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August: Opening Howl / Inner Sky
#1
[Take it away, Keisha!]
my whole life is thunder.
#2
She's been here since well before the sun starts to sink below the horizon, preparing. It began with meditation…clearing her mind and body of negative energies. Slow breaths in taking in the cleansing air of the Wyld, slow breaths out expelling all the remnants of everything negative that she's accumulated over the past month. Keisha normally goes with something simple and natural for her style of dress in moots and comes largely unadorned. This month is different; she's stripped down to her dedicated set of clothing, a grey matching set of loose-fitting pants and a sports bra. The other big changes in her dress are twofold; first is that her hair, usually tied back, is left free. The dark dreadlocks spill over her shoulders, down her back and a few in front, to fall where they may. It's wild and free, a style and an attitude that the ahimsa doesn't often allow herself to be. Tonight, she does.

The second is that she is decked out in more jewelry than usual. It isn't for vanity's sake; the stones are assembled aesthetically but also for spiritual reasons. Around her wrists are brass bracelets (a cleansing metal) with amethysts set within, the stones intended to convert negativity into positivity in connection with her heart chakra. Around her neck on a small leather cord, just long enough that it rests at the top of her throat and connects with her throat chakra, a small polished piece of amber for clarity and confidence. On her brow is a small iron circlet; iron is the heart of the Earth and the universe. As above, so below...it's a metal that aids in shamanic travel. The circlet is set with hematite and quartz for concentration and healing. She's dedicated them to her, so they will come across the Gauntlet and grant her strength for the rite. None of it is ornate or ostentatious; it's functional. The stones align sympathetically with her spiritual energy and ground her to the earth, the elemental to whom the Caern is dedicated. She's lucky that her aunt and uncle own a new age shop, or it would have likely been beyond her means.

And so she sits from early in the morning, on a large triangular rock deep within the park that some have given a name to; it's secluded, away from the others. The perfect spot for her to go through the slow and methodical process to find her balance and cleanse her spirit and mind. It's approaching evening by the time she's ready, and she opens her eyes. She's at peace and ready to begin. The true beginning won't start until after the sky has begun to darken and the humans have been shooed away, but there are still things to do. The mocha-skinned woman rises and climbs off the stone, murmurs a quiet and heartfelt thank you for holding her for a time, and sets herself to finding a spot for the gathering.

They come, in their many forms, once the dark has begun to set in and after the grounds have been divested of the last of humanity. They drive, they run on four legs, they race through the Umbra in War Form. They come together in packs, they travel in pairs of friendship, they make their way alone. Many paths, many methods, but one purpose. That's the way of the Garou Nation. Moots are more than just a monthly meeting for Keisha; they're affirmation. Despite all the infighting, the warring, the betrayals and the prejudice…on this night, they come together and unite as one. It is her duty—no, her honor—to give a voice to that unity this month and to take the first steps.

Last month when her alpha Siren of Persephone held sway over the Opening Howl, it began with song. It was the same when Raspberry Sky did so two months before that. Keisha has her talents, but singing is not one of them. Instead of those Theurges' melodies, it is a chant that brings them together. Still Waters begins low, reverential, nearly a whisper and certainly no one hears it then, except perhaps her packmates who hear it through the connection they share from Themis and those few Garou who have found her in a small clearing amidst the trees and towered over by the sandstone formations. They do not hear, except perhaps that the words are sacred ones, calling to the spirits…the Celestines, the Incarnae of each of the Tribes, the great elemental who has lived and remembered everything that ever is and was. She calls to them…supplicating, honoring, revering. As her voice builds in volume and power, celebration is added to that tone. And then exultation, revelry. Always honoring, always joyful.

Some may join in with the chant; it is easy enough to do so. Some may choose not to. Still Waters makes no indication one way or another; that is their choice. She continues the chant until all are gathered, keeping the ascent slow but ever-building. Finally, when everyone has arrived, she spreads her arms in gesture to them and steps back, sliding through the Gauntlet into the Penumbra. Only echoes of her voice remain to bounce off the rocks and trees.

And they follow, into the velvet shadow.

This side of the Gauntlet is alive, bursting. As soon as Still Waters has made the crossing she melts up into her Crinos form, switching her chant seamlessly into the High Tongue. There has been much work by the Garou of Denver in calming and soothing the spirits following the terrible turn of events at Cold Crescent, and it has not been in vain; the ephemeral entities that have found sanctuary within the Caern are here, watching. The daughter of Unicorn and lady of Themis, proud member of the Desert Oracles continues until the Garou are all here, gathered into their factions, their packs, their Tribes, their ranks, perhaps by other divisions. Many roads, one path.

And finally, when it's time, she lets her Gnosis, her spiritual life force, gather together, collect at her heart chakra where amethyst focuses. It pushes up to her throat chakra, where amber imbues it with clarity. And she lets it go in a single, powerful burst.

