Crescent is still called Cold Crescent, even among the elders in Forgotten Questions. High-ranked guards stand watch in the lower levels and patrol the tunnels and surrounding areas to make sure the Beloved Horror -- and others -- stay out.
Cold Crescent has shrines, and patrols, and people sort-of-almost staying there or near there.
Everyone knows that, too. No one brings it up at the moot, until the Cracking has begun to wind down.
--
And then the Cliaths and Fosterns talk. Older garou listen. Some, newcomers, tip their heads in both confusion and sometimes nod in agreement with one statement or another. Those who have been here longer cross their arms. Frown or smirk at turns, shake their heads sometimes, watch the younger werewolves circle the topic.
In the end, it is a New Moon who takes the bone. He spoke earlier. He is an Adren, and his name is Vigor and Rigor, known for the scales of his renown tipping more heavily towards wisdom and honor than glory. He was born and raised here; he lives in a house just down the street from the entrance to Roxborough Park. He completed, and won, a challenge of grievance last month by debating circles around the wolf who issued the challenge. The other wolf gave up. When he walks forward to take the bone, some of the garou who have sort of stopped listening because they don't pay too much attention to Fosterns and Cliaths perk a bit, attending more closely.
Bone in hand, Vigor spreads his arms.
"All right," he says clearly, with a smile. "Obviously all of you care about that place. A lot. But some of what you think you know is mixed up, and some of you just... don't know some pretty important things. Which is perfectly fine, only one of you I've heard speak is a Ragabash, and we can't expect all the auspices to give the same attention to detail that a No Moon would."
The smile spreads briefly to a grin. He turns to Erich, who spoke of Cold Crescent first. "Storm's Teeth: please do not jump into that pit-thing. I mean it." He pauses, and he's not smiling now: "Small spirits have been sacrificed. They went to see what they could find, and they did not come back. We don't know if they were changed," he glances at Tamsin briefly, then back at Erich, "or destroyed. We only know that they did not return. Hey, Warning Threshold-rhya!"
He looks into the gathering, at the wolf who cannot shift, who stands now as he has since his punishment, in the form of a tall, broad-shouldered man. His eyes meet Vigor's.
"Did the Walkers send any cameras, tech, things like that?"
And Warning Threshold, former warder of the very sept being discussed, gives a single deep nod.
"Nothing came back?"
Warning Threshold shakes his head.
Vigor turns back to Erich. "So really: don't jump in there. I'm willing to lay money on you not coming back." He turns to Tamsin, then, whose idea that was to begin with, and his head cocks to the side, his brows tugging together a bit. "They know about the caern. They know where we are. The first time we encountered them, before Cold Crescent was even built, was here. They weren't as strong then, and they were beaten back. Hunted, for a while, before they got so far from our borders that no one bothered. We had no idea what they'd become. But oh yeah: they definitely know we're here."
There's an undercurrent then, a faint chastisement, but he doesn't voice it. He doesn't need to. Chances are Tamsin knows exactly what he's saying, what he means to say to her specifically, without him coming right out and saying it. No big deal to him, though: she's only a Cliath, after all. Can't expect her to know everything about the local history right off the bat.
So far, Vigor isn't addressing Erich's suggestions, or Javed's passion, or anything but the gaps in information he's been hearing. The places where the inexperience and newness to the area of some of these younger wolves smashes against the disinformation and withholding and outright lies inflicted on all of them, even up to the Great Alpha, by those who built and sustained Cold Crescent to begin with.
"I won't deny it's a confusion situation," he says, more broadly. "Siren is right," he says, of the Black Fury he's known for years now, "when she says that we've tried. The Elders and Athros and Adrens and others among you have tried, and tried, everything we can think of, to understand that pit or close it somehow. I'm not saying stop coming up with ideas. You never know when you'll hit one that's new. Just... don't be discouraged when you keep hearing us say that we tried, and it failed. Top to bottom, we're all in the same boat with you regarding that thing in the basement of Cold Crescent: we have no clue."
