October: Cracking the Bone

[Samael]

[Sorry Damon and Liz, there's less than a day left and Javed still has to make his argument on the matter of the Elders, so I can't wait before getting into the Question part. So I'm afraid that this might get confusing in terms of post order, but it's kind of unavoidable.]

The next person to speak may not be the first one that people expect to. Javed Anubis-Sight, it has been said, is well-spoken for a mule. It was even said by Storm's Teeth during the warmoot that he was one of the most "grown up" of the Fosterns, Cliaths and kinfolk who had attended. But he is still a mule, and an Ahroun besides. While he could speak with a certain amount of eloquence, he was not necessarily given to philosophy and the art of debate. Yet here he was, stepping forward and--not putting his hand out for Milton to drop the bone into--taking the deer's rack in his hand. He stares at Milton a long moment, his eyelids narrowed slightly, before he begins to speak.

"You ask a very human question, Pokes-the-Mind's-Eye. And that is the flaw within your argument. We are not human, however much many of us may walk on two legs, live human lives, house ourselves in proximity to the Weaver, use Weaver tools. Denigrating your own tribe in marching us into the spider webs does not deflect from the argument that you are suggesting we follow a form of government created by servants of the Weaver, and one that has proven no more effective than any human institution."

He says that word, human, with a bit of disdain. The one-eyed Garou lives largely among the buildings and street lights and Pattern webs himself, or at least spends much of his time there. But he has never tried to emulate them. In this, he as much a stranger in a strange land as being Iranian in the United States puts him. And in that is (to his mind, at least) his strength in this argument; his experience with other nations, other societies (but always an outsider) means he does not view democracy or indeed, any government with rose-colored glasses.

"Look at your democracy, Pokes-the-Mind's-Eye. How far did it get the Greeks? Two hundred years? Perhaps more?" He's not an academic; he doesn't have dates, but the point is: they were not there for long. "How long has this United States lasted? Barely more than two centuries and it falls apart now. I do not need to be an American, or even a human, to know that your government cannot even agree to pay its debts now. I do not need to watch televisions or read journalism; I hear it on the street. I see the way that it is failing in every person left behind. Democracy is a weak form of ruling; it is just another human falsity. A lie."

He looks away from Milton now, the Fool left off at this point. His attention turns to the Garou of the moot. "You know why we do not choose democracy. While the Fool can speak of modern civilizations, he forgets that while those nations have risen and fallen, we have existed for thousands of years. While we have fought this war, even the oldest of nations have been born, then died. We survive because of the Litany, which is much more than a government. It is life, death, rules of war and rules of peace. It is no false Bill of Rights to be amended and trampled on when convenient, nor is it Ten Commandments to be ignored when we wish it. Ask the Fianna how long it takes to truly recite the Litany, and you may begin to take an understanding of its significance."

He turns his head back to Milton, body slowly following so that he is facing the somewhat more diminutive Ragabash. "You ask who enforces the Litany, and you argue that it is the Elders. There is another flaw in your argument. We all enforce the Litany every day. It is our cause; no government, but a call to arms, a call to breathe. Those who do not...they allow the Wyrm to breed and grow stronger. They create wars among us by fighting over territory. They breed disrespect, bring attention of humans onto us. Breed metis. Let our caerns be violated. Without the Litany we are beasts, and you would do well to remember that, Pokes-the-Mind's-Eye."

It is important to note here that, while his Rage rolls off of him in the argument--its heat directed at the young Ragabash more often than not--he does not ever threaten the Fool, or appear close to violence at him. He recognizes the importance of the position and while he may be speaking down to Milton somewhat, he does not show any open derision.

"Finally...you may wish to try and pretend that discounting war and battle is a possibility, but it is not. We are creatures of war. This is no utopia. Visit the graves and ask the Guardians of Cold Crescent whether we are in a time of peace or not. Ask the Theurges who battled against Weaver infestation in their territory, two of which died only to return to life baring the marks of their near-demise, if we are not at war. Ask myself and Reverence of Dawn-Radiant Honor, Black Sheep and Thunder’s Cry Echoes From the Sea if we were in an act of war or peace when we took action against a truck of Wyrm toxins. We are not at peace right now, in any definition of the word."

"But truly, it goes back to my original statement. Why are we not a democracy? Because democracy is human, Pokes-the-Mind'-Eye. And I can promise you that we are much more than human."