She howls.

Samael @ 1:56PM
[[Moot Rite: Int+Rituals, w/WP spent]]
Roll: 6 d10 TN7 (1, 1, 4, 7, 7, 10) ( success x 4 ) [WP] VALID

niko @ 1:56PM
Witnessed@
"The anger of a good man is not a problem. Good men have too many rules."
"Good men don't need rules. And today's not the day to find out why I have so many."
#3
More than a few people notice that the sisters of Desert Oracle, devoted to Themis, have opened both the last moot and this one. Avery notices when she arrives, drawn by the growing sound of chanting. The spirits are already gathering in the area when they cross into the penumbra together, and Avery loses a gasp from her throat when a broad-winged spectre of Falcon flies low and close over the white-furred Fangs who have come to this moot.

There are noticable gaps in the crowd. There were always at least some of the guardians of Cold Crescent who would make their way to the caern for the moot; they took turns, no one of them ever completely shut out from the restoration that comes from being here.

Now they are all shut off. They are all gone. And the elders of Cold Crescent

are also absent.

Avery swallows hard, to see that. It makes the beginning of her howl falter when she opens her throat to join the rest of the garou. Her people. Many of them die every day. Tonight, at least, it feels that most of them live.
my whole life is thunder.
#4
Phoebe is there early. Not so early as her sister, but as early as she can. She is positively beside herself with pride and joy and oh oh oh! She wants to wave to Keisha but she contains herself. She does not break the Theurge's concentration, though she and Winona and Sophia can feel her practically buzzing in their heads. She throws her arms around them, one around Sophia, one around Winona, hugging them close to her for a few minutes before she finally releases them.

The absence of the city Guardians has a sobering effect, however, as does the noted lack of city Elders. Phoebe frowns, rises up onto her toes and looks around because surely she's just missing them. Surely they would not miss this moot, the first one after the incident with Champion of Honor and the Guardians, surely they would be here to, she doesn't know, say something.

She shifts, she again sinks her Gnosis into Earth, but her howl lacks a little of its captivating melody this moot.

======

Ingrid arrives as she so often does, alone and in bare feet. Except her dedicated clothing is different, it's practical and dark and fitted and soft and allows her to move without making a sound.

Shifting to lupus, she seeks out Erich and Charlotte as she has before. She sniffs over Erich and looks at Charlotte and her tail gives a slight wag.

But this month she doesn't stay with them. This month she wanders away. She finds a certain Fostern Glass Walker Philodox with a rather unsavory reputation, and she sits near him, ears back and head and tail lowered with respect.

Her howl is not lovely, her voice is not her strong suit, but this month she puts more power to it. She has sunk her claws into Denver, she has begun to put into motion the things that will keep her here. While not necessarily home, it is a place to make a stand.
#5
Winona is, of course, there with her sisters - she didn't know the guardians or the elders, it's true, but still their loss is felt keenly. So there she stands, on one side of Phoebe with an arm free for Keisha when her portion is finished, and there she adds her voice to the calling and her essence to the earth. She sings for those alive and those dead and those not yet born. It's good to be here, now. It's good to be a part of this.
#6
Sophia was ecstatic with the very idea of spending any time she is allowed to spend with this Caern! So it was only natural she would head out with the members of her new found pack. There was excitement and wonder in her eyes as she took the time to settle in and watch Kiesha at work.

She would be unassuming if it weren't for the breeding of the creature, that alone was enough to draw attention in her direction. Her blond hair was a bit of a mess as she hadn't bothered to straighten up after going for a run out in the area. She wore a pair of shorts and a tank top to the affair, and it left the ink work that covered her skin proudly on display. The tattoos that covered her body were vibrant and colorful and likely drew as much attention to her as the her breeding did. Each image seemed to flow into the next as if each one had it's own unique meaning and was somehow closely associated with the other. Though she wasn't completely covered in tattoos, and none marked her head and face, hands, or feet, she was quickly running out of spaces to put the work! Her greyish blue eyes seemed to linger on Kiesha more than anything else right now, this was her time and her moment and she intended on supporting her through it, even if all that meant was being here!

She lets her eyes wander over each and every detail as the Theurge took to the task of appeasing the spirit of this caern. Oh how she loved this dance, and the more she did it the more she seemed to love it! This communion with the spirit both brought them closer to who they are, and brought them together as a people. It was one of the few things the Garou did these days that did not directly involve warfare.

Somewhere within her mind the cacophony of sounds seemed to coalesce into something both powerful and meaningful to the young theurge. She gave a little smile as music took shape in her head, it was almost as if the sounds around her had brought to mind some familiar tune that only now began to take shape within her mind. It was beautiful for her to be here, to commune with her kind and the spirits in a ritual nearly as ancient as the Garou themselves. It was here the Garou truly remembered what it was to be Garou.