Vigor flips the bone in his hand idly, dextrously, thoughtlessly. Perhaps some glare from Final Word or raised eyebrow, some signal, reminds him that this is a sacred rite. He stops flipping it and takes a breath.
"Siren is also right that it stays dormant until something is called, and only the Wyrm's tongue seems to answer it. I know: that puts my hackles right up, too. Can't be good if it only answers to the Wyrm, right? But that isn't certain... at least not in my mind. It could be many things. It could be unthinkable things. We don't know unless we ask."
Oh, they hit on an argument he's had many times already. With elders. Vigor isn't looking at the Fosterns and Cliaths right now, but at those who are his peers and superiors. Just a glance. A point being made. He turns back around to them, though.
"And before I forget: as far as I know, the management firm that owns the building and vets the tenants it leases to is... I don't know. I guess you'd call it a corporate kinfolk fellowship. Regardless of what they call themselves: we've got the building. It's not going to get yanked out from under us easily. Even without a sept there, I don't think anyone in the nation who is half sane would say we should just abandon the building or let it go without a few lawyers or real estate brokers getting death threats. Just... to set your mind at ease on that front."
He turns to look at Javed. "Bear in mind," even though he is speaking while looking at the metis, he addresses all who can hear him, "the Beloved Horror called Green Dragon to bless them once. They may do so again. They have recruited, time and time again. They will do so again. They're weakened now, and no one has caught their scent in the area lately, so I think they've run and hid again. But they've run to hide before... and always seem to come back stronger."
Vigor exhales. "All right. Ideas that I think are good: one, keeping our people on the ground at Cold Crescent, sept or no sept. We're doing that. I think we'll always have high-ranked guards down there as long as the pit is there; we failed before to guard it properly. We won't again.
"Two, letting other garou know about this thing. Really. The fact that we're this close to Cold Crescent and some of us didn't know that thing existed should send a wet chill down every single one of our spines; the fact that there are other caerns and septs in this state and surrounding states who don't know about it is appalling, especially since apparently some toothy lizard-man with a taste for the blood of kinswomen has been pushing architectural projects to try and create more openings for unknowable awfulness based on our naturally-occurring one. We do a great job of minding our caern; we've not been doing very well minding anything past its borders, though, and I'm tired of it."
Vigor pauses. "Three, many garou have spoken to their ancestors about this thing, but every garou who has that connection should be trying. Weep for a vision. Do peyote til you forget your name, whatever it takes, but it's like I said before: just because every answer so far hasn't worked doesn't mean we stop looking for one. Even if we have to look into the past for it.
"Four... traps should be a part of the defenses, particularly in the tunnels and access points. But I'm with those who oppose luring the Beloved Horror into Cold Crescent." He shakes his head. "That building is full of mortals, but it's also full of some of our kin, who are still working there. The basement levels and the upper levels aren't isolated entirely from that, and I'd rather see them deterred from getting in at all, even if it means we don't kill them as fast.
"Five..." and here he pauses. He turns, taking a deep breath, and looks at the Great Alpha. "Rhya," he says, very low, and inclines his head and shoulders. The Great Alpha, only one eye open in the shadows, stares at him with something like indifference.
"Rhya," Vigor repeats. "Forgotten Questions is my home. But I urge you to listen to the passion being displayed by those who fought the most recent battle against the Beloved Horror, the one that drove them away for the third time. Some of these garou, though low in rank, took the lives of enemies who have killed so many of our friends and even taken our kin from us. They killed them, rhya. Now they come and say they are still fighting for that sept that you closed and emptied. They are filling it again and trying to defend it.
"Hear them, Alpha-Rhya. Give them your blessing. Because if nothing else, they obviously care enough to do this whether they have it or not."
He inclines his head again, returns the bone to the Truthcatcher, and returns to his place.