He looks then not to Milton or to the majority of the Garou, to the Great Alpha serving as Truthcatcher, silently waiting to see if the argument is over so that he can weigh in on the fate of the Cold Crescent elders.

[mnemosyne]

Erich urges; all bright hard angles, all stolid strength-of-purpose. Charlotte is just mute, stares at him open-eyed and stiff. The girl swallows hard and -

surrenders the bone. To the Fool, shuffles out of the center of the gathering with her arms crossed tightly over her stomach and her brow stormy, tense.

She does not and cannot look at Erich. Hardly listens to the fool's questions or Javed's responses. Does not have a human mind for such human questions and the bulk and depth of these ideas just floats above her, unmoored and insubstantial. Mid-way through Javed's response, though, her attention snaps back to the metis. Hard-eyed, glinting -

disgusted.

--

Swallows it swallows it swallows it swallows it.

--

And then, once again, Charlotte grabs the bone.

"How did - " she takes in a deep breath, her brow furrowed, her features intense, though the tension of that expression is turned mostly inward. Bands of tendon stand out tautly in her neck, her shoulders are firmly back, the scapulae these sharp, vestigal little wings planed against the cotton tee she wears.

"I know what happened." Charlotte restarts a moment later. She is standing straighter, now, the weight of the bone in her left hand, not her right. She is turning in a circle and does not look much higher than the level of anyone's knees. Certainly not the elders. And yet - " - what happened. Why they stand here for judgment.

"I don't know how.

"How it happened. How they failed to detect what the enemy did.

"Or even, how - how The Beloved Horror did what they did. Took over the Guardians. Cor - corrupted them, or their totem, or -

"I mean, does any one? I think that matters.

"I think that matters, too."

[Samael]

[[Just bumping this so it doesn't fall off radar!]]

[kai]

[It hadn't! Just been busy and waiting a bit; I knew some other people had things they wanted to say, but it's been almost 3 days, so we're moving forward!]

--

There is a moment, as the Fool jumps up and begins insulting half the tribes of the Nation, when Avery nearly lunges at him. In that moment, between the Fostern Ahroun and the Fostern Philodox, it is the Ahroun who stays calm. Then again: Milton doesn't say a word about the Silent Striders, does he? To Avery, the remarks he makes about the Fenrir, the Lords, the Gnawers and the Children are mere snark compared to laying the blame of their dwindling numbers and 'near extinction' at the feet of the Falcon's own. Everyone has their flaws, right? But only the Silver Fangs have -- as Milton says -- put all their people on the path of annihilation.

And it hurts.

For a moment, she wants to kill Milton. There's nothing graceful or gracious or delicate about it; she wants to unleash on him the pain of her entire tribe, channel generations of that helplessness and horror in the face of your own madness into one solid snap of her jaws over his throat. For a moment, all Avery sees -- lovely, well-spoken, unassailable Avery -- is red.

Though they do not, and will not, share the same bond as some packs, and though Javed cannot hear the thoughts that Avery might speak to him in silence, they do share a deeper bond with each other than either of them do with any other wolf in attendance. However tall she stands, however still, however placid her features, there is that sudden pulse of her rage that feels the way a howl of grief sounds. There is the way she looks at Milton for a heartbeat, faraway and inhuman, that seems almost thoughtful but is in reality very nearly dissociative.

Avery doesn't leap into the circle of the moot to violate the sanctity of the rite, violate the blessing of the New Moons have beneath the full, and does not even bare her teeth at Pokes the Mind's Eye. Nor does she speak, even though she is one of the more capable public speakers in the city. She does not trust herself to speak right now.

Javed -- stoic, steady, strong Javed -- steps forward and speaks instead, and when he does, he speaks for both Falcons. They are not human. Democracy is human. Human governments last for hundreds of years; the garou have lasted in this way for thousands. Avery exhales; she might go into more detail about the development of those human governments and the exact pattern of their downfalls and what democracy really means and entails and so forth, but this isn't a university and Javed cuts to the main point: they are not human, and they are not at peace.

Standing and watching him, remaining silent, Avery just nods. When Javed returns, she lowers her crossed arms and quietly takes his hand in hers for a couple of seconds. Just long enough to squeeze once, and release him again.