As the voices began to lift she could hear herself beginning to hum the tune to the song that had been playing within her head. That voice mingled within the howling voices as she let the tune catch within the air, as she drew closer to the earth... That spirit which is most ancient of all the Terrestrial spirits. That spirit who makes up the very flesh of creation herself...

She allows her hands to touch at the spiritual manifestation of the earth and she closes her eyes as she listens to the howls of the others who have already started before her. Slowly she feeds the caern with what it needs to nourish itself, gnosis, and in the process shares a little piece of herself with it before allowing herself to slowly shift forms.

Her size grows larger, heavier, and that slender form soon begins to sprout muscles as if from out of nowhere. The slight creature which had been sitting there moments before now had the build of a body builder or linebacker but more than that her golden hair began to lose it's color and take on a silverish hue. Fur sprouted from her body fingers began to curl and elongate as claws took shape on the ends. Her teeth extended and her nose and mouth stretched outward and soon the slight figure that had stood there was replaced by an image that seemed plucked out of the very nightmares of the Wyrm creatures of olde. The spitting image of the beasts who once rightly ruled the Garou nation. Not the ever deteriorating creatures who claimed the legacy of the tribe of kings, this woman looked as if she had been plucked from the past itself and placed within their midst. Then again... Didn't they all?

As soon as she could Sophia's howl joined the others. A song as ancient and pure as the wind and earth itself. They were bit a part of all things and this ritual is what reminded them of that place, and so her chest swelled with pride as she let her own voice join the others.
#7
Javed is a newcomer to Denver as of this month, and has not attended one of their moots before. However, he is staying abreast of developments and knows well when and (generally) where to go. He shows up walking; he always walks. The sunset in the sky reminds him of distant places and times; wherever he goes, he always has the horizon to give him a sense of stability, of sameness.

He comes dressed in his sole set of clothes, his heavy jacket and worn travelling pants and heavy boots, a set that has held him through long journeys and lonely times. When he comes upon the gathering, he waits on the fringe, on his own. The lonely child of Owl. As the chanting builds, he closes his eyes (both eyelids work of course, even if one eye is functionally no more) and feels the energy of the place course through him. He is grounded, his energy building in his core.

He opens his eyes just as the cross into the Penumbra begins. He doesn't specifically note the absence of Cold Crescent; it's not something he would pick up on for many reasons, not the least of which is the wrong wiring in his head, the disconnection with optic nerves in his one good eye. He just notices that attendance is…lighter than he expected it might be.

And then it comes time for the howl. He erupts into his breed form, that visage of Anubis, jackal-god of the afterlife. It may seem especially appropriate with so many losses this month that the Strider has arrived. Or perhaps not. Either way, the lonely child is lonely no more, if just for a moment, as he sends his voice into the air. They are all as one in that moment, thanks to their Howls joining in unison.
"The anger of a good man is not a problem. Good men have too many rules."
"Good men don't need rules. And today's not the day to find out why I have so many."
#8
Erich, this month: quieter, a little more withdrawn, mouth closed, ears swiveling, eyes gleaming. He stays close by the side of his packmate, protective, and stretches out his neck to quietly sniff at friends as they pass.

Ingrid. Avery. That-other-Ahroun. Hector, too, and Jack. Thomas. He greets them each by each, if they stop by: touches noses, bumps sides sometimes, thumps them a little with his tail. He's not despondent. There's still a muted joy in him, just to see everyone in the same place, but all the same --

what happened this month has left a mark. There's no mistake of that.
BECAUSE OF LIGHT AND DUTY AND REASONS.
#9
Another month, another moot, and once again he is there, the sore thumb of sore thumbs. This time, as they all gather together, it is a long legged, slender bodied lupus-form Afro Daddy with his shaggy mane of asphalt colored fur who paws at the ground anxiously, growling in unison with the chant as they all gathered. He had his eyes, dark as alleyways sweeping the crowd. He was not new anymore. He was not a stranger here. He tilts his head back this time and howls, Rage and frustration, and perhaps a little extra determination now.
#10
Charlotte is there homid-shaped, human-skinned, looking rather like a scarecrow whose limbs are too long and skinny for her body. Her hair seems to have been dip-dyed pink over its native, shining platinum, though perhaps it has merely started growing out and she has not yet renewed the pink. She is wearing jeans and a raglan SPRING t-shirt in a heathered green and gray and walks beside Erich-wolf with a suprisingly long gait through the woods as the rite begins.

- and when the rite begins, Charlotte shifts. Spends some of her rage to erupt into her wolf-skin because she knows the site of the moon, pregnant and full and gleaming down on them will return it to her the first time she looks up.

As a wolf Charlotte is a leggy adolescent yes, but still: pure white, pure blooded, pure, gleaming, moon-lit promise. And also, as they all must surely know: mad, somehow, beneath her skin.
But my heart is wild and my bones are steel
And I could kill you with my bare hands if I was free.

- Phosphorescent, Song for Zula


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