Cold Crescent is still called Cold Crescent, even among the elders in Forgotten Questions. High-ranked guards stand watch in the lower levels and patrol the tunnels and surrounding areas to make sure the Beloved Horror -- and others -- stay out.
Cold Crescent has shrines, and patrols, and people sort-of-almost staying there or near there.
Everyone knows that, too. No one brings it up at the moot, until the Cracking has begun to wind down.
--
And then the Cliaths and Fosterns talk. Older garou listen. Some, newcomers, tip their heads in both confusion and sometimes nod in agreement with one statement or another. Those who have been here longer cross their arms. Frown or smirk at turns, shake their heads sometimes, watch the younger werewolves circle the topic.
In the end, it is a New Moon who takes the bone. He spoke earlier. He is an Adren, and his name is Vigor and Rigor, known for the scales of his renown tipping more heavily towards wisdom and honor than glory. He was born and raised here; he lives in a house just down the street from the entrance to Roxborough Park. He completed, and won, a challenge of grievance last month by debating circles around the wolf who issued the challenge. The other wolf gave up. When he walks forward to take the bone, some of the garou who have sort of stopped listening because they don't pay too much attention to Fosterns and Cliaths perk a bit, attending more closely.
Bone in hand, Vigor spreads his arms.
"All right," he says clearly, with a smile. "Obviously all of you care about that place. A lot. But some of what you think you know is mixed up, and some of you just... don't know some pretty important things. Which is perfectly fine, only one of you I've heard speak is a Ragabash, and we can't expect all the auspices to give the same attention to detail that a No Moon would."
The smile spreads briefly to a grin. He turns to Erich, who spoke of Cold Crescent first. "Storm's Teeth: please do not jump into that pit-thing. I mean it." He pauses, and he's not smiling now: "Small spirits have been sacrificed. They went to see what they could find, and they did not come back. We don't know if they were changed," he glances at Tamsin briefly, then back at Erich, "or destroyed. We only know that they did not return. Hey, Warning Threshold-rhya!"
He looks into the gathering, at the wolf who cannot shift, who stands now as he has since his punishment, in the form of a tall, broad-shouldered man. His eyes meet Vigor's.
"Did the Walkers send any cameras, tech, things like that?"
And Warning Threshold, former warder of the very sept being discussed, gives a single deep nod.
"Nothing came back?"
Warning Threshold shakes his head.
Vigor turns back to Erich. "So really: don't jump in there. I'm willing to lay money on you not coming back." He turns to Tamsin, then, whose idea that was to begin with, and his head cocks to the side, his brows tugging together a bit. "They know about the caern. They know where we are. The first time we encountered them, before Cold Crescent was even built, was here. They weren't as strong then, and they were beaten back. Hunted, for a while, before they got so far from our borders that no one bothered. We had no idea what they'd become. But oh yeah: they definitely know we're here."
There's an undercurrent then, a faint chastisement, but he doesn't voice it. He doesn't need to. Chances are Tamsin knows exactly what he's saying, what he means to say to her specifically, without him coming right out and saying it. No big deal to him, though: she's only a Cliath, after all. Can't expect her to know everything about the local history right off the bat.
So far, Vigor isn't addressing Erich's suggestions, or Javed's passion, or anything but the gaps in information he's been hearing. The places where the inexperience and newness to the area of some of these younger wolves smashes against the disinformation and withholding and outright lies inflicted on all of them, even up to the Great Alpha, by those who built and sustained Cold Crescent to begin with.
"I won't deny it's a confusion situation," he says, more broadly. "Siren is right," he says, of the Black Fury he's known for years now, "when she says that we've tried. The Elders and Athros and Adrens and others among you have tried, and tried, everything we can think of, to understand that pit or close it somehow. I'm not saying stop coming up with ideas. You never know when you'll hit one that's new. Just... don't be discouraged when you keep hearing us say that we tried, and it failed. Top to bottom, we're all in the same boat with you regarding that thing in the basement of Cold Crescent: we have no clue."