--

[Reverence of Dawn @ 4:21PM
[Manipulation + Subterfuge + Pure Breed: Nope not thinking of murder nope nope I am the picture of restraint and serenity.]
Roll: 8 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 4, 6, 6, 6, 8, 10) ( success x 5 ) VALID

[kai]

Many step forward after the Great Alpha calls for judgement. The cliaths and fosterns who speak are not alone; others tell stories, good and bad, of the glories and the failings of the leaders of Cold Crescent. Some make the same points that Erich does: he is not the only Ahroun who says that they can't give up that many experienced claws. Others say that having them in the fray would only weaken the whole. Not everyone agrees. Some make the same point that Keisha does: that some of this feels like a call for vengeance, a scapegoating of the leaders to vent some of the pain and grief felt by the nation -- that it is not justice that is really being sought, and only justice that would be right to dole out.

Many step forward to claim the bone. None actually take it in hand. It is not usual, but very little about this moot is usual: as during debates and challenges, the Great Alpha keeps his paw over the antler he uses. Garou are acknowledged or sent back to their place with glances, with teeth-baring, with low rumbles or whuffs.

He is an enormous, intimidating creature. He seems at times to be as old as the caern itself, and his rage seems implacable, yet he listens. He listens more than he speaks, and while he stands as Truthcatcher he does not gnaw at meat-on-bone, he does not close his eyes and appear to doze off the way he sometimes does when it's just the cliaths and cubs talking, he does nothing but listen. And listen. And listen until close to four dozen garou have had their say, ranging all across the spectrums of rank and auspice and tribe. There are garou who stand up and speak for their kin, too, passing along messages from the mouths of their parents and mates and children and siblings and friends. Voices are heard.

Even the Fool, who at the end is truly trying to make a point: if you can support leaders even when the war seems unwinnable and costing more lives than it could ever save, you can support the leaders of Cold Crescent when they've fucked up.

The Great Alpha listens to all of them, scanning his eyes over Still Waters, Siren of Persephone, Storm's Teeth, Black Sheep, Pokes the Mind's Eye, and Anubis-Sight. He almost seems to find the ones who have not spoken tonight with those piercing, dark eyes of his, and the weight of his paw on the bone seems almost like a weight resting on the shoulders of the silent.

He does not need to tell them to speak, nor warn them that their time is running out. Everyone can feel it.



--

[Last call: the moot threads will close on Thursday night by 10pm MDT/site. If you have items for Stories & Songs or the Cracking of the Bone, get them up ASAP.]

[errin]

Ingrid does not answer the Fool's question. In her mind, there is no need. Javed explained it, and probably better than she could, she who is more animal than most, more of a predator by design.

Dances With the Hurricane, that sly, slender Ragabash whose question kickstarted this discussion, doesn't step up immediately. She lets the others go first. She has laid low these last few months, kept her ear to the ground so to speak, and now she listens again. She listens to the Ahrouns and the Theurges and so on and so forth.

She waits until some four dozen or so Garou have stepped up, spoken, sat back down again.

Then she makes her way up again, and again she bows for the Great Alpha before she turns to look out over the crowd. She knows that she is only a Cliath, and that her words do not weigh as heavily as those of a Fostern, are insignificant compared to those of an Elder, so she chooses them carefully.

Her gaze finds Erich and the other Ahrouns who spoke up in favor of keeping the claws of the Elders in tact and sharp, her eyes dark as the night above them, flinty and hard.

"Would you follow them again?" she asks these Ahrouns, asks all of the Garou gathered. She looks to others. "Would you stand beside them against this tide? They who failed us, who let the sept be breached by green fire and corruption.

"I was there," she says, but she does not let her voice falter. She does not let it waver. Ingrid is as cold as ice, as hard as stone as she ever is. "Four of us were made to witness the desecration of the totem shrines. Four of us witnessed the corruption of the Guardians. Four of us felt the green fire."

She seeks out Charlotte, lifts her chin a little as if that might help her voice carry. "Something took hold of him, and spread from him to the rest of the Guardians. Something used him to show us the power of the Corrupter. Those of us who found him failed by allowing him to be brought back, but who brought him inside? Who allowed the vessel to remain deep within protected walls?

"Where were the Theurges who should have cleansed him? If he could not be cleansed, why was he allowed to remain?" Her eyes scan over the crowd.

"Weakness. And we paid the price for that weakness. I do not wish to follow them. I do not wish to stand beside them in a fight against this horror. Live or die, they should not be allowed onto a field of battle or into a place of leadership."

[-ix-]

Thomas also waits, letting those who outrank him and those who seem eager to speak go first, which is the place of Cliaths, particularly Cliaths with no particular influence. Circumstances were different where he came from, but almost all trace of of that more confident version of himself is gone. What's left is mostly only visible when he tells stories.

Or, perhaps, it's just a function of being onstage. When he shifts back to homid and steps forward to speak he isn't hesitant, for all he waited long enough to do it. He doesn't really make any eye contact now and the gestures that accompany his stories are absent, but his voice is steady and even.

"It is true that we do not know everything of how we came to be here. We do know that information was withheld and that, whether because they were blinded to danger by pride or because they were swayed into unmerited optimism by the hope that Champion of Honor could be recovered, whatever took possession of him ultimately-" He takes a breath and then continues, "Led us to this moment, where we are sharing our views of judgement and justice. Not because we are a democracy, but because we are strongest when we are together.

"The elders at Cold Crescent forgot that, and in the end they did fail for that. It may be that they have proven themselves unfit to lead, certainly no few of us now would not be ready to follow without some underlying doubt. And, certainly, some punishment is warranted; that decision, I leave to those more capable and more experienced than I. Just as certainly, we can remind them of what they have forgotten. Champion of Honor and the Guardians of Cold Crescent died without any hope for redemption, but the elders could yet be offered the chance." Thomas says could, but his tone says should. Still, that is as far as any kind of defense for them goes from Thomas, and even that is at best a request to let them live so that they have a chance to be something else, something greater before they die.

He returns to where he was and shifts back to lupus, full attention returning quickly to the Great Alpha and anyone else who steps forward to speak.

[Samael]

Javed has spoken in answer to the Fool's Question, but he did not yet speak on the fate of the Elders of Cold Crescent. He had returned to sit near Avery to allow others to voice their opinions, speak their mind. He accepted the hand from Avery and, while it may surprise some, he returns the squeeze before their hands part. He understands his packmate's anger and while there is no outpouring of sympathy from Strider to Fang, there does not need to be. The importance is this: they understand each other.

And so Anubis-Sight listens to the others speak, argue for and against the Elders. And when Thomas is done, Javed rises again, moves to take the bone.

"Thunder’s Cry Echoes From the Sea and Black Sheep both speak the truth," he begins, rumbling in that gravelly, accented baritone. "We do not yet know what ultimately led to the fall of Champion of Honor, nor what led green fire to scour the inside of the Sept of the Cold Crescent. But the fact remains that we do not know because we did not have the opportunity to study deeper. And we did not have that opportunity because, as Dances with the Hurricane pointed out, the Elders of Cold Crescent did not do their proper diligence in taking precautions for the good of the Sept."

He looks out among the Garou, his anger held back by his homid form through the power of restraint. It pulses and rolls over itself; it's nearly palpable. But anger will only do so much. It is a difficult balancing act the Garou play, dancing between reason and instinct. The Ahroun understands that well and he keeps himself right on the edge of the latter without losing the former.

"The argument has been made that the elders' sin was simply one of omission and that it was based on the best available information, and that perhaps we may have done the same." He shakes his head. "We cannot say. It is not our task to speculate on what we would have done when advising judgment for or against them. We were not in their position and we did not have that mantle placed upon them. Leadership is a difficult burden, particularly in the Weaver's domain. But difficulty is not a mitigating factor. They accepted this burden and whoever accepts it after then shall do the same." Clearly, the metis believes that the Sept should remain open; that is not being discussed now of course, but he slides it in there while making his point.

"Accepting that burden meant being prepared to make choices that would be weighed against them. They were responsible for more than themselves and their kin; they were responsible for more than their pack. The greater the scope of responsibility, the further you must seek...the better you must become. Perhaps Champion of Honor should have been quarantined somewhere safer, or examined more closely. Whatever their intentions, whatever their resources, the point is that they failed."

And here, he lets a little of his anger show as his lip curls, a bit of a growl enters the rasp.