Vigor flips the bone in his hand idly, dextrously, thoughtlessly. Perhaps some glare from Final Word or raised eyebrow, some signal, reminds him that this is a sacred rite. He stops flipping it and takes a breath.
"Siren is also right that it stays dormant until something is called, and only the Wyrm's tongue seems to answer it. I know: that puts my hackles right up, too. Can't be good if it only answers to the Wyrm, right? But that isn't certain... at least not in my mind. It could be many things. It could be unthinkable things. We don't know unless we ask."
Oh, they hit on an argument he's had many times already. With elders. Vigor isn't looking at the Fosterns and Cliaths right now, but at those who are his peers and superiors. Just a glance. A point being made. He turns back around to them, though.
"And before I forget: as far as I know, the management firm that owns the building and vets the tenants it leases to is... I don't know. I guess you'd call it a corporate kinfolk fellowship. Regardless of what they call themselves: we've got the building. It's not going to get yanked out from under us easily. Even without a sept there, I don't think anyone in the nation who is half sane would say we should just abandon the building or let it go without a few lawyers or real estate brokers getting death threats. Just... to set your mind at ease on that front."
He turns to look at Javed. "Bear in mind," even though he is speaking while looking at the metis, he addresses all who can hear him, "the Beloved Horror called Green Dragon to bless them once. They may do so again. They have recruited, time and time again. They will do so again. They're weakened now, and no one has caught their scent in the area lately, so I think they've run and hid again. But they've run to hide before... and always seem to come back stronger."
Vigor exhales. "All right. Ideas that I think are good: one, keeping our people on the ground at Cold Crescent, sept or no sept. We're doing that. I think we'll always have high-ranked guards down there as long as the pit is there; we failed before to guard it properly. We won't again.
"Two, letting other garou know about this thing. Really. The fact that we're this close to Cold Crescent and some of us didn't know that thing existed should send a wet chill down every single one of our spines; the fact that there are other caerns and septs in this state and surrounding states who don't know about it is appalling, especially since apparently some toothy lizard-man with a taste for the blood of kinswomen has been pushing architectural projects to try and create more openings for unknowable awfulness based on our naturally-occurring one. We do a great job of minding our caern; we've not been doing very well minding anything past its borders, though, and I'm tired of it."
Vigor pauses. "Three, many garou have spoken to their ancestors about this thing, but every garou who has that connection should be trying. Weep for a vision. Do peyote til you forget your name, whatever it takes, but it's like I said before: just because every answer so far hasn't worked doesn't mean we stop looking for one. Even if we have to look into the past for it.
"Four... traps should be a part of the defenses, particularly in the tunnels and access points. But I'm with those who oppose luring the Beloved Horror into Cold Crescent." He shakes his head. "That building is full of mortals, but it's also full of some of our kin, who are still working there. The basement levels and the upper levels aren't isolated entirely from that, and I'd rather see them deterred from getting in at all, even if it means we don't kill them as fast.
"Five..." and here he pauses. He turns, taking a deep breath, and looks at the Great Alpha. "Rhya," he says, very low, and inclines his head and shoulders. The Great Alpha, only one eye open in the shadows, stares at him with something like indifference.
"Rhya," Vigor repeats. "Forgotten Questions is my home. But I urge you to listen to the passion being displayed by those who fought the most recent battle against the Beloved Horror, the one that drove them away for the third time. Some of these garou, though low in rank, took the lives of enemies who have killed so many of our friends and even taken our kin from us. They killed them, rhya. Now they come and say they are still fighting for that sept that you closed and emptied. They are filling it again and trying to defend it.
"Hear them, Alpha-Rhya. Give them your blessing. Because if nothing else, they obviously care enough to do this whether they have it or not."
He inclines his head again, returns the bone to the Truthcatcher, and returns to his place.
my whole life is thunder.