"They let a sept be violated. In a day when our septs become increasingly fewer." His hand clenches, tightening around the bone. "They failed to properly combat the Wyrm by denying the appropriate information to others that could be used against Green Dragon's minions. They failed to show the Garou and kinfolk of their Sept and, indeed, of the whole city the respect due to them by being deceitful. Their failure to be forthcoming caused several near Veil breaches, and possibly several that were never discovered due to the spirits that scoured the downtown area. All of these are Litany breaches."

He stops there a moment, letting the anger fade a bit, before speaking again. "Can they be trusted as leaders? Again, I agree with Dances with the Hurricane when I say that I could not do so. And we are not the only one. These trespasses could be taken in stride, if not for the fact that they did not have the honor to step forward and admit their failings until they were taken away by the elders here, in order to be compelled to answer. Some among us asked, and no answers were given until they were forced to. They would not even show at the moot in order to honor those who had fallen that month."

A shake of his head. "Their intentions being whatever they were...they failed at their tasks. So very drastically that a Sept still hangs in the balance. And they lacked the honor to admit it. I see no other recourse for that than the most final of judgments. Garou have fallen for far less."

His opinion given, he hands the bone on, or sets it in front of the Great Alpha if there are none else to speak, and returns to his spot.

[kai]

When several cliaths and fosterns step forward to speak regarding the leaders of Cold Crescent, most shoulder their weight behind the cause of mercy. Balance and pragmaticism, if not forgiveness, can be heard in the call from corners where it is expected, such as the Child of Gaia and Glass Walker, and shocking, in the case of two Shadow Lords, a Silver Fang, and a Black Fury. But Javed and Ingrid are not the only ones who are pressing for harsher punishment, more immediate and more permanent.

Throughout the cracking, the Great Alpha has listened to every voice. His head is heavy, his paw laying firmly over the bone beneath it. He closes his eyes when, finally, no more voices call out from the crowd of garou who have seen and felt their friends and allies die, who remember the deaths of garou and kin alike from other attacks of the Beloved Horror.

When he opens them again, he looks to two whip-thin creatures out there, two beasts who have not spoken at any moot, who have not been permitted by the older garou who shepherd them.

Without a sound being made, both Kelly and Fern know they are being summoned. Kelly shrinks back, and Fern just looks at the mentor who watches over her, trying to keep her from turning dark again, from going mad and killing someone to eat parts of their organs. Those garou do not help their charges now; the Great Alpha is waiting, and his very rank and power compell them. First, Kelly takes a breath, and the Great Alpha lifts his head as the young Theurge approaches.

He takes a deep breath. "I think, from what people have been telling me, that they screwed up. Because Fern and I should never have been taken, or something. They think that the werewolves in the city should have found us first. And we suffered for it. And we made other people suffer for it." Kelly looks down, his arms hanging at his sides. "I hear what everyone is saying, about how they might not have done any better, about how we don't really know this or that, about how we don't want to be divided, but the thing is, you all haven't been divided, but all this has still happened."

Kelly lifts his head, looking at the Great Alpha again. "The people you're talking about killing, and I think you're really talking about killing them for this -- look at what has happened. To me and Fern, to regular people, to the guardians. What are you going to do, go into battle with that pack thinking the outcome will be any better than it has been with them as your main line of defense?" He shakes his head. "I think that's stupid. I think that one," and he turns, pointing his long arm directly at Keisha, "came and found me with her friends, and if they hadn't, I think I'd be one of them now. It wasn't one of the leaders, and it wasn't one of the guardians. And I'm sorry, but if she could find me and the guy I was --"

he does not want to say what he was to Champion of Honor. Warden. God knows what else.

An exhale. "If she could find me, why didn't these leaders? I don't think you should get rid of them because of all the other stuff, though. I don't think it was so much what they didn't know, but from where I stand, they didn't even really try. And that's worse. Because when you have those things breathing down your neck, I think the last thing you want is... laziness. Complacency. And that's what they are."

Kelly has gotten worked up. It makes him uncomfortable; his rage fuzzes the edges of whatever he sees. His trauma makes a white rushing sound in his ears. The Great Alpha watches him, then inclines his head, and the Theurge cub, once Thunder's, all but scrambles back to the side of his mentor.

The Great Alpha turns to look at Fern, who is still scowling and digging in her heels. The ahroun who keeps her from losing her mind most nights when the moon is this heavy all but shoves her towards the enormous hispo-wolf with the antler, and her sneakered feet kick up dust as she stumbles. Then walks toward him and just stands there, gawky and disheveled with dirty knees and bitten nails, and does not look afraid so much as wary. Of course she is not afraid.

The last alpha she followed was Th'nak'vis.

--

Between the cub and the elder, there is silence. It stretches out, until Fern's brow furrows and she just shakes her head. "I don't know," she says, on the verge of snapping it. "How should I know?"

The Great Alpha does not answer her. She fumes quietly, shaking her head again and again. Her eyes squinch.

"I don't wanna tell you what I think. What's it gonna matter?"

Still he is silent. And she puts her fists to the sides of her head like they'll hold something in, and closes her eyes tight, and shakes slightly with anger and refusal, but no one flinches but her. No one here, possibly not even Kelly the crescent-moon, could fail to take her in a fight... simply because they have more control than she does. But it takes Fern a while to realize that in this gathering, she is the safest she has ever been. She is the farthest from hurting anyone than she has been in a very, very long time.

Gradually her shoulders round down, and she lets her arms slump, and she looks mournfully at the Great Alpha.

"I impaled River of Clouds on a pike," she says, and only in this silence does the softness of her voice crack like lightning. "While he was still alive. I made holes in him. I drank his blood. And all I felt while I did it was relief, because everything else about being what I am made me hurt, and made me feel crazy, til all I wanted to do was to tear everything to fucking pieces."

There are tears in her eyes, but no matter.

"And now people are telling me that all of us feel that way, at least sometimes." She rears back slightly, recoiling from her own words, shaking her head at the Great Alpha. "But all of us don't do stuff like that. All of us don't actually --"

Fern sniffs, loudly, and rolls her eyes upward, looking at the sky, and the moon hanging over them.

"I don't know why you don't kill me," she whispers, like she's talking to Luna. But she's not talking to Luna. She's talking to the sept, but she searches the sky. "I don't know why we're talking about killing them. I told them everything. I told them anything I knew. I don't know why they didn't tell more people or try different things. But... they're not bad."

She looks down again, right at the Great Alpha. "I mean I hear everyone talk about the laws and stuff, and I know, but... I was bad. Bad like a rotten apple. Bad like poison, bad like... like born that way, maybe?" The words are a wince. "Sometimes I think I still am, but you don't kill me. I don't know why. And I don't understand why --"

Fern takes a deep breath, tightening up on herself. "I knew what I did was wrong," she says, louder and firmer, clearer, than anything she's said tonight. Anything she's ever said to anyone here. It all but rings against the sandstone. "I knew, and I was given mercy.

"I think they knew, and I think they just didn't want to cause a panic or something. I think they thought they could handle it. And they couldn't, and they failed, and now people are dead, but they didn't let bad things happen because they knew it was bad and took joy in doing it anyway. What I did was bad, and fucked up, and evil. But we're talking about killing them for failure."

She scowls, shaking her head at the Great Alpha. "So if you do that, then you should kill me, too. Because it doesn't make any sense otherwise. And kill Kelly, too. You think he didn't know that it was wrong, everything he was seeing them do and what they were making him do? You think he didn't know better?" Fern nearly spits. "We're cubs, not idiots."

The Great Alpha rises to his feet, and that's when Fern -- about to go on ranting, her fury stoked ever hotter -- scrambles back a bit. She nearly falls, but catches herself.

He is quiet a moment, then addresses her, and through her, the entirety of two septs, and every cub, cliath, and fostern within them.

"If you live to be older," he says, low and rumbling, "you will know why we are merciful to the young."

Fern doesn't nod or shake her head or argue. She knows, on instinct, her time is over. She hurries back to the garou she was standing with before, while Kelly glares daggers at her. In the center, however, the Great Alpha lowers his head to look at the ground, for a long time. He huffs out a breath that steams in the air, chilling with autumn.

"In seven nights," he says, after a long time, "their judgement will come. It will be final.

"With tomorrow's sun, the Cold Crescent will be ended. We will guard what is beneath, but our people and shrines will not live there."

That paw resting on the deer's rack presses down, snapping the bones into several shards. "The bone is cracked. The revel begins."

[kai]

[Leaving this thread open for REACTIONS ONLY.]